Brute, Entity, Animalistic, Savage, Troglodyte
Suggested Audio Candy
Neneh Cherry “Manchild”
We’re growing ever closer to Miller Time bitches!!! Three concurrent nights, three breeds unleashed and the final snarl will come from none other than our own Marcus Miller. He’s been feeding you see, this beast is ravenous, and awaiting instruction on tearing us all asunder limb from gloriously bloody limb. The Orphan Killer will soon arrive in your living room spewing his tepid aluminum breath across the wispy hairs which stand erect on the backs of those necks right now. He will not be denied and there is no leash burly enough to restrain him for much longer so the inevitable barbarities are all set to play out tomorrow evening to a packed dog house.
At any rate, enough of this jugular-jerking juggernaut as there is a full day’s cycle before we reconvene and this particular sequence requires me to undertake a pilgrimage of sorts. I can’t simply go in with wank cannons blazing, there needs to be ample foreplay before we all get shafted. Originally intended for launch last week, I just wasn’t down and dirty enough to breach its panties. Acute exhaustion and frail mental threads took my eye off the filthy prize for a second or three. So I placed it in the gestation chamber and gestate it did. After a few days of pulsating suggestion, I know now how to tackle my objective. A mere man cannot scribe from the soul of the beast without first grabbing some perspective. Thus I have spent the last twenty-four stretch beasting it up, perched in squalor, whilst getting a little grime beneath my cuticles. Right now the scent of urine is stinging my nostrils and I wouldn’t have it any other way as I need this clarity.
I have been required to release my inner vermin and haven’t so much as flannel washed in three days. In addition, I possess a brace of lungs currently chock full of smog and heaving, talons like sordid stalagmites, and two streaming nostrils which appear to be menstruating. Any prior run-ins with harsh barbiturates have somewhat compromised any nasal hull integrity and systems are currently running at a round 25%. I’m fairly assured that’s not a positive but, at least, it can’t be argued that I’m not beast enough. I’m beastmaster right now, teen wolf’s shattered placenta, the beast of a thousand lesions, if you like. I find myself currently searching for the most boorish undertaking to prove my mettle as prospective savage, something as filthy as sullied period panties. offence but my inner beast must be freed from its shackles to successfully explore the motivations of its kindred. I’m not prepared to guzzle a turd or anything that unsavory and neither will I glug down my own dick liquor. Thank the heavens above that my beast is well-trained and gets his kicks elsewhere.
Allow me to paint you a vista. My precise coordinates are in an old rundown cemetery over by some dilapidated urinal a full ten yards from the nearest garland. I don’t believe the dead would find it disrespectful if I lessened the load somewhat and strip away all this unnecessary fabric baggage so here goes. Let’s not get it twisted, I wouldn’t be so blasphemous as to lay the smackdown on my unleashed monster. Besides, it’s a chilly night and my once proud barbarian now resembles a timid sea urchin. This experiment has never been about debauchery. There will be no self-defilement, nothing depraved, this is only about being at one with my surroundings.
I can put it off no further. I’m going to do this, Daniel Day-Lewis and Christian Bale would do this in the sake of their art. I will be required to remove many layers of clothing which, tonight, consists of the following: two coats, one hat, a scarf, three sweaters, insulated gloves, and a pair of thermals (don’t mock them until you try them). I’m blowing out more smoke than a saxophonist in a wine bar but there can be no turning back now as The Eye of The Tiger is about to reach its crescendo in my cranium. You want a status report? Well try this for size Grueheads. I’m down to my jockeys and only a single word springs to mind in this moment, that word being “fuck!!!” The things we do for art huh? I feel that evidence of my conquest is necessary and only fair but, in the words of Bryan Adams, I’d do it for you (not through choice, more personal amusement to keep my spirits from further flagging).
Any chance of this exceeding a couple more short stanzas is decidedly slim as it can be a bothersome pursuit when hypothermia is already knocking at the door. However, true to form, I am presently in the exact state in which the Gods created me, ergo, butt naked. Actually, fuck this for a game of toy soldiers, it’s just too cold. Time to wrap up faster than a mid-flush turd; before my marrow crystallizes perpetually. For those fleeting and intoxicating moments, however, I was fully fledged beast. I report back any findings sincerely as y’all know, and I can say with fair assurance that I really took one for the team tonight. I’m sure my inner beast will return given time, bread, water, and a substantial bath, but for now the memory of my madness shall be exclusively mine forevermore. Lucky Keeper.
There is no epiphany to be gleaned here, shit is still processing, and shall be investigated farther in the third B.E.A.S.T. entry which will be landing on your laps in the morrow of the to. For now, I suggest resting easy with the knowledge that my beast is lurking somewhere, perhaps closer than you think. Leave me a dish of milk on your doorstep and I’m more than contented. Better yet, invite me inside for a warm mug of cocoa and I’ll be simply cock-a-hoop over the prospect of a little harmless nuzzling. While I have enjoyed my time as an overfiend to some extent; I think I’m happier living the life of a homosapien for the foreseeable. Don’t fret over your crockery and I shall take great care not to spill your Earl Grey. Who knows? Perhaps we could play a few rounds of Scrabble together once you feel more at ease. D…E…V…O…U…R. That’s ten points and triple word score bitch!
Click here to read Orphaned Breed
The Beast Within…IT SINS!!!
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013
Reblogged this on Death Maiden Musings.
Rawr. I’m fucking beast. Snarl. See?