The Art inFusion




Listen to Suggested Audio

[1] Poe “Hello”

[2] Sneaker Pimps “6 Underground”

[3] Portishead “Only You”


the process of causing a material or object to melt with intense heat so as to join with another.


Can you keep a secret Grueheads? If the answer is no and your lips have a tendency to flap with looseness, then fret not as the Rivers of Grue never did endorse sinking ships and besides, sharing equates to caring does it not? Granted, this doesn’t stretch to an unforeseen outbreak of head lice in the school yard or pubic hair on the soap bar, but generally it’s advisable to spread the wealth so to speak.

Speaking of which, that is precisely the aim of this little exercise. Breaking shit down to a molecular level; with the sole purpose of broader enlightenment. Before you start suspecting a full and complete vacation of senses, please allow us to elucidate further. You see, it’s all too easy to become blinded by what every other bugger is doing when we need only be keeping our eyes on the one prize under our own jurisdiction. No reason to be cagey or play the tactical game. Just put it out there for all to see and hopefully spark some fuses.

Hence, “The Art inFusion” is very much a gift from us to you and shall be partially delivered through merged tongue, in honor of the technique it’s exploring. It is our aim to lay it all out there and provide a dash of insight into the process of Dark Fusion, for the greater good you understand. There’s this misguided notion that we need to look out for number one and we pretty much take a number two on that single-minded suggestion. Surely it would be more shrewd to play sentinel for the many. Given that we’re better together and all. Fuck trade secrets, let’s all just live out loud shall we? And with that said, what say we dig our cuticles into some gray matter and see what shakes loose?

I guess a good place to start would be the very beginning, like any fairytale worth its leather bindings. Our opening Dark Fusion, “The Visitor”, taught us more than we could have possibly dreamed about the true benefits of this process. Crystalline is a word that has enjoyed a fair wedge of airtime recently and that’s because it was achieved the split microsecond we first merged. All the Keeper had to go on at that point in order to write this piece from Grey’s exclusive perspective were the posts within her dark corner of Instagram.

Had I been greeted by a thousand meme screams, then I’d never have been able to get a true grasp on her tongue. But it turns out her mouth wasn’t the thing doing the talking here. Never before had I been made privy to the soul of an artist with such pristine clarity and, in the time it took me to drag my eyes away from her work for long enough to blink, I was as fully versed as it comes. Needless to say, “The Visitor” gushed out of me like period blood; only without the crippling tummy cramps. Was I proud of the end result? Never ever been prouder.

The piece received an overwhelmingly positive response and prompted us to delve back into the rabbit hole a second time for the purpose of our shared Art. This time however, we planned to take things down to the very next sub-level and I knew well in advance of our conversation what that would entail. You see, Grey has always had a quiet fascination with the infamous Jack the Ripper and knows more about the most miniscule detail than most historians could ever stake claim to.

This comes as a result of meticulous research as she wishes to dig deeper beneath the cranial crust before firing up her trusty blow torch and getting beast-like. Alas, I’m not quite so hot on the swatting up side of things so decided to take a different approach when prising forth the prose to accompany her postcards of purgatory. Could it be that I’d ventured out-of-my-depth? Perhaps but who wants to mince about in the shallow end anyroad? That’s where the toddlers and old people piss. Fuck it, if we were doing this, then I was damn well gonna pack my snorkel and flippers.

“The Ripper” is written from first-person perspective and covers all five of its protagonist’s senses, one savage stanza at a time. This angle got our gray matter percolating madly and promptly resulted in a second boil. Why not double up while the leather apron is tied? Cover sight, smell, sound, taste and touch two times, just to dig the reader even deeper into the bloodiest marrow. After all, Jack was a highly skilled surgeon and would never dream of not offering front row seats to his debonair debridement.

“The Ripper” has been gathering dust and scratch in our Citadel for over a month now and we wouldn’t have it any other way as Grey has wrung every last droplet of blood-soaked sweat into the true meat and gravy – the utterly horrific and terrifyingly accurate death slides. These shall be the centre pieces; my prose can but wrap around such divine majesty adoringly. And we believe this will truly demonstrate the utter vitality of Fusion.

At last count, we were about to fist fuck the thirty mark with regards to Dark Fusions bled out. As my Fair Lady Grey would say – some are for Lovers and some, for Serial Killers. While we’re all about the synthesis, she would also go on to add that every emotion, thought, feeling, artery, membrane, nerve and muscle is put into every last Fusion. The standard has been set, our crystalline love is categorically imperishable, and inspiration comes from every last length of razor wire we crawl slowly across together. Thus motivation couldn’t be less of an issue.

