Like Jazz

New Orleans has a lot of rain and heavy storms.

The change in the weather is getting to me. It would help if I stayed in one place, but I travel from hot, humid and wet, on to hot and wet, to cooler and dry. I don’t know where I am. My brain doesn’t know either. Worse, my sinuses think that I’m on a roller coaster.

Maybe I am.

A photographer died yesterday. His name was Tim Page. He was one of the most prolific, if not the craziest, photographer of the Vietnam War. He worked close to the action. He walked in with the grunts. He was wounded four times. The last injury took about an orange sized piece of his brain. That left him a little weird, but not much weirder than most of us. Even though he lived in England, The United States and Australia, he was one of those individuals who never really came home. If you ran into him on a street corner, as I did once in Los Angeles, he’d start by talking about the war.

I said he was weird. That may be the wrong word. Crazy might be better. Once, the late Dr. Hunter S. Thompson was asked to work an assignment with him. Thompson declined, saying that guy is nuts. That’s rich coming from Thompson.

RIP Tim Page 1944 – 2022

So, I made this picture one night in The Bywater of New Orleans. The funny thing about the name is the area is really a part of the 9th Ward. Somewhere along the line, maybe in the 1960s, people started calling it the Bywater after its telephone exchange letters, BY. The name caught on and stuck.

This one of my drive by shootings, or drive through shootings. No worries. I have a method and there was nobody behind me so I could crawl along. A person riding a bike could move faster than I was going.

I used to have a lot of fun doing this. Maybe it’s time again.

For something.


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