Hi, Holga!

This is a bit of a disaster. I purchased a Holga 120 GN, hoping it might eliminate the slight problem I have with pinholes --- the nonexistent depth of field. My first pictures came in the mail today. I discovered that I have another problem. My Holga, it seems, has a slightly skewed viewfinder. It's completely useless. It doesn't take the right image you see through the hole. This goes against all of a Lomohead's logic, but I can't just run through the streets and shoot from the hip. I find it debilitating. But I love my Holga. Although these pictures don't seem as good, it shows what the plastic camera can do. The images produced are gritty and moody.

This year's Sinulog Grand Parade was fairly exciting: a charging horse, a full and happy snake and the city's garbage --- none of which were taken by my Holga. Those images would have been fun had I not held too much faith on my pinhole camera. The extreme light leaks ruined those good pictures.

So here they are: my first pictures in medium format.
















Holga, taken without flash, 120 film, Fuji Reala 100

More here.

Babble babble.

There's no denying, EVERYONE's a bit self-important these days. It's not an allusion to an allegory. It's a fact.

It's a bad habit no ones admits to, an addiction no one quits. Because if the world had to end tomorrow and only few had to survive, wouldn't you want to feel destined to be saved? Like the cosmos were somehow indebted to keep you alive. Like somehow you being kept alive had some necessary reaction for the protraction of life on the planet. You are the key, you are the future. Everyone wants to be The Answer. Because if you were to cease believing, how would explain the injustice that is YOUR life?

I can't remember how the rest of it goes. It must've been a nasty fight with a humanist.

Yikes, Ka-Arty Ni Tin :P

These are images from my second pinhole camera. This is what happens when you've had too much intsant mami.

These Streets

Pink

Street Smarts

Pasindi

This Is How Fat Burns

35 mm film, KODAK Solid Gold ISO 100

My Pinhole Pictures At Flickr

Gah.

I discovered lately that there is a threshold for emotional fuckery (because there is no other word for it). I thought it was just the odd weather or my preoccupation with jeepney engines but I found out today while battling the cold weather with thick coats, I can no longer hear my thoughts. It's all just white noise.

Gah, am I burning out all over again? Please tell me I'm just bored.

Rakenrol A Bye Baby

My 11 day old niece hates the Backstreet Boys. She has a thing for Death Cab For Cutie. And DCFC only. Not Kings of Leon, not even Led Zep. Not even my singing. I'm not sure if I agree. Hee.

We recently discovered during babysitting duties that the only sound that could calm an irate Caitlin was Ben Gibbard's narration on DCFC's Cath. We hit play, she instantly stops crying and goes to sleep. It's like a Christmas miracle.

I'm not sure what it does. Maybe it's similar to white noise or radio static, which babies most respond to. Whatever it is, it sure helps tone down this babysitter's paranoia. Now we play the whole thing on loop until she falls asleep. I'm not sure what that does to everyone's sanity, but we're willing to gamble with our lives.

I can't believe it. We have a baby in the house!

Love. Love.

Here's the track. Maybe you can tell me why the baby falls into hypnosis with this song. :P