Proto Porn

The Cracovian Dispatch

The Cracovian Dispatch

The Cracovian Dispatch

Almavio: Richard Avedon (1923 - 2004), Black Cat, Paris, 1948

Almavio:    Richard Avedon (1923 - 2004),   Black Cat, Paris, 1948

Salemwitchtrials:‘agamemnon,’ Aeschylus (Translated By Anne Carson)

Salemwitchtrials:‘agamemnon,’ Aeschylus (Translated By Anne Carson)

Weltenwellen: Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

Weltenwellen:  Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

Ronaldcmerchant: The Brain (1962)

Ronaldcmerchant:  The Brain (1962)

Violentwavesofemotion: “My Suffocating Soul, Unable Any Longer To Fit Within Its Cage Of Clay,” — Nikos Kazantzakis, Tr. By P. A. Bien, From “Report To Greco,” Publ. C. 1961

Violentwavesofemotion:  “My Suffocating Soul, Unable Any Longer To Fit Within Its

Crastinating: “My God, My God, Whose Performance Am I Watching? How Many People Am I? Who Am I? What Is This Space Between Myself And Myself?” — Fernando Pessoa, From The Book Of Disquiet (Via Luthienne)

Crastinating: “My God, My God, Whose Performance Am I Watching? How Many People

365Filmsbyauroranocte: A Streetcar Named Desire (Elia Kazan, 1951)

365Filmsbyauroranocte:  A Streetcar Named Desire (Elia Kazan, 1951)

Thursdaysatthecafe: “Worry Is A Way To Pretend That You Have Knowledge Or Control Over What You Don't―And It Surprises Me, Even In Myself, How Much We Prefer Ugly Scenarios To The Pure Unknown.” — Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide To Getting Lost

Thursdaysatthecafe: “Worry Is A Way To Pretend That You Have Knowledge Or Control

Heavensickness:oh, Don&Amp;Rsquo;T Try And Take His Suffering Away From Him; He&Amp;Rsquo;S Be Lost Without It.look Back In Anger, John Osborne

Heavensickness:oh, Don&Amp;Rsquo;T Try And Take His Suffering Away From Him; He&Amp;Rsquo;S

Bandtshirt: Comme Des Garçons F/W 1988 Campaign

Bandtshirt: Comme Des Garçons F/W 1988 Campaign

Heavensickness:look Back In Anger, John Osborne

Heavensickness:look Back In Anger, John Osborne

Writingsforwinter: “Nothing Ever Ends Poetically. It Ends And We Turn It Into Poetry. All That Blood Was Never Once Beautiful. It Was Just Red.” — Kait Rokowski

Writingsforwinter:  “Nothing Ever Ends Poetically. It Ends And We Turn It Into

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