January 12, 2017 § Leave a comment
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October 21, 2016 § Leave a comment
October 6, 2016 § 2 Comments
In a hundred years people will look back at Trotsky in Wonderland and Trotsky Through the Looking Glass, Edward Symmons and The Stripper, as an incredible record of life in London and central Europe in the years from 1996 onwards
October 6, 2016 § Leave a comment
August 28, 2016 § Leave a comment
I now have a craving to go see the Blechen pictures in Berlin Schloss Charlottenburg, and in Alte National Gallery. My four books Autismus, Lotta, The Cold Icy Air of the Mountains, and Casanova (Lost Wanderings) should be collected in one volume like The Cornelius Chronicles and the title will be Journals 1996-2007. The cover will be Blechen’s In the Palmhouse that I saw on that very first trip to Berlin, though each individual book can keep its title pages of Die Sunde, The Kiss, Tilla Durieux as Circe and Mars, Venus & Amor. I am happiest when writing, working on my books, I truly am. The hot summer sun outside, the ferns and trees blowing in the gentle breeze, butterflies fluttering in and out of the open French windows, some classical music playing from the gramophone, I work on, chipping away at the manuscripts. I can achieve a perfect balanced life by going to park or cinema or butterflies with —– in the daytime, then in the evenings shut myself away with my classical music my ferns and my writing. —– brings a South American exoticism to my life. We went out to a public park, Finsbury, and it was absolutely disgusting with litter all over the place. The trees and flowers were beautiful, but the overflowing litter bins and rubbish scattered everywhere you like made it repulsive. Visible evidence one suspects of the Government spending cuts already making themselves felt. How preferable to return to the lush ferns, fauna and flora of my studies and libraries at home, the French windows open to my own gardens, my own butterflies and aphids. My kakapo night parrot hopping up onto my shoulder and shatting down my nightgown. To put my Pintscher on the gramophone and resume my writing and reading, Byron’s biography today. I just have to see my way through any difficult moments in my marriage, because it is the richness of my life, the miracle of my life, the saving of my life. In —– I achieved an impossible dream, which makes me think it may yet be possible to really achieve something with my writing.
June 30, 2016 § Leave a comment
The great thing about my four books, and now the first 8 pages of my fifth, is that they are full of passion, and truth—the psychosis of AUTISMUS, the longing for Lotta in LOTTA, the breaking through the barriers of THE COLD ICY AIR OF THE MOUNTAINS, the tiring of travelling and falling in love of CASANOVA. It all rings so true and is dripping with passion, truly written in blood and tears. The preparing to go to Vienna is now going to be such a big part of the new book. The visit itself will probably pass without a word—I shall not have time.