untitled

Here are my untitled thoughts:

Now: listening to the Rolling Stones album Let It Bleed on iTunes. "Don't u think u need a woman's touch to make u come alive?" I can relate. @Work at the moment down in the financial district. Eating peanut M&M's from a large blue plastic peanut m&m cartoon dispenser. You lift his arm up, then down, and one or two candies roll out of a hole in his side. Blue Jesus dispensing chocolate covered peanuts instead of diluted blood. Whichever you prefer, by the plumbing of your faith. Then I performed my Theraband shoulder exercises, to strengthen the ligaments supporting my rotator cuffs. It just isn't built to last, this body of mine. I thought about stretching. Don't know if I want to listen to this entire album. I should be reading. Currently reading "Alice Waters & Chez Panisse," a bio by Thomas McNamee,a journalist. Been trying to set aside myself so I can put in some solid reading. Trying to read at work, so I can claim to get well paid for reading biographies about gourmet restaurants and the gauche dramas and lush sociopolitical intrigues that swirled above its roof and chimneystack over the decades. What else have I to do here? Munch m&m's whilst I sip lemon rooibus tea, too cold now. Think about that orange. Twist and laugh with Jagger. Stretch my limbs, lie on orange rubber, spongy to the toes. That, and that.

"U can't always get what u want,

But if u try sometime,

U get what u need."

Jagger and I, sometimes, we're on the same page. Now this song, "Under my Thumb" (listening to Aftermath now) rocks in a way that only the Stones can. Take it eeeeeasy, baby.

some excerpts from my notebook, written in an old church in Southwark, London:

- If I ever have a house, one room will be reserved for quiet (aesthetic) contemplation, with the only adornment either 1) a blank canvas, or 2) a candle

- the only churches I enter these days are those in foreign countries

- saw a 700 year old wooden sculpture of a dead knight

from a painting tag at the Francis Bacon retrospective:

"Birth, & copulation, & death.

That's all the facts when you

come to brass tacks.

Birth, & copulation, & death."

-T.S. Eliot