I saw Stoned (billed as uncut, 2005) on pay-per-view the other night. The story of Brian Jones of the Stones and his untimely death. It's trash, but the kind you can't stop watching. I wanted to stop watching because I didn't want Brian to get murdered by his handyman at the end, but I knew how it ended and I liked watching the clothes and the naked girls so much I just kept going. Leo Gregory does a pretty good job as Jones, and Paddy Considine, a fine actor, is nice and creepy as the loser who does in the great rock star. The other Stones don't make a big impression—they are smaller than life—but casting them would be a bit of a challenge, wouldn't it? But the real stars are the clothes and the hair. London of the mid-sixties was such a fantastic time and such an amazing scene that seeing it reconstructed with some care is inspiring. It makes you want to start another revolution. Not with guns, but hair and shirts and guitars and cars. Brian was my favorite Stone and I never loved them quite as much after he was gone. He had a magical presence and there's not much of him on film. He has a magical walk-on in Monterey Pop. They certainly became more powerful but the music was less interesting. One wonders what he might have done musically had he lived.

I've also been reading bits of The Ossie Clark Diaries (Bloomsbury, 1998), which also make me nostalgic for days when it seemed like anything was possible. Clark was the greatest designer of the Swinging London period, and one of the great fashion innovators of the twentieth century. He dressed the Stones, Marianne Faithfull, Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, Twiggy, Faye Dunaway, Patti Boyd, George H., John and Yoko, Pink Floyd, and hundreds more names.

It's a transcript of a crazy diary the designer kept, half drawn in colors in his kooky hand. You can just pick it up and read a page and it's like a thirty second trip. 1969: "Cheyne Walk—Chrissie Gibbs and Marianne. Cocaine on the George mantle piece in Jagger's house, first time… Shave off my beard in Harrods barber shop."

1974: "19 April: Up all night. Very tired today. I love Celia—she understand more, more. Mr. Lamb extended by Credit. Bit heavy. Spoke with Paul McCartney. Nikki Waymouth off to New York. Divine sunglasses from Mick. Love future plans—confidence."

Could you ask more of a poem?

29 April: "Chicago—Hot Day. To the airport. 5.45. TWA Ambassador Service. AM I REALLY FLYING HIGH OVER AMERICA? 'Cool it on these joints, honey, the captain's on his way down here and he'll bus you once we reach Chicago—Pat, the air hostess. Suddenly 6.30 Chicago time and I'm six nouns beyond reality already. No more little white powder—in fact, someone hold me."

It gets better until it gets worse. Ossie Clark was an artist but not a businessman. He went bankrupt in 1983 and was murdered in 1996. He was 54. But the diary and his spirits are fantastic 'til the end. Shortly before his death he is invited to a Stones concert at Wembley. "Mick wears blue and black stripes. Before the concert he gave me a big hug and I asked him for 15 grand."