January 22, 2017 §
It is true, though, that I love those long train journeys across Europe. Just to spend some days alone with my thoughts and my pen and paper. Perhaps I can enjoy one last Grand Tour of all my favourite places, before I retire from it. Oh but then a year later I will want one more Grand Tour just for old time’s sake, and it will never really end. I don’t know if I can really give up the solitary travelling. It does fulfill some need I have for solitariness. Like Helmut Kohl once a year would take himself off to a health spa. Last year I travelled to Europe four times and spent a total of 12 nights away from home, away from ——. 12 nights to myself out of 365 is not much is it? Perhaps I should allow myself just one Grand Tour a year, and in that tour go to all my places in one go. That is the glory of the Inter Rail Pass. If you are bored in one place, just jump on a train and leave sooner than you planned. If you stop off in another place not planning to stay, but find something amazing to detain you, just hang around longer than planned. That is why going on holiday by plane and just flying from A to B then back home to A again is so boring. Yes, let me allow myself one Grand Tour a year. Then I can just dip into northern Italy for a day or two, just dip into Switzerland and the Alps for a day or two. Get little tasters of those places I have always wanted to go to but will probably never have the time or money to ever really explore as much as I want. If I allow myself one Grand Tour a year, I will be free to go to as many beaches and clear blue seas as —— wants the rest of the year, to try to erase my guilt and shame at leaving her alone! See! I have already talked myself back into travelling alone!
January 6, 2017 §
When you go through life alone you are skinless and defenceless, and all and sundry can land blows on you. When you have someone you care for, their love protects you against everything; only they themselves can hurt you then. I have noticed, however, that whenever you split up, or seem about to split up, your enemies re-emerge from the woodwork and full upon you with savage glee, the savage envy of the dunces, like the Russians on Napoleon’s army on the way back from Moscow. The enemies, subdued and cowed by your love for your partner, are just waiting their chance to fall upon you again; like a virus lying dormant in your body, just waiting for the moment when fighting some other virus has left you momentarily weakened and vulnerable. I feel I have an intimate understanding of enemies; I have moved bemused and surprised through their futile attempts to throw themselves at me and destroy me over the years. They did not know who they had taken on. They bit off a bit more than they could chew. They threw themselves at me like Foreman at Ali. Like moths against a lighthouse. And could not understand why their blows just kept bouncing off. They grew increasingly enraged, and increasingly frustrated, and increasingly frenzied, and just smashed themselves to insensibility more and more. Meanwhile, I played them as one must always play one’s enemies: like a piano. I flaunted myself in their faces more and more. I provoked and provoked and provoked. They could not understand the secret source of my Nile; what kept me going. Their jealousy fuelled me. Their electricity brought me to life like Frankenstein’s monster in a most terrible thunder and lightning storm. Nietzsche I think termed it the great separation; only after the great war has been unleashed upon you can then occur the great separation which at last gives you the space you need to achieve great things. But then you fall in love, and one slightly cold response from your beloved can destroy you in a second. It is this your long-forgotten enemies are lying in wait for; this moment to come out of the woodwork, to crawl out of the pond, and fall upon you again, when you are low. I once sat on a park bench in a state of absolutely abject misery while in Australia, Brisbane I believe. I watched a wasp attacking an ant. As the minutes passed by more and more ants came streaming to attack the wasp, until the wasp was completely overwhelmed, subsumed, murdered by these ants, who then proceeded to drag the wasp away with them. I have never forgotten that.
January 4, 2017 §
For me the only travelling that is worth anything is travelling alone; which makes things difficult for those in a relationship. Only in the loneliness and the silence do your thoughts come out like bats at night. If you are with someone the noise of your constant chatter scares your thoughts away and they remain out of sight in the shadows, unknown. Like a firefly they live for such a short time, glimmer so brightly then expire, and are gone forever. You must be ready to harvest them at a second’s notice, without delay, lest a single one be lost. Because my thoughts seem so valuable! When I am gone I expect they will build libraries just filled with my writings; all my original notebooks and manuscripts will be pored over by philologists of the future.
November 7, 2016 §
It is just the natural evolution of me as a human being. I don’t know what I am going to become, nobody does. I feel like a butterfly emerging from the chrysalis. I am becoming more and more not the man my wife thought or hoped I could be, but I am becoming more and more naturally myself—and that may mean I have to be alone forever. “We are all of us growing volcanoes, nearing the moment of their eruption” said Nietzsche. Nothing else is so important than to follow what you are drawn to. To resist provokes depression, miserableness, and resentment. We have to travel towards “what we believe to be the most beautiful thing”, like Helen, choosing to sail with Paris to Troy, no matter the cataclysm and doom it would provoke. I love that kind of purity. I can only live in that purity. Every moment to be responsive to your drives, your urges, to beauty you encounter.
October 26, 2016 §
I need to feel the cold icy air of the mountains again. I have to be totally alone in order to feel truly alive. To be loved feels to be less than alive.
September 2, 2016 §
I can only be alone, I think. I love her, and will love her till the day I die, but I can only be alone, and can only make her unhappy when I’m with her. J.G. Farrell water turning to hard ice, causing such sadness to the women who tried to love him. The price of the man is the head of the artist, as Munch thought. As Nial F says, you can’t mix work and marriage. You have to give up too much. Ah now Sex on Fire. I can only be free when I don’t have a home to go to. When we split up, every sight of her will become so thrilling, I will swoon, like before. I love her more than anything in the world, and yet I love my complete freedom–I don’t know how to put the two things together. This is the tragedy of me and —–. Use Somebody, oh all those amazing trips to Southend. Don’t I need to split up, so I can miss her again?
August 28, 2016 §
My problem with psychotherapy was I felt she was asking me to be someone who was not fully my true self, but to live in some corset; and sometimes I think this affair is the same. I feel a constant frustration that I cannot be fully myself every day, and that breeds a low level resentment which is quite damaging to romance, or lust. “After two decades obscured by scaffolding, the Leaning Tower of Pisa basks in its full quirky glory”. I wanted Sarah to help me bask in my quirky glory; instead she wanted to knock me down and build a new tower, just like everyone else’s. I don’t feel I can bask in my full quirky glory now either. Perhaps I can only ever be alone. To be happy I have to be unhappy?