There's something in your mood's declension
The translated title of Camera Lucida is 明るい部屋.
There's something in your mood's declension
The translated title of Camera Lucida is 明るい部屋.
Posted on Thursday, 08/25/22.
In the early afternoon I took a train into the city under the pretense of visiting a used camera store. The store was pleasant, compact, covered in mirror-backed shelves displaying cameras organized by manufacturer. Canon, Nikon, Pentax, Mamiya. Due to their trendiness the film point-and-shoots, the Contaxs and Yashicas, were displayed in their own, centrally located shelf with a placard above; some of the more famous models were priced beyond ¥150000. I didn’t buy anything but I think I will return and pick up a Pentax MX; I brought my two K-mount lenses with me in the hope that I could replace the body of my old camera (an ailing Ricoh SR-2), which had been having mechanical issues that seemed too complex and too expensive to fix. Around the used camera store 新宿中古カメラ市場. were other camera stores, most much fancier and specializing in new gear. This included the blaringly lit ヨドバシカメラ, which I did not enter, but which while walking past gave me the feeling that I had entered.
Afterwards I walked around the top of 明治神宮 again, though this time looped up and around (after working in a Starbucks for about an hour) toward 原宿, which by that time of evening, and during a weekday night, was pleasant and quiet enough to walk though. I sort of dispassionately looked through some thrift stores, but mostly people-watched and sipped from my water bottle at intervals. The nights have been flirting with the idea of being cool; the humidity has lowered a little. When I look at the average monthly temperatures here they are: September 75F, October 65F, November 55F. Soon this will kick in. Steps down toward winter.
There is a cafe in the center of 本厚木 that is famed for being almost completely dark inside and playing complex jazz continuously. The barista (possibly the owner, it is unclear), stands behind a massive hammered copper espresso machine at the head of the room (along the sides of which are two heavy wooden countertops, I’ve heard) at makes drinks at a wicked pace. I think I will finally go to this place tomorrow night; it is open until 00:00, and I am curious whether it is often busy, as well as why such a strange place is in the center of what is otherwise an incredibly average bedroom city.
Work has been slow. I have blamed some of this on adjustment to intercontinental travel, but like most explanations this is flimsy at best, and the truth is that I continue to find motivation only infrequently. At this point I have accepted that this is pretty much endogenous: that feeling this way is not indicative that most things are uninteresting, but that I have become, by degrees, inured to some inability to experience joy. When I experience joy sometimes, especially recently, my body interprets it as fear or some sort of cardiacish problem. This sounds pretty bad but I have been in it for a while, and so I am going to continue to try to give myself small trips, limited diversions, and plenty of fresh input in the hopes that whatever cruel mechanism I’m sheathed around gradually starts to release or unmesh with itself.
In truth this post was completed the following morning, but beyond this note there are no other major signs, beyond maybe a new gloss of nostalgia for yesterday’s events in the word choice above. Maybe I will continue to edit nearly everything that exists here.