I have to admit, I’m kinda spooked by these images. They remind me, synaesthetically, of creepy Caruso recordings being played on gramophones in the lofts of lonely old men in movies. Sort of a dark horse nostalgia nightmare from which you wake up sweating, some drunken barf-breath Toulouse Lautrec woman still humping in your head. OK, well, maybe not your head, but you know what I mean.
