The pleasure of travelling around Europe by train is so great even if I'm lonely because when I am lonely I write the most [17th August 2006]

The pleasure of travelling around Europe by train is so great, even if I'm lonely, because when I am lonely I write the most. It is Nietzsche in cold stoveless rooms writing with blue hands, while weeping, writing in blood. That is what I like best. So what I owe £6,000. You cannot take it with you. I might as well live intensely for the next few years while the rausch is on me. I am inclined to go to Berlin in January for La Traviata and Carmina Burana. That will mean I should go to Munich and Vienna at the end of October, to pull into Munich Hauptbahnhof in the dark at 7 o'clock at night and walk into the Intercity, for a couple of beers from the minibar, shower, couple of beers down in the bar, before rounding the corner into Atlantic City. The next day I can enjoy the gorgeous Lamm's and that night maybe go to Nuremberg coming back for 6:30 breakfast. So Thursday get Eurostar to Brussels Radisson SAS, few drinks in bar, up to Empire and Gare du Nord. Next lunchtime to Munich. Saturday night in Nuremberg and Sunday lazing in Munich? or train to Vienna? Monday night arrive in Vienna for some drinks from minibar then Dorint bar, then Seilerstatte. Next night Pour Platin and ML Revue. Yes, Munich and Vienna in end of October, save Berlin for January. That will give me all of November and December, another 8 weeks, to save for Berlin. Munich more than anywhere is really the City in the Autumn Stars. It even has a Rosenstraße!!!! Maybe I could buy some new boots. I am really going to enjoy myself this autumn in Munich and Vienna. Still, before I go, I would like to return at least once to Sunset Cinema and then to see Demi and Pamela. This time I will take some pictures in Munich at night. I am going to really absorb myself in Munich and draw out of it as much as I can this time.

I really don’t care about looking for jobs now (23rd April 2006)

I really don’t care about looking for jobs now. I will never find a better job than this. All I want now is to lose myself in classical music. Just accept this will take a long while to get over. You are heading for ruin. Concentrate on the positives. Concentrate on writing with blue hands in cold stoveless rooms like Nietzsche, heading to the cold icy air of the mountains, where the air is thinner & there are less people. I always want to get to where there are less people. I seem to have lost interest in art museums, in classical music concerts. I am just lost in an emptiness. All there is is drinking. This coming week I will devote to writing, staying up all night, into the early hours of the morning. Funny how sweet & lovely to me the new brown top barmaid was; she was gorgeous to me. Jane was lovely to me. Even though my life is getting better year on year, there is always a period each year when I go into real psychological darkness & desperate straits. 

“But despite his literary success, Crane was a profoundly tormented man. Poetry sustained him in a life that otherwise teetered on the brink of collapse. When he wasn’t writing, he spent much of his time engaged in fleeting homosexual encounters and alcohol binges. In 1932, three years after meeting Lorca, Crane committed suicide by leaping from a ship into the Caribbean”. 

“Crane tends to be labelled as American poetry’s answer to both Rimbaud and Keats. Like the young Rimbaud he believed a poet’s vision derived from systematic deregulation of the senses; many of his poems were written in an alcohol-induced frenzy while listening to the same song on his Victrola over and over again, while his tireless, often dangerous cruising of the Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Hoboken waterfronts – occasionally under the pseudonym Mike Drayton, in honour of the Elizabethan poet – shocked more conservative friends such as Allen Tate and Yvor Winters……..By the time he arrived in Mexico in 1931 he was grey-haired, puffy-featured, and subject to hallucinations, delirium tremens, and corrosive self-disgust. He wrote only one poem there, the sublime “The Broken Tower”, in which he acknowledged his inability to do more than merely “trace the visionary company of love”, or hold for longer than “an instant in the wind / each desperate choice”. A month after completing it in late March of 1932, Crane decided he had no choices left at all.”

