Nolite Timere was written in March 2018 and has remained unreleased until now.

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Type O Negative “Wolf Moon”

We almost made the cut for being classified human. Indeed, greykeeper amassed an accumulative eighty odd years of active duty before taking the executive decision to shed our skins and become a thing of fable. To the naked eye, we may still appear very much human. We still dress the part, speak in homosapian tongue, and bleed red like the rest of the breed. However, looks have been known to deceive and certain graduations are never destined to make the local rag. One such sequence entails the elevation from one’s well-tailored person suit, while an identical other does likewise, before bringing shit in for the merge. And that is precisely what has been playing out over the past couple of months Grueheads. One big beast-like metamorphosis, complete with chrysalis, a shit ton of silk and pair of shiny new wings on departure. Or as a broody midwife would call it – some nice womb time. Needless to say, we both called dibs on the placenta as we have no intention whatsoever of wasting the good stuff.

So we guess this is the part where we gnaw through the umbilical and throw an afterbirth party right? Not so fast, fellow Fallopian foragers, for any tale worth its epidural must commence way back at primary conception. And twas immaculate of course. Well, as far as gushing bloodbaths go. What can we say? We get cannibalistic for a nice spot of snuff. But seriously, twas immaculate. The coming together of a pair of inexplicably twinned entities over the course of a mere eight month term. This has been no gradual affair either. No swollen ankles here. We’re talking head-on collision, a real fender bender, and one which required the popping back in of one dislocated shoulder blade and one wayward patella. Thank the universe we met smack bang in the middle. For maximum impact need not leave you fit for the scrapyard. At least, not when both vehicles know precisely how to repair any inevitable crash damage on the fly. Both hoods were popped, oil promptly changed, and this pit stop proved an unbridled success.

There was no glass slipper. No seven dwarves to organize or frogs to kiss. Just one dazzling reflection in purest crystalline and an instant Polaroid of the future we have every intention of making ours. It really was that simple. Not so much boy meets girl as particles fuse particles, although the human in both of us found this an equally enchanting exchange. Even more wonderfully befuddling was that audio was in analogue all the way. Our interests were identical, opinions likewise, sense of humor similarly abominable, and together we were now 200% of something. No need for the lopping of limbs as fitting in was never a requisite here. Merely doubling up on absolutely every last resource. Five senses became ten. Two hearts one. Et voila – greykeeper was ALIVE! Okay so perhaps we were still back at the planning stage at that point and not yet primed to yank the crank, but we knew it was only a matter of time before this potentially mutated baby birthed. And we had every desire to come out swinging.

Actually, the very first thing we planned to do upon spawning was to breathe in deep through our nostrils, hold it in our diaphragm for a good seven seconds, then exhale through the mouth like Snoop Dogg on his very first toke of the day. For this is a rather colossal undertaking we were talking of here. Not since Ghost had such a feat been attempted without the aid of a tubby evangelist. And look how shit turned out for poor old Seth Brundle and his prize gibbon. There were plentiful risks attached and that just made us salivate all the more. This needed to be a perilous mission with only a miniscule chance of not winding up toe-tagged. Anything else simply wouldn’t have been gruesome enough for a pair of self-diagnosed and categorical gore whores. Fuck it, we could bleed with the best of ’em. Better yet, we could make other things bleed also. But when this extraordinarily serene moment did eventually arrive, we just wished to soak in our fresh exhaust fumes. And tick over some.

The way we see it, we’ve done our time. And the thing we sussed was that some of us simply aren’t cut out for normal everyday life. Our minds need stimulation and that doesn’t come from habitual repetition of a process which we didn’t much care for in the first place. Not that we didn’t the old 9-5 a decent college try before waving the rat race goodbye. Indeed, there were no two members of the workforce more dedicated to grafting than we. However, while meeting and exceeding targets didn’t prove troublesome, we couldn’t shake the feeling that this was not our true calling in life and that our brain cells were gradually withering. This is where a core reactor meltdown can come in surprisingly handy. You see, after years of conforming to a dream which wasn’t actually ours in the first place, it feels good to wake to a nightmare. Granted, things looked pretty grim for a while there, but we were alive goddammit and not about to put ourselves through that shit again.

