“Chapter 1. He adored New York City…


© Lou Russo Photography

“Chapter 1.
He adored New York City. He idolized it all out of proportion…no, make that: he – he romanticized it all out of proportion. Yeah. To him, no matter what the season was, this was still a town that existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin.’
Uh, no let me start this over.

Buckets of Rain-11

© Lou Russo Photography

‘Chapter 1.
He was too romantic about Manhattan, as he was about everything else. He thrived on the hustle bustle of the crowds and the traffic. To him, New York meant beautiful women and street-smart guys who seemed to know all the angles…’.
Ah, corny, too corny for my taste. Can we … can we try and make it more profound?
‘Chapter 1.
He adored New York City. For him, it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. The same lack of individual integrity that caused so many people to take the easy way out was rapidly turning the town of his dreams in…’
No, that’s going to be too preachy. I mean, you know, let’s face it, I want to sell some books here.



© Lou Russo Photography

‘Chapter 1.
He adored New York City, although to him it was a metaphor for the decay of contemporary culture. How hard it was to exist in a society desensitized by drugs, loud music, television, crime, garbage…’
Too angry, I don’t want to be angry.
‘Chapter 1.
He was as tough and romantic as the city he loved. Behind his black-rimmed glasses was the coiled sexual power of a jungle cat.’
I love this.
‘New York was his town, and it always would be.”
― Woody Allen, Manhattan

The Quest for Clarity Through the Fog


Through the manufactured fog born of spoken-word mist and the rain of spit dripping from the mouth’s of insatiable monsters, there IS clarity. Continue leading forward with strength and seek the truth that exists beyond this veil. Look also beside you and behind as there are many who are with you on this quest. Offer your hand to others as the path may not be as visible for them and do not judge, as in time many who mashed their hands together in great applause of all that was promised will find themselves on an even darker road with a precursor of stubborn illusion to move through first. Where once they eagerly boarded what seemed a glossy rocket with the promise of a great destination they will find themselves heaving on the darkened road as if punched in the gut and thrown from what turned out to be a cardboard facade, painted gold, with only insatiable monsters and circus clowns behind it.