I went in Dionysus again on Wednesday (4th August 2006)

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.

My afternoon with Lydia just brought home to me how white I am but also how unhappy I am (15th July 2006)

My afternoon with Lydia just brought home to me how white I am, but also how unhappy I am. From the moment I met her outside -- tube she started saying “you are unhappy”. I suppose I am. I live in a constant fog of unhappiness that I have got so used to I no longer notice it. Only when I am forced to be with people, I realise how shocking other people find me. And how white I am. I live in darkness, both literally and metaphorically. Who would I want to be with now? No one. Not Lydia. Not —–. Not Pamela. I only want to be alone. Left alone with my writing the way Munch wanted to be left alone with his pictures. This is a wonderful world for an autistic person. As long as we can indulge it. After getting back to Charing X from --, I had a small tuna & mayo with the grinning “how are you?” Alia, and “see you later!”, before dragging myself back into the Calcutta. Only as I got on the 815 train I saw the huge voluptuous titted blonde bouncing past the window, with that almost black lipstick pout she puts on in disgust when she knows men are looking at her tits, yet she always wears those ludicrously low cut vests, this time green, that show off so much of the tops of her tits. How I would like to touch & taste & f–k those tits.

You could say I have got worse, and I am like someone who has given up and will try no more; or you could say I have got better. I am more myself now. I am purer. I have gone deeper into myself, and deeper into nothingness. And that is where I long to be and where I love to be.

Even Thursday I felt so bored in the cinema, despite Tittenalarm 18, UNTIL the blonde came in with the man, and was kissing him, and her knees drawn up so he could finger her and all the men in the seats in front were turning & looking up her. That suddenly was SO hot and sexy. I had to leave in a hurry because I wanted to explode straightaway with Demi, but still she is gone for another two weeks, so I went with Francesca, just in the one position and came easily. I will not go back. Demi will be the next one I go to. The Sunset rota is up but I just feel totally sated by it now. I would rather go see Taxi Driver and the Romanian film. I have to stop my spending now. 

I am unique. It is important to remember that (3rd August 2006)

I am unique. It is important to remember that. I am writer and eccentric, like Philip O’Connor, Friedrich Nietzsche in cold stoveless rooms, Ernest Dowson. I exist to write those extreme, bizarre, small little books, like Autismus, Black Narcissus, The Cold Icy Air of the Mountains, and Casanova. 45 page long monographs about emptiness and nothingness. Smile from Calcutta blonde: “No ice today!” I need to focus on Miami Vice, Rebels & Martyrs exhibition, classical music concerts. The sexiest encounters of my life were at the Barbican and Wigmore Hall. 

I travel uniquely, to Berlin, Vienna and Brussels. I live a bizarre and nocturnal life. I will continue to use Sunset Cinema and Demi and Pamela. There is nothing like that excitement when a man comes in with a woman and everyone crowds around with their cocks out. Day 1 of my new life starts here. No more Midnight Bell. The Calcutta only, followed by Sunset Cinema, Demi and Pamela. I will go to the Cotton Club only when Deborah is on. I am Ernest Dowson. Philip O’Connor. The Shining Roads will be exclusively in Soho. How thrilling it is to come out of the cinema with my huge cock rolling in my trousers, just around the corner to Demi or Pamela. Just getting the bus up Regent Street and along Oxford Street you see so many big breast women, making me ready for cinema even today. My life revolves around drinking & pornography. I want to take a long train journey again, thinking and writing.

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—ing in room 16. I have never been able to work 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—ing 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. 

The sexiest encounters of my life were with girls at classical music concerts, while I was sitting in the back row–the red scallop neck girl at the Barbican, little brown bob who sat opposite me in the Barbican lobby, black fur coat at the Wigmore, the grey skirt lush in the Wigmore lobby. The erections I have got in art galleries! Especially the Brussels Museum of Modern Art and the Wiertz Museum–I have got to go back to Brussels this autumn! To the Modern Art, the Wiertz, the Cathedral, the Gare du Midi Pullman bar, it is such a morbidly erotic place, even before I get up to Empire and the Gare du Nord. I got great erections in Antwerp,too. And Munich Neue Pinakothek. Oh how erotic it is to be there during the day, going to the New Pin and Lamms, knowing it is just preparation for what I am going to do later–cross Bayerstrasse and round the corner of Schillerstrasse and disappear into the White Coffin. 

My heroes are Walter Benjamin, Karl Kraus, Friedrich Nietzsche, Karl Marx. I live everyday of my life now as if I am on holiday, just drinking and eating and w—ing. The gorgeous beer in the Calcutta, the gorgeous fish & chips in Dionysus, the gorgeous KFC in Leicester Square. The gorgeous tuna & mayo rolls in Charing Cross Station. When in Berlin I live for the knesepfannes in my hotel bar and the ham & eggs rolls in Thobens at Berlin Zoo station. In Vienna it is the alt wiener rostbratens in my hotel bar; I no longer go to Wegenstein's after the staff attacked me. I went back once but it is always so empty there, in contrast to the warmth & conviviality of Lamm's in Munich. I think I almost go to Munich solely so I can eat in Lamm's & have a glass of their ice cold Augustiner beer. I go to Berlin solely so I can eat the knesepfannes in my hotel & the Zoo Thobens rolls. 

Oh I so much want to go back to Munich! But where to stay–the Regent which I love for its bar, or the Intercity for its ease? I go to Vienna solely for the cold Zipfers served by the white shirted girls in the Dorint bar before I commence my afternoon of sightseeing, which usually means St Stephen's Cathedral, the Pummerin bell made out of Turkish cannons left behind after the Siege of Vienna, the Butterfly House, the KHM, the Belvedere and the Leopold. Always the same places. Sometimes I will mix in a few Third Man sites, like the Am Hof, and the steps where Harry Lime stood when the cat gave him away and we see him for the first time. I will not go into the sewers again.

My afternoon with Olga just brought home to me how white I am (15th July 2006)

My afternoon with Olga just brought home to me how white I am, but also how unhappy I am. From the moment I met her outside — tube she started saying “you are unhappy.” I suppose I am. I live in a constant fog of unhappiness that I have got so used to, I no longer notice it. Only when I am forced to be with people I realise how shocking other people find me. And how white I am. I live in darkness, both literally and metaphorically. Who would I want to be with now? No one. Not Olga. Not Florence. Not Pamela. I only want to be alone. Left alone with my writing the way Munch wanted to be left alone with his pictures. This is a wonderful world for an autistic person. As long as we can indulge it. After getting back to Charing Cross I had a small tuna & mayo with the grinning “how are you?” Alia, and “see you later!”, before dragging myself back into the Calcutta. Only as I got on the 815 train to — I saw the huge voluptuous-titted blonde bouncing past the window, with that almost black lipstick pout she puts on in disgust when she knows men are looking at her tits, yet she always wears those ludicrously low-cut vests, this time green, that show off so much of the tops of her tits. How I would like to touch & taste & f–k those tits. Can you imagine working in the same office as her all day? With those massive knockers exposed in your face all day long? How on Earth would you ever get any work done? Can you imagine turning up for work every day with your massive tits out there on display for everyone to see?