Cranium Insanium Verse III

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Sequence So Far

Prologue
Verse I
Verse II

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My faith has been renewed and my swagger reinstated but that nagging feeling still exists within me. Since my summit with bloody brother Matt I have meandered around with no apparent inkling as to what my direction should be. My head is hung at half-mast as I really do fear this particular aggressor.

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It’s not his size, which is virtually the equivalent of mine. Not the mask on his face or the bloody weapon he wields either. The reason my intestines are so platted (we’re talking Pippi Longstocking platted) is this: he is just like you and me, breathes the same air, inhabits the same streets. While that should be of some diminutive consolation to Keeper right now, it just makes him all the more foreboding.

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When I first honed in on this vicious beast during Marcus Miller: A Horror Icon For The Download Generation, I put myself squarely on his radar. Sure, he has made it clear that he has bigger fish to fry, Audrey and Matt are the hors d’eouvre, I’m just entrée and that’s fine and dandy with me. But I think he’s spotted something in the Keeper of the Crimson Quill which has assured him of my use, that is also clear. Maybe that should dissipate some of the dread I feel but, alas no dice.

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If there is anything I have learned the past fistful of months, and believe me when I state that there have been many, then it is that I have strength where once there was frailty, belief when before it was skepticism and love which has transmogrified from blind hatred.

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It is channeled brute I talk about; life isn’t for spreading bitterness and spewing forth rage or, worse still, indifference. Channel it into something sacred and intimate to you; if you are handy with a brush – paint, sound good in the shower – sing, be particularly good at the naked rumba – fuck. Whatever your gift is…use it. Don’t let your life pass you by as it will if you allow such. Put that negative shit in a receptacle, label it up, then turn it into something phenomenal.

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That’s it, I’m charged. I’m the Keeper of The Crimson Fucking Quill. Bloody brother once told me nobody slays better and that ain’t something I should take with a pinch of salt. He has empowered me and, in advance, bequeathed me his First Knight. I can puff out my chest and hold my chin aloft. It is time to believe what is prophecized and bleed the Crimson Quill once again.

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Suddenly I topple from the pedestal I am clambering up, as I feel a sharp pain in my gut. The precise coordinates of the fissure crafted by Marcus during our lively union. I pull my jockeys down to reveal the exact locale and feel myself starting to wretch. Spitting out pure crimson now, I glance at my smoothly shaven tattooed lower-naval and projectile vomit grue as it recommences bleeding. It’s as though it still gyrates under the blubber. It gushes. Marcus Miller has arrived.

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Read Epilogue

Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

First Knight of TOK
#BrutalWordWrangler #CrimsonHoneyDripper #CruelWordSculptor #ThePiper
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013

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