Okay then Grueheads, one thing I could never be accused of not having is an open mind. I’m disinterested in disappearing into my own rectum and believing myself to be some sort of horror oracle. If someone follows me, I will endeavor to return the favour. I’m not pompous, I reflect in action so any criticism levelled at me will always be given consideration and should there be an intimate request then, time allowing, I shall honour it.
It will come as no great revelation that I have an ingrained fascination with the naked female form. If organic and not enhanced to the nth degree then there are few more resplendent sights; some guys like alloy wheels and bucket seats, whereas show me a beautiful belle and I’m all in well before the flop. Last week I was bequeathed a request from a new group currently tweeting like angelic songbirds about the allure of the alpha. Their ambassador voiced benign concerns about the dearth of masculine objects within my pages. Fair do’s I say; admittedly I can be a touch heavy-handed when painting my canvases, but I’m playing the ‘homage card’ with conviction. What would please me when perusing an article? That is my primary poser to myself each time the Crimson Quill is dipped in rouge. It must bear relevance to me otherwise how can I expect others to feel the same way?
Instantaneously the gears were greased, the precise moment the idea gestated. Thus, Fifty Shades of Crimson was concocted that same evening, my protective goggles got a run-out and, in true worker ant fashion I shouldered the immense weight of carrying the torch. Actually it’s the flip opposite, I’ll never feel burdened by such an honour. In fact, it provides me opportunity to work even closer with those who religiously await a fresh verse. Makes it more intimate is what it does, spontaneous and relevant. It keeps me steering this vessel on its projected course, without deviation or procrastination.
This, I believe is why more folk are cottoning on to Keeper. Horror has been in dire straits for too fucking long a time, isn’t it time the fans get what they desire? For far too protracted a period it has been the suits who have dictated the scene. Making movies for financial gain as opposed to actually caring about what bile they churn out year after year. It is the reason why I fastened myself to the relentless TOK wagon and why I have championed it so.
It took the good old independent filmmakers to get us back on track, people who have the courage of their convictions. Folk that awaken each morning with a burning desire to make fine art, whether that may be visual or the written word. I got sick to the incisors of the same sorry treatment we were receiving so thought ‘fuck this for a game of hopscotch’. They do say that if you want a job doing… I will forever encourage involvement from the Grueheads, after all we’re in this together. It’s a little like Jim’ll Fix It, only without the molestation backstage. Earlier in the article I made mention of projected course but, truth be known, I haven’t the faintest insight into where that may be. Just the way Keeper likes it.
Take this piece of literature; what started as an opportunity to balance the scales has transmogrified into a wholly different creature. Moreover, I have no inkling how it will end or how many verses the sequence will ultimately comprise, just how I like it. The piece you read now began as an article tackling the battle of the sexes and getting us all singing from the same sheet of verse. The Equal Perving Rights For Ladies League have taught Keeper much. Rivers of Grue is a free love enterprise and it is for all of us. Thus this piece (or sequence, I haven’t decided yet) is all of ours. It ties in well with my pre-determined mantra, the War of the Crimson Roses is now upon us. However, instead of that denoting men and women trying to locate that common soil; now it is every one of us taking that next step in unison.
Rivers of Grue has a share tab at the close of each page, should we use it and drive this forward then we can take it to another plateau. I’ve been overwhelmed by the response to some of the comments I have received in response to what the Quill spills each day, keep it coming and you will receive it straight back. Retweet, sound the horns, join the militia. It will bear the most delectable fruits for all of us. The site I have crafted with such subterranean affection currently doesn’t yield monetary repense. That was never my primary intention, it was therapy for a 38-year-old gentleman who had spent much of his life with a voice that nobody heard. The reason behind that is elementary: I simply wasn’t shouting loud enough. Fuck money, I belief stoutly that it will come in time but, for the time being, I shall continue working a job I despise to finance the true goal I set out to achieve.
I run a high street store, sadly a chain. I wished never to be in that position; peddling somebody else’s narcotic for their gain and my migraine. However, until I place Rivers of Grue where I believe in my heart of hearts that it deserves to be wholly, I’ll keep pushing their soulless shit. No worries; I spent five years employed by Local Authority so shovelling boar swill would be a step in the right direction. I will close with this final poser. Do you believe we have something unique here? If the answer is yes then we are forearmed for the bloody path ahead. And I know that there are no finer collective to take the pilgrimage alongside than my adored Grueheads.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013