January 9, 2017 §
Yes, I have got a safe sinecure at the moment, a safe harbour, but in reality it can end at any moment. I am at the whims of others. As long as they like me, they will favour me and protect me; as soon as they change their mind, I will be back on stormy seas again, and back in the financial abyss. I am never away from the financial precipice. It is easy to look back at my years when I was single as some kind of erotic paradise, which in many senses they were, but that would be to forget the absolute despair I was in all of the time. Deep sadness and sombreness and pain. And as I always say I think the true heights of eroticism are not possible without despair. It is only despair that grows and ripens the fruits of eroticism. Dirty smutty sexuality thrives in the damp, dark places of despair, like a fungal infection. It flourishes in the places where no one really wants to be. This is one of those eternal ironies—the highs can only be found in the lows. Student of Nietzsche as I am, we should all be grateful to our times of sickness. To know the true high nights of Eros again one must dive deeper into darkness, and one is no longer prepared to do that, as it would cost too much, and throw away too much that is most precious. I have too much to lose now.
November 7, 2016 §
It is just the natural evolution of me as a human being. I don’t know what I am going to become, nobody does. I feel like a butterfly emerging from the chrysalis. I am becoming more and more not the man my wife thought or hoped I could be, but I am becoming more and more naturally myself—and that may mean I have to be alone forever. “We are all of us growing volcanoes, nearing the moment of their eruption” said Nietzsche. Nothing else is so important than to follow what you are drawn to. To resist provokes depression, miserableness, and resentment. We have to travel towards “what we believe to be the most beautiful thing”, like Helen, choosing to sail with Paris to Troy, no matter the cataclysm and doom it would provoke. I love that kind of purity. I can only live in that purity. Every moment to be responsive to your drives, your urges, to beauty you encounter.
October 16, 2016 §
This is the Fackel of the strip clubs and brothels of Europe. The Nietzsche books of the strip clubs and brothels of Europe.
September 30, 2016 §
I always say my momentous dates are always personal. As Nietzsche says, we must make our own feast days. Christmas, Birthdays, and New Year’s Eve, all mean nothing to me and are when I am at my most nervous and uncomfortable, feeling the skin stripped from my body, exposed. For me, the great nights are Twelfth Night, Walpurgis Night, St Swithin’s Night, and great personal anniversaries.
July 29, 2016 §
No time for the Secession building & the Beethoven frieze on this brief flying visit, or the Schoenberg Foundation, Karl Kraus’s house, the Belvedere, KHM, Zentralfriedhof. No Third Man sites. How I have blossomed and bloomed since the cerebral, mind-obsessed pages of Autismus is quite extraordinary, yet in another way I have not moved on at all. I have become more relaxed and at ease in my own skin, but still the eternal battle between love, art and eros rages in me. Like scratching a mark above a child’s head every year to measure how fast they are growing, it will be interesting to see how different I feel in Vienna this time; from the neurotic first 4 day stay in 1998, to the three days of exquisite masturbation on the way to Oslo, then falling in love with Lotta & Sophia, to my last time six years ago when I finally lost my Vienna virginity. Now I am living in London with a sex dancer from The ———, after an affair with another Tallulah from the same place, and before that an Esmeralda, a sumptuous Siberian Cleopatra, with a big cat’s face, purple fingernails and blonde highlighted bob. Back in 1998 I never imagined I would ever be with a woman, or could ever be. Eroticism is the motor of life, it is what makes the world go around, and I have no shame in admitting I have devoted my life to it. Let those who are family men be family men, those who are businessmen be businessmen, but I live for eros alone. Priapism, persistent erection of the penis, has been my guiding philosophy since I was almost old enough to walk. There is no pleasure to compare with the swelling of one’s member, feeling all the warm blood beginning to fill it; it is even better than orgasm. Anticipation is everything. Resolution is merely putting the lid on it so one can return home, over Dowson’s Shaftesbury Avenue, across a rain-swept torrential Leicester Square, pass the statue of Oscar Wilde, into the bosom of the Charing Cross Hotel; or across a beautiful vast tree-canopied Kurfurstendamm with a bulge that still refuses to go down one little bit, around Olivaer Platz and its erotic window-display mannequins, back to the Plaza; back around the Gurtel to the Dorint; around the corner of Schillerstraße on shaking legs over the tramlines back to the Intercity; or back down the interminable never ending Boulevard Adolphe Max to the Ibis. Oh these high nights of erotic swooning, those high moments that “persuade us to put off suicide”. This my career in infamy has brought me. I like Nietzche am grateful to what my years of sickness have wrought in me.