Another day, another method to my madness. I honestly don’t have the slightest awareness from one day to the next what my seemingly contorted mind will conjure up with next. You see, one day bleeds into the next right now. I live on Stateside time permanently (other than weekends which are spent with my beautiful son) and sleep through the day like Nosferatu. All this while leading a formidable family into the bright future we all crave.
Is it difficult? Hell yes it is. Do I mind? Hell no I don’t. The reason for this? Elementary, I perch myself in the shadows, it’s where I’m most comfortable. I see all, but often I prefer to sit back and survey the wondrous sights before me. I wish only to lead you towards the crimson lights; the passage from thereon in has to be your own. Free choice; I will never wish to take away another’s unique voice, your path is yours and I love that you take it.
Consider where we are now. Let me elaborate…my Sisters of Grue. These bodacious belles have found the most rhythmic manner in which to chirp their song. This piece is for you…one and all. If I tag #Sister that means I’m looking straight into your resplendent peepers and relaying this to you personally. Every single soul quenches prose in its own way and that is a sight powerful enough to drain my sorrows, siphon them into the quill I grasp with such dark pride and dispel them.
Once ultimately released they have transmogrified and kiss each one of you. Be it gentle, delicate kisses on foreheads, both cheeks, necks or more lingering passionate embraces dripping crimson honey, that decision…is yours and yours alone. Am I promiscuous? I prefer flirtatious but, make no error, there’s no conceit in my actions. I have so much love inside of me; space has been cleared and it has filled with what you all bring me unreservedly.
Fellas, I haven’t forgotten y’all. Brothers, it’s all about the bromance. I have a separate piece planned for that one…more a beers and bud affair (but spooning is perfectly acceptable). My pelt fits me exquisitely once again as it did when I was a boy. No pretense to nonsense; not any more, I’ve suffered fools gladly and guzzled corporate cum for too long and it’s time for the spit-out.
My ladies? Reel it in Keeper, there’s nothing which stokes the female flames more than lack of staying power. A moment to refocus…..there DONE! I considered breaking this down and speaking of each femme-fatale in turn but I’ve done that before. Time is of the essence so I shall generalize without procrastination. Each and every one of you is quenching yourself intimately…I encourage that boundlessly.
My love works in two ways, if another is hurting and drowning in self-doubt it manifests in the most delicate thoughtful manner. I kiss each of you with softness and place my healing hands on your soul whilst stroking you and reassuring you of that belief being acceptable, moreover, vital. When you wake in the morning you are refreshed and Keeper is nowhere to be seen. I have however left a crimson rose, glistening with freshly picked morning dew and bleeding ever so intricately into the pillow indentation which I leave behind. You discern it to spell Keeper.
The other way it swings is more furious and impulsive. Controlled with constancy but unpredicted and unrehearsed at all times. I have a tongue you know…it’s wild. It is burly and unrelenting, quicker than a rattlesnake in a bobsled. It darts, flicks and pulls me in with forceful but always affectionate and respectful vigor as the kiss becomes deeper, my teeth bite on your lips and my peepers flinch not from the blistering beauty before me. Honey is produced, the cogs start turning. They grease with every clutch, every plunder, every pulse.
I lick, suck, ferociously love when in this menstrual state. Of course, I make no apologies for my candid prose, as I know you appreciate the openness in my gesture. It always brings us back to love. In whichever of its various guises it is nothing if not sincere. Remember, eye-contact is unwavering regardless of circumstance, feelings unconditional, all-embracing, true, real, sincere.
Right now I am en route to my local tattoo parlor, woefully tardy and praying I make it before the shutter drops. I intend on two simple finely calligraphed words, one on the back of my neck and the other along my navel as a gesture to the Grueheads. I remain pursed-lipped until the crimson has bled but hopefully, as y’all read this there will be exclusive accompanying imagery to support all I scribe here. My bus is due to pull into the station in a matter of three minutes so the quill shall refill its crimson on the other side, or flip-flop, as I prefer to refer to it. Persistent traffic keeps me lodged in the flip when all I want to do is see the flop but I can almost smell the heady concoction of ink and sweat in my polyps as I scribe.
Like the man wearing orthopedic shoes, I stand corrected. What a pleasurable experience that was; exquisite feeling having your neck inked let me tell you. No perspiration, the artist had spent three hours painting a ‘kicker’ on his calf so this was the perfect wind down to his day. You wanna peek?..in time Grueheads. Not teasing but let’s just say its coming. My second design will need rescheduling as they had homes to go to evidently. Their name? Originality. How could I not have stepped inside?
Speaking of the unique, my sisters of grue have had the crimson flag hoisted of late; frequent bleeds to feed upon and some startling results. Goddamn, they can wrangle their prose. To all of you, the most sincere thank you. I scribe at my optimum when inspired by belief and there’s a lot of that going on within these gushing crimson reservoirs. What I read evokes the most positive response, each word bled is meticulously sculpted to show my gratitude.
The ink denotes passage to a new chapter in my transience. I don’t suspect I’ll be hunched in a comfy chair in twenty years time, necking Custard Creams with my bingo bride Beryl. If I reach that marker then Jammie Dodgers would be my biscuit of choice. Right now, it’s day-to-day which, considering the fact that the sun and moon separate them, means it’s one big rollover.
Do you like it? It rocks a little doesn’t it! Pastures new, I’ve been grazing here for some time now but I see it now with new hope, enthusiasm, verve. Not all of you call me Keeper but the sentiment is the same for all. Take comfort in the knowledge that I will never forsake you as our paths have crisscrossed for a purpose. Our crimson family is rising to this fresh dawn. What a glorious sight to behold.
Sin from within,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
#BrutalWordWrangler #CrimsonHoneyDripper #CruelWordSculptor
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013