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silentcitystreetart · 4 months
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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.
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silentcitystreetart · 4 months
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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.
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silentcitystreetart · 5 months
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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.
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silentcitystreetart · 7 months
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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.
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silentcitystreetart · 8 months
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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.
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silentcitystreetart · 10 months
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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.
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silentcitystreetart · 10 months
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Hello fellow interneters I've decide to offer up Give an ask recieve a dreamscape.
In solid pools of black muck sits the answer.
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silentcitystreetart · 10 months
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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.
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silentcitystreetart · 10 months
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Motions of the base of the lilac trees bring great worry into the street. The suburban landscape filled with greenery begging for colour to expand. The frequency of last night electrical thunderstorm has shaken the soil to its very core. Cloud streak lavender skies bring a small reminder of summer time. The air is weird and everything is off it is time to reignite the spark.
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silentcitystreetart · 11 months
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The comings and goings of the mushrooms have piqued your interest. Each morning a new trail of spore prints lines the front lawns. The mushrooms remain hidden no matter where they are searched for. Only spray remnants give clues. Darkness calls within the light for the mushrooms are just out of sight.
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Silence as the wind screams to the voided night. Whispers within the trees draw you near., pleading for you to welcome them home. Think with one’s heart for The Pines will call again.
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When the sun rose that morning it brought with it a thin, pale fog. The sea only added air to the flame. Misty tendrils engulfed the forested north and brought with it solemn regret. Hazy sunlight warms the heart as my neighbors struggle in the dark. Antlers break underpressure for the weight it is one to bare.
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It is I who whispered softly in to the darkness the other night. Pleading to bring all that is me back to me. The Old Ones make their way forward it is time for the remembrance to occur. The moss quivers in anticipation they glow slightly in the darkness. The fungi release clouds of spores to welcome all that is to come. I hear the world softening, opening revealing the warmth of the heart. The trees move closer to your house creating a border of lush, twisting life. The void has whispered back.
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Anyone else notice the uptick in porn bots following them.... maybe they just love dreamscapes.
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The Western essence will come again and again. Tomorrow's plight is too shallow to be heard through the all-encompassing mist. Bring fallen Oaks in to burn. Wild ones seep into the cracks left open. Their energy Chaotic, their love for the land unwavering. Call forward many void filled trenches, asks the Pines to solemnly cast the needing of which a heart grows forever stronger. Banish what is no longer yours and cast hoops of moss. Encumbered follies for a night that misspoke.
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Current feels
The closer you become to the Old Ones in the forest, the more time ceases to exist. Existence of beings in a world where death does not completely decompose. Every year the moss collects a little bit more knowledge from the soil. Rotting are dreams in which essence can not be won. A table sits in a clearing, a crossroads for many to come. Overgrown, it sits in mourning, begging, pleading for the land to return. Chasms have started to appear, deep pits of void.
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When you open the box that appeared in that attic, you find a red cedar sapling. Unsure of how it sustained life. The sapling's beauty is so vibrant, offering life to your dark, forgotten attic. Set it in the middle of the floor and allow it to take root. Etchings appear in the floor around it, sending shock waves all around. settling in and grounding itself. You leave it there and make your way to the backyard, where you lie in the middle of the lawn. Dew covers you, attracting millions of millipedes to cover you and dance with such love, keeping you company till the morning. You feel the legs slowly leaving you; the feeling will remain forever.
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