Yes that is what I want to do—the AUTISMUS model—I want to talk about my life, my loves, my loneliness, but through culture, history, politics, art, Berlin, Vienna, Munich, Brussels
January 19, 2018 § Leave a comment
Yes, that is what I want to do—the AUTISMUS model—I want to talk about my life, my loves, my loneliness, but through culture, history, politics, art, Berlin, Vienna, Munich, Brussels. Karl Kraus, Francis Bacon. Through the paradigms of these things, but above all through the paradigm of —, of woman, of muse, of Erotic Siren. I want to live wildly, like I did with Francesca. Like I did in Sunset, Boulevard, Sunset Cinema, on the Ernest Dowson streets of Soho, Piccadilly Circus, Shaftesbury Avenue, Charing Cross Road, The Strand. Friday was in fact a brilliant night, nothing at all to be regretted. No, it was wretched. At last I got — to show her true self, her true feelings for me, the contempt she had been hiding behind kisses & touches, finally came out. Thank God, at last. Now a new era can begin. All illusions gone. All romanticism gone. All sentimentality. This the moment the break took place. This is the “monument of a crisis” and the birth of some new butterfly. The sickly sweet mask has gone. The salons of Victorian London that Ernest Dowson stumbled between, are the salons that I stumble between: The Melon Tree, The Calcutta, Dionysus, The Fly, Sunset, Boulevard, ENO, Wigmore Hall, NFT. I want a new brutality. A new Francis Baconian brutality. I write to save my life. Find someone else you want to f–k. Like the red bandanna barmaid in the Melon Tree or Anya or Callie; pick up girls at the Barbican or Tate. Like Francesca. Like The Tottenham girls. Like that Irish lush at the Wigmore. All the girls I should have f–ked but couldnt because I had no place of my own; now is the time to go get them. Ursula. Shelley. Be a barfly while writing my blood red Fackels. I nearly came when that man put his hand in my lap when Melissa Loren was on.