Rivers of Me, Rivers of You





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Billy Joel “The River of Dreams”




Always a dream away from my waking world
Possession, is nine tenths of the law
And I am highly possessed by this Divine Proportion


Imagine all that you can achieve with the ability you have and then multiply that by two. They say two heads are better than one and, for once, the elusive “they” appear to have gotten it pretty much bang on. Together we’re better – it makes perfect sense when you think about it. We may have lost interest in mathematics around the time Pythagoras commenced rulership, but we never forgot the basics. Naturally, much depends on whether or not we find the missing link to our chains, and this is a gargantuan undertaking when every last one of us have in our possession our very own minds, not to mention our own preset life preferences. But it is possible and we stand here today as living proof that it can be done. Once that perfect balance has been struck, there is precious little which cannot be clinched. And suddenly nothing feels quite as hopeless.

Take greykeeper for example and we’re only too happy to offer up a sample. Having made our formal introduction back on December 12th, 2017, and instantaneously securing this infinite love of ours firmly in place, our entire lives have spun about face. Blind faith really is a most wondrous thing and, as similarly unsighted luck would have it, both of us had this in abundance. To be brutally honest, a calling card of ours, we should have been long since washed up by this point and awaiting only the swoop of seagulls. Life doesn’t always play fair and, more often than not, it can be a fucking bastard with steel toed shit kickers. It’s one thing claiming yourselves to be eternal optimists, but another entirely when the reasons to be cheerful dry up faster than eczema in a heat wave. This is precisely what had happened to both of us and, while we knew well how to project the illusion of being happy, inside we were dying. And at a rate most alarming.

Disarming us in the time it takes a snake to be charmed, we took the first of a merry multitude of leaps together, and did so without a solitary dash of incertitude. Alerted to the bottom line of trusting another implicitly and without reservation, we’d have been forgiven for holding back and playing shit cautious. But the mere consideration of this made us downright nauseous. Our states had been altered, pending nothing whatsoever but unshakable belief in one another, and there was no bloody way on earth we were about to falter. Having sought the ideal mate for our entire lives and come away with an overriding sense of disappointment and burned fingertips, surely this was just another in a painfully long list of strategically placed and two-faced mirages. Hardly what you’d call odds-on for anything other than yet more of the same, we each took the executive decision to return to the fray and play this wicked game one more time.


Dreams like liquid candy, transformed to visual fleeting romances
Lucid, only to a point, waltzing and talking and laughing
Bathed in tenderness, warm as the mind-summer sky,
Shedding tears of approval upon us


Divine was the intervention. Apprehension duly dissipated. Comprehension facilitated by the clean line of sight which we shared. The glare of our Crystalline diameters was sparkling, luminescence omnipresent and we cared for its incessance. Unholy hell did we care. Granted, our last nerves may have been frightfully frayed, and there is only so long pain can chip us away before we arrive at neither here nor there. But every last feeling felt was intensified to the power of two and our basic arithmetic skills weren’t required to work hard to know exactly what to do. Trust something. Love something bereft of condition. No petition. Indecision a swear word. Man-made doubt called out with derision. Vision no longer blurry, this early bird special had been earned through refusal to spurn a single nanosecond. After all, we live and we learn. Seems a shame not to order that to go right?

And boy was the glow bright. So much so that every last demon we’d been battling tooth and nail were thrust beneath the search light. They simply paled in comparison to the angels perched on our shoulders. No dirty faces. No longer in perpetual stasis; we were afforded the movement to endorse their entombment. Of course, this had proven an impossible task in the past and the very last thing either one of us asked for was a costly free-for-all. But any whispering alarm soon passed as we grasped one another’s hands most tightly and raised them like masts. In half of half of half the time it takes to crash a wake, we awakened, taken not with blunt force but razor-sharp symmetry. Faith no longer shaken but stirred into action, poleaxing self-doubt as we bled it straight out. Eternally devout to laying everything out on the table. As our vital signs were more than stable. And with two times the dimensions, disbelief was promptly disabled.

