Suggested Audio Breadcrumb:
The Police Message In A Bottle
Come and get your breadcrumbs my friends, they are scattered across the ground
Feel free to peck away to your heart’s content, as there are plenty to go around
Should you be familiar with my work, then you should already be aware that I love nothing more than to toss these delightful little morsels about with gay abandon. So what exactly is a breadcrumb then? That’s easy, a breadcrumb is exactly what you desire it to be, whether that be a discreet little offering that only bears relevance to a single soul or a relative meat loaf for all to feast upon freely. Ultimately however, it is a beat of my heart, a knowing kiss delivered from my lips to yours. It is through breadcrumbs that I reveal my softest side and also my most playful, but one thing is a given. You see, every last one has been left there intentionally. Whether they are ever unearthed depends entirely on you, the reader, and how open you are to their suggestion.
So how does one spot a breadcrumb then? After all it is merely a speck in the grandest of all schemes. Has it been doused with neon food-coloring agents to assist it in standing out? Not necessarily, it could slap you upside your head but, more often than not, it’s more likely to simply wash over you like a warm country breeze. Your choice or, more accurately, mine. When I am in mid-flow, perched in my frozen outpost concocting vials of honey, my mind is the most rampant of rabbits. The Crimson Quill has a tendency to get ahead of me sometimes and I’ve been known to enter a comatose state once scribing commences.
It’s not uncommon for me to have no inkling whatsoever as to what has just gushed and, believe me, when proof-reading I’ve been taken aback on a number of occasions. There have been times when I swear I have needed to bathe directly after reading the shit that glugs from my crimson instrument, just to wash away the excess grime. I once refused to talk to myself for nearly an hour out of sheer disgust at what my deviant mind had come up with that day. Even then I received no apology from myself and came away feeling pedantic.
So you see, I’m not actually responsible for the placement of said breadcrumbs. That shit gets sorted in processing, and I am just the dithering douche at the end of the delivery line, getting it ready to ship. That does, in turn, afford me exclusive exposure to any passing grains and often these are encrusted through the entire body of my work, strewn from pillar through post and back once more to pillar. It is as though it is an unconscious decision on my part distributing these affectionate atoms but I am under no illusion that I am present and correct each time one is placed. Go figure.
Search and ye shall find, should you wish that to be the case. There is no dearth of these crimson croutons to dip into your soup of the day as my work is always seasoned meticulously before serving. I never really thought of myself as a gourmet chef, more the Swedish dude from The Muppets than Michel Roux Jr. I do a rather mean baked beans on toast but alas my repertoire is slight to say the least. When the Crimson Quill is fully bled however, I become the cook, the thief, his wife and her lover and the herb rack comes into play.
In a respect, I’m a Pied Piper of sorts; parping away on my handy pocket-flute and dancing some ridiculous waltz that a mime artist would be utterly ashamed of. I carry with me a bag filled with delicious candies, sprinkling them around me as I take each bounce through the Forest of Lost Souls. It’s a good job I keep a steady supply of breadcrumbs with me as it is easy to become hopelessly lost in all this foliage. We’re talking 70’s bush Grueheads, a dense thicket of imagination which has threatened to consume its Keeper on many a bleak midwinter night.
Speaking of which, if I catch up with Hansel and Gretel then I plan to give them a warm open-palmed clout for pilfering my idea and then having the audacity to get it patented. Little fuckers keep dropping their own breadcrumbs, but they’re nowhere near as tasty as Keeper’s tasty tidbits let me tell you. They seem to believe themselves to be a couple of clever dicks but the fact that they’re currently simmering in Witch Hazel’s cauldron suggests we can drop the clever in that statement. Besides, the particles I throw down are far more nourishing than any shitty little crumbs they scatter anyhoots.
Breadcrumbs have now become a staple of any Gruehead’s diet and provide the nutrients we desire to grow in stature and swim with our belief, rather than drowning face-down in the sludge as has been expected of us for too long. Remember to scour my prose for these little nuggets of wisdom as they are in no shortage of supply. Take them to heart should you wish or leave them be, that is your choice to make and I certainly won’t be applying any pressure to do either as that’s simply not my style.
I can lead a horse to water and admire the pendulum-like swing of its gargantuan schlong but cannot make it drink, contrary to common belief. Neither would I wish to as gently empowering the masses has always been the name of my game and I have no inclination to force those not ready to take the plunge. Neither do I lace each morsel with arsenic à la Flowers In The Attic as mass genocide doesn’t look good on one’s résumé and I have no wish to be remembered as that measly bastard with all the poisoned confectionary. These are benign little crumbs, each and every one designed to make you beam from ear to ear and never to blight you with indigestion or explosive diarrhea. I will never put them to nefarious use as I am not one to play sly games or use my prose to insinuate something unfriendly. Indeed, I find that a particularly underhand and, more critically cowardly approach and will never endorse it one iota.
The more you delve into Keeper’s hidden trove of treasures, the more ridiculous terms will begin to make sense. These are general readership breadcrumbs, designed to show just how my ridiculous mind works. Take Bonus Brain for example. To those unschooled my faithful sidekick may sound like the invention of an utter madman and, even after reading my verse in its entirety, may still reek of pure gobbledygook. But it all makes sense in my mind, this is how I choose to express. When other kids in my class were learning how to color in a nectarine I was designing grotesque imagery of sharks biting off bonces at their windpipes so I guess that explains how deep my sickness runs.
I shall continue to leave nibbles strewn across my work as it brings me closer to my audience. The fact that I use imagery as a large part of the Keeper experience and add optional audio accompaniment suggests that I am always looking at new ways to bridge that gap between us. Story Time is in its infancy right now but, over the next few months, I will be looking to record a series of filmed readings to allow you to hear my work in my native tongue. I shall be doing my best impression of Stevie Wayne, rocking each last Gruehead to sleep with my dulcet tones. Keep your eyes peeled for those breadcrumbs as they are all around us. You don’t have to search high and low, just let my prose wash over you from time to time and all shall become clear.
Little crumbs of sin,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014