January 9, 2017 §
Yes, I have got a safe sinecure at the moment, a safe harbour, but in reality it can end at any moment. I am at the whims of others. As long as they like me, they will favour me and protect me; as soon as they change their mind, I will be back on stormy seas again, and back in the financial abyss. I am never away from the financial precipice. It is easy to look back at my years when I was single as some kind of erotic paradise, which in many senses they were, but that would be to forget the absolute despair I was in all of the time. Deep sadness and sombreness and pain. And as I always say I think the true heights of eroticism are not possible without despair. It is only despair that grows and ripens the fruits of eroticism. Dirty smutty sexuality thrives in the damp, dark places of despair, like a fungal infection. It flourishes in the places where no one really wants to be. This is one of those eternal ironies—the highs can only be found in the lows. Student of Nietzsche as I am, we should all be grateful to our times of sickness. To know the true high nights of Eros again one must dive deeper into darkness, and one is no longer prepared to do that, as it would cost too much, and throw away too much that is most precious. I have too much to lose now.
December 29, 2016 §
When I go to Vienna I stay next to the Westbahnhof station. When I go to Munich I stay next to the Hauptbahnhof. When I go to Berlin I stay around Berlin Zoo station. Thus railway stations become part of my erotic fetish, paraphernalia, routine. Trains become erotic objects, too, as well as the Justice Palaces, Cathedrals, Bourses.
October 22, 2016 §
The more my debts mount, the more I want to lose myself in the oblivion of pure erotic pleasure; but the strip clubs and whores are rubbish these days, the few that are left. So it comes increasingly down to cabins. No girls keep come up hustling you for money, drinks, private dance. I feel depressed now, and I have developed a twitch under my left eye. I don’t want to be home, and I don’t want to be here. More than anything I’d like to be in Rosa Lux kino watching the Nadine Jansen films. Or in Kamilla la Dee.
October 21, 2016 §
So I have had my hours of erotic exploration, here amidst the fronds and ferns of tropical palmhouse Brussels and Berlin with soot on the leaves, but there has been nothing to compare with watching ….. and …. one after the other on stage at the ——- on the Thursday night before I travelled. The only good memory is the minute of the Miosotis and Nadine Jansen film I watched in the Rosa Luxemburg sex kabins in Berlin. I discovered the second cinema here in Brussels, the Cine Paris, and they seem to show high quality French porn, Marc Dorcel and Private or similar level of smut, compared to the ugly 1970s porn that the ABC relentlessly purveys.
September 14, 2016 §
So my wait for the next great erotic experience of my life goes on. Excluding —–, and the pursuit of her was incredibly heady, it has been five years now. I think I must go back to Frankfurt. Perhaps for nostalgia to Munich also.
September 10, 2016 §
Have I had a single erotic spark since I started my journey? No. I wonder if I will get a single genuine erection on this trip. The TV before I fell asleep was the best thing. The Turkish newsreader with blonde bob. I am a beast. I am a minotaur. I had a most vivid dream about some girl next to me in a porn cinema who got completely covered—monica’d—from head to toe by some other man’s cum, she was quite upset, “oh what a stupid dirty cow I am! So clumsy!”. I offered to get her some tissues, and then bizarrely was travelling around on the London Underground to get them.