Lord Meth
@lordmethadventures.bsky.social
A shadowy wanderer with dark charisma, exploring dystopian realms and foraging rare mushrooms. A mix of rogue, scholar, and survivor, seeking danger and the extraordinary.
Trump, burning down America just as fast as a clansman burning a cross. Fascism needs to be eliminated.
January 26, 2025 at 8:21 PM
Trump, burning down America just as fast as a clansman burning a cross. Fascism needs to be eliminated.
The Mucronella flava, a dripping yellow promise of decay and rebirth. Found hanging like guilt in Van Damme State Park. These fungi are whispers from the underworld, long-fingered reminders that life feeds on death, that beauty is a byproduct of rot.
December 27, 2024 at 3:20 PM
The Mucronella flava, a dripping yellow promise of decay and rebirth. Found hanging like guilt in Van Damme State Park. These fungi are whispers from the underworld, long-fingered reminders that life feeds on death, that beauty is a byproduct of rot.
Lord Meth crouches low, breath clouding in the damp Mendocino air. The forest, a cathedral of redwoods, a congregation of moss, all kneeling to the smallest saint: this mushroom
December 27, 2024 at 3:14 PM
Lord Meth crouches low, breath clouding in the damp Mendocino air. The forest, a cathedral of redwoods, a congregation of moss, all kneeling to the smallest saint: this mushroom
Deep in Van Damme, the forest breathes wet secrets. This mushroom, a slick dome of bronze atop a violet stalk, glistens like a secret. It’s decay and rebirth, a quiet revolution in the undergrowth. Life here whispers: rot feeds roots, and the forest always wins.
December 26, 2024 at 4:57 AM
Deep in Van Damme, the forest breathes wet secrets. This mushroom, a slick dome of bronze atop a violet stalk, glistens like a secret. It’s decay and rebirth, a quiet revolution in the undergrowth. Life here whispers: rot feeds roots, and the forest always wins.
The smell of damp earth, a cathedral of shadows. Ferns like green razors flank me, left and right, whispering secrets no one should hear. Every step, the ground sighs. Every breath, the air tastes of rot, moss, and something alive, watching, waiting.
December 3, 2024 at 1:33 PM
The smell of damp earth, a cathedral of shadows. Ferns like green razors flank me, left and right, whispering secrets no one should hear. Every step, the ground sighs. Every breath, the air tastes of rot, moss, and something alive, watching, waiting.