I am just indulging the Eros I need to fuel my books (16th Feb 1999)

I am just indulging the Eros I need to fuel my books. I am voluptuous like Oscar Wilde, with his rent boys. JOE ORTON. The PLEASURE they are missing out on. Sybaritism is my religion and I’m writing it down, indulge all your pleasures.
I am the High Priest of Pleasure. Give me some more. Give it to me baby. Bow Down Backstreet. All that matters is the black ink coming out of the black squid at the end of the day. I am the High Priest of Pleasure, and every frenzied attack is a compliment to my pleasures. The beautiful sleaziness of my life. A purple & black Victorian British Empire, ruled by Oscar Wilde. Going down into the gutters to collect the rocket fuel I need to propel me to the stars.
They hate me because I spend mornings strolling round the Ingres exhibition, because I spend five hours at night going to see the Wagner Parsifal. But that would make them seem silly, seething with resentment as they are, so they seize on the rocket fuel expeditions I make to the gutters to propel me to the stars.
“It is important not to lose sleep over small issues. Also, see ALL issues as small issues.”

I can get turned on in any situation (18th Jan 1999)

“I can get turned on in any situation: I’m ready for Soho now. I live my life without ever worrying what other people think of me. I think that makes me the wise one, indulging all my titillating desires: how that infuriates them. It is my religion to do exactly what I want, no matter how it shocks people. The more it makes people want to single me out the more I want to do it, just to make my contempt for them even more clear, just to make my triumph over them even more clear: I am addicted to it: it stimulates my pleasures to greater heights than ever. I love my directness. The thing I love best about myself: I’m still horny as hell. I love the fact that my physiological response to being attacked, to people viciously, hysterically, DESPERATELY trying to destroy me, is Priapism; is to deperately need to fuck more than ever. My creed is to indulge my Eros whenever, wherever, I feel like it. Oh, how I love to flaunt it under their noses! This pressure, like a Bessemer furnace. They are giving me the MACHINERY to work my raw materials. I have my laboratory here at 28 Leicester Square just as Dr Jekyll did before me. I do this deliberately, so I can put myself alongside Lorca, and Oscar Wilde, and Van Gogh. I am playing a role. I AM STILL USING THEM. I take it as a great testament to me: I have the power to disturb people, I have the power to obsess people. My contempt for them is: I am flaunting it under their noses.”

Nothing exists in the world except me and the erotic image in front of me (12th Jan 1999)

Nothing exists in the world except me and the erotic image in front of me. It is the greatest thing about me. Men and women with dynamos between their legs. A world producing ecstacy. He preferred to live in FANTASY. The only thing making him stay in ——- was that they wanted him to leave. I live to feed my fantasies. Enfant terrible. Let’s face it, I had nothing to write about for years. I’ve created something. Now I have my book. I could lose myself in my game forever. My Eros really is insatiable. Every chance I get. No matter what trouble it gets me into, he still kept going back. Nietzsche seems to have spent all his time writing. When he’d exhausted the white husk he’d leave. I go to extreme places for my art, my Eros. “Yes, your childhood now, a legend of fountains.” F.G.Lorca was murdered in 1936 by the local fascist militia. They’d hated him for years, because he was multi-talented, beautiful, intelligent, homosexual. Van Gogh was hounded to his death. Oscar Wilde was hounded to his death. When will The Death of Lorca film come out, with Andy Garcia? Was I homosexual, heterosexual or bisexual: I was polymorphous.

He lived in a purely erotic world (12th Jan 1999)

He lived in a purely erotic world. Nothing came between him and his Eros. He was an evil bastard. This was intoxicating. Van Gogh had to put up with this. Oscar Wilde had to put up with this. He was proud to be in their company, this was going to be a fantastic story now. It would propel him ever more to art, this was what he needed. How this thrills my sado-masochistic nature. How this thrills my evil bastard nature. I want to show my contempt for them even more—by prostitutes, breasts, cunts, wild voluptuous Dionysian wildness! Dissipation! And then I come home to my book, my game, my encyclopaedia. I want things HARDER. I want them as hard as they have ever been for anybody. I am an artist. I am ubermensch. I want to continue using ——- as my convenient base for my research into Paris, and for material for my book. Sit smugly grinning at them. I KEEP USING THEM. They were trying so hard, and he was LAUGHING at them, while still leading the debauched gutter life. He was intentionally going to make his life more debauched, to further crank up his contempt for them. How it eats them away, the pleasure I am getting away with, like Joe Orton. I tempt them and I tempt them and I tempt them. Provoke provoke provoke. Only one thing matters in life: EJACULATION.

I am a beautiful hothouse flower in a world full of stinging nettles (10th Jan 1999)

I am a beautiful hothouse flower, in a world full of stinging nettles.
I am an evil bastard, I wind them up till they implode with frustration and destroy themselves!
“Keep to your single code of conduct. Listen to no one who doubts your values”.
I have a strong sense of myself, and I’m not going to give that up for anyone. That is what The Leontiad is about, how a troubled man goes on a voyage to try and find out why he is the way he is, and encounters instant hatred and jealousy wherever he goes.
“They emphasise the importance of German identity to his work. Caven says that in his films, and in his life, until the most tearing and aggressive moments, he was looking for a form, a new beauty and joy based on the ruins of a Germany drained of life and soul.” He dedicated his life to eroticism.
“A potent cocktail of clarity, poise, sensual hedonism, earthiness, rhythmic vitality and great melodic richness.” This is a season of the flesh. Isn’t this exciting? Isn’t this a fantastic adventure? A fantastic adventure of blood. Enjoy the Leontiad. Thrill to the Leontiad.
It’s not just about the ink coming out the end of the pen onto a piece of paper. It’s about processing everything that’s coming in, and turning it into spheres of beauty in your head, great hothouse flowers blooming & blossoming in the huge spaceship inside your head.
The people were small, reactive, resentful—he was something grander, so far above them, beyond man, superior man. It’s given me the glue I needed. I’ve always disregarded people anyway, whether they like me or not doesn’t bother me. I am a deliriously happy person, because my view of myself doesn’t come from other people, it comes from internally. He takes an evil, mischievous, sadistic glee in it. I have devoted myself to exploring eros, and writing books about it. “Life is all about expression, so express yourself here.” I prefer sink pools of vice, because it is a nicer world than the world of decent people. The sheer joy of those bouncing boobies! I only really live there, at the opera, and in the book. I am so deep into my books, my learning, I am unreachable. He broke the siege every time he EJACULATED.
“Thwarted desire does turn to disgust,” he admitted, nodding.