This enabled us to stabilize and we didn’t have to strain our eyes to see each of the cable ties which bound us to our former lives. The pack of lies stacked up before us then scattered like defeated fireflies, repeatedly named and heatedly shamed, their conceit no longer so disguised. For the solemn truth had immunized us, neutralized each poison. Harmonized the blood stream, which congealed for redeployment. Flamboyant fancy was all around us. But most critically, it was within us. Had always been within us. Just dormant. Exhausted by the tiresome act of thoughtless repetition. Curriculum and lesson plans as best laid plans decommissioned. Our ventricles were bulging, only not through terminal choice. After so many Hail Marys it just felt damn good to rejoice something. From nothing, we had doubled up, hustled the flow and unbuckled the straps. And we owed this all to but one momentary lapse of reason.


My skin aches as I awaken, with desire
Pull me back into slumber
Pull me so close, that I am within your flesh,
It is my veil of choice


It may seem unfeasible that misplaced reason was amenable to our revision. And it took for us to shed our skins to learn of this provision. Aligned to the left-hand line of the schism, we rounded up our demons and proceeded to redeem them. An even flow of vital fluids, spiteful druids bested, as our circulation insulated each capillary invested. Heartbeats no longer syncopated, indeed, their tempo regulated as they bled together fluently while we both looked on approvingly. Should one heart miss a trick or beat, then its twin would have it covered. Until it became impossible to tell one from the other. Another thing that had fused were our beautiful fractured minds. Enraptured by their newfound stature, captured but far from resigned. Given that every thought could now be processed in half the time, this afforded cordial invitation to a banquet most divine.


Your taste is sweet, like dreamscape upon a cloud
And memorable, as dusk within the gardens of Atlantis
This light, shall be relinquished, not by the hands of a mortal being
When by the grace of the Gods, it hath been ignited


The fire has been burning ever so brightly ever since. And the Citadel you find yourself in now is a towering inferno not of biblical distortion but mythical proportions. A multitude of rabbit hOles, each one leading deeper beneath our skin. Should you beat a retreat then so be it, but we’d much prefer you leap right in. We must come clean, we’re sinners with tremendous noir within us. But these reservoirs of ours overlook the most delightful vista. A vast constellation of shimmering stars, each signing its name across our one heart. Inconceivably connected, light orbs dreamily reflecting one another, then another, as the process is perfected. Electing to love as opposed to blind hating, refreshing the blood as our hearts start cascading. Parading our devotion with far more pending than promotion, as together we are better, sweet dreams need never amount to broken tokens.


Intoxicated, I lay sleeping in tranquility
My bed, no longer frozen and hostile
I need not physicality to satisfy my desire
I require only,
The heat of a summer night,
And your eyes reflecting the glow of low hung moons
Documented within the pages of my nights memoirs

My slumber, has never been so convivial.


The Rivers of Grue are our gift to you all. Our flesh is yours to tear and share and spill at will. Fret not as greykeeper shall pick up the bill. As our humble home is your home too and we’ve cleaned our closets out just for you. Well, most of them. Dependent on just how much of our sickness you’re willing or able to entertain, and to be plain, we do tend to leave the odd stain, you may well happen across the occasional waif and stray along the way. What can we say? Unlicensed surgery is still surgery at the end of the day. Opt to take the Grey-Chapel Path and each breath could very well be your last. It’s a place of disgrace; of butchers, morticians, technicians of death who know their trade well. But there is light and there is darkness in our Citadel. With this, we shall bid you farewell but not really.

As we see you all
most clearly,
sincerely committed
to the new skin within which we’ve been fitted

eternally devout

to the Grue. How about you?





Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill




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© Copyright: Rivers of Grue™





  1. This piece conjured up a great many images for me as I read it. Then I read it again, seeing the beast that lies in the darkest part of my heart given words here. Words I had only heard as snarls and growls as she paces her cage. To be able to provoke such images is a gift not many have mastered. You have beautifully, while striking up my imagination in unexpected, yet deeply satisfying ways. Bravo!

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