I am so tired & jaded of London now (23rd Nov 2006)

I am so tired & jaded of London now. I must instead go & get drunk in Brussels & Berlin. Reacquaint myself with Karl Kraus, and F Nietzsche. 

All that matters is my bleak books, written in blood, with blue hands in cold stoveless rooms around Europe. My studies in solipsism, the visceral pleasure in detachment of an autistic person. Autismus. Lotta & Sophia. The Cold Icy Air of the Mountains. Casanova. 

I have moved beyond —–, & Olga, and am free of them. Now the travelling starts again. To write my books in Brussels, Berlin, Munich and Vienna. 

I will run up such a debt I will no longer be able to go out in London, will just pay all my money on my credit card repayments & interest. That is OK. I will go back to drinking in my mother’s house & the Calcutta, while listening to the songs that remind me of travel, until I can travel again.

Thunder at 6AM. Now torrential rain (30th Sept 2006)

Thunder at 6AM. Now torrential rain. Winter is finally coming. I am autistic. I am Stephane in Un Coeur en Hiver. I am Will Penny. I am the Consul. I am Noodles. It was so good watching that Stephen Fry programme about depression. Even though he had just been to a party and was laughing and joking and was the life of the party, when he got home he cried his eyes out and thought of ways to kill himself. Richard Dreyfus has only coped by being on medication for the last 30 years. Many people find it hard to cope with their minds. 

I am so ridiculously nervous about meeting —– again tonight. Most people have got lots of different kinds of relationships, as Sarah would say. I do not. I have only my longing for —– and nothing else. —– is everything. I just know how I will feel when I wake up Sunday morning with a hangover, depressed, so so empty, feeling so worthless and pointless because I am alone and without her. I dread it—yet what is the alternative? If I stay in and do not go, I will feel just as empty. At least for a couple of hours I will have the intensity of losing myself in the depravity, of diving deeper into darkness. Into the Libertines, Hogarthian, Crane Wine Menagerie world. What I did was perverse with —–. I eventually got over the black psychological meltdown with Black Bob, I eventually got over the black psychological meltdown with Pooky, I eventually got over the black psychological meltdown with Susi and Irina. I suppose I will eventually get over the black psychological meltdown with —–, but it is hard when temptation is always there, when she is so close. I am so unhappy, because I am alone, because I did not take a chance with —–. Falling in love is awful. I have been bombed to ruins again. What is there for me to look forward to? Just writing with cold blue hands in cold stoveless rooms high in the icy mountains. Complete emptiness and hollowness. 

I was always the one who wanted to stay in the corner and not get involved. Fine. 

I shut out all the people who try to love me (16th Sept 2006)

I shut out all the people who try to love me. Florence, mother. I just feel this deadness, and I cling onto this deadness for dear life. Being brought back to life is terrifying. I hurt myself rather than let a girl bring me back to life. I cannot believe I dedicate myself so totally to getting drunk when there was something special like Florence waiting for me. I preferred to concentrate on the drink, and let Florence go. You Never Call Me When You’re Sober. You only want it cos it’s over. It’s over. Well done. I kept myself safe, so Florence could not get in. I feel so down now, 3:22 in the morning. Ten Miles Infernal. Shakira Hips Don’t Lie. Florence was always such a happy thing. She always looks so unhappy when I am there now, so uncomfortable. No happiness in this life. I bring unhappiness to all people who try to love me. Because I am cold, and I stay cold. I am ice. I am high in the cold icy air of the mountains, weeping, writing with blue shaking hands in cold stoveless rooms.

Munich Editors. I have to go before 2pm because of the Scissor Sisters concert in Trafalgar Square. Wouldn’t you like to go to the concert? No. All I care about is writing, drinking, and watching girls take their clothes off while dancing to loud music. I remember how unhappy I made B Rosa, too. Patricia, too. Susi, too. I am so cold. I shut people out and get shut out by them. Maybe I can come back home Tuesday afternoon and spend all week here again. Florence must have been thinking about my snub for the whole two weeks, because as soon as I came in she was looking to make eye contact with me and when she did, she straightaway put her finger to her lips. If we cannot make each other happy, then we can at least make each other unhappy. That is our relationship.

