The fact that I have paid £600 off my Barclaycard in the space of a month shows what is possible. I don’t think I am going to go to Vienna in December. I think I would rather keep waiting and keep saving. So when I do travel I will have a real war chest to travel with. I was thinking in the Calcutta on Thursday that there is nothing worth spending money on except sex. If it is a choice between seeing Volver or A Scanner Darkly,or going to see a girl take her knickers off to music, then there can only be one winner. You see people who go on beach holidays, or Amalfi, and I think how bored I would be. The only holiday that means anything is in red light districts. To meet new strippers and new Esmeraldas. What is wrong with running a high debt? We will see how high my Virgin interest is when that hits in October. In McDonald's most beautiful gorgeous voluptuous brunette girl, maybe 18 or 19, skin tight black top over rolls of fat and big fat huge breasts, thick yellow snakeskin belt, blue jeans over fat arse, pretty pretty face, little snub nose. I could not take my eyes off her & she knew it as she finally shot me a glance as I stepped forward to order. Nothing in the city matters except sex, the buying and selling of it, young women stripping for you, young women lying back on the bed and opening their legs for you, men all with their cocks out in a dark porn cinema. This is the reality of my life.
Vienna is still a mystery to me. With three consecutive visits to Brussels, then three to Munich, then three to Berlin, I felt I cracked the nut of all those places. I still have not achieved that with Vienna. Viennese Eroticism is very important to me. Primitive London. I am very intellectual yet I live very primitively, my animal instincts always winning out over my cerebral ones. So much drink has sozzled my brain that I doubt I have any cerebral instincts left at all. What an animal I was with Anya at the stag party; how impressed Sylvia seemed to be & so much more warm and friendly to me than she had ever been before. When people write about my life 50 years from now, they will have to write about the Calcutta, the Flying Scotsman, Sunset Strip and Carnival. About Astral, Soho Cinema, and Sunset Cinema. About Atlantic City. About Stutti Frutti, Mon Cheri, Golden Gate, Monte Carlo and Ciro. If I do not travel to Vienna and Berlin in December and the New Year I will have no chance to meet a new Irina or Susi, Patricia or Viktoriya. Things happen when you travel. In Brussels I met Clarisse. In Frankfurt Katerina. In Berlin Erika. It is important to keep exploring.
I live in a kind of Francis Bacon London. I live in the gutter like him. My writing is visceral and from the guts, full of pinks and reds and purples, like his paintings. I too am fascinated by a Pope. I am visceral and fascinated and turned on by my naked self like Egon Schiele. Do not apologise for this. Exult in it. I am priapic and I will just do it more than ever. I am saving money by not doing it so much just so I can do it more. I am going to Vienna at Christmas to fuck a couple of Viennese whores. In strip clubs every night is like Sylvester’s Eve; or Walpurgisnacht. The more bawdy and raucous the better; that is why I like the Bell on Saturday nights. In London all the strip pubs are packed with men; again I ask the question, where do all the men go in Berlin? In Vienna? In Brussels?
The usual post-drinking depression and low mood. Brain like Swiss cheese. As I came out of the lavatory, Florence was already up on stage, dancing to Promiscuous Girl, in a new white top covered with red & green spots. She spotted me almost immediately, and was looking a lot in my direction, but it was only after I got my drink & leaned against the post, that I made eye contact with her. She was obviously waiting for the eye contact, because she immediately put her finger to her lips as if telling me to be quiet! Now Florence is being sarcastic to me. A new development, perhaps brought on by me walking out during her first dance last time. Next time she collected she said Hey, and hit me on back to get my attention, then put her face to mine so I could kiss her cheek. Later, she leaned on bar with both arms till I put the money in the right pot. We never exchanged any words all night. Also there Demi, Camilla, Tequila, Maira, Helen, Arleni, and for one last dance Zoe and Cristina. Quite a strong night, Florence, Maira, Arleni, Demi, Helen. I will return on Saturday 30th September. The affair with Florence, the year-long affair with Florence, proves that I will always be alone. As the affair with Chess Goddess, and with Lotta, proved that I will always be alone. My books are about alienation, anomie, detachment, solipsism, solitude. A strange Dr Who dream with David Tennant repeatedly being pulled back to the same bleak planet, where a military garrison stroke Saddam-like palace was all hustling and bustling preparing to get out before the evil forces on the planet arrive and destroy them. The last time,the Doctor goes up the big wide steps to the palace, into the commander’s office, and there is Vicky sitting head down at desk as his secretary. And then there was Anya all in starched white tunic and trousers.
