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
he lost voices echo in the wind, their cryptic words a haunting melody that beckons the unwary to listen and heed their warnings. "Feelin' everybody there's gone every dope," the shadows murmur, their enigmatic message hinting at a truth buried deep within the fabric of reality, waiting to be unveiled by those brave enough to decipher its meaning. From the darkness emerges a group of machines, their metallic forms glinting malevolently in the dim light, their red eyes gleaming with a cold, calcu
[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.
[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
The ancient walls loom overhead, their grotesque carvings casting grotesque shadows that twist and contort into horrifying shapes. The very air vibrates with the primal power of evil. Suddenly, a shadowy figure emerges from the darkness, barring your way. It's a horrifying abomination of flesh and bone, twisted beyond recognition by some unholy power. Its eyes gleam with a malevolent intelligence, and its jagged teeth gleam in the dim light.
In a surreal twist, Maria Magdalena encounters an ancient soldier, a spectral figure who seeks shelter in an abandoned home. Their encounter in this twilight zone reveals the depth of her inner turmoil and the resilience of her spirit. But alas, the pressure of deadlines and the demands of the art world threaten to overwhelm Maria Magdalena. The constant need for something new and different drives her to the edge. She battles with the voices in her head, struggling to find her unique voice amids
[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
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
In a surreal twist, Maria Magdalena encounters an ancient soldier, a spectral figure who seeks shelter in an abandoned home. Their encounter in this twilight zone reveals the depth of her inner turmoil and the resilience of her spirit. But alas, the pressure of deadlines and the demands of the art world threaten to overwhelm Maria Magdalena. The constant need for something new and different drives her to the edge. She battles with the voices in her head, struggling to find her unique voice amids
In the ghetto People, don't you understand The child needs a helping hand Or he'll grow to be an angry young man some day Take a look at you and me Are we too blind to see? Do we simply turn our heads And look the other way
Shadows twisted and contorted, taking on sinister forms that seemed to beckon me closer. The warning in the signal grew louder, a primal scream of danger and impending doom.
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