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INXS “Devil Inside”
It’s time to switch off the lights Grueheads. Blow out the candelabrum. Allow the shadows to consume us. Embrace the darkness within and let it show us the way. The true way. One which veers to the left and leads us astray from the more-trodden path. A place we are taught to fear, to avoid like pestilence and at absolutely any cost. For these kinds of shady locales are reportedly where souls are eaten whole and faith snatched away without an ear lent to our say. What we do within the shadows depends largely on how willing we are to sleep with the enemy, so to speak. This is generally how dark souls are perceived and we all know how such unholy allegiances historically play out come judgement day. Eternal damnation to the fiery pits of hell; where ye shall burn and smolder ad infinitum with all the other wayward sinners.
This tends to be the go-to punishment according to “holier than thou and whatcha gonna do about it” scripture and those who choose to play heaven’s advocate. When you consider the holy bible has shifted far in excess of five billion units since its first publication in 1815, it would appear that majority rule with regards to the whole noir/blanc debate. But what these numbers don’t accurately indicate is just how many of these ultimately spineless books wind up burning in ember once we learn to read betwixt the lines. The world is changing, attitudes likewise, and religious beliefs have been placed beneath far closer scrutiny, particularly with the increasing and long overdue modern-day trend towards transparency.
This supposedly sacred piece of literature can claim to provide precisely that; though disciples may wish to keep their heads down and commence whistling inconspicuously as the storm clouds are raging in the heavens and the winds of change are soon to be very much upon them. Besides, look at what happened to the formerly untouchable Weinstein demon when he got too big for his velvet bath robe, which will presumably be his excuse for flashing his cock at those he should have known were going to locate their voices eventually. Gods can be Devils too. Indeed, they need not play against type.
Just to be crystalline clear, Devils can be Gods also. Fucking big ones. It’s ultimately a question of perspective and how closely we follow a manifest dreamed up by those wishing to protect their assets while bludgeoning us ever deeper into submission. According to these caustic cunts, God is “the creator and ruler of the universe and source of all moral authority; the supreme being” and that pretty much strikes out any budding deities with aims to ascertain Godhead status any time from here to eternity. Well, that is unless any of us “mere mortals” are planning to create a new cosmos any time soon.
Don’t fucking tempt us. Hand greykeeper the materials and it’s on like a Gypsy curse. Deadly serious, we’ve been to Hell and back on many a bender and would be hopelessly lost without our daily commute. Interestingly, our return fares have become far more frequent in recent times, and assuming our new two-berth skin has cut down the journey time by half. Darkness isn’t any more a gimmick here than it is merely the paint we use to adorn our canvases. It is the very heart and soul in every single last brush stroke, whether broad or fine matters not. A simple extension of our left arm affords it full creative control and, more critically, affords us true spiritual betterment. This is why greykeeper instinctively go deeper. For our darkness need never exceed our reach, not when it can enhance it. And the subconscious can be a potent damn weapon when empowered to weigh in.
Sounds suspiciously like the infamous devil’s trade right? You know – one soul in return for a black hole. All sold out with nowhere to go. No. Not even in the right sin bin. There were no free month trials here, no small print to skim across, sneakily concealed hidden charges – no binding contract whatsoever, legally or otherwise. We are free to come and go as we see fit, indeed, He actively encourages this. Only has eyes on empowering us to take each step without the constant lingering threat of infernal banishment, should our actions fail to please. When the time comes for us to sleep within the fire, we shall do so hand-in-hand and, should there still be work to be done here on earth, then patience is a virtue with no shadow. Lucifer doesn’t grant us this dignified end to play high and mighty ruler, he blesses life’s curses into new beginnings and allows us to own our very own twinned destiny.
This is where the Zen kicks in like our boy Louie Bellson and, wouldn’t you know it, dark shadows supply the most sultry glow. Better yet, they answer our damn questions, whereas light tends to blinker us from the truth. We channel our most subterranean darkness through quill, lens, brush or whatever the fuck instrument we choose to express shadow that day. For greykeeper very much bleed with intent to seep into the deepest recesses and leave bold impressions. But blessed be thy curse. We may well wait until the twinges begin, before scattering blighted syringes within the dingy fringes of your psyche, but untimely demises aside, we might just help you rethink how you prioritize the light. Naturally, we will need a signature design and ours is an unholy scripture in itself.