The 91 makes getting to and from the Bell so quick and easy. What a discovery, so late in the day! Like discovering I had been taking the long route back to the Brussels Ibis all these years. That was hilarious. Think of the miles I walked in the early hours of the morning unnecessarily. I had two pints in the Calcutta & four in the Bell. Did not see anyone interesting, was worth it to see Florence again. The sensible thing would be not to go to Vienna in December, but it would be nice just to take a break. The thought of going round the Gurtel for ML Revue, and Manhattan, and Pour Platin, just makes me feel tired & filled with ennui, as the thought of going back to Atlantic City or any of the Berlin places does, but….what else is there to do? I am tired of it all but it is all there is. Think how much I masturbated my first time in the Dorint on my psychological meltdown trip to Oslo. I came over myself again and again every night. I need an exotic five or six days away, in the lush flora & fauna rainforest of Brussels and Vienna. It will be expensive but worth it. You cannot measure the value to me of these trips; it outweighs the cost.
Vienna is still a mystery to me. With three consecutive visits to Brussels, then three to Munich, then three to Berlin, I felt I cracked the nut of all those places. I still have not achieved that with Vienna. Viennese Eroticism is very important to me. Primitive London. I am very intellectual yet I live very primitively, my animal instincts always winning out over my cerebral ones. So much drink has sozzled my brain that I doubt I have any cerebral instincts left at all. What an animal I was with Anya at the stag party; how impressed Sylvia seemed to be & so much more warm and friendly to me than she had ever been before. When people write about my life 50 years from now, they will have to write about the Calcutta, the Flying Scotsman, Sunset Strip and Carnival. About Astral, Soho Cinema, and Sunset Cinema. About Atlantic City. About Stutti Frutti, Mon Cheri, Golden Gate, Monte Carlo and Ciro. If I do not travel to Vienna and Berlin in December and the New Year I will have no chance to meet a new Irina or Susi, Patricia or Viktoriya. Things happen when you travel. In Brussels I met Clarisse. In Frankfurt Katerina. In Berlin Erika. It is important to keep exploring.
I live in a kind of Francis Bacon London. I live in the gutter like him. My writing is visceral and from the guts, full of pinks and reds and purples, like his paintings. I too am fascinated by a Pope. I am visceral and fascinated and turned on by my naked self like Egon Schiele. Do not apologise for this. Exult in it. I am priapic and I will just do it more than ever. I am saving money by not doing it so much just so I can do it more. I am going to Vienna at Christmas to fuck a couple of Viennese whores. In strip clubs every night is like Sylvester’s Eve; or Walpurgisnacht. The more bawdy and raucous the better; that is why I like the Bell on Saturday nights. In London all the strip pubs are packed with men; again I ask the question, where do all the men go in Berlin? In Vienna? In Brussels?
The usual post-drinking depression and low mood. Brain like Swiss cheese. As I came out of the lavatory, Florence was already up on stage, dancing to Promiscuous Girl, in a new white top covered with red & green spots. She spotted me almost immediately, and was looking a lot in my direction, but it was only after I got my drink & leaned against the post, that I made eye contact with her. She was obviously waiting for the eye contact, because she immediately put her finger to her lips as if telling me to be quiet! Now Florence is being sarcastic to me. A new development, perhaps brought on by me walking out during her first dance last time. Next time she collected she said Hey, and hit me on back to get my attention, then put her face to mine so I could kiss her cheek. Later, she leaned on bar with both arms till I put the money in the right pot. We never exchanged any words all night. Also there Demi, Camilla, Tequila, Maira, Helen, Arleni, and for one last dance Zoe and Cristina. Quite a strong night, Florence, Maira, Arleni, Demi, Helen. I will return on Saturday 30th September. The affair with Florence, the year-long affair with Florence, proves that I will always be alone. As the affair with Chess Goddess, and with Lotta, proved that I will always be alone. My books are about alienation, anomie, detachment, solipsism, solitude. A strange Dr Who dream with David Tennant repeatedly being pulled back to the same bleak planet, where a military garrison stroke Saddam-like palace was all hustling and bustling preparing to get out before the evil forces on the planet arrive and destroy them. The last time,the Doctor goes up the big wide steps to the palace, into the commander’s office, and there is Vicky sitting head down at desk as his secretary. And then there was Anya all in starched white tunic and trousers.
The 91 makes getting to and from the Bell so quick and easy. What a discovery, so late in the day! Like discovering I had been taking the long route back to the Brussels Ibis all these years. That was hilarious. Think of the miles I walked in the early hours of the morning unnecessarily. I had two pints in the Calcutta & four in the Bell. Did not see anyone interesting, was worth it to see Florence again. The sensible thing would be not to go to Vienna in December, but it would be nice just to take a break. The thought of going round the Gurtel for ML Revue, and Manhattan, and Pour Platin, just makes me feel tired & filled with ennui, as the thought of going back to Atlantic City or any of the Berlin places does, but….what else is there to do? I am tired of it all but it is all there is. Think how much I masturbated my first time in the Dorint on my psychological meltdown trip to Oslo. I came over myself again and again every night. I need an exotic five or six days away, in the lush flora & fauna rainforest of Brussels and Vienna. It will be expensive but worth it. You cannot measure the value to me of these trips; it outweighs the cost.
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