Listen to Suggested Audio
Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr “Me and My Shadow”
What a beautiful quote to commence with. And the very toastiest of welcomes to each and every last pair of warm hands we discern. It has been a period of tremendous transition for the Rivers of Grue and finally, after years of flowing with purpose, they have the opportunity to do so freely. This has been a monumental time for both of us, particularly given the swiftness with which the crimson tide came rolling in to embrace us. But there is far more going on here than just a handful of charmed chemicals. When our pathways crossed for the first time, both of us were in clear and present danger, careering wildly towards the dreaded moment when faith finally becomes extinguished. Last light. Yet something truly extraordinary happened that chilly December evening and it is our sincere wish to share a little of that with you now, not to gloat of outrageous fortunes, but hopefully spark a flint for the Lovers amongst us.
It’s funny, so many of our Dark Fusions tear things to tenebrous tethers and it would be easily assumed we’re the very darkest of souls. A couple of wrong ‘uns who’d do best behind the many buckles of restraint, drooling down our pale tunics. Perhaps you would even have a point, or at least, would have had until December 12th, 2017. That beloved friends and chosen family was the day when these two wrongs tallied up for the cause of right and slotted together like two halves of an ancient puzzle. In a hare’s heartbeat and less, unconditional love was professed. Two ways, one gaze, and a lush green hedge maze flecked in grey. Wonderland beckoned and the Elusive White Rabbit led the White-Knighted Keeper the very merriest of dances, one thoroughly steeped in advancement. Yet Route 66 was one half-dozen away from signposting where this waltz of ours was headed. Down ~ Down ~ Deeper ~ and Down. Never a frown as this timid turf was golden brown and positively strangling for insertion. Curiouser to the curiouser. Heart thumping furiouser. One leap. A hundred thousand brilliant shards, none of which left a scratch on the new skin we bled into. One merge. Done deal.
This is when we really need you to see us. This is when we lay ourselves bare to the scratchless bones. Our Citadel means so much more than more as it is a sanctuary and we are only ever looking to love out loud and live like we’re proud. Having endured the heartbreak of muchness and been stripped to the red and blue wires, we both chose the former and spliced into one mass of crystalline light as fantasy bled reality straight out for the time it took to reboot. Crazy as it sounds and we’d really like if it did as loose cannons are still cannons after all and therefore cool as shit, it’s straight up to the G double in “get the fuck outta here nagga”; the sevenfold vermouth of reddest graped truth. Two twin flames, one dagger-laden cobalt cloak, an infinite number of ways in which to love one another. And an infinite number of reasons to sparkle for all those who light our dark skies.
“When A devil falls in love, it’s the most hauntingly beautiful thing ever seen.
And you should be terrified, for he will go to the
depths of hell for her.”
• As she will go to the depths of hell for him.
Here is where our chosen art forms enable to channel the deep red flow onto each white parchment canvas we so adoringly adorn. Always with love and care. Always with laser point attention to each miniscule detail. The little things are rather frequently the very biggest and a complete and locked down understanding of one another affords the optical clarity to truly fuse to the nodes. We’re talking six active Muses, and by Jove are they rowdy, each packing five fat knuckles just to say howdy. They dress dowdy but don’t tell ’em we said that. Let’s just keep that between the Citadel walls shall we? Not a wink of sleep shall be our penance if the cat ‘o nine peers out atop the quiver. Actually Hell to the fuck, caffeinated equates to fully fueled and that, in turn, translates to no early morning bed heads. Besides, we can catch up once our bodies threaten to shut down, one organ at a time. The Merge may be a plenty energizing activity, but best just keep that docking station handy at around the 52-hour beacon; for continuation purposes you understand.
Once we get right down to the diodes, the energy flows with constancy, and this enables us to speak through singular tongue, either through Prose or Art. The stimulation to go buck wild that derives from simply being a boy and girl in the very truest and deepest of loves is one of such ferocious intensity. Needless to say, it can but bleed through in every way possible as something so pure needs to be celebrated we feel. We can apply each stroke as broadly or finely as our crystalline heart desires. And it desires. Unholy fuck does it desire. It desires to admire. To respire. Aspire. Inspire. Rewire. Start fires. And elevate every last one of us that little bit higher in one most vicious gust of devotion. Create our little big hearts out, appreciate The Art in Fusion, feel empowered to spark those plugs, really make a great deal of noise and none of it white. Let others hate and find peace with that. Don’t hate them back. Perhaps love them a little harder. But never surrender that blaze. That’s the very last thing that should go.
There’s heart and soul in every last Dark Fusion and, while the latter may appear blackened in pitch, it’s actually precisely the opposite. We tackled harsh realities way back at twinned-install and savaged them with the very reddest of blue eyes, faded grey. Nothing scares us when absolutely no topic is off-limits or action hamstrung by human error. Head on we burst through the barriers and shatter each time into these very streams. Some of our works are for Serial Killers, and others, for Lovers. Needless to say, it’s all quiet on the Manson front for this one. But that actually suits us right down to the mercury. You see, if a solitary Lover follows the trail of Fused Ivy to its conclusion, then we truly are architects of love and that is a warm glow to kindle on these cold winter nights. Scorched wings. Heaven sent via Hell. A vast universe of gain, dusted with dazzling stars. And at the bloody heart that pulses within and always did ~ Twin Flames.
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill
© Copyright: Rivers of Grue™