Title Image by Joseph Haxan

 

 

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Massive Attack “Daydreaming”

 

 

Can you feel that surging? The dark energy, we mean. It’s really quite keen and building as we speak. Steadily imposing itself more and more as it bids to take us under its robe and snuff out the light once again. Right now we’re in the midst of “quiet time” and this unwelcome diversion customarily entails the silencing of the Muses for a number of wasteful moons, while we recharge our circuits. It’s not our choice, of course. Indeed, we’ve been known to retaliate right up to the moment where Morpheus slips on his No Choice Slumber Glove. Sleep when we’re dead was the agreement and we ain’t there yet so how about we keep the all-nighter combo chain going and pass up on the involuntary coma? Or could we be missing a trick here? Perhaps there are hidden treasures to be gleaned from reverie. Could it be these dreams of ours hold some kind of cryptic meaning? Is there a conundrum afoot and, if so, then would it not be considered shrewd to partake? After all, inquisitive minds such as ours are well versed on the art of puzzle solving, having spent the majority of our summers teetering on the south coast of sanity.

It’s not easy when you’re wired like we are. It just so happens that our minds process data in a way few others can ever hope to truly fathom. Didn’t take long for student faculty to cotton on to our vaguely unorthodox thought processes but they were never destined to harness what was beneath our hoods. Far too blinded were they by curriculum to get to the true particulars. And there was a distinct lack of stimulus for our synapses to fire up on. Then there was the small matter of life and its inherent vice for fucking our skull-caps til they shatter. Before we knew it, the dream it died, deprived by spending far too long with wide open eyes. Whatever happened to the dreamer? Well, that’s where it pays to wake up from the never-ending nightmare and relocate your true nucleus. And if there’s one thing the bottom of the abyss teaches creatives then it’s how to get studious. Suddenly, we’re mad scientists. IT’S very much ALIIIVE!!! and we scuttle back to our hives at every last opportunity to create as many monsters as we can cobble together from body parts. Once resources start to run low, well then that’s where those 40 agonizingly reluctant winks come in handy. Fuckers!

But here is where we arrive at the real gristle and sinew. You see, it just so happens some reasonably distinguished guests pass by for our nocturnal dinner-parties. More indignitaries than anything else, this rowdy rabble are the kind of visitors most would deem wholly unsavory and the very last party crashers on earth you’d wish to entrust with your Sunday best crockery. They make a mockery of table manners, spout the kind of unrepeatable suggestions that wouldn’t go down at all well at a village fête, and appear intent on leading us down the left hand path for some unexplained reason. Granted, we do tend to make it easy on them by leaping on their backs excitedly and screaming “are we there yet?” but anyone who knows either one of us well enough should be all too familiar with our darker leanings. We’ve pretty much identified our demons during the last few long cold winters, but the thing about Hell, is that they adopt a “more the merrier” approach when it comes to recruiting new blood. And their timing couldn’t have been more perfect with greykeeper.

Just to be Crystalline, both of us exist primarily in the light. We’re good people, with hearts like kingdoms, and souls which shine luminescent by default. It’s not our fault we also rather enjoy the idea of flesh getting flayed from the bone with a rusted cutter. Call it moonlighting if you will and, when you consider we’re essentially creatures of nocturne, that means a tasty little sideline in terror, should we buckle to their incessant demands. Speaking of the devils, it’s actually far less one-sided a deal, the contract for which is entirely unspoken. In exchange for providing these shadow dwellers the voice they’ve been deprived of for too long, we are then promptly whisked away to whichever era and locality they formerly made their stomping grounds. So what we’re saying is that they’re effectively tossing time travel into the deal. And while this may sound of uttermost preposterousness to anyone of a more cynical nature, anyone who has ever had a past-life experience should already have the year locked in. As where we’re going, there’s a fair chance the Romans haven’t even built roads yet. And O what eye-openers hath awaited us.

