January 22, 2017 §
I no longer care if my infection gets cured or not; I just want to be left alone with my classical music, my ferns, and my lamps.
January 18, 2017 §
Why do I feel so depressed, and…scared tonight. I think two days of wasteful excess on Thursday and Friday are responsible for this. I feel completely ugly and bloated now. Excess always goes straight to my face so everyone can see it. I feel everyone is against me now, at work, at home, in the street. Just a couple of unkind words are enough to plunge me into misery. It is perhaps merely a feeling of self-loathing which I project onto the faces of everyone around. I have passed a completely sober Saturday quietly at home, with my ferns and my classical music. “A heady night of mostly late romantic music by Berg, Schoenberg and Webern”. I feel the benefit of it now in my clear-headedness, and the easy flow of the ink from my pen, yet I am also crushingly aware of this awful, ugly, fat face. My wastefulness and foolishness are written all over it.
December 24, 2016 §
How can you watch Despair and not want to get straight onto a train to the continent? Eurostar to Brussels, then straight on to an ICE to Cologne then Berlin? How can you watch Bad Timing and not want to get straight on to the train to Vienna? How can you watch La Dolce Vita or 8½ and not want to go straight to Italy? How can you listen to Beethoven, or Schoenberg or Berg or Webern, or Grieg or Sibelius, and not want to just spend your whole life travelling around Europe? Is this a curse, an opium addiction, a sickness? It may destroy your marriages and leave you lonely but I do not know how people cannot spend every single day of their life travelling, if they can possibly afford it.
November 11, 2016 §
For me stripping and sex is just part of art; it fits in with paintings, classical music, theatre, opera, it is just part of the continuum. A great opera singer on a stage in florid and lurid make up, a great stripper on a stage in florid and lurid make up, a great whore opening the door in florid and lurid make up, great oil paintings, lush strings of an orchestra amidst ferns and fronds. It is all the same. And each one reminds me of the other. A perfect day would combine all of them together.
September 4, 2016 §
Another rubbish night at ——–. If I was to stay out drinking this Friday night, where would I go? Absolutely nowhere! There is absolutely nowhere I would want to go tonight. So what is this freedom I am supposedly gasping for? I am happy going home to open French windows, my tropical ferns, and classical music on the gramophone in the shrubbery, a few late butterflies or bumble bies darting in or out, with my kakapo hopping around my feet. Tomorrow I am free from midday to 7pm or later, to go wherever I want. Sunday I devote myself to my wife. Monday night I can have a quick look in the ———, stay a bit longer in the unlikely event there is anything remotely worth staying for. This is the extra bit of freedom I must insist on for myself. I could go to the — or —’s but they would be just as bad as the ——–, so what is the point. Happy to say I have only spent £3.25 this Friday night.