a greykeeper Dark Fusion
listen to live reading
Today is a very special day indeed. You see, after 72 hours which neither one of us will forget for as long as we live, Sweet Lady Grey accepted her White Knight’s proposal of marriage and we are now engaged to be man-and-wife. In all our years, we haven’t felt as happy and contented as we do right now and it is hard to know where to begin where expressing the joy and swollen pride we’re feeling in this moment. Now, we appreciate this may be a slightly unorthodox manner in which to celebrate this occasion. But it is also the only way. Given what both of us have been through over the past few years, it just feels so damn good to actually feel again. Indeed, timing really has been everything here as we were both teetering over our own personal voids when the universe chipped in for the win. In the split of a second, our entire thought processes were dismantled and rearranged right before our believing eyes. Life had tenderized us more than enough to hold on tight with both bloodied hands and, needless to say, that’s precisely what we did.
There’s an inherent human tendency to secretly sneer when others have found happiness, particularly if it has evaded us for long enough. Bitterness knows all our crevices and goddamn does it creep like a pro. It also doesn’t help that we live in such a cynical society. And we’re not just talking of local boroughs either. The worldwide web joins the dots at the click of a mouse button and this is where things can begin to go rather awry. But only if we let them. We can choose to believe the data which is pummeled into us, whether subliminally or quite literally. Or we can defy logic as it really is overrated. Only last night we called out the L word in open conversation and, to be brutally honest, we pretty much gang raped it. Let’s not twist the melon til it squirts, Spock was well within his Vulcan rights to raise that eyebrow every time Kirk got a knee tremble. But he was hardly much fun to be around was he? The application of logic assists in keeping shit real and that suits some of us down to terra firma. But what of the intellects, the wordsmiths, the crazy bitches, broken people, and lust-monsters? Aren’t we invited to the tea party?
Nope. We’re highly illogical and therefore deemed an active threat to global intelligence by the powers being. We’re the bastards who could blow this thing wide open. Artists are the wounded little soldiers who nobody thought to call a medic for. By challenging logic and, where necessary, defying it; we place ourselves squarely between the crosshairs armed with only brushes and quills to protect us. So we keep a low profile. But elephants never forget and neither do Artists. I guess that makes them our spirit animals. Nah, we’re Rabbit and Lion. But they definitely made the short list. Should we be feeling particularly cantankerous that day or far more likely night, then we may paint or write out our frustrations just to release the valve some. And let’s just say that logic never once comes into open play. If it does, then we’d be advised to start forgetting, rather ironically. Forget what the textbooks told us. Not all of it. Just the parts that stress the importance of following procedure to the letter. And, wouldn’t you know it – procedure is a short-cut straight to logic land. The place where everything makes sense.
Fuck that with four iron fists smothered in poison, not a double damn thing about the past two months or other planetary bond we share makes a blind bit of the stuff. It has us stumped like amputees but is instantly cauterized by the fact that this makes life an adventure again. Means we can run free. Breathe the air once more. Not remain confined in tidy labelled boxes which have long since become some way less than cosy. Bust out. And should this result in dislocation, well then we’ll simply pop the ball back in its joint. No dramas. Not once you allow yourself to be Ruffriders. To be Death Technicians. To be White Rabbits. Proud Lions. King and Queen. Man and Wife. In nutshell form, once you learn to see and be seen. Find the one star in your sky that twinkles brightest and follow it. For it will never steer you wrong, EVER. And you will know this heavenly body in the bat of a lash by its luminescence. So long as life hasn’t destroyed your softness.
It doesn’t take a deranged neurosurgeon to diagnose love delirium here and this actually sits just fine with us. You see, we now know how to prise every last droplet of fantasy from reality and this turns us into illusionists. Magicians. Wizards. And why stop there when we could be a whole Blizzard of Wizards. After all, we can be anything at all we wish to be and there is Crystalline reasoning behind this – it will never ever be less than more than enough for our loves. As our stacked chips are raised the very microsecond pure love reveals its lily-white plumage. Docile creatures we might be but our instincts are savage, beast-like. And get this – the worldwide web actually did us a solid. It afforded our souls the distinct honor of mastering ceremonies and matrimony was sealed way back at the very first rabbit hole we leapt into and through. It really was that simple. The rest is just paperwork and no sweat when armed with brushes and quills. As we believe in our bloodiest hearts we can create modern fairy tales together with the love we share.