Addicted to opium and alcohol. I insist on the primacy of my own experience. My own vision. I can only be alone. I can only be in cold icy mountains.

Don’t be unhappy, be happy! Think what immense power you have got! You have made the great separation & now live for pure priapism. You have got money. Winter is coming. I can go to the Bell, the Cotton Club, Cotton Club Cinema, Demi and Pamela. In January I can go to Berlin. This is going to be a season of the flesh. It is funny when I got the flat I thought now I can go to the Bell & this time talk to the girls & ask them to come home with me, and that is exactly what happened, and I could have had a relationship with Florence–but threw it away. The one thing I said I wanted.
I have got a nice little job I enjoy. I have got money coming in. I have got my own little nest. I have got a week off in December and another week off in January to go to Berlin, for La Traviata and Carmina Burana.

“Where do you live actually?” said Pamela to me. The discipline of saving money is actually a really exciting one. It has made the Bell more exciting for me. It will no doubt make the Cotton Club more exciting for me eventually. I love the things I have got away with in the past, the things I get away with now, the things I will get away with in the future.

I have got my book-lined London home, filled with ferns, and classical music. I live like a church mouse in a little hotel earning the money to write my books, while enjoying the girls taking their knickers off to loud music, and travelling a couple of times a year to Berlin. I am still sad about Florence. Do what you want with your genitals, otherwise you will regret it when you’re dead.

How when I watch Eminem’s Ass Like That or Shake That Ass videos, or Jon Bon Jovi’s Queen of New Orleans, or Korn’s Word Up, it makes me so much want to to get back to the strip club. To the Bell or Cotton Club (nowhere else in London!), Atlantic City. It rarely is as hot and exciting as it looks in the videos, although Saturdays are best–anywhere. Empire, Atlantic City, Bell or Cotton, Saturday nights are the wildest and best. If I spend all my money on that, and my life revolves around that, then going to a pornographic cinema after that and Esmeralda to finish, why not? If that is what you like doing, and that is what gives you the most pleasure then that is absolutely what you should continue doing, with joy! I was walking along ——– platform, remembering the excitement I feel when I am starting one of my travels & heading off to Eurostar. How exciting that is. But at the same time what dulls the excitement completely is if I travel knowing that I already owe £6,000 and I really cannot afford to be doing it, then that completely diminishes the excitement. That is why this hibernation is necessary before I can even consider going to Berlin in the New Year.

The pleasure of travelling around Europe by train is so great even if I’m lonely because when I am lonely I write the most (17th August 2006)

The pleasure of travelling around Europe by train is so great, even if I’m lonely, because when I am lonely I write the most. It is Nietzsche in cold stoveless rooms writing with blue hands, while weeping, writing in blood. That is what I like best. So what I owe £6,000. You cannot take it with you. I might as well live intensely for the next few years while the rausch is on me. I am inclined to go to Berlin in January for La Traviata and Carmina Burana. That will mean I should go to Munich and Vienna at the end of October, to pull into Munich Hauptbahnhof in the dark at 7 o’clock at night and walk into the Intercity, for a couple of beers from the minibar, shower, couple of beers down in the bar, before rounding the corner into Atlantic City. The next day I can enjoy the gorgeous Lamm's and that night maybe go to Nuremberg coming back for 630 breakfast. So Thursday get Eurostar to Brussels Radisson SAS, few drinks in bar, up to Empire and Gare du Nord. Next lunchtime to Munich. Saturday night in Nuremberg and Sunday lazing in Munich? or train to Vienna? Monday night arrive in Vienna for some drinks from minibar then Dorint bar, then Seilerstatte. Next night Pour Platin and ML Revue. Yes, Munich and Vienna in end of October, save Berlin for January. That will give me all of November and December, another eight weeks, to save for Berlin. Munich more than anywhere is really the City in the Autumn Stars. It even has a Rosenstrasse! Maybe I could buy some new boots. I am really going to enjoy myself this autumn in Munich and Vienna. Still, before I go, I would like to return at least once to Cotton Club Cinema and then to see Demi and Pamela. This time I will take some pictures in Munich at night. I am going to really absorb myself in Munich and draw out of it as much as I can this time. 

