Lost America: Night Photography of the Abandoned West. Via MeFi, which has many more necro-aesthetic delights.

My name is Ozymandius, king of kings! Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair. The Web site for The World Without Us has a nice little interactive timeline detailing some of what happens as the humanless future progresses. What I find most interesting about this is the way in which the initial horror of desolation begins to take on a kind of eerie beauty the further and further you get from your projected personal lifespan.

There is a charge / For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge / For the hearing of my heart—/ It really goes. / And there is a charge, a very large charge / For a word or a touch / Or a bit of blood / Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.

Art from Sylvia Plath's childhood and teenage years, including "illustrated childhood letters that Plath wrote when she was seven," is to be published in October. I really think Bookninja has the right attitude about this sort of thing—let's just dig up her corpse already and be done with it.