Placeholder: [photo shoot of Sandokan by Sergio Sollima, (1976)] In the gritty streets of Alabama, where the humid air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and secrets, a lone figure stands before the weather-beaten door of a rundown motel. The silhouette of the Dharma Bum, a former gangsta covered by tattoos. To the untrained eye, it was just another shabby building in a forgotten corner of the city. But to those in the know, it was a temple of sorts, a sanctuary for those seeking solace in the chaos of urban [photo shoot of Sandokan by Sergio Sollima, (1976)] In the gritty streets of Alabama, where the humid air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and secrets, a lone figure stands before the weather-beaten door of a rundown motel. The silhouette of the Dharma Bum, a former gangsta covered by tattoos. To the untrained eye, it was just another shabby building in a forgotten corner of the city. But to those in the know, it was a temple of sorts, a sanctuary for those seeking solace in the chaos of urban

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[photo shoot of Sandokan by Sergio Sollima, (1976)] In the gritty streets of Alabama, where the humid air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and secrets, a lone figure stands before the weather-beaten door of a rundown motel. The silhouette of the Dharma Bum, a former gangsta covered by tattoos. To the untrained eye, it was just another shabby building in a forgotten corner of the city. But to those in the know, it was a temple of sorts, a sanctuary for those seeking solace in the chaos of urban

distorted image, malformed body, malformed fingers

2 months ago

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SSD-1B

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[photo shoot of Sandokan by Sergio Sollima, (1976)] In the gritty streets of Alabama, where the humid air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and secrets, a lone figure stands before the weather-beaten door of a rundown motel. The silhouette of the Dharma Bum, a former gangsta covered by tattoos. To the untrained eye, it was just another shabby building in a forgotten corner of the city. But to those in the know, it was a temple of sorts, a sanctuary for those seeking solace in the chaos of urban
This school was located on the edge of town, away from prying eyes; here young men could let their wildest fantasies run free without fearing repercussions. The classroom itself had an air of secrets untold about it. The girls at this school weren’t like any I had ever met before - they seemed so much more mature than your average teens; yet it was clear that each one held her own secrets and hidden passions within them too! They are hand picked to be a tutor for the boys, teaching they how to b
Through the broken windows of abandoned buildings, glimpses of the city's past glimmered like fading memories. Faded billboards advertising products that no longer existed, cracked movie posters from an era long gone, and remnants of a bygone society that had crumbled under the weight of its own hubris. Yet, amidst the ruins, there were pockets of resistance, small enclaves of hope that refused to surrender. Underground networks of rebels and freedom fighters plotted and strategized, their spiri
[colour helmut newton 1960’s stop-motion animation style the small Jesus house near Bethlehem] a 70s advertisement video TV featuring In the corner, a figure emerges from the shadows. It's Maria Magdalena in agent provocateur, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of allure and danger. She moves towards you with a grace that captivates your every sense, drawing you in like a moth to a flame as a claymation character toy from a claymation horror movie in burning rainbow land, from hell, creepy Videos
[photo shoot of Sandokan by Sergio Sollima, (1976)] In the gritty streets of Alabama, where the humid air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and secrets, a lone figure stands before the weather-beaten door of a rundown motel. The silhouette of the Dharma Bum, a former gangsta covered by tattoos. To the untrained eye, it was just another shabby building in a forgotten corner of the city. But to those in the know, it was a temple of sorts, a sanctuary for those seeking solace in the chaos of urban
[art by Daido Moriyama] She is a lone female warrior, the last of her clan, bearing the weight of tradition and tragedy upon her shoulders. Bound by the code of Bushido, she carries with her the legacy of her ancestors, a heritage steeped in honor and sacrifice. Yet beneath the facade of resilience lies a heart heavy with sorrow, as a solitary figure, her silhouette etched against the fading light of the setting sun.
Through the broken windows of abandoned buildings, glimpses of the city's past glimmered like fading memories. Faded billboards advertising products that no longer existed, cracked movie posters from an era long gone, and remnants of a bygone society that had crumbled under the weight of its own hubris. Yet, amidst the ruins, there were pockets of resistance, small enclaves of hope that refused to surrender. Underground networks of rebels and freedom fighters plotted and strategized, their spiri
[photo from collection gilman and gonzalez-FALLA]
Give them one of those captivating styles... Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Solzhenitsyn... Yes... a psychological journey... channel Gogol with a touch of Orwell... blend in a little Cold War... sure... surreal events in a Soviet town... a man encounters a phantom trooper lurking in an abandoned factory... "Twilight Zone." Now... what do they look like? No! Not that! Did that before-- What? No, not that way! Damn deadlines. They're throwing me off completely. Too much pressure. Mixing up the scenes! Too
Amidst the chaos, banners and graffiti adorned the walls, defiant symbols of resistance and rebellion. Messages of hope and defiance scrawled in bold colors served as beacons of inspiration for those who dared to dream of a brighter future amidst the ruins. The once bustling marketplaces now lay barren, their stalls empty and their wares long gone. The echoes of laughter and lively banter that once filled the air were replaced by a haunting silence, occasionally shattered by the distant rumble o
I envision a vast expanse, stretching as far as the eye can see, filled with countless doors. These doors, they're not your ordinary portals. No, they defy the laws of physics and logic. They pulse with an ethereal energy, beckoning the curious and the brave to step through. Each door leads to a different dimension, a different reality, waiting to be explored. As I paint this picture with words, I can see my protagonist standing before this incredible sight. They are a seeker, yearning for answe
Sur... a psychological thriller... cop Dali from Hitchcock... mix in a little World War II... sure... surreal events in an occupied town... man sees ancient soldier hiding in abandoned home... "Twillight Zone." Now... what do they look like? No! Did that before-- What? No, not that way! Damn deadlines. Setting me off completely. Too much pressure. Mixing up the scenes! Too much coffee. That's it. Damn freezed-dried stuff! What's that? No! You didn't want any jungle queens! Now wait a minute. You
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