Trapezious, The Sub-Dermal Terrorist

"Trapezius!" spat The Craw, as he hobbled to his velvet sitee´, favoring the left side of his back as he lowered his decaying frame into the soft cushionry. Like the backstabbing muscle that he was, Trapezius clenched his length along The Craw’s left shoulder blade, sending the semi-evil deity into spasms of pain and social embarrassment. 

“Ouch, goddammit!” yelled The Craw, as Trapezius dug in relentlessly trying to bring down his victim like a giant Anaconda of pain.

The Craw flailed uselessly at his own back, unable to dig his knuckles into the clenched muscle and relieve himself of Trapezius' authoritative hold. He flailed onward for several hours, collapsing in a spent, gasping pile of displeasure, before slowly rising to his feet. Changing tactics, The Craw swept his dark cape from behind him, in a grand gesture of authority, but failed halfway through, what with being unable to lift his left arm.

“Drats and curses!” shrieked The Craw, releasing his pent-up frustration into the world beyond his lair. “Pain shall confound me no longer!!!”

Grabbing a large kitchen knife from the drawer, The Craw strode angrily to the mirror where he planned to slice into his already rotting dermal layer, and pry an edge of Trapezius upward, where he would grip him firmly in his pliers, and less-than-gently remove said muscle from his body, and parts therein.

Squeezing the pliers tightly, he began to tug, and was distressed to learn that Trapezius has spread his unholy kingdom of pain outward, encompassing almost all of his upper back.  

“By the flames of Albion, I shall triumph over his domain!” shouted The Craw, quickly downing 3 shots of espresso and a non-lethal dose of painkillers.

Yanking unmercifully, The Craw tugged Trapezius, kicking and screaming, out from under his dermal layer, whereupon he proceeded to become unconscious from the level of pain that was quickly rising through his fog of medical indulgences.

“Gahhhhhhh…” he drooled, puddling in a cape-wearing pile of loose tendons and gristle on the floor of his dirty Lair. His last thought was that he should draw up official Papers of Ostracism against old Trapezius. A majority vote among The Craw’s many personalities was all that was needed to make it official.

Some time later, he awoke to find a trained masseuse grinding away at Trapezius with a marble pestle and an electric cattle-prod. 

ZAP!

“Begone bitch!” yelled the mighty masseuse, raining down deathly blows upon Trapezius and his nearby muscle neighbors, who were not terribly pleased with how Trapezius had drawn The Law into the neighborhood.

Several hundred blows and zaps later, Trapezius was subdued, cuffed, and placed back into his sub dermal domicile, where he lived, huffing with hostility for three days before he was sentenced to obscurity by the Craw’s internal judiciary system. He ranted on in lunatic fashion for several more days before falling silent, hopefully never to be heard from again.

* * * * 

“That was a good story,” thought The Craw, slowly un-hunching from his laptop, groaning as his body creaked under the strain…..as Trapezius’ eyes blinked slowly open…

Would he awake again?!?!?!

A Semi-Evil Deity Goes Vegan

The Craw paced deep in his lair, clutching his tiny smartphone and tapping one heavily-booted foot impatiently, waiting for the line to pick up.

Riiiiiiing…..riiiiing……

   “”Hello? Ted’s Discount Flesh Emporium, serving the Underworld since 400 BC, how may I help you?”

   “This is The Craw.”

   “Oh HELLOOOOOO The Craw, what can we do for your exalted self today?”

   “I’d like to order three palettes of your delicious Terriyaki Badger Spleens, please.”

   “<cough>, Ummm, Mister The Craw, I am humbled to inform you that we’ll no longer be carrying that product line, as we’ve had reduced access to prime badger spleens lately.”

  “WHAAAAAAAAT?!?!” The Craw shouted in slow-motion, as the camera panned slowly back from his foaming mouth to reveal a grimace of hysteria and pain that could only grace a face when under the most shocking circumstances. 

   “I don’t understand this BLASPHEMY!!!!” roared The Craw, as his foggy swiss-cheese of a brain slowly comprehended the utter dismay of losing his favorite evening snack of all time. 

   Granted, the Teriyaki version was a new delight, as he’d been noshing the original smoky flavor for thousands of years, as well as the Lebanese Sour Cream and Anchovy flavor that was trotted out from time to time when sales were lagging.

