wolf embroidery

Black & Gold



So, first off, I have finally decided to use this tumblr as my “art” blog or whatever people do. I will be updating it as frequently as I can. Mostly progresss photos I guess but idk it could be fun.

I have finally made an etsy (deadlevee.etsy.com) and will be posting some listings within the next few days. Just gotta get organizeddddddddd.

It would be super cool to hear what people think! aka please tell me why it sucks so it can stop

North Carolina Gothic
  • Your neighbor waves to you as you go out to check the mail. They are riding a lawnmower, sweet-smelling grass vanishing under the blades and being spat out as snow. Freezing wind rushes over your body as heat boils up behind it. Overhead, the sky flashes dark and light as the sun and moon chase each other. Rain slaps you in the face, sun bakes your tears dry, your form molded by the vortex of nature whirling like a carousel around you, faster and faster. “Don’t like the weather?” Your neighbor’s voice is the hurricane winds and the drone of cicadas. “Just wait three hours, it’ll change!” It never stops changing. Neither do you.
  • Looking down at your feet sinking into the mud, you feel the sun on the back of your neck. There is a collard between your feet, huge leaves looking flat and leathery, twisted into a ball. You look up to rows of collards. The whole field is collards, the tree line framing the field so far away as to look faintly washed out. Behind you is a long row of your own footsteps, gone on for so long as to vanish before you see where you came from.
  • Your favorite pair of crocs twists under you and you skin your knees on the cement. The blood runs fast, bubbling. You taste it. It is cool, sweet. Cheerwine.
  • School is a zoo. Feeding time. Play time. Everyone else watches everyone else, convinced they are the guests and the others are the attractions. They cannot compare it to Lord of the Flies. There are no reading lists. There are no teachers. Painted in blood on the gym floor: BUDGET CUTS. 
  • Girls with quilted red purses, a wolf in stiff embroidery watching them, watching you watch them. Boys in soft blue, a ram’s curling horns matching the curl of his sneer. Everyone laughs as they segregate themselves by color, moving to opposite ends of an empty gymnasium. Chains and nailed bats are handed out. The old war must feed.
  • The lighthouse’s black and white stripes continue up ceaselessly. You cannot see the top, but at night there is a beacon nonetheless. 
  •  Cookout’s neon buzzes and you watch yourself in the mirrored side. There is a Model T in the drive-thru window, and you can watch the progression of cars evolve to the present day as the line stretches back. Your reflection smugly sips a Huge Tea, and you feel the desert in your throat as you watch.