November 17, 2017 §
Go into Brussels like pulling into a great palmhouse, gigantic tropical ferns and trees and butterflies all around me. A steaming primordial paradise. With soot on the leaves. Let it become an overheated, closed, hothouse. Go into Munich the same way. Go into Vienna the same way. The more poor I became the more I travelled miserably, to Empire, Atlantic City, Pour Platin, Golden Gate. When you are happy people are attracted to you like to a magnet & you have great times. As I get poorer, I become more miserable & only have bad times. How happy I will feel when I reduce my Barclaycard to zero! The long project starts here.
November 11, 2017 §
I live for classical music, and dirtiness, and tropical ferns. I am wicked, and decadent.
November 7, 2017 §
I CENTRE MYSELF AROUND THE CALCUTTA, THE MIDNIGHT BELL—THESE ARE MY CAFÉ CENTRAL AND GRIENSTEIDL, THESE ARE MY ROMANISCHES CAFÉ—AND KARL KRAUS. AROUND MY CITADEL, WITH ITS TROPICAL FERNS, ITS WORKS OF ART ON THE WALLS, ITS BIRGIT NILSSON, ITS ELENA PROKINA. I DO NOT NEED TO GET A NEW BETTER PAID JOB, BECAUSE I DO NOT WANT TO TRAVEL ANYMORE. AROUND THE QUEEN ELIZABETH HALL AND THE PURCELL ROOM AND THE WIGMORE HALL.
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.
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.