The Sandias.

C

ome darkness, come light.

The photograph comes from New Mexico. The words come from Virginia. They seem to cover most of my life for the last 15 years.

On this Christmas Eve and — soon to be — Day, I’d like to wish every one of you a Merry Christmas and a wonderful new year.

I cannot tell you what 2022 will yield, but I’m pretty sure that if we stick together even the bad things will turn a little good.

As many of you know, this has been as busy a year as I’ve ever known. So, I’m going to take a break. I’ll be back on January 1, 2022.

I promise.


The view from above.

C

hristmas magic.

We need it this year, more than ever. This year sucked worse than the one before it. Still. The next year is gonna be worse. After all, it’s 2020 Too.

All I know is what they taught me once. The important things are simple. The simple things are hard.

This seems simple. Beat the hell out of every version of CoVid19 and Christmas 2020 Too will be better. That’s hard. Of course, if I have to deal with one more anti-vaxer I may make their journey real simple.

Meanwhile, in the other world, another culture bearer left this mortal coil. That’s three in a week. I’ve already been told that if I get sick walking in a jazz funeral the next one could be for me. Yeah, musical miss is a hard case.

That’s what you want.

Trust me.

You do.


Christmas balls reflecting in the low dusk light.

W

e’ve been very busy. So, I keep forgetting. With two days, there is no more forgetting. There is only Christmas. So, I’ll start with an elderly picture that I made on the avenue. I’ll build from there.

There is good news.

Music is magic. The short people are here on their way to Disney Park with everyone else. We work. Sorta. On Christmas day and then we play. Mostly.

How magical is music? We subscribed to the Disney Channel via Hulu mostly to see The Beatles “Get Back.” The short ones are excited because they can see all sorts of stuff.

But.

They are watching The Beatles with mama and papa. They are singing note for note with The Beatles to songs that they’ve never heard.

Magic.


After the storm.

H

urricanes and water. That’s what we are looking at. We are also looking at a full frame picture, not something made on a phone.

It is a reason to leave Louisiana. Two 100 year storms in 16 years. First came Katrina. Then, came Ida.

That’s enough right there.

It’s enough not to have power for weeks. It’s enough not to have it during the hottest season of the year. Months later and I still have car problems because I killed my battery trying to keep phones charged.

Months later and many, many buildings have not yet been repaired. I made this picture at my former apartment complex. I went there because at least they had a swimming pool.

They have that, but so many apartments are empty and are yet to be repaired.

Besides, now our pool is repaired. It’s wet. Anyway.

But, that’s why we are moving to a farm. Well, one reason.


At the edge.

I

t’s funny. I meant what I said. I don’t seem to be able to make a picture, or at least a meaningful one. Even this one. It’s just a bunch of old pictures stuck on top of each other.

I have no idea why I can’t seem to work. I’m sure two years of a pandemic has something to do with it. I’m restricted in just about every way possible and yet I have to keep going. I’ve been in New York to promote Norah’s Christmas music. I didn’t want to be there. I’m not so sure that she did either. But, it’s what we do.

The strange thing is that everything makes me teary. I’m not that guy, but even happy music either makes me sad or brings back deep memories. The kind I can’t just get rid of without a lot of effort.

Am I a classic mess?

I don’t think so. I think I’m just really, really exhausted.

Let’s hope that 2022 is a better year. But, I don’t think it will be. The virus rolls on and on and on.

All that I know is we have to start looking after each other a little better. We have to start now.

Peace.


Colorful tree and other stuff.

D

id I tell you that I hate WordPress? I hate it more everyday. They keep trying to dig money out of my wallet for services I don’t want.

But, what I really want to talk about is The New York Times.

They seem intent on prosecuting former wars with information everybody knew about except for them.

I once worked for a newspaper whose newsroom joke was, “If it’s news, it’s news to us..”

That seems to fit the Times to a T right now. First, I know what they are trying to do. They want to win as Pulitzer Prize for investigative reporting so they are doing an extremely long take out on drone warfare, bad intel, collateral damage and not being transparent with the American people.

Oh really?

