A hooded figure rests against a tree trunk at a wooden bridge, though it’s unclear whether they are merely tired or worse. The woods are full of fairy lights and wisps of fog, with the title text floating in a cloud of its own.
A fractal sphere floats in an empty stairwell, tiles of the real and imaginary interacting in absolutely eye-searing pink. The text reads “Blessed are those
Grief isn’t something that happens in one go, and it isn’t something that stays in its box. I find every funeral I end up at
Gnarled tree roots that evoke the eye sockets and nasal aperture of a skull seep through the gap between an ancient structure and a medieval
Two people in a dark, snowy wood, their fate ambiguous. A texture layer of insanely crusty paint highlights the pair and gives the whole scene
The First Church of Go The Fuck Outside is a Discordian tradition founded by the Right Reverend Nigel. This image drops the cussing for broader
