Stern and I were working through some ideas the other day and we started talking about memories and how they become fragmented, how the pieces of the mosaic fade over time, distorting and changing your memories.
Memories of old girlfriends and moments you shared together, memories of what she was wearing on a specific day, memories of lost love, a fight you had over something, trying to recollect how it started and where it went wrong, it’s the basis of a new movie we are working on for this year. How much truth is left in our memories as the months and years go by, how real are they?
I always thought there was something special about Polaroid images; the way they look, the way they develop in your hand, the noise the camera makes as it captures the moment. They feel more special to me than regular photos especially in the digital age we live in, they somehow appear more real and authentic than any image on a Sony Cybershot. One Polaroid image can bring back a flood of memories leaving you nostalgic, happy, sad and reflective all at once.





Bitch Slap
Paris, 1931. Henry Miller is writing
The sex scene from
Alright, I have much better ones lined up, and I know this isn’t strictly a sex scene per se, but as it’s Friday I wanted to do a double-helping of early 80′s boobs!
This is one I remember from when I was 15, which was a time when casually watching a
Ok, this is a delicate and controversial one but I think worthy of a mention due to it’s infamy. The plot to
I like
Bob Thornton must have had to use electrical duct-tape to strap his penis down. It’s a frantic, naked and raw scene. Great stuff.
A jump of almost 30 years from the 
