Ph Sally Gall, Caitlin, 1996.
seen from Brazil
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seen from Malaysia
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Ph Sally Gall, Caitlin, 1996.

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Mi-8PS. Ufa, 1996.
i just started sobbing bc i remembered soap is dead
1996
Krasnodar, 1996. Mobile pharmacy.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Firebarzzz Playlist : "Une Odyssée West Coast Intemporelle" - Hiphop/WestCoast - 🌴🌞🌵
Firebarzzz Playlist : “Une Odyssée West Coast Intemporelle.” Dans l’univers du hip-hop West Coast, chaque note, chaque rime, résonne avec la force brute des rues où cette musique a pris racine. La Firebarzzz Playlist est une exploration intime et puissante de cette scène légendaire, une collection qui réunit des classiques intemporels et des morceaux essentiels pour tout amoureux du son…
@prophet1c asked: why won’t you let me help you ?
you stood firmly on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed defensively over chest. help seemed like such a far off reality, you cannot see through the mist of your hunger for how anything lottie had been saying could help you; you were damned, you had been long before the plane crash landed and exposed all of your hurt. you all had your roles, chores assigned and the whistle of the wind had brought you nothing but failure, returning back to the cabin empty handed. the tenderness of your friends had been lost with the time that passed, the blood in mouth, choking on crimson rivers night after night in your dreams, the guilt that may as well have ate you alive from the moment flesh burned; the wilderness gave, but you were not willing to receive. it saw right through you, desperation had you seeing a white elk: the answer to your prayers, how it buried itself in the carcass of the plane, as if it saw you too, just for it to disappear into the mist. already thought that you were going insane from the ache in your abdomen, cold penetrating your heart and your words, and the loneliness of the cabin did not dissapate that feeling, watching the girls from the warmth of the fire praying to whatever gods she was preaching.
“jesus fucking christ, lottie, you're not helping anyone.” the help had left you crouched over a dead friend, the act of devouring, the way it left you wanting. “people are bored, they are hungry. you think prayer circles are going to help me? having one actual successful hunt this winter will help me. ask the wilderness for that.”