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Fear Factory Linchpin

savage
adjective – (of an animal or force of nature) fierce, violent, and uncontrolled.

Something wicked this way comes. With predatory instincts attuned and his taste for bloodletting adequately whetted it is, once again, nigh time for this gargantuan enigma to share with us the fruit of his sizable loins. Keeper has been afforded the most exquisite vantage to Mad Matt’s throbbing cerebellum, front row seats, and it tasted of passion and grit. A few months ago I pledged my allegiance to his cause and it is never something I would undertake lightly. The peepers got me, good and proper. I’ve found countless ways of labeling these sparkling baby blues but right now I wish only to enlighten you as to one facet, that being integrity. I can attest to their authenticity having met and perpetually linked nodes with our Dark King, he shows unwavering pride and zeal in his craft, is ravenous for learning and has a million ways inside his beautiful acorn to shoot a kick ass horror film to have y’all raising your bloody fists.

It really was an environment conducive to our shared madness, one of the largest ocean liners and easily most haunted. The closed-quarters would have asphyxiated many but we sucked in our guts (at least I did, his is fit to iron your linen on) and drank in the dark energy. Not many minds would have been twisted enough to make it through the following five days unscathed but we reached our goal in the most macabre and intoxicating manner. Electricity flowed, bounced and became absorbed as we shared the nectar of one another’s deepest cerebral sanctums. The results were and are staggering, a significant slice of slasher history has just been fashioned and it was all conceived within this tainted cabin. The Orphan Killer had to come from a pretty sick mind right? You’re damned right. What it really is however is an artist who knows how to channel his darkness into something of true poignancy.

I continue to be bowled over by the vast capacity of Mad Matt’s repertoire. One glance at his paintings, particularly the one hung in his bed quarters, was enough to extract the creative fluids within my cranial crust and bathe my circuitry in sweet honey. I stood there, latte in hand, lightly baked and fell headlong into its mesmeric gaze. The colors splash with absolute intention and control of abandon, each square inch reacts at you in a totally individual manner. Certain images scream bloody murder and others offer hope and tranquility. This man knows the power of true art and, moreover, he has it fused to every receptor in his brain. The term dead behind the eyes is not applicable here and instead I prefer the term burning behind them. If you gaze long enough into his ocean blues you will discern vivid orange flickers as it percolates beyond the veil perpetually.

Dang he looks good. Regular workouts at Glendale Fighting Club keep him match ready and, ladies, I know y’all wanna know how he looks in tight fitting gym attire. Aerodynamic, stacked and…go on, you dragged it out of me, hung…are three words which spring to mind. Quite the basket Mad Matt weaves, I could’ve balanced my Caramel Frappe on the mantle between his legs. Bravo! Watching him train allowed me to witness a different kind of channeling and the dark energy was gushing from his pores as he focused intently throughout. To witness that drive in another is something which sparks the fuse in one’s soul and our monarch carries the belief in his endowments in everything he turns his hand to. That shit is infectious.

It also happens that our Dark King is one funny motherfucker, I laughed until I wept and had chest pains to show for our exploits upon the vessel. But one thing which really shined through for Keeper is that he was real; not a ‘prod him and he’ll snarl’ kind of real, more the kind of real when you know you can just be you as he is totally relaxed in his own pelt and openly kind and considerate at all times. This is the side that the haters don’t see as they’re too wrapped up hating on a fellow indie who has proven his aptitude more than once before and clearly has the visionary mind slasher flat out needs to wrench it from the post-eighties slump it has languished in. Moreover these fools forget that this is a filmmaker who naturally makes things happen on set, gets the very best from his cast members and runs a focused ship. He has the technical inventory, a solution-focused mind which enables him to construct a scene in the very best manner achievable.

In the eighties it was so much more competition to be a true slasher icon; folks took sides, some opting for Freddy, others Jason and the smart money was on Myers but there were multitudes of heinous hopefuls waiting in the shadows for the slightest slip up. Nowadays, it’s slim pickings I’m afraid. Victor Crowley and Chromeskull have been the only vaguely memorable killers over the last decade and both have stalled in the starting blocks. Marcus Miller however, still has that gloss of mystique about him, despite vocalizing his discord. Like Victor von Frankenstein Mad Matt supplied him a heart, breathed dead air into his lungs and cut the bloody umbilical. This bastard child will be haunting our dreams long after other pretenders give up the ghost. For that, we have Mad Matt Farnsworth to thank.

This all brings us neatly back to the word ‘savage’. Why him, what makes our Dark King so delectably savage? Is he fierce? Undoubtedly, one look into his mind’s eye was enough to exhibit his ferocity. Violent? Affirmative. He tears up the screen like a bull with a Matador. Uncontrolled? Absolutely, he may show restraint and control where necessary in his art but the true dark essence he bleeds is impossible to pinpoint. It is or it isn’t, it’s as simple as that and the case of Matt Farnsworth, it most definitely is. Salut.

Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

First Knight of TOK

Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014