I shit you never, we’ve even begun channeling each other’s Muses, while one slumbers. That is the level of synchronicity we share. If this all sounds suspiciously like smarmy swagger then I urge you to adjust those sets as we’ve waited long enough for a dash of self-belief and ain’t about to squander it. Our wish is to move the goalposts for united art on the whole and hopefully inspire others to do precisely the same. Make some noise, you know. Hearts on bloody cufflinks.

Boundaries need not exist here in the Citadel of our creation and that is why we have been able to step outside the box so nimbly. Given that we’ve effectively become one beating bloody heart, it made perfect sense to explore the “Merge” a little further. This is a process that will crop up often in our Dark Fusions and any grammar junkies among us may well wish to peel off their husk with box cutters at around this point. You see, we don’t need to spill soda on our qwerty pads to subtract our old friend SPACE BAR from the equation.


Should one such Merge play out, then the words will bleed together in the most literal of manners. To be fair, we use this technique every time we concoct a fresh vial. But we thought it would be cooler than Eskimo spunk to have some fun with our latest radioactive toy and hopefully get some Geiger counters crackling. No limits. Just fresh opportunities.



Given that we’ve been laying the foundations, it’s only right that a number of our Fusions have been of the introspective thesis variety. Living out loud and clear is a rather moreish endeavor and years of muffled screams have needed to be excised just to clear the debris some. However, now that we’ve locked in a rhythm, both of us are eager to further explore the fiction side of the hedgerow, whether short verse or fully fleshed fable.

With abstraction playing such a fundamental part in bidding farewell to the flesh and truly taking shit to Atlantis, it feels only fair and just that we take close heed of our Muses’ propositions. This is where those crystalline diameters come into play as we reflect back the very same lucent rays. I can step into Grey’s precious pelt in a half-beat and she can do likewise. The fact that we generally use different medias just makes our art all the more custom fitted. And the manner in which we implement this Merge varies from one post to the next.

One thing that isn’t variable is how deep we’re prepared to mine to search for the blackest tar. After all, they’re Dark Fusions right? And the macabre is the very tether that binds the majority of us. So what do you say we roll up our sleeves and get down to some good old-fashioned nightmare making. It’s funny, there’s me perched in my inner sanctum, going to extreme lengths to explain the manner in which giblets slide down a blade, and all the while I’m grinning like a quarter-wit. Back in the day, I would’ve needed to be teetering over my own bottomless chasm with a medicine ball tied to my ankle to draw this kind of darkness out of me; but that was before I was introduced to My Fair Lady’s Prose and promptly upended.

“Evocative” is one word I’ve heard used to describe it, “Searing” another, and I’m only too glad to offer both my full and indivisible endorsement. This is bone raw reading material Grueheads and her grasp on the scalpel she wields is every bit as sturdy as it is on her blow torch. Indeed, I’ve learned more from Grey’s words in just a few short weeks than through my entire tenure as a scribe combined. How else could I stand up to “The Ripper” if not drip-fed the vital pieces from her beautiful mind?

I’ve been required to unlock the eighteenth-century poet locked up inside of me and this is precisely what has transpired. And that’s the point I wish to make here – we’ve all got an ocean of unspent potential inside of us and we just have to figure out how to access it. Do you reckon Bruce Lee was born with the ability to devastate using his five-fingered one-inch death punch? Of course he was, just needed to unlock it is all. Thus a dash of inspiration couldn’t be more vital.

And herein lies the true Art in the Fusion. Love. You see, this four-lettered word encourages us to reach that much deeper, fight that much harder, and live that much louder and clearer. We consider ourselves eternally blessed for the love that we share, one bereft of man-made condition, one that bids to understand as opposed to raising objection at every turn. One not hamstrung by jealousy, habitual miscalculation, mind games and guilt.

For every method in our madness, it is this first-hand emotion that empowers us to do our bloody worst. And you can’t learn that. It simply is or isn’t. And in the case of My Fair Lady Grey and I – it most certainly is. We may both possess the tools of the trade to make this happen, but it’s our unshakable devotion to one another that blows away the cobwebs just to make way for some more. Find that and we reckon you’re in business. Trust that, place it on the loftiest of pedestals, exalt it with every breath, and the remuneration will be truly incalculable.

So you see, there is absolutely no reason not to fuse. Whether or not this is fueled by crystalline love or not need not be the determining factor. Just find another artist with a vision which echoes your own, take whichever leap of faith is required to shoot from the soul first, sit back and watch those results. We consider ourselves wholly blessed to have located the very best of both and the rest just comes naturally.