OK now I have woken up a bit, I think yes of course I must travel, and put it on my cards. That is what cards are for, to enable you to stretch yourself and have amazing experiences. Even the failed visit to Frankfurt now seems so evocative. Even the last visit to Berlin had Erika, Alla & Olga, Serail at the Komische Oper, not to mention the one night with Prokina at the Deutsche Oper and Wild Hunt in the BEC, coming back home through those leaf-strewn back streets, crossing the Ku'damm STILL with an enormous swollen rolling cock in my trousers! Fantastic. Even the last trip to Brussels brought some fantastic large breasted women, and-amazingly–still that gorgeous McDonald’s girl! Oh the Pullman! Oh the Cafe Belge! I cannot WAIT for end of October so I can pull into Munich station at night, go straight into the Intercity (or Regent?), then straight out to Atlantic City to drink. Next day wake up midday to go for my gorgeous Lamm's, New Pin, back to sleep a little before getting evening train to Nuremberg for Pils Bar and Caribic. 4am milk train back in time for 6am Intercity breakfast! Spend Sunday in Munich, or use it to get to Vienna? Have a rostbraten when I arrive in Vienna and a quiet Sunday night in perhaps, getting very drunk in the Dorint bar. Then Monday, Dorint bar early for some zipfers, then out to St Stephen’s, the Pummerin, the Butterfly House, KHM and Leopold. Back to sleep, before off out to explore Seilerstatte first. Maybe on way back to hotel I can pop into Manhattan or Pour Platin for nightcap. Tuesday night back up to ML Revue then exploring Gurtel on way back, Angelique, Pour Platin. It will be expensive but it has got to be done. Then I can wait for Berlin in January for La Traviata and Carmina Burana–a full 15 months after I last set foot in Berlin!!!—knowing I can then stay at home for rest of year to pay it off. 

Oh how I love to be awake at 4 o’clock in the morning! This is my time! I want to fuck those Vienna whores. Viennese Eroticism. Bad Timing. The Night Porter. Mando Diao. Saybia. The Libertines. Soulwax. Galvanise. Maria. Harrieta. Of COURSE I must go back to Vienna first. Tonight feels like a significant night. The night I realised Munich and Vienna must come first and it feels right.

Listening to all this Viennese music—Webern 5 Orchestral Pieces, Joseph Korngold lush late romanticism—makes me think of Vienna (27th July 2006)

Listening to all this Viennese music—Webern 5 Orchestral Pieces, Joseph Korngold lush late romanticism—makes me think of Vienna. Even though I wrote her name small, Maria is surely the most beautiful girl I have ever f—-d. Surely the sexiest. Now I look at all my pictures and think they are in a Vienna hotel room with Vienna just outside. Viennese Eroticism, there is nothing quite like it. Bad Timing. The Night Porter. There’s not many Brazilians in Europe, all Poles, Czechs, Romanians, Ukrainians. A couple of stand out Brazilians in Munich in Patricia and Bella Rosa, it is true. In London it is nearly ALL Brazilians! I should stay in the Radisson SAS in Vienna, if only for the first night.
We are approaching the Lost in Space boundary.
You Don’t Know Me.
********
I am a writer. I am Francis Bacon. I am eccentric and wild.
All that matters is the books, the long journeys across Europe. Writing alone with blue hands in cold stoveless rooms.