What am I doing home from work at 12.30? I am reading, that's what, or planning on reading, in the next ten minutes or so.
The sky, by the way, today is blue, today is pure & bright & vivid & is probably trying to talk to me, like the sun talking to Frank O'Hara in the Frank O'Hara poem whose name I cannot remember because the books are packed.
I am reading James Elkins's Stories of Art & in doing so am examining my own Way of Looking-At & Talking-About Art, & my own Perception of Myself as an Art Historian, & somehow this all ties in to the thinking I've been doing about my Perceptions of Myself as the Following Things:
Activist
Catholic
Object of Love
Maker of Things (=poems?)
Possible Allegorical Construct
...& so on.
& that's all very well & good, & probably the sort of thing you should do when you've started going to therapy again & the world is excessively pretty, but right now I'd like to put the art historiography aside & sit on the front porch with a Cherry Coke & re-read & the Order of the Phoenix.
