December 4, 2017 §
I love the wicked women. I have met some women I could trust in that broken world, Lela, for example, Ana Maria, Pamela. Diana in Berlin or Riccarda. Probably not Iga, as much as I love her! You can genuinely touch someone in that world and be touched by them, I think. I always go into that world looking for love, as I think they are the only women I could ever love. The clink of gold in the glass. The Tallulahs are probably no more cynical than the Esmeraldas. They are only nice to you as long as you are filling their glass with gold. Still, I think you can meet some exceptions, when something genuine passes between you, with Susi, with Janet, with —–. And if I am wrong, then it does not matter. Fleetingly, it felt nice to feel there was something real between us, if only in the blink of an eye. It is those moments that you keep going out looking for. That is what you keep gambling for, throwing so much money down on the roulette table for the very occasional moment when you get back more than you put in. That is what you keep trawling the broken world for, those fleeting moments when eye meets eye and some spark of electricity passes between you, and that current brings you back to life, for a couple of hours, or for one night, at least. That is what the poems of Hart Crane speak to me of: “The flesh assaults outright for bolts that linger” The wine menagerie. How you put on your beer goggles, so everything looks magical, everyone looks beautiful and desirable, and everyone seems to find you beautiful and desirable in return. If it is all commerce, simply, then no matter. There are just those brief moments when it seems so real, comes so close to being real, that it is as good as real. In every city there is Helen of Troy locked up somewhere in a room. She lives on like Orlando, like Emilia Makropulos. You go out every night searching for her, as David Tennant’s Casanova always searches for Laura Fraser. “The sight of a whore is profoundly thrilling to a man”.
November 15, 2017 §
When the Esmeraldas and Tallulahs I have met in my life have been so extraordinary and stimulating and life enhancing, how can I give them up? The closest I have come to a real relationship has been with the Esmeraldas I have met in London, namely Lela from Romania, Ana Maria from Spain, Olga from Russia, and latterly Pamela from Sweden. I can only fall in love with Esmeraldas. I do not think I am capable of loving a normal girl, a respectable girl. There is so much of me that I have to hide from them, so much of the double life that I must keep secret from them, which is never necessary with Esmeraldas, because we know everything about each other from the beginning. What a relief to be able to talk so openly and honestly with an Esmeralda, when by necessity only one word out of every hundred I would like to say to a normal girl can be said out loud. Ninety-nine per cent of what is the most essential me must remain concealed from a normal girl, like a portrait in my attic, whereas with Esmeraldas I can be 100% open. That is why I love Esmeraldas so much. As much as for the sex, it is to just be able to be myself and speak freely. I have felt closer to true friendship with Esmeraldas than I ever have with a normal girl. The amazing hour I spent laying with the Turkish girl when I had no more money but she just let me lay there, as she lay in my arms, as she talked to me about her life as I stroked her hair, and her beautiful bottom. She told me how she loved reading, Guy de Maupassant her favourite, and how her father told her as long as you have books you are always rich. Ayeesha. I do not think I have ever had a happier hour than that one. In Munich, because of its strict conservatism, there basically are no Esmeraldas as such, except for very huge sums of money. The roles of Esmeralda and Tallulah have become merged, and the dancers will do a lot more than just dance, and the whores will stop short of going all the way, which is both more exciting and yet ultimately frustrating. The single greatest liberating moment of my life I regard as the time I took Patricia into one of the White Coffin separées in Munich. At that moment a Rubicon was crossed, and I have never looked back. Two weeks later, on The Night of the Snow, I took the Romanian Emily into one of the Three Cats separées and enjoyed the greatest sexual experience of my life, again without any actual sex taking place.
January 4, 2017 §
Esmeraldas have always been an outlet for men’s urges and what will they do if they are gone? That release valve is gone. That safe and pleasurable means of draining the swamp is gone. What crazed, frustrated fiends would be left roaming the streets then! Gone, the nice warm relief of sinking into a hot bath on a cold day that the Esmeralda represents. Gone the consequent relaxation and calmness, and ability to then concentrate on other more useful and important things. What will the Puritans unleash upon Europe. What will they do to men’s minds. An ugly or poor or infirm man unable to attract a beautiful woman, what for him then? A lifetime of sexlessness? Unable to release his urges safely with an Esmeralda, what other paths might these urges be forced to divert into? I think not more creative, but more destructive. Whores provide a vital function, and that is why we respect and revere them so much.
January 2, 2017 §
Not only did the Esmeraldas of Vienna throw themselves at me like moths bashing their brains out against a lighthouse, me completely unmoved by their erotic blandishments, but on the other side of the coin I threw myself at Vienna like a moth bashing my brains out against the lighthouse. I navigate by the light of the moon, and my moons are Berlin, Munich and Brussels (no longer Vienna, I think). Anyway whether Vienna was a failed visit or not, travelling has brought me back to life again. My mind is working again, my great rivers are flowing again and threatening to flood their banks! My pulsing, surging torrents, my Niles, my Rhines, my Mississippis are irrigating my long dried up lands! Dry valleys and riverbeds are flowing with water once more! Everything is starting to be dark green and lush again, like Madeira! Storm-tossed, storm-lashed, dark green Madeira! Where I think me and -—- had our best moments! When I am exiled like Napoleon I want to be exiled and imprisoned on Madeira.
December 29, 2016 §
I want to write a Bradshaw’s Continental Railway Guide one day. You want to live like me? You want to follow in my footsteps in some idolatrous pilgrimage? I understand. Well, this is how to do it, this is where to go, where to stay, where to drink, where to eat, where to f–k, where to avoid. Then you can follow in my exact footsteps, and feel close to me. Christ, I’m in the city of Karl Kraus! I’m in the city of Schoenberg, Berg and Webern, and Sigmund Freud, and Egon Schiele. Isn’t that extraordinary? For most of my life I was too frightened to come out of my bedroom, let alone my front door. I was too scared, mortified, to walk down the street. It was only my uncontrollable desire to go to strip clubs, then adult cinemas, then Esmeraldas, that drew me out, and in that glory find my rausch, my intoxication, my confidence, my strength. This is why I will always thank those places, and that world.