divRRRR

a deep-sea diver sitting in a rusty bathtub by sandpaperdaisy

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itchy… ̡̢̡̢̛̛̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍̎… ̔̕̚̕̚ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿.re..d! ̡bå̢̡̢̛̛̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍̎.ll.. ̔̕̚̕ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿oons… ̡̢̡̢̛̛̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍̎… ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ̡̢̡̢̛̛̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍̎… ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿… ͡҉҉

pollen is like itchy red balloons in my head.

itchy red balloons by sandpaperdaisy

Foul rag and bone shop cellars

ghost tree 002

This quote from Myra Hindley struck me.  (She ripped off Yeats.)  She tried to justify the Moors Murders as an attempt to explore the foul rag and bone shop cellars of her mind.  I found the phrase (and her appropriation of it) to be suitably disgusting for her.

foul rag and bone shop cellars by sandpaperdaisy