Oh God how could I ever have considered giving up my lovely little flat? (13th August 2006)

Oh God how could I ever have considered giving up my lovely little flat? It is so lovely to come back to at night. All afternoon, and tonight, travelling to Charing Cross I felt so nervous. It was good, it felt exciting, like being in Vienna or Berlin or Brussels at night. Everything was pitch back, windy and rainy and storm-tossed. It felt like winter. It felt like how nervous I felt going out in Vienna at night to look for the peep show place, or how nervous I felt going to look for Stuttgarter Platz in Berlin the first time, or going into Atlantic City every time. I love that nervousness! That excitement! Sitting with my first pint in the Calcutta I still felt it. I felt I was sitting in the Brussels Pullman bar prior to heading up to Empire and Gare du Nord. Or sitting in the Dorint preparing to go out to Pour Platin or Manhattan. It was so exciting. By the second pint the excitement had been replaced by deadness, and I could not recapture the nervousness. By the third pint it had started to turn to the nihilism which can be as exciting as the nervousness but I did not push it to a fourth pint. I think three will be my rule for these Calcutta nightcaps. Oh God I cannot wait to get back to Vienna and the Dorint, and I cannot wait to get back to Munich and Atlantic City. But first I think must come Berlin for Violeta Urmana and the Mort de Cleopatra. That would be special. Any money I save let me use it on Alla & Olga and Erica first. On the 87 bus home someone started playing the Hot Club de France at full blast! It was fantastic. Riding along listening to Stephane Grapelli and Django Reinhardt. Every bus should sound like this at 11 o'clock at night.

******Low rumble of thunder. To think I was thinking I could sit out on my balcony once summer comes, and now it is black & rainy & I am turning my heating back on, and it is only 13th August! John Dilys Cooper "turns everything into an epiphany". I had an epiphany last night. Getting the bus to Charing Cross feeling so nervous, and arriving there in the pitch black, and it was so windy & stormy, and I sat in the Calcutta with my first pint feeling so strongly what it would be like at this same 930PM at night to be sitting in the bar of the Brussels Radisson SAS, or the Ibis Cafe Belge, or the Dorint Wien, or the Berlin Plaza, nervously drinking enough so I was ready to go out looking for Tallulah or Esmeralda. Tingle-Tangle. That feeling in the knot of your stomach. Those butterflies. That excitement, that nervousness. On the bus, around Parliament Square, I was thinking this was how nervous I felt when I went to get that tram in Wien, or how nervous I feel when I leave the Intercity at night to cross Bayerstraße & round corner of Schiller, my heart suddenly starts beating so fast, my breathing comes so quick, my blood pumps around me so quick, as I am sure everybody knows what I am up to, but they cannot stop me, and I am going to do it anyway. A real epiphany last night, and again on Wednesday, when everything reminded me of Wien Westbhanhof. We grow beautiful out of our longing. The greatest highs of my life have been those midnight trams in Vienna around the Gurtel to get to ML Revue, or those walks from the Intercity to Atlantic City, or those walks from the Berlin Plaza to the Berlin Erotic Centre or Sarah Young, or that midnight tram from the Gare du Midi up to the Gare du Nord and trying again to find the right exit. Lust suddenly suffuses my whole body. I become so nervous and so excited. In Europe you have dirty experiences. The ONLY time I get close to that in London is when I go to Sunset Cinema, and some man comes in with a girl, and that is so exciting, and then when I am ready, I leave there with my swollen cock rolling in my trousers from side to side like a ship in a storm, just around the corner to Demi or to Pamela. That always feels so dirty. Once September comes I will allow myself this again. As the nights get dark so early. Save my money for October, once the clocks go back! That is why I call November 1st Volcanic Night! I do not think I find Simon Boccanegra interesting enough as an opera to go all the way to Hamburg to see Prokina in it. I'd rather spend all that money the train would cost on sex in Berlin. I would like to see Urmana in the Mort de Cleopatra though. What to do, Munich & Vienna first, or Brussels & Berlin? NOTHING THAT HAPPENS AT WORK CAN POSSIBLY AFFECT ME. I LIVE FOR WRITING AND FOR TRAVELLING. I AM LIKE A GHOST AT WORK. THUNDER! A dirty, black, thundery, raining evening.