Graveyard Dirt

Look, it’s not like I don’t know that the use of metaphors is a lazy motherfucking thing, but I haven’t really written anything with serious chops since February, which means my ass is way out of fucking practice when it comes to writing. And when one can’t be articulate as fuck - I can be suspiciously coherent when there’s a motive, so don’t think this entire “mothereffing Jesus blow me in the fucking ass Christ Almighty” routine is anything more than me being inexcusably lazy - one inevitably employs the use of a grammatical crutch to lamely limp past the obstacle of inarticulation.

My metaphor’s a dress. Yeah, you read right: a dress. (Just humor me, okay? I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in almost a month, I’m constantly covered in crow shit and I haven’t felt a sense of satisfaction from completing a project in over three months. I wish I had something more witty to offer than “HEY GUYS, A //DRESS//!” but, right now, that’s all I got. Maybe by next week I’ll have upped my mental capabilities to allow me to play fast and loose with analogies, or, if you’re really fucking lucky, similes.)

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Reblog a picture of yours that you’ve already posted and get 15+ likes. Post a brand new picture (of your bush) and only get 1 like.

Christ, Tumblr, are you trying to give me a fucking complex?

…and there go all the followers who didn’t know about the roadkill thing. (<- Sorry, guys, but it ain’t just Ebay’n’Etsy around these parts.)

For those of you who are new to my flavor of witchcraft and don’t find yourself dry heaving at the thought of working with roadkill a good place to gain a better understanding of my, uh, unique spiritual practices is through my personal journal, Graveyard Dirt. If you’re specifically interested in my animal work be sure to check out the Asphalt & Entrails category, and the corresponding photo set on Flickr.