Tashkent, Uzbek SSR in 1984 by Walter Denny

Right: The Lenin Museum by architects Yevgeny Rozanov, Vsevolod Shestopalov and engineers V. Krichevskii and I. Lentochnikov [1970]. 

Left: House of Press [Editorial Building of the publishing house of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Uzbekistan] by architects Richard Bleze, N. Gorbenko, L. Khristch and engineers E. Patlis and M. Ryzhovskii [1974]

10 movies to see this Memorial Day weekend

“The biggest surprise in regards to Whit Stillman’s Love & Friendship is how it’s taken this long for Whit Stillman to tackle Jane Austen…Stillman gives the romantic roundelay a deliciously modern feminist twist that ends up being a bit too slight and patly resolved, but over all too soon.”


Starting a new project called “children of dystopia”.

Children have a fantastic way of dealing with life and all its difficulties like no other. It’s so beautiful and at the same time so sad.

In my project “Children of dystopia” I will depict homeless children adapting to their circumstances like children do. I will explore their fears, happy moments, hungry moments and creative moments, sad moments and so on.
I’m also giving it a little subtle 80’s twist.

So please reblog if you like the idea and help me spread this project :)

Poem for a Middle Aged Generation

Easier by far to write about redbuds
When the full flare of spring is on them.
But what about during the half-death days
Of August, leaved still, but budless amidst
The rest of all that lushness, slack-armed
And unremarkable, just another
Citizen in a civilization of sticks?

I was born in August 1971
Probably on a day if you stood still hard enough
You could feel a hint of fall on your skin,
If you were paying attention deeply enough
You knew faith in progress
And the space age was a dead letter.

When you die, what shirt will you have worn
The most? The most ever?
How many hands handled the cotton that gave
Its life so your shirt could live?
Is this too easy? Too patly poetic
To think about all the other souls
Toiling in the soil globes away, intertwined
With yours?

Lalala, I can’t hear you, your mouth
Is already filled with dirt.
But maybe next spring
A redbud sapling just might sprout there.

-Shannon McCormick