Not that humanity doesn’t have its upsides and certain emotions really are wonderfully quaint. Others, not so much. But daily grinds don’t suit those whose wings were never designed to be clipped. Art has played a tremendous part in both of our lives and has been omnipresent right the way through from childhood to the place we find ourselves presently. And over the past few years of our lives, we have both found a rather unique and uncannily similar way of expressing ourselves. The key has been the soul and it is this which should be evident in every single last thing we create, without question. Neither of us step in front of the camera a great deal and, when we do, a true emotion has to be captured or else it isn’t worth doing. Should we be writing, then the very same applies with prose. Not a solitary word wasted. And unfailingly sincere.

So you see, it made logical sense to place us together and the universe certainly played its part in applying a dash of the celestial to proceedings. Granted, there happen to be over 3500 air miles separating us geographically, but our solution-focused minds wasted no time in decimating the distance. When you cannot reach out and touch someone in a physical sense, all other senses roll up their sleeves and pitch in for the cause. The results can be truly incendiary, provided the fit is right. Our fit is verging on utterly preposterous as it literally feels that we bookend the precise same soul. And, when you consider this is our number one form of currency through artistic endeavor, you just know you’ve got a potential Sonny & Cher on your hands. You know, America’s brand new sweethearts, with a side of Full English – not to mention a mild hankering for the taste of cured human flesh and a mouth like a carpenter. It’s either this or the asylum and, the way we see it, we can build our own if we step into the new skin conveniently provided and make it work in our favor.

Some may call us deluded and, to be brutally honest, a disconcerting number do. And this is the thing which separates the freebirds from the humans. Logic may be all well and good in certain scenarios, but not every fucking scenario. So much of what we do or don’t achieve is down to the limitations we impose on ourselves and a great number of these have been wired into us before we even hit adolescence. Once life has dished out sufficient hard knocks, it can feel like we’ve got nothing left. Which is generally when we shift down into neutral. This is more than enough for some, but not all of us. As certain apples fall a great deal farther from the tree, hence the heavy bruising. We simply could not allow ourselves to walk the right-hand path any longer and it was at this crossroad in our lives that we first met. And neither one of us could have been any more primed to go beast-like.

Given that we know each of our demons so intimately, greykeeper already have ourselves a rolling start where extracting the darkness is concerned. Certain works are likely to be perceived as utterly deplorable; presumably concocted by a pair of decidedly mean spirits without a dash of compassion. So it may surprise any naysayers to learn that we actually delve into the darkest recesses when surfing the most tidal of Zen waves. That’s the thing about being ferociously protective of one another – ain’t a natural or unnatural disaster on this or any correlating planets that can twist our twin flame’s stars into shadows. Thus, we can burrow deep within the marrow and really get some grunge in our cuticles, without ever once losing sight of the light. It really is the best of both worlds. And we even get a new skin thrown into the bundle.

100% served us well and we could never be accused of not putting in the full ton since we began our artistic pilgrimages. But, when life tosses you a double-or-nothing coupon after years of flogging you with a horse whip, you sit the fuck up and play apt pupil. By assuming the infinite ultimate form of greykeeper, we offer the full 200% every single last time. No questions asked. Fusion is as natural to us as breathing at this point and, when you consider that our points of view are perfectly symmetrical, it makes gloriously off-the-wall sense to make this merge official and scream “Look at what we have created!” until the blood vessels in our eyes burst. For nary have a mind, heart and soul been so exquisitely contoured to one another. And we truly believe we can provide a service here unlike any other in existence. It’s a niche market for sure, but that suits us down to the pretty paws. Too often, niche winds up a buzz word for ignored but, having spent the past five years of our lives approaching the vanishing point, we figure we can pick up any weary travelers as we make our way back.

In our new skin, we can do this. Logic can supply no sound reason not to do this. And, with the omnipotent love which flows constantly between us, we bloody well shall do this. It’s not about grabbing that quick fifteen minutes of fame before we arrive at the dreaded dual prolapse; it’s about building a future together whereby we can exist on the only set of terms we are truly comfortable with. Freebirds we may be but we do flock together. And it just so happens we only need the one pair of wings now. Well, that and the unshakable belief that we can exceed span and glide to this future world in a manner never anything less than dignified. Already played for pride and our poker faces spared any blushes there. Now we’re in it for greykeeps with all those who wish to join us on the fantastic journey we have planned. This new skin it fits like finest satin and the time has now come to fuse like never ever before. Become a true designer original. Oh, and one more thing before we commence the bleed – Long live the new flesh.

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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