For all that talk of big breasts I never really made the most of my opportunities [25th August 2006]

For all that talk of big breasts I never really made the most of my opportunities: Clarisse I never even had a 5 euro dance in my seat & refused to talk to her, Martina, I went with Diana instead, Andrea I just had the £20 option instead of half an hour. I can worry about the sadness and despair of my last trips to Berlin, Munich, Brussels, but I always feel this sadness and despair so it is normal & I should enjoy it! There is a kernel inside my brain that only wants to be stimulated by pornographic films and prostitutes, and will never be able to feel anything in real relationships, so I should just understand that and enjoy it. Isn't it great that I now feel so happy in myself and so self-confident, I am writing, I have my own place, I am enjoying the porn films and the prostitutes the same as ever, and no one can touch me. How beaten down I used to be. Not anymore. I am taunting them with what I enjoy that they cannot. I am flaunting it in their angry faces, more and more. I am provoking them more and more. I am Beethoven. I am genius. Alcazar Crying at the Discotheque. My God I cannot wait to get back to Vienna again! Back to the Ring! I cannot wait to see Jolanda again. And Melani. Then on to Demi or Pamela. Oh travel is so much the greatest thing. I try so hard to recreate the sensations I feel when I am on holiday. That feeling drinking beer from my minbar in my Munich hotel room before going to Atlantic City. Or drinking in my Vienna hotel room before going to ML Revue. Or in Berlin before going to BEC and Stuttgarter Platz.**********I lead a strange existence. I read and write for a couple of hours, then sleep for a couple of hours. Listen to some classical music for an hour, then read & write some more, then sleep some more. ********What a great life this is. Sleep for a few hours, get up to read and write for a few hours, listen to classical music for a while, sleep some more, for three or four days a week. Even my bad trips still produced interesting experiences. I need complete isolation. Complete peace. Complete solitude. I can only exist in solipsism, and its military wing, Priapism. I enjoyed living in the broken world of strippers and whores. But I fell in love with one of the strippers and started embarrassing myself. I want to write a magazine like Simplicissimus and Die Fackel. Or make my satiric interventions on, for example, BITE, or Openlegs4u. I would restart The Serpents Egg either on wildeboy.com or Yahoo360 but I would have to reveal too much about myself. My life revolves around strippers and whores and yet I cannot talk about that. 95% of my life would have to remain hidden under the surface leaving only the tip of the iceberg which is not worth talking about. 

On way home same big breast girl got on Wandsworth Road (19th July 2006)

On way home, same big breast girl got on Wandsworth Road. Looked at her in profile, blue vest.Till she came towards me & sat in back corner, giving me a really good look at her big cleavage. Got an erection. She sat in corner half turned towards me, then made a big play of turning right towards me to untie her ipod.**************Had coke & two beers in the Calcutta. It was so hot in there, and so black. Joked with Hossain about it. After my coke, he said “oh that was just your starter?” Sexy big brunette in brown vest & skirt came in with boyfriend but left because too hot. Up to the Bell. Fantastic Arctic Monkeys Vampires song in the Calcutta followed by long extended throbbing intro to Madonna’s Hung Up. A depressing return to Sunset. Waited & waited for Melani to arrive downstairs & it was only after buying my second Fosters I saw her name was not on rota. Quite empty because it was so hot. Looked in cinema, Voyeur 18 but not much else. I’ll check it on internet if I go home tonight then can go back for it Friday if necessary. Low key day.  Two in Calcutta, two in the Scotsman, two in Sunset.

What an empty night—the second in a row (1st June 2006)

What an empty night—the second in a row. Just one in a boring Calcutta, because Ariodante started at 7. In Handel they sing every phrase six times, with increasing amounts of vibrato, in contrast to the concision & brevity of The Makropulos Case. I couldn’t take any more of it. In the Lemon Tree the one who looks like the daughter but not the massive breasted white T-shirt girl. Had two halves & went back to Calcutta. Nothing doing there either, so I gave up. Then blow me as I was heading out the door, a gorgeous brunette in tight green top with big breasts comes in. I made such deep eye contact with her, that she eventually smiled & said thanks. I so much wanted to go back in to ogle her some more but resisted as I was so hungry. Once again I saw that blonde girl with her bicyclist boyfriend as I was leaving the flat. It is quite uncanny how often I see them. This time I looked deep into her gaze and held it until we said hello & smiled. Home tomorrow, then back for Duke Bluebeard? Where is the excitement? I am hungry for a girlfriend now.

For all that talk of big breasts I never really made the most of my opportunities (25th August 2006)

For all that talk of big breasts I never really made the most of my opportunities: Clarisse I never even had a 5 euro dance in my seat & refused to talk to her, Martina, I went with Diana instead, Andrea I just had the £20 option instead of half an hour. I can worry about the sadness and despair of my last trips to Berlin, Munich, Brussels, but I always feel this sadness and despair so it is normal & I should enjoy it! There is a kernel inside my brain that only wants to be stimulated by pornographic films and prostitutes, and will never be able to feel anything in real relationships, so I should just understand that and enjoy it. Isn’t it great that I now feel so happy in myself and so self-confident, I am writing, I have my own place, I am enjoying the pornographic films and the prostitutes the same as ever, and no one can touch me. How beaten down I used to be. Not anymore. I am taunting them with what I enjoy that they cannot. I am flaunting it in their angry faces, more and more. I am provoking them more and more. I am Beethoven. I am genius.
Alcazar Crying at the Discotheque. My God I cannot wait to get back to Vienna again! Back to the Ring! I cannot wait to see Jolanda again. And Melani. Then on to Demi or Pamela. Oh travel is so much the greatest thing.
I try so hard to recreate the sensations I feel when I am on holiday. That feeling drinking beer from my minibar in my Munich hotel room before going to Atlantic City. Or drinking in my Vienna hotel room before going to ML Revue. Or in Berlin before going to BEC and Stuttgarter Platz.

Well, this morning I was able to pay £300 off my Barclaycard. The long road back starts here. I felt so uncomfortable when I came out my flat 930am yesterday morning. I had two pints in the Calcutta before getting the 23:19 home. ENJOY ALL MY TAPES AND MY VIDEOS! WHAT A COLLECTION I HAVE AMASSED!
I lead a strange existence. I read and write for a couple of hours, then sleep for a couple of hours. Listen to some classical music for an hour, then read & write some more, then sleep some more.

What a great life this is. Sleep for a few hours, get up to read and write for a few hours, listen to classical music for a while, sleep some more, for three or four days a week. Even my bad trips still produced interesting experiences. I need complete isolation. Complete peace. Complete solitude. I can only exist in solipsism, and its military wing, Priapism. I enjoyed living in the broken world of strippers and whores. But I fell in love with one of the strippers and started embarrassing myself. I want to write a magazine like Simpliccimus and Die Fackel. Or make my satiric interventions on, for example, BITE, or Openlegs4u. I would restart The Serpent’s Egg either on wildeboy.com or Yahoo360 but I would have to reveal too much about myself. My life revolves around strippers and whores and yet I cannot talk about that. 95% of my life would have to remain hidden under the surface leaving only the tip of the iceberg which is not worth talking about.