I must lead the double life like Jerzy Kosiński. Debauching myself in the strip clubs & brothels at night yet writing pain-filled philosophical books about Kaspar Hauser Syndrome and loneliness

January 19, 2018 § Leave a comment

I must lead the double life, like Jerzy Kosiński. Debauching myself in the strip clubs & brothels at night, yet writing pain-filled philosophical books about Kaspar Hauser Syndrome and loneliness. I am a strange, recessive, eccentric writing creature, who can only go out at nights to gaze on women for his erotic fodder; for my fix. I do not long for —; I long to be the type of person who was capable of being with her; the type of person capable of normal mutually loving relationships, which I am not. I am a wild animal. I am a wild grinning animal on Walpurgisnacht. I am always on the Wild Hunt.wild hunt by franz von stuck 1889
Advertisements

From now on I will take my pen to the pubs with me to write my Fackels there. When beaten and rejected by all attack! Provoke more!

January 19, 2018 § Leave a comment

From now on I will take my pen to the pubs with me to write my Fackels there. When beaten, and rejected by all, attack! Provoke more! Go on the flamboyant offensive. I love this masochistic relationship I have now with —. Compartmentalise my mind so — is in a little locked red box of her own. I have been down so many times, and I have been through this so many times, I know my spirit will always bounce back. OK you run from me. Go ahead. I’ll be here until after you leave. Time is on my side. You think you have me cornered, but I have more place you don’t know about. Places in the mind that I can move to escape this pain you would kill me with. I really don’t LIKE female company. Apart from —, is there anyone I could bear to be sitting in this bar with now? No. I just like looking at them. When with them I have nothing to say to them. Believe in my spirit. Have faith in it. My Berlin Vienna Munich Brussels spirit. You have power, too. I don’t like to talk. I don’t like company. I just like to watch. I cannot smile or laugh at anything. I see the faces of people all around smiling & laughing so freely, so happily, so uproariously, & I think when was the last time I laughed? Have I ever really laughed like that in my life? I have never been happy. Not for one day. Not for one minute. That makes life very tiring. The thought of going back to my empty flat now is horrifying; and yet already half thrilling; my warm, fern-filled, classical music playing flat, while I work on my Fackels. Everyone needs a female friend, to offer them love, & kisses, & their —. Without that, madness is always close. I am so sick & tired, and bored & disgusted with all women. M— left me on my own. I travel all around the cold towns of Europe on my own. In London I drink in pubs on my own. It is nice to have an evening in inside my flat. When was the last time that happened?

These are sad painful days. A pointless night in Calcutta having two pints (served by Anna) before walking to the Melon Tree

January 19, 2018 § Leave a comment

These are sad, painful days. A pointless night in Calcutta having two pints (served by Anna), before walking to the Melon Tree to use toilets & look at barmaids but there was no one worth seeing, so I came straight back to Calcutta for one more pointless pint. At least the pain does go away for as long as I am drinking. Had a McDonald’s then to bed. Wish I had just gone home & slept at mother’s yesterday. Voluptuous blonde in group of girls in Calcutta yesterday, but otherwise a depressing shabby bunch of people, and me the most depressed & shabby of the lot. Three years ago today I went to see Mihaela Ursuleasa at the Wigmore & shook her hand afterwards. Two years ago today I arrived in Vienna at 23:30 and watched Mando Diao and Saybia on MTV before going out in the snow to explore Manhattan and Pour Platin. Oh if only I was free to travel & wander around Europe again; but the flat is too important to give up.543920179

Crane was a profoundly tormented man. Well so am I. That is all right. It is OK to be profoundly tormented. “I am utterly disgraced I’m afraid”

January 19, 2018 § Leave a comment

Crane was a profoundly tormented man. Well, so am I. That is all right. It is OK to be profoundly tormented. “I am utterly disgraced I’m afraid”. I behave crazy. A predictably horrible morning. Makes me feel straightaway like I need a drink. The utter impossibility of relationships for one such as me becomes ever clearer. If I had left the Barbican with red scallop neck girl, that look of horror & shock would have come over her face before we had even reached the tube station. Lotta thought she liked me but soon changed her mind & became horrified. Covadonga thought she liked me but soon became horrified. If I had got together with pink top blonde on plane to Munich she would soon have become horrified & wanting to get away. Oh but I am different! That is all right. I am unique. I am Kaspar Hauser. I am Ernest Dowson. I am Vincent Van Gogh. Let me sleep early then get to the Tottenham, the Melon Tree, the Calcutta. I am the one no one can understand. I am happy being the way I am, smilingly tottering on my way. I am Svejk. I am a revolutionary by the way I live. The pain of my life is pretty extreme at this moment. I have nothing in my life but sitting drinking alone in pubs, watching the people around me talking & laughing & socialising. I am a kakapo night parrot. The only creature in the animal kingdom whose mating cry is actively repellent to the female of the species. I feel completely sexless now. Completely non-sexual, asexual. It is like my blood has run cold. I am calcified.  I am VERY strange and eccentric. I am like a Victorian. The sadness of my life now is so deep. I MUST write my blood red Fackels. My Nietzsche books.

