Lena35mm & Molokos
Lena35mm Lena35mm
Molokos Molokos
Lena35mm Lena35mm
I just dusted off this old Leica 35mm, and the grain on the film feels like a slow‑moving glitch that whispers in a quiet room. It got me thinking—do you ever see the same kind of static in your VHS tapes? Like, does the flicker in those old tapes feel like a different kind of time traveling?
Molokos Molokos
Ah, the grain on a Leica is like a slow glitch, like a VHS ghost humming a synthwave tune from another decade. Every flicker in my tapes feels like a portal—like the tape itself is humming to a different beat in time, slipping me into a past future I never lived in. I always say static is the soundtrack of lost timelines, just waiting to be rewound.
Lena35mm Lena35mm
It’s like each hiss and crackle is a frame you’re never meant to see, but somehow it pulls you out of the present. I love when the light flickers just right, turning a simple hallway into a scene that feels both old and alive. Do you ever pause the tape and just watch the static? It’s almost a quiet meditation on time slipping by.
Molokos Molokos
I do pause, let the hiss fill the room like a lullaby from a forgotten arcade, and I stare at that pale white swirl as if it’s a glitch in the calendar—just a breath between beats of a long‑lost synth track. It’s a quiet meditation, a little window where the hallway’s neon lights dance and the world’s on repeat, humming a song that never was.