Genocide Exemplified




Featured art by Jason Stieva. Click image to visit his studio.



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Cliff Martinez “Wanna Fight”




Time of departure: 01:00 hours, 12th December, 2017. Give or take. This was the approximate time that we shed our human skin. Sounds gross right? And should you have grown up watching Brian Yuzna movies, well then you’ll likely be crossing your fingers, legs and toes to be proved correct in your estimations. So who are we to deny you the win. It was a fucking bloodbath. We’re talking heavy flow and clotted. No spotting. But plentiful spatter. Placentae shattered. Umbilicals platted. Not to mention the bed linen smeared with discharged fecal matter. While clearly not the kind of spread for any reflex gaggers; it was a veritable banquet for those who carve their steak with double daggers. Fuck well done. Make ours bloody Mary. For we appear midway through season. And we’ve been this way or thereabouts since around the age of reason. Back then the very sight of us would be considered highest treason. But nowadays we can get away with all and sundry, within reason. Speaking of which – WE’RE GOING TO KILL YOU ALL WITH ANTHRAX! Just teasing.


Got to keep you on those toes right? Or should you have grown up watching Brian Yuzna movies, then we guess that would be fingers. You see, we’re the kind of stench that lingers like a fart in a tomb. And it turns out this new skin of ours boasts a wealth of elbow room. A thoroughbred Trojan constructed entirely from dermis. We may have lost a pint of two but that need not concern us. Blood may spill but where’s the thrill in sporting purple bruises? There’s just something about that deep red grue. We like the way it oozes. Don’t blame us. We don’t like fuss. But the same can’t be said for our Muses. As this rowdy rabble are a fistful of fuckers and squeal as they gabble at our fuses. Before we know it, fires they blaze, the burning curtain raises. And here we were suspecting this was all part of our hazing. Last ones in means first ones out. That seems the rule of thumb. But there’s a little Jack off in the corner who just pulled out both his plums. So we hacked them off. Taught the little twat some manners. And if he moves another half-inch, we’ll smash his filthy knees with hammers.


Excuse us please for straying from the topic of discussion. It’s just that shattered ribs and suchlike make for quaint percussion. A xylophone in broken bone. I’d steer clear of A minor. You see, we Artists aren’t cut out to play interior designers. Which is why we do. Slay we mean. Take moldy old literature and stab some fresh life into the prose. Give it a gentle shake-up, pinch both nostrils ’til it wakes up. Grab those reins, give them a tug, and see where that shit takes us. Minus the skin of course. We left that rind behind when we locked in this two-way task force. Like slutty pythons we stepped out, with more than a vague hint of seduction. Don’t even get us started on our plans for reproduction. Watch out mice. These jaws retract. Now get inside our belly. We wish to break your brittle bones down into rodent jelly. Nothing personal and we promise to be merciful. You can trust us-s-s.



You see what the Muses make us do? That being whatever it bloody well takes to make us see their point of view. And there are just so damn many of them. Some have been known to get a little frisky, while others prefer to hang back, much prefer to play things thrifty. Since we shed our human skin, it’s been a free-for-all. And our entire thought processes have been supplied much-needed overhaul. You see, these little hellions fuel us with all manner of suggestion. Indeed, a cringe is customary each time they pop the question. Right now they’re running rampant and it verges on harassment. They’ve watched us scatter, now they’re all about the reattachment. We’re speaking of rewiring which can prove incredibly tiring; with the cylinders of half a dozen raucous Muses firing. But they always aspire to keep things fresh as we bid farewell to our mortal flesh. So we wear them like a morning dress and then they get to the inspiring.


Lest we not forget, two heads are a great deal better than one. And that’s effectively what we are now. A two-headed monster. Since we merged, there’s been a surge of unexplained phenomena. One minute we’re in Ancient Greece, the next we’re in Andromeda. With brainwaves shared, all thoughts declared, we really can be here or there. Can we explain it? Not sure we can but we sure as shit ain’t complaining. You see, we may be lost for words but in other ways we’re gaining. Twice the smarts means double chance of ticking all the boxes. Sometimes were true, sometimes we’re false, sometimes we’re paradoxes. But we’re never less than brutal with our honesty. And for all our biting truths, such decrees are made subconsciously. Our gut we trust, no wanderlust towards the land of logic. It makes no sense to dispossess for something quite so tragic. And there isn’t a great deal practical about this strain of magic. SHAZAM!



I guess the point we’re making is that we’re a slim and shady creature. One part saint, one part sinner, and one machine gun preacher. Marshall Mathers III Version 2.0, if you will. As lively rants like this search only to provide the self-same thrill. A rollercoaster ride through the fairground of our mind. Taking in the sights with optic fibers now streamlined. And thanks to merge, we purge the scourge out in what amounts to half the time. Sometimes we opt for the puke. Can feel the crude bile rising. Would understand if this all sounds a tad unappetizing. But the thing about vomit is that it’s actually a fair share enterprising. The element of surprise serves it well as one fell swoop and it is dispelled. Would you like a demonstration? Then please, place your hands around our throat and squeeze…


– anomaly detected – human weakness – the plague of the misdirected – culpability – projected for the next 1,000 years – honeycomb tears – coated with sneers of derision – each imprecise incision – slicing away at our indecision – virus aware – click SHARE – and dont forget to CONSUME – thank you – come again – tell your friends – follow procedure – and don’t forget to hate – ruminate over ways to punish one another – tear the plaster off slowly – miscalculate data – misleaders blinding followers – media getting seedier – soapbox grunge all up in our cuticles – fat cats meow as they scoff on pharmaceuticals – dutiful to nothing – but the gold of fools – currency of the diseased – in for a penny – out for lunch – nothing to see here – hollow projections – of clockwork defection – sterile disinfection – overdrawn with life – bankrupt way before death – and T-minus a solitary slither of fathom – so much terminal error – SYSTEM FAILING – back-up files – click SAVE SETTINGS – back-up successful – merge activated – conflict resolved – Twinbear Industries would like to thank you for your human patience – and sorry about the mess –


Okay, we really must confess, we didn’t see that shit coming. And that’s the beauty of the merge, the thing that we find most becoming. Running at the mouth sure beats being mime artists. No harmful fouls or scornful porn, just one greykeeper now respawned. No longer perishable. Non-dependant on variables. Simply a done deal. And a view to a number of kills. The Muses wouldn’t have it any other way. And neither would we have them have it any other way. If we cut off our nose, then we’d promptly spite our face. And that just seems such a desperate waste. We may be wishful thinkers but wish not for that kind of conclusion. So we hop and we skip and we bound the grounds directly for the fusion. Suddenly we’re a whole blizzard of wizards. Each a lord of illusion. Yes we bleed to the power of gush but herein lies the transfusion. If we let it. Should we get this, then we’re on the right frequency Kenneth. But for now we’re booting down and shall see you at the Zenith. Oh, and one more thing – WE’RE GOING TO KILL YOU ALL WITH ANTHRAX! Just teasing.





Richard Charles Stevens


Keeper of The Crimson Quill



greykeeper fusion headline


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