Saturday, April 27, 2013


My pal Goldblatt and I were chatting about the art direction of baseball cards the other night. How you could basically learn an innate sense of hierarchy just by analyzing binders and binders of cards throughout the years. How as kids, we would both eagerly await a new season of Topps, Fleer and Donruss. Darryl Strawberry ruined that joy for me, but I still think baseball cards can be beautiful.

In the same vein, my buddy Justin's blog is a bountiful resource for all things fucked up and mind boggling. He's curated a cool little selection of vintage book covers amidst images of depravity and the macabre. Here's a taste. Just a taste.

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