the suburbia in me

this are some of the last and final picture of my now broken beloved camerade photographique.
As i was trying it broke, stopped and is still stopping even the homeopathic voodoo i tried on it didn´t work. interesting is the fact, that it stops right there when i am trying to use the camerade to research the self reflexive possibility of visual picture reproduction, in musical terms i tend to call this the britpop dilemma, a dandy wiping his back with violet colonial papier hygiénique. 

Although in this case the result is exclusively ugly to me.
Therefore you have now the opportunity to see them to and be a part of my trying to get theory into this chaos disguised as halt.Funny is that all that smoking stuff and technicolor grain always looks so 54. the place where nobody has ever been. The time when i was a kid with a TV, a library and a friend with a magazine selling mam and a cinema in the next town. But there is no reason to be sentimental about this because I am glad this time is not here now anymore. Although i have to admit there is strange fascination about the still going death cramp of Miss Hedda Hopper in  the suburbia in me, a place that never existed but always will be there induced by my own senses.
 Any way there will by more to come there are so many pictures everyday that this broken objective will not see.