  “Someone’s head will roll for this!” emoted The Craw heavily, even tho he realized there was little to be done. He hefted his trusty zircon-encrusted scythe, “Mister Withers,” and shook it furiously at no-one in particular. He ranted briefly at his cat, Nefarious, who simply turned and licked his butt in a show of feline contempt. 

   Further enraged, The Craw stalked violently down the hall to his left, shrieking, “WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO MEEEE?!?!?!?”

From his phone, came the weak sound of a reply from the contemptible asshat, probably Ted, on the other end of the line.

  “Mister The Craw, it’s become a struggle as of late, because you have apparently eaten 97% of the badger spleens left on this planet, and our recent contract with the Greater Underworld Badger Authority now prevents us from taking the spleens forcibly; we must now ask permission to remove each badger’s spleen, and we’ve been forced to compensate the badger for said spleen-based tissue, and fill out the new Consensual Spleen Surgery and Direct Deposit Form in triplicate. As you can imagine, we’ve been forced to cancel production of all spleen-based products including our line of toasted spleens, potted spleen-in-a-can, Spleen-Whiz(R), and of course all of our shampoos and cosmetics. Oh yes, and our line of organic Spleen-o-matic String Cheese, obviously."

   The Craw staggered, and fell back roughly into his deep wingback chair, seeking the comfort of its blood-red fabric. This was not possible!! Of course, Scientists had been blathering on about some sort of badger shortage someday, but dammit, he was THE CRAW, and he needed his goddamned snackage!!!

From down the long twisted corridor that lead to The Craw’s bedroom, came the voice of his beloved, the crimson-haired beauty he had somehow managed to attract with his unholy manliness, or reaperness, or whatever. 

  “You know, there are plenty of plant-based snackages you could gorge yourself upon, my love!” shouted the Ginger Foxx, who had been after His Great Unholiness to eat fewer things that had the capability of emoting back at you.

  “You know that I am a Reaper of great authority!” he yelled back, knowing that his argument was not necessarily a logical retort. 

  The Craw suddenly clutched at his abdomen and hurried himself toward the The Great Cistern of Unholy Happenings, and placing himself upon it, settled in for a battle of will against his internal departments. There was war and chaos reigning within his intestinal tract, and without any agents in the field, The Craw had very little intelligence about the battle, other than the painful stabs he felt each time he visited the cistern to do his unholy business.
  
  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrgh!” yelled The Craw as the battle began with a powerful punch to his small intestines, then a rapid push to the left, as he mashed the uncooperative body part back against his kidneys, who wanted no part of this fight. The intestines responded with a long and powerful release of noxious gasses that left The Craw reeling. 

   “Oh Mother of Zeus!” he yelled, as the gasses settled around him in a foggy cloud of swirling green and yellow. 

   “Pbthpbthpbthpbth!” shouted his intestines back at him, delivering another round of noxious gas and associated digested materials into the cistern, with great authority. 

   Several curses and howlings later, The Craw sagged from the effort of battle, his sweaty and tattered cloak in a black pool around his unholy feet, his body slumping forward in defeat. It was becoming apparent that his gastric battles would continue this losing streak if he did not change his ways. The Craw contemplated the further horrors he would suffer at the hands of the mighty Underworld Food Conglomerate. 

   Slowly making his way back to the kitchen, The Craw resolved to no longer eat those things that emote back at him nor get into knife-fights in his lower intestines. He mentally banned the worst of them, Seargent Dairy, from ever setting foot in his body again, from now until the end of time. 

   Heaving a great sigh for the memory of his late great toasted badger spleens, The Craw tossed a flake of dehydrated Kale into his waiting maw, savoring the green algae taste, and smiled toothily at Ginger Foxx. 

    “It’s delicious,” he said weakly, through the grimace of his decaying mouth-hole, as he scrambled to find some form of chocolatey goodness that he could use to de-kale his tastebuds. He promptly banished Kale from the house forever, and proceeded to stalk the zucchinis. 

  Who knows what horrible fate awaits them, as The Mighty Craw hefts his trusty scythe and proceeds to reap the crap out of the zucchini’s small and tasteless souls. 

   Savoring their little planty screams of terror, he thought to himself, “Yeah, I can do this.”

