new music “happiness forgotten” and “she”
“fluraichean / a single”
“self titled ep" and "haunt"
Now available through bandcamp and right here on our own website.
deadman in a living room -
There is a story to be told of the cruelties of mankind and his struggle against the forces that drive him. This is the story of the StonedFox.
It was early fall and the leaves had barely started to turn. The fox and his vixen had picked up the scent of a hunting party and decided to stalk them into the evening, with the hopes of snatching a fresh kill from underneath the sleeping campers. The hunting troop however had no plans of retiring early for the night; they had built camp and a fire and were now busying themselves with taking long drinks from a green bottle that lit up with the firelight after every drink. As the hunters became louder and stumbled around, the pair of foxes inched closer and closer to the camp. The smell of the fresh kill cooking over the fire was intoxicating to the hungry duo. One of the hunting party pulled himself up and moved beyond the fire, the foxes were illuminated with nowhere to hide from the roaring light and a shot from a long rifle echoed across the forest, and with it the spirit and body of the vixen were torn asunder.
Fox working fast dragged his dying partner into the shadows as her blood ran into the soil. This vision imprinted on Fox’s mind. The hunters did not pursue; they had worked hard enough and this careless act worried them not. They returned to their whiskey. This left Fox alone to bury his beloved in the cold ground. He did not rest that night, he simply laid guard over the fresh grave and whimpering until dawn. He remained there until nightfall and picked up the scent of the hunters down the trail, the thought of vengeance filled his mind. The scene was much the same as the evening before, drinking and reckless staggering about. Fox laid in wait, longer this time, until the drink ran out and the hunters were well asleep. It was pitiful how easy it was to come upon one of these men.
Fox waited until his scent woke the hunter, they locked eyes just before he tore out the throat of his opponent. Fox stole away into the dawn matted with gore. He returned to his den and collapsed with exhaustion. As he fell asleep the scent of fresh blood and his lover filled his nose. His mind raced as he wondered why killing the hunter had not satisfied his heart at all.
Months passed and much changed with the seasons. We are taught to fear the seasons changing but in truth we fear the change they bring within us. This rang true with Fox. He had taking to eating the windfall apples upon the ground as they fermented they produced a mind-altering substance. In his stupor Fox wandered far from home with little regard for his spirit or body. And his acts of vengeance continued throughout the forest. He crept into many a camp always to kill one foe, a constant blood debt for the stolen life of his love.
The scenes of slaughter were beginning to become well known in the hunting circles. And brought many a trapper or bushmen in search of this fearsome beast. It was during these hunts they observed Fox and his many odd behaviors. He had now taken to eating medicinal herbs and mushrooms of the forest, ; anything to block the pain in his heart. The hunters never seemed to be able to catch up with him and took to telling stories of a fox walking on his back legs, upright like a man. stealing into camps to knock over whiskey bottles to empty into his belly and tales of how he dipped his paws into crushed red berry to recreate scenes of the
carnage he was a part of on many a cave wall. The hunters had now taken to calling him StonedFox and tales of his warped actions were carried near and far. For years this went on, ; the stories, the random slayings, and more and more often the inky blackness of him not remembering from the constant hunt to poison the mind.
One morning Fox awoke laying in a field, it was winter and the blood from the night before had frozen his paws into the soil as he lay trapped. The will to fight had left and he waited ready for death. As he prayed for a painless end he tried to summon up a vision of his beloved. It had been so long since his mind had focused on her or any good for that matter, that the terror of forgetting her stirred a fire within him.
A group of hunters came within earshot and Fox lay inches from death, he couldn’t turn his head to see but he knew they were close and would
discover him. He held his breath as the group walked the trail straight towards him. A low growl emanated from Fox’s belly served as a warning to the hunters, ; he would fight to his last breath. Several people were upon him fast and raised their rifles amidst echoes of voices in the clearing. One voice stood out among the rest, the voice of a local tracker. The women could see the pain in Fox’s eyes pain beyond the story written on his skin in battle scars and the blood of man upon his fur. The tracker urged the men to lower their guns and build camp. The tents were
raised quickly and the crackle of the fire came fast. The tracker inched closer to Fox to shield him from the wind. Fox no longer growled and surrendered to the kindness he was being given. Fox did not know if the warmth he felt came from the flames or from a place deep within himself, it was a feeling long forgotten. The young women boiled water over the fire and added herbs. She took the warm container and poured the sweet-smelling water around
Fox’s paws freeing them from the blood and ice. Fox did not run, it crossed his mind, but as soon as he locked eyes with the tracker his instinct faded. The women took from her pocket a bone comb and dipped it in the warm water. As the comb ran over his coat his fur seemed fuller and the scars lesser. All the while the tracker held her gaze fixed on Fox the deep understanding a comfort. As the campers fixed dinner they set a place for Fox by the fire with a bowl full of food, not scraps, but an equal portion. The food was good and stuck to his bones, a sense of being completely washed over Fox and he fell asleep next to the women who had saved him from his spirits’ torment.
At dawn the camp was packed up and the hunters turned themselves towards the forest line. The tracker turned herself east. She walked a few paces and looked back her eyes beckoning Fox to follow. The trail was easy and in a short while they came upon a village. In his heart Fox knew he was home. He stayed on with the tracker joining the villagers for many meals and with time celebrations and hard times but these too Fox weathered with a new-found ease.
Years passed in relative comfort when one day the women awoke and took Fox into the woods. Without speaking one word she sat upon a rock and stared at Fox. Fox knew it was his time to go, he approached his friend and placed his head in the women’s outstretched hands and then nuzzled into her chest. Fox was embraced as gently as if he were one of the women’s own children. As Fox turned to walk away the elder whispered “Go now StonedFox your spirit has returned.” “Never relinquish it to the cruelties of man.”
When next you travel the trails and forests of this great land should you come upon a fox, fear not that he is crazy, fear that he is clear headed and well
versed in the duality of man and nature. His eyes will gaze through you and know who you are. A quiet yip or howl heard from fox should be taken as a warning, heed his advice, he is urging you back to the true path of life. He will not harm you for he
knows the pain you have caused yourself and others. Do not fear this illumination and understanding but turn it inwards and reflect upon your actions. As surely as Fox could attack you where you stand, he no longer acts with vengeance in his heart. He is kind and balanced. Be like Fox wise, inquisitive and ever learning. ; Bursting forth from the constraints of man’s nature, a wild and free fire fox.
All lyrics by Occultly Amens
All music and vocals by Fox