I may scurry off to bleed out my Prose, but Grey will already be two steps ahead. She may release a fresh post to her Dark Corner or share whichever audio currently fires her pistons to her Facebook page and suddenly every word spilled becomes ours. Every canvas she attacks with her blow torch becomes ours. And that five-fingered one-inch death punch we’ve been attempting to master since kindergarten is unlocked accordingly, two times no less.

We received a comment only recently on Twitter that had a Lion-Hearted RAWRRRRR!!! out of both of us. It mentioned that it is becoming increasingly difficult to tell where one of us ends and the other begins. And this is precisely what we’re aiming for here. Every last one of our Fusions tells a different story and each is completely independent in structure. Only the other day, we released a short poem by the name of “The Wound Man” and this stemmed entirely from My Fair Lady’s need to empower the heal.

She knows what I’ve endured and her glorious Mixed Media piece was very much tailor-made to assist me in prising that poison out. She then photographed each individual detail to help break shit down to the atom and passed me the bloody baton. For this bleed, the Prose is very much my own, just as it was intended. But every time I read it back to remind myself just how far I have come, it’s the visuals which stir the greatest emotion.

Then we have audio and this is very much Grey’s department. Virtually every track used to heighten the ambiance has been carefully selected by her. I may chip in from time to time but, for all my ability to spot those audible diamonds in the rough, it is her sound judgement I trust implicitly to choose those real armor-piercers. For “The Wound Man”, she selected the piano version of Rammstein’s “Mein Herz Brennt” and then went on to provide the English translation of the lyrics. As a result, intensity is ramped up to the nines for a mere pit-stop and the whole package deal becomes that much more emotionally charged. Of all the gifts I’ve been bequeathed in my lifetime, this one may well be the most precious. And the way that it was presented reveals the kind of phenomenal Spartan soul she possesses.

This is why I would lay down and die just to see my Lion-Hearted Queen conquer. Not with an iron fist, although she does have one smothered in poison should ignorance rear its unsightly phizog. With absolutely no end of kindness and the very same quota of humility. Yes she’s a “ruffrider” and very soon she’ll be introducing you to her Serial Killer also. But these are just shades of Grey and Art just so happens to be the very best way for both of us to further explore any homicidal tendencies in a safe environment. We’ll always return topside and always with the very warmest smiles. It’s just so goddamn critical that our output remains wholly unapologetic at all times.

Our upcoming slayride “Honestly Brutal” is easily our most vicious Dark Fusion to date and offers just a glimpse of how deep into the clay we’re looking to camp for the sake of expressive Art. It will most likely shock and appall in equal measure but never with callous intention; merely to delve into the darkest reaches of the human psyche and get both hands bloody. And just so we’re crystalline, the original idea derived from Grey’s Prose, in particular, a short and savage stab of poetry by the name of “Brutal Honesty”. Indeed, it is woven through the very sinew of our blackened delight and the pair make for the very reddest of companion pieces.

There’s a far grander plan here than simply soldering together art for the purpose of quick-wins. Over the coming months, we’re bidding to fashion a sprawling network of Dark Fusions within the Vestibule, each of which are interconnected in some way, whether literal or otherwise. By the time you read this, “Twinbear Masterpieces” will have been unleashed and this is actually the sequel to “The Visitor”. Better yet, the “Visitation” sequence as we’ve enthusiastically titled it set to career off in other directions aside should you follow the trail of bloody lily petals from one work to the next, as every one of our burnt offerings is part of a far broader blaze. We share this intelligence with you now with the very sweetest of reasoning. To empower us all to lick those five-fingered one-inch death punches and break on through the canvas or parchment of choice.

Thank you, from the very bottom of our bloodiest heart, for taking this pilgrimage alongside us. We are both humbled and honored to be able to share these shards of our souls with any who choose to experience them. Every Retweet on Twitter, kind word on Instagram, Love or Share on Facebook is the equivalent of a kiss to our innermost seeds and they shine with that much more luminescence as a result. Moreover, we plan to celebrate all those who mean so much to us over the coming months and bring them in for the ultimate in group hug.

Right now, our merged muses have us bang to rights and won’t keep their ghostly hands off us for a solitary second. But make absolutely no miscalculation, Rivers of Grue is more than just our Citadel to slay in, it’s a playground for all and flowing with all kinds of urgency now we’ve locked this otherworldly love of ours firmly in place. It is sanctuary for the weary, shelter for those sick to the sockets of being skull-fucked-by-life, someplace we can bleed not to concede, crawl slowly across fresh razor wire together just to feed our inherent sadistic tendencies, and celebrate those beautiful scars we hold closely within our cores. No limits. Just two Lion-Hearted Artists whose motivation stems from every last one of you fine people.

and a love that is so very much more than a love.




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