From Lion – to Mouse

 

 

 

 

Suggested Audio:

 

The Orb “Little Fluffy Clouds”

 

 

 

Today I wish to make a very special exception to rule. Recently, I made the decision to focus wholly on the greykeeper uprising and cease writing solely as the Keeper. Having spent five years bleeding my heart and soul onto parchment, I simply felt that I had said all I needed to say as a single entity and the time felt right to commit wholeheartedly to a cause I truly believe is sprinkled in stardust. That being said, when I read a piece of literature such as “See Him“, released this very day in this very citadel, by an exceedingly gifted scribe such as our very own South African pouched mouse, valiumfreak, I remember that the word “never” never sounds more appealing than in double negative. I could not possibly allow this moment to pass without offering my chosen sister my deepest, most sincere gratitude for a gift which I shall carry with me, not just to my dying day, but way beyond it.

Damn right, that shit is coming with me to whichever cosmos I travel to next. And do you know what Mouse? You’ll be right there with Rabbit and I, likely causing some kind of natural disaster. For, as we have spoken of many times, we are all infinitely connected. In ways that transcend humanity entirely. I believe that with every last beat of the lion-heart within me. There was a distinct reason why the universe revealed us to one another when it did as the three of us have suffered inhumanly rather ironically and our crystalline souls deserved to glow in the company of symmetrical clarity. When life throws you a bone, you wag your fucking tail. And lion’s has been doing precisely that ever since the true higher power chipped in for the win and crossed our three rusted paths. Now we are on the precipice of something absolutely magnificent and, with magma beating through my chest, I shall provide for my family. My pride.

I have met many others on my half decade pilgrimage and feel blessed to have glanced so many other wondrous souls during that time. However, when I first stumbled across the trip wire you had strategically placed to decimate a pigeon and dropped straight into your trench, I simply knew we once shared a womb. Not a human one either. No, that would have been too predictable for a pair of closet firestarters like us. Some giant pulsating orb with little fluffy clouds for brows. I swear, it was just like being a wee bairn again and that is precisely how I feel every time we cunt off together like the cunts that we are for the sheerest cunting hell of it. Perhaps, that isn’t the traditional way to preempt a sentence all about childlike innocence but I was done with tradition way back at the obligatory midlife crisis. Cunts it is then. But happy little cunts.

The great thing about kids, other than how they taste between two pieces of toasted flatbread, is their brutal honesty. And this just so happens to be a secret weapon of yours. No bullshit or insincerity, absolutely no filter whatso-fucking-ever and a sense of humour so wicked that I couldn’t even dream of breaching it here, for fear of getting both of us either sectioned or incarcerated. As you are very much aware, it takes some doing appalling me, and even if a remark you make does appall, then I consider that a bonus. In the correct company, I can extract a laugh from flat-out anything.

Much of this comes from the way my father handled his muscles wasting away before his very eyes. He too kept in his possession a most wicked sense of humour. He also loved nothing more than to self-efface, even with regards to his own disability. And handsomely-groomed lion cubs only wish to lounge in the shadow of their fathers. Black comedy has seen me through all manner of scraps and scrapes over the years and, while it takes a lot to truly tickle my tummy, both you and my Rabbit can have a myocardial infarction out of me with a simple pitch black and perfect observation. Comic timing is one thing, but every word you say comes via express delivery from that wonderful, radiant soul of yours. We may not have originated from the same cervix, but I can tell you with nary a stammer, you are my sister. Family trees just weren’t invented when our spiritual umbilicals were severed. Just like the disembodied mouse head you sent me only yesterday as a way of informing me you were about to call. Miceless Freckles. Miceless.

Going back to observations momentarily, you made one such mind exploder when we last chatted and I read you a timeless piece Rabbit and I are incredibly proud of by the name of “miserere meus – fortis meus”. You started, after a considerable dumbstruck silence, by asking me where the bloody hell my prose originates from. Then, you went on to explain how I use words you haven’t even heard before, yet you understand their true meaning precisely within the context of my prose. Mind. Blown. Like a Bangkok hooker in C4 lip gloss. As I went on to illustrate by weeping tears of the most joyful variety like a wee bairn. Five years I have believed I can achieve this very feat, should all prose be delivered from the right place. For it is a dear wish of mine to truly expand minds through my art. And now I know why I remained so bloody-minded in said belief. Furthermore, “See Him” is the most genuinely stirring written tribute focusing on Keeper the artist that I have ever had the honour of reading and cherishing.

Of course, you’d shrug this off. As that is just what family do right? Lift one another up as it brings us the most sincere of joys to watch loved ones shine like the very craziest of uncut diamonds. And shine is what you do Mouse. Only the other day, Rabbit and I were straddling the rainbows imparted by those cheeky dimples of yours as you beamed your daily delight. Aesop’s Fable about the Lion and The Mouse does indeed teach that no-one should be despised. But the truest gift my soul gleans from this tale as the proud lion I am is that magic really can happen. When you are very simply seen. Thus, in typical reflective Keeper style, I shall close by firing your own beautiful words straight back at you. Stand on all fours with your whiskers blowing in the warmth, warmth from the Grueheads who see you, get you and boy, do you matter much.