I think I now see that Olga has always reminded me of Lydia from Despair (16th Nov 2006)

I think I now see that Olga has always reminded me of Lydia from Despair, and that was a great deal of her appeal to me.

“He gave up drinking and decided to enjoy women–but from a distance” (18th October 2006)

“He gave up drinking and decided to enjoy women–but from a distance”. Close enough to enjoy the petals without risking the thorns. “The Artist and Model I (1919) shows Munch and his model facing the viewer. Both artist and model are in uncomfortable proximity—claustrophobic and silent rather than intimate.The model’s face is in shadow and has become mask-like. In these years Munch clarified what he considered to be the core of the dissatisfaction in relations between men and women. Men need distance from women to feel powerful but this causes women to suffer; women need men to be close in order to feel powerful but this causes men to suffer.” Alternatively, as Helena and Rosa’s countryman Anton Chekhov would have it, “A woman, deprived of the company of men, pines. A man, deprived of the company of women, becomes stupid!” How true. How many times I have demonstrated the truth of this myself. As Boris Pasternak wrote in Mary Magdalene, “As soon as night descends we meet. Remorse my memories releases. The demons of the past compete, and draw and tear my heart to pieces. Sin. Vice. And madness. And deceit. When I was slave of men’s caprices, and when my dwelling was the street. The deathly silence is not far. A few more moments only matter, which the inevitable bar. But at the edge, before they scatter, in front of thee my life I shatter, as though an alabaster jar.”  

On bus to work last night, gorgeous black haired Latina(?) with friend, blue jeans, beige jacket, grey brown silk negligee top over massive huge breasts, I looked several times before they got off before Selfridges. The swell of that cleavage. No fighting. I have a Russian friend. She drinks too much, and smokes too much, and I love her too much. I have also not spoken to her for months. She was my sumptuous Siberian princess. My Siberian Cleopatra. 

If you walk into a high street bar in Vienna and find scantily-clad women lounging around, you know you can take them into a back room and fuck them. If you walk into a Berlin bar & find scantily-clad women lounging around, you know you can take them up into a bedroom and fuck them. That is why when people stumble into the Scotsman by mistake, especially Europeans, and find all these scantily-clad women sitting around, they can be forgiven for thinking the girls are there for more than dancing. After many visits to Berlin, searching in vain, I finally found a good old fashioned London-style strip club. The girls outnumbered the men, true, as they always do in Europe—I have never ever solved the conundrum where do all the men go in Berlin? In Vienna? In Brussels? In London you can go into the Nag’s Head, Old Axe, Scotsman, White Horse, anywhere, and find it rammed with men ogling the handful of dancers, whereas in Europe you will almost always find yourself the only man there, outnumbered ten to one by the girls who always sit there looking at you, which surely is the wrong way around?—but even here when the girl stepped off stage & sat at the bar with me, she offered me a private dance for 50 Euros or sex for 80! There is nowhere in Berlin that does not offer you sex. Even what you think is just a strip club. It has not changed so much since Cabaret Kit Kat Club days. Obviously, I made my excuses and left, as they say. 

 ********Death can come at any moment. If I had three minutes to live, I could think of no nicer way to spend it than one last dance from one of my favourite Flying Scotsman girls. A love letter to the FS. 

For me, for a girl to be a dancer is the greatest thing in the world. And to not be crude but to use my favourite description, a sex dancer. I revere opera singers, violinists, pianists, and actresses, but I worship no one like I do sex dancers. Wine, women and song.

When I feel so broken and sad like I did last night & now I need to go on from the Scotsman to the cinema to lose myself in porn & that high (2nd October 2006)

When I feel so broken and sad like I did last night & now, I need to go on from the Scotsman to the cinema to lose myself in porn & that high, and on that high, dangerously excited, to go on to see Demi or Pamela. I need to see someone to take my mind off —–. And then straightaway I am right back into my old life and nothing will have changed whatsoever! Friday night 7pm I had another missed call from Olga. I definitely need to lose myself in the spiritual high of porn and whores to get my mind off the intense sadness of my relationship with —–. That means Berlin may have to wait till April or May. I didn’t try to talk to —– or buy her a drink, because I just want things to settle down between us, which started to happen at the end, when she let her body rest against mine & massaged my shoulder, so that I will feel OK about going to see her in Plumstead on the 18th November, which after all is only SIX WEEKS away! 

