Chrome, 2026

if i look back, i am lost

Love Begins
Show & Tell
wallacepolsom
todays bird
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

@theartofmadeline
art blog(derogatory)
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Misplaced Lens Cap

Kaledo Art
dirt enthusiast
Monterey Bay Aquarium

roma★
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
noise dept.
almost home
seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia

seen from Canada

seen from Malaysia

seen from Sri Lanka

seen from United States
seen from India
seen from Indonesia
seen from Netherlands
seen from France

seen from United States

seen from South Korea
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from Malaysia

seen from Iceland

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Singapore

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
@cetal
Chrome, 2026
Napori, Part 2 (Hotel) Nagoya, Japan
The Napoli Hotel opened in the early 1990s, at the tail end of Japan’s bubble-era appetite for theatrical leisure, private luxury, and theme-driven escape. It was founded by a small regional hospitality group that had previously operated roadside inns and short-stay couple’s rooms. Seeing the popularity of elaborate love hotels in the 1980s, they built Napoli as a fantasy hotel for adults: part honeymoon suite, part amusement park, part secret stage set.
The period before Napoli’s creation was defined by excess. During the late Showa and early Heisei years, themed leisure spaces flourished: karaoke boxes, game centers, hostess clubs, neon shopping districts, and love hotels with increasingly elaborate rooms. Privacy was part of the appeal, but so was spectacle. Couples could step out of ordinary life and into a room shaped like a castle, a spaceship, a jungle, a casino, or a velvet lounge. Napoli was born from that culture of disposable glamour.
At its peak, the hotel advertised in back pages of nightlife magazines and roadside guidebooks. Its rooms were loud, intimate, and proudly tacky: mirrored walls, round beds, red carpets, fake trees, plastic castles, novelty lighting, champagne trays, and fantasy suites designed for couples who wanted something stranger than a normal hotel room. It was never elegant in the traditional sense. Its charm was that it took desire seriously and taste less seriously.
By the late 1990s and early 2000s, the world around Napoli had changed. The economy tightened, maintenance costs rose, and younger customers began favoring cleaner, simpler, more modern hotels. Napoli’s themed rooms, once its main attraction, became expensive to repair and increasingly dated. Water damage spread behind the mirrored walls. Vinyl cracked. Carpets stained. Custom beds broke in ways no catalog could replace.
The hotel tried discount campaigns, partial renovations, and room-by-room closures, but the building’s eccentric design made recovery difficult. Eventually whole wings went dark. The owners stopped replacing fixtures, then stopped heating empty rooms, then stopped fighting the leaks. Napoli closed quietly, leaving behind the fantasy architecture of its prime.
In ruin, the hotel became something stranger than it had ever intended: a frozen record of 1990s romance culture, bubble-era kitsch, private spectacle, and the moment when playful adult fantasy tipped into dust, silence, and decay.
Napori, Part 2 (Hotel) Nagoya, Japan
Napori, Part 2 (Hotel) Nagoya, Japan
Asked my AI agent to send me a picture of a landscape
Grandpa says he's not coming to Thanksgiving.
You loved Torg week last year, so here’s some more Torg. Because man, Torg is pretty great.
Well, certain sections of Torg are pretty great, anyway. I do not recognize the Living Land. But the Cyberpapacy? That is some top shelf nonsense of the highest order. Based in CyberFrance, they’re an invading reality that was originally based on the idea of the line of French antipopes forging a dark feudalism in the modern era. On its way to imprint on Earth, though, it crashed into a cyberpunk reality and got…remixed? Fused? With the exception of the subplot involving a synthetic AIDS virus, the whole Cyberpapacy is a perfect exercise in slipstream camp. It is very difficult to take seriously, yet I remain fascinated.
The GodNet (1991) is an important sourcebook for the Cyberpapacy that explains how its virtual reality internet works. It is the equivalent of Shadowrun’s Matrix or the Net in Cyberpunk, but with a Catholic aesthetic. I find the mix of stereotypical netrunner types dealing with gothic and rococo environments endlessly entertaining. It is housed in a web of Holy Exchanges, Program Monasteries and Data Cathedrals. Inside the net is mostly the digital construct of the church data fortress and its outlying structures, but CyberHeaven, CyberPurgatory and CyberHell all exist there as well (along with the remains of the original cyberworld reality). As in Count Zero, there are cyber entities that are not accounted for by the CyberPope, like demons and the Great Beast.
Grant Goleash, Rick Harris and Allen Nunis are the interior artists. They all contribute to the vibe (though Nunis always reads as Star Wars-y to me). I think Goleash is my favorite, because he sort of apes the gritty look established by Tim Bradstreet in the main sourcebook. Alan Hashimoto did the cover; it could be more ridiculous.
Leafar Legov, When The Morning Comes (2019)
Rosemary's Baby, 1968
DVS1 Wall of Sound
Elliott Smith, Waltz #2
“Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.”
“Why were you searching for me?” he asked. “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?”
Luke 2:48-49
Oneohtrix Point Never - R Plus Seven, 2013
Bach
Die Blechtrommel (The Tin Drum), 1979