Always this nagging desire for disease and despair! to dash myself onto the rocks! to let myself be lured by the Circes once more
January 11, 2017 § Leave a comment
Always this nagging desire for disease and despair! to dash myself onto the rocks! to let myself be lured by the Circes once more. Always this longing for infection and bleach-splashed streets of Venice. What is Venice but Venus. Ironically it is probably only the infection I am already suffering from that is preventing me from giving in to the desires to ruin myself further in disaster. Venus and Tannhauser. The times when I was in despair were also my most vibrant, and most rich to dig back into now, and find coal, and oil and diamonds and rubies and emeralds. Isn’t it amazing that Oscar Wilde, Elephant Man, Jack the Ripper, Ernest Dowson, Walter Sickert, Bram Stoker, Arthur Conan Doyle, et al, et al, et al, were all in London at the same time? What an extraordinary time, what an extraordinary city Victorian London was. The idea of giving it all up, to go and live in Brazil at the top of a waterfall, on the edge of a precipice.