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

1 month 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
As the bell tolls, the fighters explode into action, trading bone-crushing blows that reverberate through the arena. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the air, mingling with the primal screams of the crowd. Rocky moves with a primal ferocity, his fists like hammers as he unleashes a barrage of punches that test the champion's defenses to their limits.
You say my time here has been some sort of joke That I've been messing around Some sort of incubating period For when I really come around but I'm cracking up And you have no idea No idea how it feels to be on your own In your own home with the fucking phone And the mother of gloom
[art by Mil Mascaras] The crowd roars with anticipation as Rocky steps into the ring, his muscles taut and his determination unwavering. Across from him stands his opponent, a formidable champion with a reputation for crushing his foes with ruthless precision. The air crackles with tension as the two fighters lock eyes, each knowing that only one will emerge victorious from this brutal showdown.
[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
As the bell tolls, the fighters explode into action, trading bone-crushing blows that reverberate through the arena. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the air, mingling with the primal screams of the crowd. Rocky moves with a primal ferocity, his fists like hammers as he unleashes a barrage of punches that test the champion's defenses to their limits.
A statue of a powerful Black man standing in the churning ocean with his arms spread over his dominion, he is the Black God Of The Sea and has prominent bulge
[photo by Russ Meyer, in the 90ties] facing a lonely smiling woman on the door step of an appartement, in gym, talking. we see the corridor behind her
The crowd roars with anticipation as Rocky steps into the ring, his muscles taut and his determination unwavering. Across from him stands his opponent, a formidable champion with a reputation for crushing his foes with ruthless precision. The air crackles with tension as the two fighters lock eyes, each knowing that only one will emerge victorious from this brutal showdown.
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
[photo by helmut newton] Swinging in on vines with deadly precision, the Amazon swiftly overpowered the bikini-clad warrior, knocking her down with swift kicks and powerful blows. The Space Girl, caught off guard and outmatched, struggled to defend herself as the Amazon relentlessly pressed her advantage.Lost in the sweltering heat of the jungle, the Space Girl found herself at the mercy of the primitive native who seemed to have the upper hand in the brutal confrontation.
A statue of a powerful Black man standing in the churning ocean with his arms spread over his dominion, he is the Black God Of The Sea and has prominent bulge
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