The temptation of Berlin was too much for me and it has proved ruinous. So? I like ruins!
May 29, 2016 § 1 Comment
The temptation of Berlin was too much for me and it has proved ruinous. So? I like ruins! The tropical shrubbery and ferns growing in the ruins, classical music playing from gramophones in nooks and crannies. I find ruins fertile and rich and always seek them out, and am happiest in them. They are erotic. Degeneracy is erotic. Despair is erotic. On flickering cinema screens Despair is playing, Dirk Bogarde watching himself make love to his voluptuous wife Lydia. Serpent’s Egg, The Beast. Now, Murder on the Orient Express. Bad Timing. I wander through the overgrown gardens of giant ferns and step through the open French windows of the library and sit in a red leather armchair. A huge negroid woman removes her dress and kneels in front of me. I am ruined and she ruins me some more. I ruin myself all over her face and gigantic breasts. Hubba Bubba. Now I want to be in my Brussels hotel bar again; I want to be in Murphy’s watching the plump Brussels girls. I want to be spending my nights in Cine ABC (and was that another one I saw just down the road?). But oh there are no music channels on the TVs. Nor in Berlin. Orient Express. Is that the title of my long-awaited new book?