How can the strip clubs of Munich be quite full every night?

October 28, 2016 § Leave a comment

How can the strip clubs of Munich be quite full every night, the strip pubs & clubs of London be quite full every night, and yet Berlin and Vienna’s tingel-tangels/puffs which offer cheap sex be always completely empty? The really beautiful large-breasted Romanian Christina in Cabaret in Schillerstraβe told me this is ‘not a poof. There are no poofs in Munich’. I think she meant puffs. Go-go bars where you can fuck the girls. It should make the bars of Munich empty, and the bars of Berlin and Vienna full to bursting, but it does not, it is the opposite!

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This is the Fackel of the strip clubs and brothels of Europe

October 16, 2016 § Leave a comment

This is the Fackel of the strip clubs and brothels of Europe. The Nietzsche books of the strip clubs and brothels of Europe.

The inescapable fact is my hobbies are strip clubs and brothels and that is what I write about

October 15, 2016 § Leave a comment

The inescapable fact is my hobbies are strip clubs and brothels, and that is what I write about. The art museums and cathedrals are the salad at the side of the plate, but the strippers and whores are the meat and potatoes of my life. When I come to Berlin I live like money is no object, whereas in London I count every penny and feel the expenditure of every penny so painfully. Because in London I pay cash, and on holiday everything goes on the card, so it seems painless. One day this mountain of debt will fall down on me; the volcano I am dancing on will erupt. But, what can you do, you have to live.

In a hundred years people will look back at Trotsky in Wonderland and Trotsky Through the Looking Glass, Edward Symmons and The Stripper, as an incredible record of life in London and central Europe in the years from 1996 onwards

October 6, 2016 § Leave a comment

In a hundred years people will look back at Trotsky in Wonderland and Trotsky Through the Looking Glass, Edward Symmons and The Stripper, as an incredible record of life in London and central Europe in the years from 1996 onwards. The strip clubs and brothels of central Europe, the great strippers and whores of London, Berlin, Vienna, Munich and Brussels. Autismus, Lotta, The Cold Icy Air of the Mountains, Casanova (Lost Wanderings), The Double Life. A Baedeker for the gentleman connoisseur of bosom and buttock, of stage dancing amidst great ferns and violins. I have always believed I am creating a great body of work that will have importance and relevance, and my intuition is rarely wrong. My intuition told me that —– was the one for me despite her being so patently out of my league and wanted by everybody and me never even having had a proper girlfriend before. My belief in her was unshakable and I was right. That was the first miracle. It gives me encouragement that the second miracle is attainable too. When Pepys was writing his diary, “I went down to the shipping office today to pick up some letters”, not many people would have seen much value or interest in that, but now, 200 years later, it gives us an unsurpassed window into how life was in that era. Writing is like coal; at the time the words are laid down and the ink is still wet they have little richness, but as they sink down into the past, and have layer after layer piled on top of them, they acquire richness, they turn into coal, diamonds, and oil. One day the Trotsky books will be viewed as having an incredible richness and significance.

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I offer a guide to the world of strip clubs, brothels and porn cinemas from the point of view of a gentleman connoisseur—a sort of bosom Baedeker

July 14, 2016 § Leave a comment

I offer a guide to the world of strip clubs, brothels and porn cinemas from the point of view of a gentleman connoisseur—a sort of bosom Baedeker. An unhealthy obsession with bosoms and buttocks has led me to a very rich life, and an expensive one. The “voluptuous sea of scented bosoms” claimed me at a very young age, and has never let me go. The other Esmeraldas who I nearly got involved with but ran away from at the last moment were Pamela, a young Swedish girl with gorgeously pretty face and big bosoms, Lela a Romanian with the most perfect bottom, and Olga, who was just massively voluptuous all over with a big cat’s face, like Master & Margarita, my sumptuous Siberian Cleopatra, who let me sleep a couple of times at her flat while her boyfriend was “in Italy”, a euphemism I in those days had not yet cottoned on to. That I have a mind completely bitten by the serpent of sex will by now have become apparent.

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