Lust for Aspirin

Halfway between imagination and distorted reality, carrying my burden of sleepless nights in my right pocket, I saw electric butterflies dancing in the air. Or dancing in my mind, burning an eye or two while unknown beasts I could only guess were waking up at dusk. The hunt has begun, and, with it, the sudden urge to run and lose myself before losing grip. Random clothes we seldom get to wear, zero sock around, wet dead leaves playing on the ground – the night of all the invisible noises was here, above the heads and beneath the feet.

It's been too long all I see daily gets blurred and blurred, it's been a while I hadn't let my eyes land on photographs that are so much in tune with (my own) feelings and memories. It's heavily (or heavenly) nice to see Peter Lindbergh (and Freja by the same way) can reinvent themselves, true to their own while throwing surprises right in our faces. And Vogue Italia can enjoy the pride of publishing this.