Yes that is what I want to do—the AUTISMUS model—I want to talk about my life, my loves, my loneliness, but through culture, history, politics, art, Berlin, Vienna, Munich, Brussels

January 19, 2018 § Leave a comment

Yes, that is what I want to do—the AUTISMUS model—I want to talk about my life, my loves, my loneliness, but through culture, history, politics, art, Berlin, Vienna, Munich, Brussels. Karl Kraus, Francis Bacon. Through the paradigms of these things, but above all through the paradigm of —, of woman, of muse, of Erotic Siren. I want to live wildly, like I did with Francesca. Like I did in Sunset, Boulevard, Sunset Cinema, on the Ernest Dowson streets of Soho, Piccadilly Circus, Shaftesbury Avenue, Charing Cross Road, The Strand. Friday was in fact a brilliant night, nothing at all to be regretted. No, it was wretched. At last I got — to show her true self, her true feelings for me, the contempt she had been hiding behind kisses & touches, finally came out. Thank God, at last. Now a new era can begin. All illusions gone. All romanticism gone. All sentimentality. This the moment the break took place. This is the “monument of a crisis” and the birth of some new butterfly. The sickly sweet mask has gone. The salons of Victorian London that Ernest Dowson stumbled between, are the salons that I stumble between: The Melon Tree, The Calcutta, Dionysus, The Fly, Sunset, Boulevard, ENO, Wigmore Hall, NFT. I want a new brutality. A new Francis Baconian brutality. I write to save my life. Find someone else you want to f–k. Like the red bandanna barmaid in the Melon Tree or Anya or Callie; pick up girls at the Barbican or Tate. Like Francesca. Like The Tottenham girls. Like that Irish lush at the Wigmore. All the girls I should have f–ked but couldnt because I had no place of my own; now is the time to go get them. Ursula. Shelley. Be a barfly while writing my blood red Fackels. I nearly came when that man put his hand in my lap when Melissa Loren was on.d71255db6a2123a53ac88f5f283e1387

So back to my miserable little flat. What happened to my lovely little nest? I might as well go back to sleeping on the floor

January 19, 2018 § Leave a comment

So back to my miserable little flat. What happened to my lovely little nest? I might as well go back to sleeping on the floor. These are sad, painful, bleak days, when last week I was feeling happy. All so unnecessary and disastrous. I am eccentric. I am Ernest Dowson. If you knew how to have relationships you would have been with —, making love to her, a year ago; but I do not know how to have relationships. I do not have a clue, so I will always be alone. The catastrophes of love. Sarah Kane killed herself at 28. Hart Crane jumped into the Caribbean aged 32. “Despite his literary success, Crane was a profoundly tormented man”. After his rejection by Adelaide, Dowson took to wandering Europe, suffering ‘the torture of the damned’. I have no enthusiasm whatsoever to see Redd on Thursday, nor Hannah on Friday night. Maybe Sunset Cinema. Maybe Mabuse at the NFT. I ride the bus to work in sublime nothingness, seeing nothing out the windows. I interact with no one when I get to work. My soul is dead. No life left in me, I might as well just lie down in the coffin & be done away with. My Fackels. I must pour all my repressed energies & loves into my Die Fackels with their blood-red covers. The Sublime & Ridiculous World of Francis Bacon. Of Ernest Dowson. My Nietzsche books. They have to be paperback books.

I AM A REBEL AND A REVOLUTIONARY. I AM OSCAR WILDE FEASTING WITH PANTHERS. I DELIBERATELY LIVE WILDLY & SCANDALOUSLY

January 19, 2018 § Leave a comment

I AM A REBEL AND A REVOLUTIONARY. I AM OSCAR WILDE, FEASTING WITH PANTHERS. I DELIBERATELY LIVE WILDLY & SCANDALOUSLY (“YOU MADE ME FEEL LIKE THE ONE”). I AM ERNEST DOWSON. I AM RIMBAUD. I AM BAUDELAIRE. I AM VERLAINE. YOU ANTS CANNOT COME NEAR ME. I AM PETE DOHERTY IN THE BACK OF THE CAR, SINGING ALONG TO HIGH & DRY. “YOU WANT ME? COME FIND ME. MAKE UP YOUR MIND.” I INTEND TO DESTROY THE WORLD.
YOU MUST TEASE & TORMENT THEM WITH TRYING TO CLUTCH AT YOUR COATTAILS. WHEN ATTACKED THE WAY TO RESPOND IS TO BECOME MORE FLAMBOYANT, MORE PROVOCATIVE, MORE WILD.