   --the end--

New music video from Craw's band, The Shrike

The Shrike is stoked to share with you our first official music video. Check out the song Fall In Line filmed live this past Saturday, and matched with audio from our new album.
Thanks to John Tucker for capturing all of this footage!
Please remember to like the video on YouTube, subscribe to our channel, and share this video on your page. Rock on!

The Craw Meets a FireNymph - Part I

The Craw paced endlessly in his lair, wearing a deep trench in the dirt floor, and dragging the bottom of his black cloak in the ancient dust. Small wisps of rodent hair fluttered in the air as he kicked his pet rat, "Tuberculosis," out of the way, without apology. Having proven his superiority over the rodent class, he felt slightly better, and his ego inflated approximately 4 millimeters.

His mind was racing, racing, racing, and he could swear he heard distant hoofbeats coming from within the walls of his rotting chest, accompanied by a distinct and fast "thwup-thwup-thwup" helicopter sound.

His ancient flesh was peeling in various places, and turning a slightly green color.

Like a fine aged cheese

"Aging perfectly,"  he thought, "just like a nice cheese."

The mushy substance squishing about in his skull was trying to identify the reason his chest had been pounding, and like an ancient sailing ship groaning up to speed, his brain was finally making some connections.

He had been hard at work on a custom new scythe with a new style grip, inlaid with the teeth of his last seven victims, when he had gotten frustrated, and booted up the ancient Windows PC on his uncomfortable iron desk.

"Damned Windows..." he thought, as he quietly resented how he had to sub-lease his equipment from Hell.  It was well known that running a Windows machine is the closest thing to Hell a being can actually comprehend without turning their brains to low-functioning cheese-food-product.

As he navigated the unholy portal into the Undernet, he passed a flickering image of stunning beauty. It was a dark painting, in tones of brown and muted greens......ancient trees surrounding a dirt road, and in the distance, in striking contrast -- the flowing crimson hair of a maiden fair, in a sheer white dress, and a cloak of some indeterminate color.

Squinting through his rheumy eyes, he peered closer...what was it about this image?
Stepping back to take in the entirety of the painting, he noticed her hair stirring in the breeze.

"Well, that makes sense," he thought to himself, shaking his head quickly, as if to clear the illusion from his eyes.

"Help me!" called a small distant voice, and The Craw spun around rapidly, looking for the source of the sound.

Seeing no-one, he peered closely at the painting again, and noticed that the woman appeared to be walking toward him, beckoning to him. Her eyes darkened with concentration as she yelled again, "HEEEEEELP ME!!!"

The Craw, unused to seeing such apparitions, and especially apparitions of such exquisite beauty, gasped as his lower jaw promptly disconnected from the rest of his skull, and fell to the tile floor, where it lay in stunned silence.

"Hmmm..." thought The Craw, before becoming increasingly alarmed at the way his lower jaw just laid there on the ground.

"Ummm...a little help?" asked his jaw, but since it was laying there on the floor, it pretty much sounded like "uuunggg, a wi el?"

"Curious...." thought The Craw, picking up his jaw and trying to wedge it firmly back in place. He hoped it would stay put, but it was just as likely to fall off again as not -- the maiden was gorgeous, and he seemed particularly affected by her. Not to mention the distinct lack of tendons connecting the jaw to anything.

"Help meeeeee! I am soooooo bored!!!" yelled the figure in the painting, and the Craw turned his attention back to the beauty. Her hand beckoned him, and The Craw's ancient brain sputtered and choked itself to life and he began to comprehend. The girl perhaps required some form of assistance, or perhaps a handout...he wasn't sure.

Mustering up his concentration, The Craw squeezed his mind tight, and attempted to project himself into the painting, where he figured he might be able to provide some sort of comfort to the distressed beauty.

Her hair shook in delicious slow-motion as he watched, and concentrated. Momentarily distracted by the curve of her perfect hips, his brain utterly ceased functioning for several seconds, and this brief moment was all that was needed to become one with the painting.

The world swam, and light bent sideways, creating ripples of space-time around him, and The Craw rose up from the brown earth beside the road......deep in the painting's background. He paused a moment, savoring the delicious whirling sensation, then sighed with an ancient groan of effort, and stood, bathed in sepia light, and walked toward the maiden.

