I HAVE to say, I like it empty and lonesome.
The monks below were gathered, talking and smoking, until a man, very agitated, screaming, punching air, stomped by. It left them in silence for a long interval. I had hoped to get a shot of them in their much more animated state — but that moment was gone.
.
LOVELY rememberence up at the New Yorker about Leonard Michaels who passed away, I can’t believe it, ten years ago yesterday.
A snip below:
“He changes his mind. Every day. Twice a day. Drove me crazy. He has weird ideas of what to do. I don’t want to work for him again.” My friend paused. Then added: “Maybe you want to?” He was hopeful when he said this. As in: Please. Please take him off my hands.
Both of us were contractors in Berkeley, California. And my friend knew that I sometimes relished clients with eccentric tastes and ideas. I said, “Sure, I’ll meet him. Give him my number.”
So Leonard Michaels called me, and we met.”
The rest here.
YESTERDAY near city center — between systems….
ROUNDING THE corner on a piece … some of them don’t let you go…
ON THIS monrning’s Sunday drive, I stumbled upon a trove of intricate lucha libre murals blooming just blocks from the Alameda corridor. This one had been completed but there were two in the works — one a being filled in, another a sketch….
It’s the eyes that stopped me. . . .
