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#duststirs
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 · 20 days
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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.
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silentcitystreetart · 6 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 · 18 days
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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?
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silentcitystreetart · 21 days
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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.
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silentcitystreetart · 2 years
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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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silentcitystreetart · 11 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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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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silentcitystreetart · 2 years
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The floor boards have separated in the kitchen. Breathing in the thick summer air, the house expands in protest. Rumbles come from the far hills, signalling chaos in electric Omniscience. Beetles pour out of the hole into a chittering, vibrating mass of churning insects. Covering a house without a home, your heart is empty. They've come to fill it. The mass crawls closer and closer towards you as you lie in bed. Asleep in knowing dreams, you've made a friend indeed.
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Northern pines, some stand, some lie, and many are forgotten. Spirits forged in the restless timber as the mycelium reclaimed them back. The frozen land and vast darkness are reminders of times forgotten.
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silentcitystreetart · 2 years
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The edging in the wild flower field just yonder has been crushed. Flora stomped harshly against the earth. Thus begins the tracking of unfamiliar fauna, otherworldly signs from veils too thin to conceal.
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silentcitystreetart · 2 years
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Silent dreams shift clouds to the North encasing misted woes. A neighborhood sits in darkness, its underbelly pools below. Calling into the night is a doe lost in the haze, her antlers glow. Spreading light frequencies in stark delight.
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Winter winds have come and frozen the forests aching heart. Deer surround the icy core their twisted antlers cast dark silhouettes across the snow covered ground. Usnea tassles drift softly as they cling lightly to the branches of solemn evergreens. Step lightly for mourning oneself can be forevermore.
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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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silentcitystreetart · 2 years
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Tear out the willing hearts of a young wildling. A creature of the forest that holds an essence deeper than the mycelium itself. Dry roots tightly gripped knowledge. Begging for the attention of The Old Ones earned recognition.
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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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