And this is why we share now. Not to nauseate or niggle. Not our style to defile. We’d much rather reconcile. With faith. The blinder the better. Let each crisp waterfall wash over us and feel constantly refreshed. Galvanized. Ready to take the come, what and may, and bash their heads together. Show ’em the back of our palms. Stride towards every last goal we set with 200% ferocity as we are fighting for the same cause. A love that accommodates us both. One which doesn’t request we “fit in”. A love with no ceilings or boundaries; astoundingly real and sincere. We’re talking particle beams firing from alicorns, gamma rays, hydrogen bombs, popping candy, fucking shuriken – whatever we can load our cannons with most excitedly. And two pairs of hands are twice as nice as their half-witted counterpart. Love makes this all possible. More to the point, We make this all possible. By trusting each leap as they never fail, EVER. Not when you think about it. As one of these days your fall just might be broken. If you believe. Give logic a rain check. We did. And now we’re quite simply one. To the power of two, thanks to reboot.
We’ve got some serious brass tacks to get down to now and so many unruly monsters up our Wizard sleeves positively scratching to be unleashed. But right now we are Zen. Indeed, the past 72 hours have been one long love letter to Zen rubber stamped with an ashen kiss. We ordinarily speak twice daily but have spent this time as virtual pen-pals, or pen-Lovers as the case absolutely would be. It has just felt right to take such a religious pilgrimage the old-fashioned way. Just exist together in a different kind of moment as every last one is precious anyways. And this is where this address truly comes into its deepest own. You see, Twin-Flames Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer, or Amanda “Fucking” Palmer for added fist bumps, have been our spiritual guides through this heavenly period. We’ve drunk them down like Nords, thumped the bar and demanded a bloody nother. We’ve bumped chests with their brilliance, soaked up every last one of their dual rays, laughed with them, cried by their sides, and hung from two beautifully naked words in particular – see me. Two words. Meanings of infinity. Such a tiny token of gesture. But then, such a grand one.
Thank you Neil and Amanda, you glorious radiant souls, for allowing us to see ourselves and one another through the eyes of your dear love. We appreciate the lend more than words could ever convey but shall give it a Freshman’s try anyway. As we are just like you. We love hard. We adore. We see what you see. And now we know precisely how to go and get it. For that and a vast multitude of reasons aside, we love you both dearly. Thus we have decided to close with a true Rivers of Grue original and the first of many we plan for the very brightest of futures together. Just to remind you all we haven’t moistened through the process of augmentation and fusion, we are inhumanly proud to present an exclusive Keeper reading of “Other People” – a blacker than pitch gasp stealer written by Neil, which has been recited at a number of their live shows. Recorded in a single take, this bears all the Keeper hallmarks – those being heart, soul, fire and feeling. An easy feat when a piece of literature strangulates so conclusively. Just a handful of shakes and we’ll get to the mindfuckery. But first…
To all those who see us – we see you right back. For we are love. Through both choice and ultimately birthright. And we have and hold something logic could never explain away. Realists and wet blankets would suggest it to be “early days” and we celebrate the hell out of that very observation as it sure beats the end of days we were hurtling towards. You see, unless our Twin-compass is all out of whack, that means we get lots of other days just like this one. Way to varnish our daggers. Should life have destroyed our softness, then heaven knows how miserable we’d be now. Instead, we’re bloody dimples. And it’s so bloody simple. True love finds a way. If you just let it guide. See it. Feel it. Live it. Love it. Laugh with it. Sob with it. Kiss it. Fuck it. Wear it. Share it. Dust it down. Patch it up and repair it. And if it’s felt then damn well declare it.
But above all else, never EVER give up on finding it. We didn’t and now we are eternally wed. The engagement is merely the prelude to the one fine day we shall make happen. With magma, we shall make this happen. For now, we raise a goblet of Grue to every last one of you fine people for empowering this beautiful bleed of ours. For not tuning out when something strikes a nerve, but just allowing yourselves to feel that pinch. It all helps. It all heals. And should that all sound vaguely illogical, then thank fuck for that. Love like Titanium. Bleed with freedom. Apply those band-aids. Come back swinging. Rinse it. Repeat it. And when you locate the other half of your flame, the blue to your orange –
As promised, we close with the Keeper’s unique recital of “Other People” by the incredible Neil Gaiman. We bow down to you both.
L.H. Grey/Richard CharlesStevens