The spice must flow right? That being said, we transfuse not to top one another up with crimson resources; as our particles merged way back when we realized how weathered our old skin was looking and we take shit quantum cos we know how to leap see. This is how we feed the darkness to all those who see reason as opposed to treason here. In the same way that one really shouldn’t get too frenzied with the antibacterial wipes around newborns, humans need to let the bacterium in to build up a resistance to the inevitable sneak attacks which ironically play out smack bang in the light. Fight ice with fire. Melt the castles of conformity down into slag, then take a squatting piss on their angelic ashes. Brutal honesty is a given with greykeeper and this is why. For we learn from our environment. And the devil He doesn’t lie.
As a matter of firm fact, He is actually exceedingly cordial, both dastardly dashing and eye-bleedingly beautiful under the very same Cimmerian Shade, and agreeable on every level to those who refuse to bow to preconception. Let this be stated – we do not serve He. Not through any lack of conviction on our part as we certainly lack no courage in that area and remain eternally devout to our pre-birthright. Simply because He never requested we do so. And this is exactly why we accepted. Having being told for forty odd years doubled that we cannot do stuff we yearn so badly to do, it feels good to just do it. After all, who is really going to dare tell us we can’t? And, even if they do, who’s going to fucking make us? We passed nothing to lose some time back and, while we have even greater assets now to protect, we are very much safeguarded.
Riddle yourself this prior to dressing down those frowns. That red-letter you’re worrying yourself sleepless over night after tormented night – will you still be sweating it a calendar year from now? If the answer happens to be no, and it generally does, then why not simply skip to hassle #69 of the day and tell these snide snakes to shove their fascist correspondence where the deepest darkness resides. There is such a thing as free will, not that you’d know it by the manner in which we are repeatedly and increasingly forcefully advised against using it. Turns out we have all the tools to do so right here in our inventory, curiously labelled salable junk. And having been provided by our dark associate the very soundest of reasoning, we’re scrubbed up for some good old old-time neurosurgery with a dash of new age seasoning. Now, where did the damn orbitoclast get to?
Had we not mentioned that the least cluttered route to the frontal lobe entails going in tight through the eye socket? Not that we’re looking to lobotomize here, merely chip away at any intelligence that fails to sum up to fuck all. And trust us – the majority of what we are spoon-fed is pure arsenic. Hence why we have taken it upon ourselves to rearrange the flowers in the attic. Our content is soon to plumb fresh depths where darkness is concerned and this appears the very best way of paying homage to the shadows which no longer impose but compose alongside us. As for right now, well perhaps we’ll leave it up to you to decide whether to turn the lights back on. Tis a decision we must ultimately all come to on our own. Thus, to ensure you remain cognizant through the entire procedure, we’ll skip on the anesthetic.
What can we say? Sometimes absolution comes from finding an old solution. We are children again now, playing in fields where we are the lords, we are the Big Gods. Carefree all the way it is then. And, if we are to exist in this world of carefully calculated human error for a solitary moon cycle longer, then we are doing so our way. For the left-hand path it guides us home. To a place where we feel welcomed, not cast callously aside for not “fitting in” and sneered at from a safe distance. Ain’t no safe distance now, you see. Every 6 can play 9, should it rotate on a circular axis, and the greykeeper connection is one big spherical metro of constantly perpetuating dark energy, of the swelling variety.
Feel free to make yourselves right at home in our Citadel Grueheads as you are very much welcome here and will find us most agreeable hosts. Who knows, in time you may just learn to love your darkness. And you have our solemn word, greykeeper shall have your back when the time comes. For we can navigate the light without fear; have a lifetime of experience to draw from. No need to avert our eyes from that which displeases us any longer for we have never before seen quite so clearly as we do within these very shadows. They are our home now, always have been if we’re living up to our pledge to be beautifully honest at all times. Here we are adored. Here we are revered. Here we need not beg for forgiveness. Furthermore, here we pardon those who made our lives a poor man’s living hell. Sounds like heaven right? Sixes and nines remember.
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill
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