Placeholder: [illustration by Junji] In the darkness of the night, a shadowy figure emerged from the depths of the forest, moving with impossible speed, leaving no trace behind but a lingering putrid, metallic stench that filled the air. The settlers, terrified and confused, immediately pointed fingers at a nearby group of Native Americans, sparking a brief but bloody conflict fueled by fear and misunderstanding. However, the truth was far more sinister than anyone could have imagined. [illustration by Junji] In the darkness of the night, a shadowy figure emerged from the depths of the forest, moving with impossible speed, leaving no trace behind but a lingering putrid, metallic stench that filled the air. The settlers, terrified and confused, immediately pointed fingers at a nearby group of Native Americans, sparking a brief but bloody conflict fueled by fear and misunderstanding. However, the truth was far more sinister than anyone could have imagined.

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@generalpha

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[illustration by Junji] In the darkness of the night, a shadowy figure emerged from the depths of the forest, moving with impossible speed, leaving no trace behind but a lingering putrid, metallic stench that filled the air. The settlers, terrified and confused, immediately pointed fingers at a nearby group of Native Americans, sparking a brief but bloody conflict fueled by fear and misunderstanding. However, the truth was far more sinister than anyone could have imagined.

distorted image, malformed body

1 year ago

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SSD-1B

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illustration by underground comix artist, Brion Gysin of: As the night wears on, Surpanakha's vengeance knows no bounds. The forest becomes a stage for her savage dance, a symphony of pain and terror. And in the end, the remnants of those who dared to challenge her lie scattered on the forest floor, a testament to her indomitable spirit. Surpanakha stands amidst the carnage, her twisted form radiating power and triumph. She has reclaimed her sanctuary, her twisted essence more potent than ever.
My art is like the spontaneous prose of a midnight jazz session, flowing freely and unapologetically. The critics may chatter like ghosts in the night, but my brush is a beacon of light in the darkness of conformity. My creations, born from the depths of my imagination, defy the constraints of tradition and soar into realms unknown. Each stroke is a rebellion against the mundane, a declaration of my artistic spirit unfettered by the chains of expectation.
The deadline looms as the unearthly music swells around me. Another mysterious tale takes shape amid the flickering lights and scrapes of stone on stone. What monsters will crawl from the recesses of my mind this time? Mama Yaga's watching, as always, from her crooked hut in the grim forest. I can feel her beady eyes peering through the gloom, waiting to see what images I will weave with pen and ink. The pressure builds, a familiar intruder, but inspiration remains elusive. The radio spirits off
It was the blackest night There was no moon in sight You know the stars ain't shinin' Cause the sky's too tight I heard the scarey wind I seen some ugly trees There was a werewolf honkin' 'Long the side of me
[illustration by Bernie Wrightson] In the darkness of the night, a shadowy figure emerged from the depths of the forest, moving with impossible speed, leaving no trace behind but a lingering putrid, metallic stench that filled the air. The settlers, terrified and confused, immediately pointed fingers at a nearby group of Native Americans, sparking a brief but bloody conflict fueled by fear and misunderstanding. However, the truth was far more sinister than anyone could have imagined.
Darkness fell as they entered the looming marshes. Mist curled around twisted trees like spectral fingers. Alex shivered, every cracked branch an impending threat. A piercing cry shattered the eerie quiet. They raced toward the sound, emerging in a small clearing. There, suspended above a foggy pool, hung Mikołaj - tiny fists beating futilely against thin air. Below, hulking Spas clawed his way from the water, face twisted in hunger. But Alex saw only her prey: the demon who tormented her mother
[spaceship, art of Virgil Finlay] The Stellaris nears the blue planet,Its red forests beckon with allure.The starship descends, flames ablaze,Through the celestial descent it endures.Stepping onto the crimson soil,The crew is awestruck by the vista.Towering trees, aglow with inner light,Creatures dart amidst the surreal landscape.
(art by Philippe Druillet's Délirius, 1973, written by Jacques Lob) the poetry of A Midsummer Night's Dream
My art is like the spontaneous prose of a midnight jazz session, flowing freely and unapologetically. The critics may chatter like ghosts in the night, but my brush is a beacon of light in the darkness of conformity. My creations, born from the depths of my imagination, defy the constraints of tradition and soar into realms unknown. Each stroke is a rebellion against the mundane, a declaration of my artistic spirit unfettered by the chains of expectation.
As he headed toward the noise, the shrieking grew louder until it escalated into an unearthly screech that made the hairs on his neck stand up. Breaking into a clearing, he froze at the sight before him. A bizarre creature resembling a misshapen humanoid was leaning over the water, its leathery limbs ending in claws that sliced through the air. When its face turned toward Alex, slitted yellow eyes met his with unbridled malice. It let out an earsplitting shriek and charged. Alex turned to run bu
A photo of my traditional, monochromatic nature pencil drawing inspired by Japanese woodblock prints, featuring a stylized scene of a forest with a focus on a rocky, natural stone pathway.
Darkness fell as they entered the looming marshes. Mist curled around twisted trees like spectral fingers. Alex shivered, every cracked branch an impending threat. A piercing cry shattered the eerie quiet. They raced toward the sound, emerging in a small clearing. There, suspended above a foggy pool, hung Mikołaj - tiny fists beating futilely against thin air. Below, hulking Spas clawed his way from the water, face twisted in hunger. But Alex saw only her prey: the demon who tormented her mother
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