Days gone by have been said to live deep within the earth. Scattered and broken relics of love long lost. The fog has seeped into the land as tears can not shed through the deep. The trees shake in the deep trenches of the dark earth. The weeping can be heard from the fields, it grows all around and can not be pinpointed. Where will you go now, what identity will you embrace?

Dreamscapes and oddities welcomed.

You will never ever annoy me if you

Send me random anons

reply to my posts

send me an ask

reblog me

talk to me

say hello

give me random love

“bother” me

So please stop thinking otherwise.

I keep seeing your dreamscapes. May I ask what they are? Are they just fun snippets of writing, or something more?

I explain it best here, thank you for the question. If you have anymore please ask. :)

Reblog if you wouldn't mind some curious anons

What if I said that I've made and illustrated an oracle card deck. Would you crawl out from your moss pile for that?

What if I said there's some for purchase?

Would you bring me your local cryptid for a touch of a physical dreamscape?

The Eastern pines are calling me. Meet me there with $47 and the deal can go down.

Message me if you're interested.

You'd (in my humble opinion) be the patron saint of ominous signs and omens in the distance, like the sound of a murder of crows in the fog or graffiti that looks a little too alive in the neon light of a subway station, but then the train passes

Oh this is so good, thank you. I feel this and am so happy you see this through my blog. One of the best anon messages I've recieved.

Break steadfast of the the Oak roots bound around your ankles. The soothing morning mist will sooth your wounds. The dark, unforgiving forest moans in recognition. Pull forward towards the West and allow the Pines to take you in. 47 stands around one blighted moth a conjurer that seeks no forgiveness. Fly into the sun-kissed skys and allow the sun to feed your inner flame. It is here where the violet vapours begin to pour in.

Reblog if you want anon messages of what you would be the patron saint of

For what you wish for is what you seek forever more in the fever dream of life. The trees have been talking about the wise women dealing deep with the moss magick. You call to them in the night, you voice hourse by the morning light. Soon the answer will come and the moon will illuminate your path to the 47th stand of Pines. Call feeling to your heart and come forth from the dark. It is time to reclaim your forgotten self once and for all.

In light of recent snow fall the ones who spead the litchen will be passing through. They will meld with the environment, static piles that slither through town leaving scaly fungal- algae carpets. This is a reminder to sleep near them and welcome them to their new home. Tell them your secrets and they'll tell you yours.

Remember the snow bring dark tales of loneliness it is here where you will find a friend.

hello, it feels like it’s time for me to return here.

i don’t have much in the way of offering, but i can give you this — some small part of my hope for the future. do with it what you will.

please, could you tell me what it is you believe i should know

Hello, thank you so much for the offering. I will accept your hope and will use its embers to help build the hearths flame.

The small grassy knoll in the park speaks into the fog and pull secrets from the night. You will stubble upon this place and be offered to be the guardian of a land dripping in fog. A place where the orbs grow brighter each night leading to the full moon. Have you dreamt of here and any point for the limiting of your heart space will sync and pull you like a beacon in the night. Dark purple flowers intertwine the grass collecting morining dew to feed the fog, a mass that constantly shifts in form and in heart. Grab deeply onto the strings around you and weave your story. Will you capture your heart and finally wear it once and for all? Or will you glance at the twilight home within the barren forest that calls at dusk? The gate keeper of the knoll the weeping winds guide those who listen. Come home.

Rumbles of dark awakening come from the deep rooted fungus downstairs. It brushes itself among the living clinging to whatever embers of the past they seat themselves in. The oozes in penatrable and the sparks within brighter then the setting sun. A fire crackles deep underground warming the fungus providing warmth to its inner harth. It calls out in the night looking for more damp air to make it feel light. When the morning sun rises the steam from the damp brings dense clouds of fog around your house. Sit in the silence. Love in the darkness. The moss trembles in your dreams.

When you climb through bright yellow tinted glass you see that reality has come to pass. The thoughts of the bright orange lights dance upon the darkened sky. They burn a gaseous glow that peirces through your curtains. A room that holds yourself and a silent glow of the yellow glass. Your heart aches for sleep for understanding, a lulling that will soothe your soul. Ask not what will to come but what already is.

The outline of seven sides to left of the quarry downtown has arrived. Each barring a rooting devastation of chaotic neutrality that will finally move the moss. Its stagnancy has suffocated the the land, pulling at the inner surface for far to long. The Fir Trees rustle graciously in the wind, a song too heavenly to chant. Once always once shall always will be in a deep forested heart. Learn to breath in the purple mist.

What rises from the depths of the pool in the waning light of day?

Hey thanks for sending the ask I know youve liked and been following my stuff for a long time. I hope you enjoy.

The feeling of that time in the summer where the light hit the glass just right and you felt the wholeness of the world. It will be wrapped in thick aching roots that plead for you to return home. When you can just stomach it it will pull into the void and blissfully show you the inner lake.

Hello fellow interneters I've decide to offer up Give an ask recieve a dreamscape.

In solid pools of black muck sits the answer.

Within the heart of a distant field is the contents of souliec ruins. Burn brighter as sunlit essences poor over. When the ferns have bloomed you will feel the signs. When one rebuilds the ruins all will come to frequency. It is when we search in the forgotten crevices, tunnels, and caves you find what you seek. The lilacs send soft aromas through the air cradling you, as you journey into the forest towards home.