I finally sent my beloved Pentax K1000 off to the camera quack.

After much probing and many battery changes, the photography tutors and I ascertained that the light meter was indeed broken. However, it was not irrepairably corroded.
I spent 2 hours wandering central Newcastle, searching for the legendary repair shop that could actually perform repairs, rather than sending their patients off to factories. I could not bear for it to be too far away, as it means a great deal to me.
In the end, it was on the Green, just above Kathmandu, where I had bought a mickey mouse t shirt (for my styling project) at the beginning of my epic search.
It will take 2 weeks and cost £20 to rewire. Which is upsetting, as I really cannot spare £20 right now, but it is a neccessary sacrifice to begin my final major project early. Liam and I are in competition to beat one another, and to beat Rachael's exhibition about the Marquis de Sade last year.
In truth, £20 is a meagre sum to upgrade the camera. It is very special, because it is the first item of any real value that Liam gave to me. It is full of memories; my own happy memories, and also past mysteries that cushion the memories I'm currently producing. Since I paid nothing for it to begin with, it is well worth investing in now, especially to avoid the risk of underexposure and hassle of handheld light meters.

I have realised something curious about myself. I love that camera because I am obsessed by memories. I like second hand stuff, because it has its own stories and past, so I feel like my own negative thoughts have less of an impact. Sometimes new things feel like they have just become a vessel for my memories since I recieved them; I suppose that's why I have comparatively so many clothes I never wear, games I never play, food I leave to rot and then throw away. I realise that I have an unreasonable tendancy to assign souls and personalities to inaminate objects. I think it comes of spending so much time in isolation.
I like cameras because they can see, with huge glass lenses and variable apertures, just like a human eye; they watch the decisive moment, capture and relay it to people who were and weren't there, transcending time and space. I like that I got to see some of the photographs by the camera's previous owner, and was told some stories behind them, however disparagingly.

Now I have two weeks to wait. I'm working on my sketchbook, and planning the first shoot. It will be a series of generic crime scene meets generic ghost photographs, using layered negatives and/or multiple exposures. That is the beginning of my story.
The photographs will be some of many in the exhibition, which will use photography, darkroom techniques, installation, found objects, textiles, and perhaps more. It is inspired by Yoshitomo Nara and Graf, Annette Messager and Christian Boltanski, Everything Is Illuminated, all of the great photographic hoaxes, August Strindberg, Francesca Woodman, Joseph Cornell, Project Zero, my Grandpa's stories, countless Asian horror films, steampunk subculture, my own nightmares, and just about everything else that I have experienced in my life. Perhaps this is a little ambitious, but whenever will I have another chance like this, to make exactly what I envision?

I suppose this is a post, because I miss Liam. He is in London, and I should be with him. But alone, once again, I'm thinking and my life is beginning to make sense. I can see that this is all my fault, and how to reverse the damage. I will come out of this lucid nightmare and get better for him, regardless of the decisions and medicines that may require.