Tyver Foucault

@thedoorthedoor.bsky.social

The air in your lungs remembers being a storm. The iron in your blood, a sword. Banner by @thxnywy.art

waiting for this lil guy to come back from the kiln is why i’ve been posting about being shriven in the fire of god’s love all week. they’ve been through it and they survived. down to their tiny perfect butthole flower. this is what the gods feel like when we survive

Whales will trade almost anything for church bells. Real ones, removed from their towers. They don't just want sound, they want holiness, too; old worship ringing through the shrineless sea

My mother is a gardener. Humans find her sharp, abrasive, but plants flourish in her hands. We had devils ivy that would quiver suddenly, growing so fast it moved. Birds landed on her fingertips as she seethed at passers by for simply looking in the yard. I was raised by a storm.

you input the konami code in morse on the buzzer. there's a hitch in jennings' voice as the board glitches to reveal a seventh category, "[your name]'s favorite things"