I am a dreamy boy, who lives in a world of his own. I am Ernest Dowson, seemingly always submerged in a dream. He spent all his money on drink and whores. He suffered the torture of the damned because his beloved Adelaide did not love him back. I need to go to see Demi and Pamela, to try to console me over my broken heart with —–. “I have been faithful to thee, Cynara, in my fashion” But all the time I am fucking Demi or Pamela it will be really —– I am imagining is beneath me.

I never meant to hurt you so this is goodbye (29th August 2006)

I never meant to hurt you, so this is goodbye. Tell the truth, you never wanted me. Tell me. The end of me and Florence. Olga. Another missed call from Olga yesterday at 11:03. It breaks my heart to hurt her, but the alternative is she completely uses me and fucks my life up and throws me away behind her.********Found it really hard to sleep on the floor today, felt so uncomfortable, kept waking up at hourly intervals. It was nice sitting in that position typing on my laptop, though. Felt so much attention from the girls on the No.2, that same South American brown ponytail I see SO many times, kept looking sideways and back, gorgeous Albino blonde getting off Hyde Park Corner, and on the 87, that blonde schoolteacher girl again. Just five hours to get through, then….sitting alone in my flat? Will I resist the late bus to Calcutta? I went out at 610PM tonight to get a McDonald's & take it back to flat with me. That was SO nice. Thank God, I could not face more corned beef. Not much else to say. The long hibernation continues. It has to be done. I will go home and get my hair cut Thursday afternoon, maybe back to flat Friday morning. Then I can go see Volver maybe. It it is raining!

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?

Another call from Olga as I lay cutting up my newspapers (9th July 2006)

Another call from Olga as I lay cutting up my newspapers. I let it ring out, but immediately felt guilty, & texted her back “Oh Olga”. This time I answered. “What you doing Wednesday & Thursday? You come swimming with me?” “Maybe.” “Maybe, or yes?!” “I don’t like swimming, but I like you.” “All right, we will just go outside somewhere.” Thursday. I feel excited. She always turns me on. I always want to lay with her and f–k her. I have loved her since the first time I met her. It has been almost two years now.

Then there is Florence, who I am still addicted to. Then there is Lilith. “When you put your face close to the camera, it is like the greatest thing in the world. It is like the opening bars of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony. Something great has just occurred. Like Norman Mailer wrote about Last Tango in Paris. When Marlon Brando first meets Maria Schneider in the apartment & without warning reaches down & rips her knickers off in one movement, the sound of that tear is as great a moment in Western civilisation as the opening Da-da-da-daas of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony. It is lunacy but beautiful lunacy. When you put your face next to the screen, it is as great. You say you do this for connections. Yet you don’t see the point. Maybe just not with me. You are on a different level to all the other girls. You are iconic. I am scopophile. Erotomane. If you don’t talk, you become a fetish object. We gaze & gaze at you. No one else would be worth gazing at. Your face is addictive. There is more going on in your face & eyes than all the other ‘models’ put together. Men look, and women are looked at. I cannot believe there is anyone on the entire web as worth gazing at as you. You glow in the dark. Like the tip of your night-time cigarette. And the men gather to you, like moths around the flame. And if their wings burn, you know you’re not to blame. Marlene Dietrich. Years ago, I used to go to old cinemas and gaze up at her face like I do to yours now. They say her glory was all down to the lighting. It is clever the way you light yourself as well. You just show us your face & shoulders, and lit by a spotlight. None of the other girls do that. I can scroll down the list of online girls so quickly knowing your face will leap out as soon as I get to it.” Every meeting with Olga is so charged and erotic.
Every meeting with Florence is so charged and erotic. Every meeting with Lilith is so charged and erotic. Demi, too. Melani. To an extent, Sandra, Helen.