All of this has been covered again and again in movies, books and long form television. Sure, some of it is fiction. But, fiction is based on the truth.

And, since when is the military supposed to be transparent about combat moves?

I even have a problem with the so-called phrase collateral damage. A war is a war. Trust me, those of us who have actually been in a war want nothing to do with one.

But, consider this. The United States hasn’t won a war since World War II. Fighting a war means total war, not picking and choosing.

I don’t want war, but as long as you are going to use drones and other methods of intelligence gathering you are going to have twenty year long wars when nothing but death is achieved.

The New York Times should know better. But, young editors needs stripes so they can move up the editing chain. Hopefully, they will learn as they go.

I fear not.

I

made this picture out of a couple of others. I don’t care and neither you should you.

It’s just more crap on a soon to be defunct WordPress page.

You know one of my reasons for leaving. I think that I laid it out pretty clearly next door.

There is one more reason. The best one. I haven’t taken a good picture in months. And, months.

And, I don’t think that I can. My day is done.

That’s too bad.


Clockwork orange and something else.

I

t appears that I’ve come to the end of the road on WordPress. Here’s what happened. I received an email saying that something is wrong with my credit card. They tried to bill me 45 days in advance for Laskowitzpictures.net.

I told them that I took my credit card off of the billing cycle because they wanted my money too early. Rather than actually do something about that WordPress harasses me by sending me the same email every day. I told them to back off.

I realized what they wanted me to pay for was Laskowwitzpictures.net. I don’t want that. I’ve been Laskowitzpictures.com for 30 years. My .com name is run by GoDaddy. It has been for years. I pay for guidance from WordPress. They told me they couldn’t help because of some made up law that says they can’t touch the settings. I don’t want them to touch anything. I want them to guide me. I pay for that. They are lying to me. This is going to get resolved one or way or another by this weekend. There is a good chance that my last day will be January 1, 2022.

It’s been sort of a rough month for people not doing what they are paid to do.

Some days you eat the bear. Some days the bear eats you.

They say.


Buddha redux.

Y

esterday sucked.

Let’s start with my doctor. I received a letter from him dated December 1, yesterday. He’s leaving his practice. He sent that before he ever knew that I was gunning for him. That damn nurse didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me that.

What a messed up medical practice. I’m sorry. I just can’t be kind anymore.

Then it got worse. My former doctoral professor sent a bunch of us an email. Bel Hooks died. She was a feminist author who meant a lot to us.

My secret is out. I’m really Doctor Laskowitz. I mostly don’t tell anybody because I don’t use my degree for anything. I’m qualified to teach wannabe professors how to profess.

Still.

It got worse. When I started managing musicians I had no idea what I was doing. I reached out to a couple of people I knew. One, was Neil Young’s late manager, Elliot Roberts. Elliot passed a few years ago. He left a giant hole in Neil’s heart and a smaller one in mine.

Yesterday, Ken Kragen passed. He had a good run. He was 85. He helped Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton break through.

I have no more gurus. No rabbis. They’re gone. Maybe it’s my turn. To teach. Not to die. Not yet.

I suppose that a couple of you are getting the idea that when I tell you I was backstage at the last Rolling Stone’s tour I might have a little juice.

I’m gonna take it a step further.

Musical Miss is Norah Jones. The other musician is Mary Chapin Carpenter. Now you know. Don’t mess with me when I’m in mourning.

I just might tell you things that you don’t want to know.

Or, maybe you do. And, now you are going to try to get backstage passes from me. It’s possible. Anything is.

I

was paging through Facebook and saw a picture I really like by a fine artist I really like.

A real fine artist. Not one of those people who takes a picture of an average sunset and calls it fine art.

She more or less created the picture out of whole clothe. I thought it was a good idea, so I did it too.

No original thinking was damaged in the making of this picture.

After living in Hong Kong for so long. I acquired a lot of Buddha faces. I rarely photograph them, but I thought yesterday was a good day to try.

The original picture was made in black and white, but along came OnOne.

You know me. I can never leave well enough alone, I started tinkering and messing around.

Eventually, I came to this place.

The Buddha of rust.

The rust god.