I happily accept the attacks because I am happy to lead my way of life (17th Feb 1999)

I happily accept the attacks, because I am happy to lead my way of life. It is the way of life I have chosen. I don’t want anything to do with normal social people. I prefer vice. So I am happy to accept their condemnation, and their envy. If they are so obsessed by my PRIAPISM that they want to follow me, then that is even better. I THRIVE on their attacks. I feed on them. The features of their consumption? Obsessive interest in other people’s lives and morbid jealousy of those lives. These were the mental symptoms. They think I am under siege; I am not, I am swaddled so deeply and warmly in my rich voluptuous pleasures. I like their attacks, it means I am leading a VOLUPTUOUS life. I LIVE for abnegation of responsibility. The rich sensuous swirling pink & purple voluptuousness of my life. I live outside their rules, that’s what they hate. They think I am not ALLOWED to live outside their rules. That is my revolt. They are getting really annoyed now, because I am getting away with it.

I always said I wanted to smuggle my sex into every living room—fine! Now they’re doing it for me (12th Feb 1999)

I always said I wanted to smuggle my sex into every living room—fine! Now they’re doing it for me. That is what is happening. If it’s so disgusting, why do you show such an interest in it? Why can’t you get it off your minds? They’re trying not to admit they feel jealous and hate me for the PLEASURE I’m having. I inject them with my sexuality, they become jealous, this turns to poison, then I collect this poison in my basin, and turn it into my oil. With this oil I burn my lamps, and by the light of my lamps—I WRITE. This is my REVOLT. That I am stirring up their repressed desires, and seemingly getting away with it. You mustn’t upset the apple cart. But that is precisely my mission. We’re really going into the interesting depths of the poison lakes now, in the subterranean caverns: this is where it starts to get TASTY. This is THE FABULOUS GAME.

We have moved on to a whole new deeper level now; that is what I needed (Twelfth Night, 5th Jan 1999)

We have moved on to a whole new deeper level now; that is what I needed.
“They desired him so much, now it had sickened and rotted on the vine, and turned to disgust, a rotting mass of poisonous worms inside them, but it was not honest because they did not admit the desire that had caused it.”
The sexual pleasure of my life is so great, it outweighs any small price many times over.
“He must have a deliriously happy mind, to be able to survive all this. He must have incredible love and support behind him. He is so preoccupied with this destiny of The Leontiad. He was so preoccupied with making for himself a world that produces ecstacy. And we are so sad and bitter, and burning away in our jealousy and impotent rage.”
[Were they left with a rather empty feeling at the end of it, while he was left with rather full coffers?]
“To have the courage to destroy all social taboos, and make and live rampantly by his own rules. How we admire him, how we envy him, how we hate him for this reason, if only we were honest enough and big enough and decent enough to say so.” They hung their heads sadly and in shame.
I have been given my books, I have been given my subject matter.
“What you have given me is beyond price. If I was your slave for 50 years I could never repay what you’ve given to me. I can’t go into details, but in broad terms: strength, determination, pleasure, stimulation, answers.”
“I hate you.” She was practically crying. “Why?” he asked mildly, kindly. “Why not just get on with your own life? Why worry about me?” Again, she just blacked out, and he stepped on into a rich multi-coloured pleasure chest. He had too many riches to ever not end up being attacked. He was too big a fish in too small a pond to ever not end up bumping against the sides. “I wouldn’t want to burst your little bubble. But…”
I walk through, priapic, strong and towering, envy crackling all around me.
This face, of the type you know cannot count up to 10 or recite its alphabet, curls in a sneer of victory sadly misplaced; “Because,” he explained patiently, kindly, “I’ve had to put up with people’s jealousy all my life. I’m used to that.”

I am Volpone (31st August 1999)

I am Volpone. I trick the vicious out of their victory. I am a man for whom abuse has become a drug. DEBAUCHED BORGIA POPE HID HIS LIFE OF DESPAIR. “Munch was infatuated with Juell, a feminist before her time who advocated free love. He believed that the point of sexual ecstacy was the moment ‘when life and death join hands’ and painted Juell obsessively in Berlin between 1894 and 1895. Despite his hangdog devotion, she married someone else. A spokeswoman for Christie’s, which is selling the painting for an unnamed European collector, said: ‘The painting tells us a lot about the secret emotions of his life, his traumatic initiations to love, jealousy and rejection.’” It is Edvard Munch and Dagny Juell. It is Friedrich Nietzsche and Lou Andreas Salome.

 

Every day I am progressing towards my goal (26th April 1999)

Every day I am progressing towards my goal. Writing my Bible. Live wildly. Behave disgustingly. The rewards are great. This is delicious, isn’t it. What a rich pot Victoria is. I am creating my religion up in the Himalayan mountains. I love it when I rouse people to hostility—it shows I am getting to them. It shows I am bothering them. It shows I am getting under their skin. It shows I am eating them away. It shows I am poisoning them. It is the biggest thrill. The biggest injection of pleasure into my veins. It enriches my soil. Do some work on the manuscript so I can bring it with me. So every day is really useful.
Live wildly. Behave disgustingly. The rewards are great. I have a life with no taboos. Keep pushing people. keep pushing them. I have chosen my life, and it is eating them away. I have chosen a life of freedom, free of all repression, free of all taboos—this is what is killing them. And I am killing myself laughing. The power I have.
I love it that they cannot repress their hostility for me. It is eating them away. Their resentment, their jealousy. I cannot lose, as long as I’m collecting material for my book. They are so poor, and it eats them away so much.