"Dude, what took you so friggin long?" asked the maiden boldly, obviously unaware of the importance with which The Craw was regarded in certain unholy social circles.

"I am The Craw!" he proclaimed, a bit stiffly, extending a bony hand.

"Creepy............but.......nice cloak," said the girl, shaking the bony fingers, and grimacing slightly as a small piece of flesh dislodged itself from The Craw's right index finger and took up residence in her palm.

"I am Sarah, Nymph of Fire," she said, wiping her hand on her cloak, which appeared to be a sort of muted fig color with green piping, but now with a slight fleshy stain on it, "and I am so utterly bored right now that I could scream!"



"Hmmmmm," pondered The Craw, his mind racing with ideas that were not exactly chaste.

"NO, I'm not doing THAT!!!" she yelled, and The Craw froze instantly, his vision stuck on freeze-frame, like a blurry polaroid of some sort of pagan love-ritual.

"Um...I wasn't thinkin' anything!" he protested, before he realized that he was, after all, an all-important deity of the Underworld, and he'd better act a lot cooler than that. This girl was obviously able to read minds, and that made her dangerous.

Thinking that he'd better prepare himself for some form of mental altercation with this nymph, he searched the deep pockets of his tattered black cloak, for something with which to defend himself. Down he reached...past the pair of white mice, down past the broken swiss army scythe he carried for emergencies, down past the bulging bag of toasted badger spleens (new! Terriyaki flavored!) and felt his bony claw come to rest on something...what was it?

  Ah, there it was.....a small satchel of fine Bulgarian bagweed, a gift from a recently-deceased diplomat from Fransylvania. He would bond with this nymph over a shared vision! Bulgarian Bagweed has the most curious property when smoked: for a short moment, you can see the true nature of anyone around you; the most true vision of their essence. He was curious to see what sort of ephemeral existence would appear before him when he beheld the the essence of Sarah the Fire Nymph.

A Fine Satchel of Bagweed

He quickly produced a pipe made from a ferret skull, and filled it with the rich dark buds of the Bagweed.

"Oooohhh, Bagweed!" she exclaimed, "my favorite!"

"Drats," thought The Craw, as he saw his advantage disappearing quickly.

He handed her the pipe, and paused, searching for his custom flaming coffin lighter. It was sure to impress, but....where WAS that thing?

"Let me get that," she said and casually flicked her thumbnail, producing a small flame from the tip of her thumb.

"Wow, talented girl," thought The Craw with grudging admiration. He regarded her quickly as she raised the pipe to her lips, noting the sensual way she smiled as she inhaled.

Her head leaned back, her eyes half-closed, and she passed the pipe to The Craw, who almost spilled the contents, since his gaze was still firmly locked on her face. With an effort, he broke his gaze and quickly took a deep hit from the pipe. He could feel the green smoke passing through his rotting insides, and filling his ancient lungs with the heady flavors of cherry and leather, and his eyes closed for a moment, preparing themselves for the vast imagery that rapidly approached.

"Ohhhhhhhh, my god, look at that," she said, peering at him closely, but with a slight look of shock.

The Craw would have made an inquiry into the meaning of her phrase, had it not been for the image that greeted his opened eyes. There before him, in a shape slightly resembling the nymph, was a vision of multi-colored light, streaming endlessly from the center of her being, and flowing outward in fans of color, which bled together and mixed into new never-before known colors, such as Mattross, Ephemia, and near the edges, stunning Versunscion. Around the edges, there blinked a million crystalline lights, shimmering like galaxies, and he felt a warmth flow over his carcass, lighting him from the inside.

There was a slightly painful stretching sensation in his face, and he touched his face lightly, as if to identify the cause. Something told him he was smiling, but to the casual observer, it probably looked more like a grimace, as he wasn't accustomed to that particular facial expression. Didn't serve well in his reaping duties at all.

He peered closer, but the radiant heat from this fire nymph kept him slightly at bay. It was the most beautiful apparition, and he thought to himself, "Craw, either this is the finest Bagweed you have ever encountered, or the soul of this nymph is the most pure essence of radiant beauty he had ever seen. Or both.

Meanwhile, back at the nymph, Sarah continued to mutter phrases, such as, "Woooowww," and "huh....interesting" as she peered deeply into the essence of The Craw.

