I have finally figured a part of life out, at least for now - I will only take pictures of other cameras and keep my posts to a single paragraph. Too much of my runaway self has made its way onto the pages here. The teenage runaway, the troublemaker. I have made my life explicitly comical, drifted too far into jocular criticisms of the murky political principles of others. I have probably scared away readers through inadvertent insult, perceived bigotries - as in my pronounced distaste for female chauvinism. That was the old me. This is the new me. I am so much more tolerant of casual and celebratory sexism now... I guess this should be a new paragraph: I will need to buy a Rollieflex. What self-respecting amateur medium-format photographer does not own one. I grew mildly bored of the soft-focus lens more quickly than I had thought that I might. It is good that I did not buy the 56mm Lensbaby Velvet, though I will not want to return the one that I have borrowed. Perhaps I can pull a CS and claim that it never worked when it arrived. The thing to do is to buy cameras faster than you can learn to use them. This is what keeps a hobby interesting. One must have dreams that are thwarted by the realities they provoke and demand. It is how one breaths life into the red flower of fire. There is the scuffle that accompanies notions as they emerge from the depths, moving towards a life of their own. Just as other types of love unfold, it should hurt a bit, confusing its subjects as it provides its quotient of pleasure. Never quite knowing which way we face when the spinning ceases. That is how some tales are gauged. There remains as evidence the staggering, blinding cost of it all, the memory of it seeming free.