“Holy Trinity of Unspeakable Lies” by L.H. Grey

We make no secret that we always harbored severe doubts about religion. But that doesn’t make it any less monumental a headfuck learning of the way the scriptures lied about every last detail involving a certain fallen angel. How do we know this? Okay so this is where we remind you that every last word we scribe is brutally honest as the go-to response here will most likely comprise either “what a crock of horse shit” or alternatively, “BURN THE WITCHES!” Either way, it may appear we’re stretching the boundaries of belief perhaps a dash too far and that’s okay with us as we’re not searching for endorsement, just telling it as it is you know. Should you have read “The Chronicles Of Lucifer” by the Death Technician herself, then you’d be hard pushed to argue that the prose hasn’t been plucked straight out of the Devil’s personal memoirs. Indeed, it is customary when reading to come away with the overwhelming feeling that you’ve happened across something you really ought not to have and such has been picked up on. There are two more verses still to be unleashed and, in keeping with the nature of this beast, we’re already more than aware that it doesn’t conclude there either. Talk about a can of worms.

“Hymn of Wasted Faith” by L.H. Grey

While Lady Grey was pre-disposed with entertaining the great Prince of Darkness himself, her Keeper wasn’t permitted to this particular visitation as this is not how this transaction was intended. Instead, his hands became mysteriously tied throughout this channeling and, while the presence of Satan was unmistakable the whole time, it was left to a certain Edgar Allan Poe to keep him momentarily distracted. Not a solitary complaint came from either side as we were thick in the mire of fiendish flourish and unlocking timeless prose the likes of which we simply weren’t aware we had in us. What can we say? We’re born and bred sinners. And more than in tune with the darkness within us. So naturally we’re the very first to perk up once the cold night air gets thinner. Admittedly, rendezvous don’t get a whole lot more intimate than with Lucifer himself, but then we do hear Vlad the Impaler likes to get up-close-and-personal also and he’s already invited himself along to the next banquet. Now a jealous guy would no doubt take great exception to this kind of dinner date playing out when it’s the great love of his life being wined and dined, albeit through way of dreamscape minion. Which is why jealous guys tend not to make the best time travelers. And why you’ll no doubt he hearing about this Transylvanian meal deal sooner rather than later.

“Genesis” by L.H. Grey

We’re protected you see. Infinitely. The all-inclusive love which we have and hold knows not disbelief, has no concept of the pointless art of debunking, and encourages both of us to engage in countless spots of pathological spelunking. Any peril is instantly subtracted from the equation by the fact that we share a clean line of sight with one another at all times. Better yet, we empower one another to attack every last incoming scud head-on as this is the only way to truly appreciate your demons. It’s no good skirting around the subject sheepishly, when they evidently have so much to impart. And it would appear they have chosen our art as their preferred manner of venting. Unrelenting they may be but we’re not looking to resist; not when there are so many advantages to these trysts. Whether or not this lands us in hot water come judgement day is irrespective as we’re no longer emotionally defective. As a matter of fact, we cherish the light even more now as, without this, we couldn’t hope to align to their perspective.

Neither of us are ever going to be your typical “eight hours a night” types as we view sleep as an unwelcome distraction from the madness which can be courted while compos mentis. That being said, we do appreciate the process, inclusive of the incubation period which follows heavy flow. We still very much intend to catch up on the majority of our slumber when we’re dead of course; but a slither of R.E.M. sleep once in a red moon never harmed anyone apparently, lycanthropes excluded. One thing is for double damn sure – we’re more than happy to welcome all-comers to our costume ball. None are turned away, regardless of whether or not their tarnished reputations precede them. As we heard from a little bird that time is ultimately fluid and we now know precisely how to keep ourselves hydrated. Be that travelling back to 14th century Romania for a bite with or from Vlad or taking intimate counsel with the most misrepresented of all mankind’s callous cast-offs and his bad self; we’ll always be looking to bring you good people the very lowest of downs. Thus, while it is with great reluctance that our sleepy heads go down, we’ve never actually been more wide awake. Sweet and sinful dreams loved ones.