"What do you see?" he asked, somewhat curious about his own essence, after seeing her amazing inner light.

"Welllllllllllll..." she began, "I'm not entirely sure here, but you appear to be a large purple velvet bat."

"Really?" asked The Craw, somewhat taken aback.

"Yes, but its the oddest thing," she continued, "I can see a deep red light emanating from inside you, and it looks like your heart is about three times the size it should be. Do, you, like, have high blood pressure or something?"

The Craw confessed he had no idea, and this was bad news indeed. Reapers are not known for having large hearts, and it may help explain why he was so behind in his reaping quota lately. Perhaps his heart was not small and black and hard enough, as it should be, for a reaper.

"Ummmm...I'm a velvet bat?"

"It appears so, and a sort of cute bat too, but you're fading now, a bit....back to your normal cloaked self."

The Craw could detect the lights starting to fade around Sarah, as the bagweed began to wear off, and this was probably a good thing, as the author wasn't sure how to describe it any better, at this time.

"You were.......ummmmm........very beautiful" said the Craw, blushing a deep green color in his haggard face.

"I was?" she asked, innocently enough that he believed that she may have been surprised.

"I saw lights" said The Craw, unable to come up with as good a description as the author, and quietly resenting the author for it.

"I get that sometimes," she said, and took his bony claw in her hand. "So reaper-boy, with the big heart and velvet wings, what are we going to do now? I've been stuck in this painting forever, and you are just the man, err...uh...I mean....reaper, to take me away from this place. I've never really hung out with a reaper before, but you seem OK. Just don't try any funny stuff, mister."

The Craw was confused, as he wasn't really thinking anything funny, but still seemed to have this painful facial stretching going on. And frankly, it hurt a lot, and he seemed unable to stop. Maybe it was because she smelled of lavender and rosemary, with a dash of liquid smoke, and undertones of blackberry and cinnamon. Either way, it was distracting, in a way that he was not used to.

"He is so crushing on me," she thought to herself, as she hooked her arm through his, and turned to look at him, a mess of tangly hair, all starry-eyed and probably slightly retarded. "Yep," she thought.


Continue to Part II >>

The Craw is Now on ReverbNation

Hello Patrons of the Underworld!

The Craw has quietly begun amassing his attack on the record industry with an upcoming record release via ReverbNation.

You'll notice that you can now play some pre-release versions of the songs from Absence of Matter (the upcoming album) in the new app, over yonder to the right there. Yeah, that's the one.

Have a visit, read some awkward stories, and listen to some of the finest new Rocktronica to come out of the west coast incubator since at least yesterday.

With a sound that recalls the downtempo beats of artists such as Lemon Jelly, Massive Attack, and Enigma, this album also adds some blistering guitars and cinematic touches for added flavor, much like a finely aged balsamic.

New stories coming up soon!

Hatred and Wrath,
  -The Craw
   Executive VP Death and Distribution
   Underworld Records, LLC

A Day of New Stuff

Well, many may recall that my first iteration of this blog went belly-up when Google lost all my images. So, it's back, and I now use the "Musings" page (tag) to enter more general thoughts, rather than stories and whatnot.

So today, I posted all the stories from the last blog, and we can proceed from here.

In my attempt to reconect with my creative muse, I decided to paint the studio. I had originally thought it would be great to have a nice clean, well-lit area in which to record. But over time, I have found it far to clinical. There was no color, no mood, no tranquil space in which to work.

So I am now in the midst of painting. Side walls are a deep cocoa brown, while trim is a terra cotta color. Back and front wall, and offsetting doors are painted in a deep earthy green.

I am hoping it all results in a more calm and serene work environment. Given that it's a small room, the darker colors may make it seem smaller, but I am not looking to fit a whole band in there, so the more intimate feel will hopefully make it more inviting.


Note to self: I need a more comfortable sitting place.

I have finally started to work on a new music...."thing."
I don't even know what it's supposed to be, so we'll just have to see how that turns out...

I will also now feature a "Craw Song of the Week" each week, which may be older material, or stuff in development. Dig it.

The New Pledge of Allegiance

I pledge allegiance, to the corporations
of the United States of America
and to the Republic which stands upon us
one corporation, under a false god
divided by wealth
with liberty and justice for the rich.