I went in Dionysus again on Wednesday. Absolutely lovely. How lovely it was to be in Charing Cross Station today. I really love Charing Cross. The way in Berlin I cling like a limpet to Berlin Zoo station, and in Munich I stay in the Intercity connected to the Hauptbahnhof, and in Vienna I stay in the Dorint opposite the Westbahnhof, and in Brussels I stay in the Ibis opposite the Gare du Midi, in London my whole life revolves around Charing Cross. I love the Upper Crust girls who get my tuna & mayo rolls ready for me, the Calcutta pub who get my cokes and beers ready for me. I took an incredible risk watching those porn movies in the hotel business centre the Christmas before last, before w--king in room 16. I have never been able to find out what that fantastic film was. I am sure it was a Christoph Clark but I have never tracked it down. Like that elusive E.E. Doc Smith Lensman book I read where the captain slides his hard hand down over F's breasts while they are watching a play together on board the spaceship. Before C goes to his room and disrobes. The best w--king of my life was the first nights I stayed in the Dorint Hotel in Vienna while I was en route to Oslo on my Munch pilgrimage, when I was in the blackest frame of mind of my life. The two things do go together. My greatest periods of unrestrained sexuality come at my times of greatest blackness & despair. I need to be low and black and destroyed. I feel like Munch in Christiana now. Too much drink and drugs and endless nights with scantily-clad women have overwhelmed my senses and driven me into a spiral of despair.
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