〰️ Exian

Freeboning

There's two types of dark: sparkly dark and sludgy dark

There was this game called Boris The Spider

God's endless brocaded back

Plums acryla gouache

I believe it was this time last year that the street lilies were spinning round and round on their stalks in stoic afternoons and also I was fully paying for spotify

I was born in some starry fold. In a non grandiose way

You need 60 scarabs to enter Cape Claw

When I get home from work I'm going to kick back, light some candles, pour myself a nice glass of dutch wine and watch some short-form video content

Office Man 5000™ isn't the name of the electronic reclinable office chair I sit on. It is me

A morning chill like it's straight out of an Arthurian sci-fi

I see domes of water spread over the turquoise plain. I'll get to you. It might take a number of rusty, discarded bikes and a few dionysian deaths but I'll get to you

The lights on the lagoon is the deepest blue of night my dreaming heart can go

Fire in the atrium is my spirit animal, with the wine red fur. I'm not joking—I don't joke. I don't go to crochet class for the humour

Now that I'm dead, I'm either bound for that final star or the everlasting snow. Charon's a pretty cool guy. We're starting a band called Kill Snark

If life's too much then embed yourself deeper in it

With the rainbow of promise I shoot my arrow. The arrow dusted in icing sugar. Thank you, the kingly woodpecker

Come hang with us! We're 𝘴𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺! Our marbles roll through a golden wheat field blown by the wind, as we sit on deck chairs, eating red olives from dictionary town and mixing our EDM tracks

At work they call me Cubicle Jim, even though the office is open plan. Is it perhaps I put up spooky borders... or I keep my relations strictly cube-like? But I'm embroidered into life like a cherub holding a trumpet. I pick volcanic flowers and hear little voices in the thickets

Soul station zebra

Angel wings I sing your song. Kitten wings I sing you too in the noontide piano keys pink white and purple

"I'm in a situationship—a ship that's in a situation" is what I skeet. My fellow morning pajama men all laugh and applaud

This sound effect's called mecha-pharaoh modulation: it takes you through many green glades and you travel with your prized ram. A zodiacal butterfly alights on your shoulder

I saw flocks of owls and meteors blooming. Somewhere between Reykjavik and New York

Tell me about your antique book of gemstones, the watermelon castle in the sky, the false fairy songs that echo through mausoleums

A poem that begins with: "Oh misery cones! Misery cones!"

Central rhythm command has sent us on a mission to some peachy garden

A twilight sea of sleepy ice floes? Oh I wish. More like King Bitch lost in a circus tent. Like looking for truth in a tangle of aux cords

Beyond the espaliered pear trees, impeccable pop-punk architecture

The birdsong effect on those traffic island girls is palpable. I'm cleaning my nights in these lustral waters

My favourite film Small Soldiers

I seek the day's rose, but the blind star of my heart is already there in some patient, primordial night-time; and the rose bush is arched there too

A mirror that shows the shy horse of your own thoughts

Today feels so real like a pearl bedded in the black wing of truth

Don't ask me ῳɧყ but I've been sitting in this tulip field in my deep sea diving suit privating and unprivating my twitter account. She takes off her wizard dress and enters the living waters

The flurried clouds early star trees lost in shadow song

Alternative news be like: baby manticore vandalizes Libyan apiary

they should pump the world full of little treasures

Breakfast for breakfast yess boy and the Roman fountain's playing that bat cube music I Love™ 🌧🌧🌧

Flying pink elephants among blue mountaintops... erm... saw this in the glass door handle to the world of Sleep

Doom scrolling the ancient scrolls

I love it when there's trains in American films

I was sitting by a sunny river thinking on the golden variations of things and also if the Kray twins owned any ice cream vans

The stained glass homie This nascent quiet here on the jetty A flower for everything you've done for this town 🌻

A chip of God's iris is found in the song

《 Art brings a little exile 》 How could 'Night in Fuschia Colors' do this to us? That's a Cioran, Sontag kinda vibe but I'm browsing the forest floor for darling frogs

I'm breaking like a porcelain flower anyhow the wastes of winter are underground