I love the scientific analysis of my life, like Nietzsche. In Nietzschean numbered paragraphs. Like the Rhine Zeitung newspaper articles of Karl Marx. Like the Die Fackel magazine articles of Karl Kraus. Apocalyptic, messianic, satirical. All of them supposed to have some Jewish blood in them, as I have Irish blood in me. This is not possible when I have drink in my head all the time. It is also true that some of the high moments of my life have come in the Astral Cinema and the Boulevard Cinema and the Sunset Cinema. Remember that big mullet-haired guy who pulled his shorts down all the way to his ankles & sat there with a tube of soap or vaseline, regularly applying it to his cock in the Astral. Remember Red Riding Hood night when I sat for six hours in the front row of Soho Cinema till I was raw & practically passing out from the smoky, fuggy, sticky, lubricious atmosphere and when I finally left I crossed deserted Leicester Square in the lashing rain. Remember black dress Kay in the front row of Sunset sitting completely naked as black man put his huge dick in her mouth, businessman with trousers round ankles put condom on & fucked her, before “monica'ring” her over her breasts, all the time while she stroked my cock with her hand. Remember red bra girl in the Sunset. Not to mention the highs I have reached in Berlin Erotic Centre, or Sarah Young, or Atlantic City or Sexyland kabins, or ML Revue cabins, or the Brussels Gare du Nord cabins. Melani said she wanted to go with me to the opera & I stayed away from her. Pamela hinted she would like to go to the seaside with me & I stayed away from her. Florence said she wanted to go out with me & on that Madonna Hung Up and Beyonce Check On It night, when —– thanked me for the postcard, I let her go. I do not want to go out with girls. Going out with Chess Goddess and Lotta were horrible stressful experiences and like Jason Bourne I was checking sightlines and looking for exits the whole time. The happy, magical nights I have had in the crowded bearpits of Sunset Strip, Gold Dress Gold Shoes girl on The Beast December night, Jolanda Red Right Hand, or Flying Scotsman Sex on the Beach, Sylvia Walpurgis Night, Tais Lola, Janet Material Girl, or Atlantic City. And they are only any good when they are crowded bearpits. Remember how crowded the Atlantic City cinema used to get when the girl came on to strip just once an hour? They are only good when the men are screaming at the girl on stage as like beasts in the menagerie. Yes, it will be too soon to go back to Vienna but the thrill of being in Vienna in December…? Yes, I do not want to go back to the drunken, tiring Midnight Bell but it is very special to see Florence dancing to Shakira or Gnarls Barkley…? Afterwards I could come back to Charing Cross on the 91 and then get a 176 up to Tottenham Court Road tube to walk down to Sunset Cinema. I will start to allow myself every Saturday off as my Hogarthian night. My Rake’s Progress night. My Frank Wedekind night.
La Traviata, the opera of a consumptive whore, is coming to mean something special to me, since seeing Stefania Bonfadelli at the Deutsche Oper, and Christine Schafer at the Staatsoper. It does remind me so much of Riccarda, Diana, Iga, but also of Lela, Ana Maria, Olga, all of whom I have seen deteriorate before my eyes. It is back at ENO this month. There is also Anna Caterina Antonacci and Marina Domashenko as Carmen at Covent Garden.
I have to go out today to get my bus pass, so I will get the bus to Charing Cross & one in the Calcutta & then see what happens from there. I think it is better to go to Vienna in December and Berlin in April for Katerina Dalayman’s Salome. Vienna is a little bit more exotic & still unexplored compared to Berlin. I think if I stayed home in December & then got to Berlin in January I would feel bored there & feeling I had missed something special. Munich was poor in January because I travelled so hard up. Well, by the time of Vienna in December I will still be even more hard up! Go and spend so much money that Berlin in the New Year is out of the question and I can instead concentrate on saving up for April. Walpurgis Night arrival in Berlin. I will have a strictly clinical visit to the Bell tonight, if at all. You have to go out on a Saturday night. Otherwise there is no point being alive.
On the train into London last night in the pitch dark, I felt so much like I was on that train to Nuremberg. It crept and creaked along & I felt with every minute that passes I am getting nearer to Nuremberg and I remember that absolutely mind-blowing nervousness I used to feel on those three visits. By the time I got off & was walking along the station corridor from the platform I could hardly breathe. I was gasping and hyperventilating and shaking, knowing I would soon be in the Pils Bar and the Caribic. Also I felt like I was on the train into Vienna.
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