Dryad
We are the dryads, agents of softening, drinking sunlight, and dispersing the soil. Perhaps we too are enforcing some kind of strangeness upon the bedrock, but we were doing it long before you were.
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What’s Done
Do you see my beacon? Do you see the tower, lit and smoking like tallow? Now the world will know…
They will know the tower’s authority is not absolute.
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The Secret Ingredient
I have something you will never find in your encrypted archive, in your registry, in your solid state cold storage.
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The Discerning Pacifist
“This is the sword of the Order. It has no patience for petty violence, no appetite for blood and flesh. The sword‘s purpose is to cut through oppression, to cleave the chains of the mind.”
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How Long I’ve Waited
“They told me I could come out when the sky turned red and the sun turned into the moon. Finally, I can move, I can open my eyes, and I can cross the threshold.”
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Murky (Inktober 2025-04)
Do we succumb and offer ourselves as prey? Or do we become elusive and scarce, mean and jagged and toxic?
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Weave (Inktober 2025-02)
Search mercilessly for what’s inside, even if you have to unstitch yourself to get to it.
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Mustache (Inktober 2025-01)
A loose, grungy portrait of an intimidating man for Inktober day 01.
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Wicked Abandoned Fellow
with a shank / in his stocking, / a rose / in his tea, // ain’t this / a fellow / we’d all / like to be?
Welcome to Fall, don’t forget your hat and your club!
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Excorporated
Apocalypse Dance Party
