Camden – Incineration Festival – Kentmere 400

Left the OM-10 at home. Took the half-frame instead — small, fractured, appropriate. Loaded Kentmere 400 thinking it was a 36, but it was only a 24. The roll ended abruptly, and I stood on the street corner confused, winding air, wondering what I’d missed. Something about that felt right.

Camden was crawling. Layers of movement. Broken drums and torn posters. I slipped through like a ghost with too many eyes. Incineration Festival — the name fit. Batushka lit the place with incense and dread. Blood Incantation cut through the static with high-speed ritual. I was in the thick of it, drinking too much, talking to everyone and no one. Manic. Foaming at the edges.
Felt like a sermon being delivered inside a strobe.

Later, the mushrooms. I don’t remember much. Just sound turning into colour. Everything twirled. The streets bent at the corners like melting negatives. Time flickered. I think I laughed too much. Or not at all.

The photos will be strange. Half-memories. Halved again by the format. Nothing complete — just fragments like the night itself.