C-Bird: Look but don’t touch unless prompted. Don’t think me vain because you’ve caught me reapplying my lipstick. Creating a false symmetry fascinates me. Catching your gaze in my pocket mirror didn’t unnerve me at all. Why don’t you just come over and say, “Hi”?

D-Bird: D-Bird is… Sada Abe, Oscar Wilde, Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Rainier Maria Rilke, Franz Kafka, John Waters, Roman Polanski, Takashi Miike, Michel Gondry, ancient Egypt, strawberry milk, whiskey, vintage clothes, hairspray, lots and lots of jewelry, messy hair, Doc Martens, thermal socks, Nirvana, Selfish Cunt, the Pixies, Mazzy Star, Sonic Youth, Hole, Roy Orbison, Kate Bush, the Smiths, Duane Eddy, Santo and Johnny, bass guitars, drums, colored drum sticks, self denial, the (in)ability to love, Sunday mornings, writing about anguish but wanting happiness, drawing things I can‘t speak about, reading to improve my mental wealth, dreaming about the world and why I shouldn‘t be in it.

X-Bird: Weapon of choice? A bass, a drum, a voice. X-Bird wishes she could dance for 24 hours in her stiletto heels, only compelled to move when she feels a beat has hit her sufficiently in the gut. She lives on a desert
island with a tattered copy of Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon for company. Here she dreams of an old time glamour only a chorus girl lulled onto a semen stained casting couch could hope for. X-Bird wholeheartedly believes beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that one day she will lose her heart amidst a sea of feedback and reverb.

C-Bird, D-Bird and X-Bird all sing, play drums and sing.