The fact that I have paid £600 off my Barclaycard in the space of a month shows what is possible. I don’t think I am going to go to Vienna in December

November 30, 2017 § Leave a comment

The fact that I have paid £600 off my Barclaycard in the space of a month shows what is possible. I don’t think I am going to go to Vienna in December. I think I would rather keep waiting and keep saving. So when I do travel I will have a real war chest to travel with. I was thinking in the Calcutta on Thursday that there is nothing worth spending money on except sex. If it is a choice between seeing Volver or A Scanner Darkly, or going to see a girl take her knickers off to music, then there can only be one winner. You see people who go on beach holidays, or Amalfi, and I think how bored I would be. The only holiday that means anything is in red light districts. To meet new strippers and new Esmeraldas. What is wrong with running a high debt? We will see how high my Virgin interest is when that hits in October. In McDonald’s most beautiful gorgeous voluptuous brunette girl, maybe 18 or 19, skin tight black top over rolls of fat and big fat huge breasts, thick yellow snakeskin belt, blue jeans over fat bottom, pretty pretty face, little snub nose. I could not take my eyes off her & she knew it as she finally shot me a glance as I stepped forward to order. Nothing in the city matters except sex, the buying and selling of it, young women stripping for you, young women lying back on the bed and opening their legs for you, men all with their cocks out in a dark porn cinema. This is the reality of my life.
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I am unique. It is important to remember that. I am writer and eccentric, like Philip O’Connor, Friedrich Nietzsche in cold stoveless rooms

November 14, 2017 § Leave a comment

I am unique. It is important to remember that. I am writer and eccentric, like Philip O’Connor, Friedrich Nietzsche in cold stoveless rooms, Ernest Dowson. I exist to write those extreme, bizarre, small little books, like Autismus, Lotta, The Cold Icy Air of the Mountains, and Casanova. 45 page long monographs about emptiness and nothingness. Smile from Calcutta blonde: “No ice today!” I need to focus on Miami Vice, Rebels & Martyrs exhibition, classical music concerts. The sexiest encounters of my life were at the Barbican and Wigmore Hall. I travel uniquely, to Berlin, Vienna and Brussels. I live a bizarre and nocturnal life. I will continue to use Sunset Cinema and Demi and Pamela. There is nothing like that excitement when a gentleman comes in with a woman and everyone crowds around with their cocks out. Day 1 of my new life starts here. No more Flying Scotsman. The Calcutta only, followed by Sunset Cinema, Demi and Pamela. I will go to Sunset Strip only when Deborah is on. I am Ernest Dowson. Philip O’Connor. The Shining Roads will be exclusively in Soho. How thrilling it is to come out of the cinema with my huge cock rolling in my trousers, just around the corner to Demi or Pamela. My life revolves around drinking & pornography. I want to take a long train journey again, thinking and writing.
The sexiest encounters of my life were with girls at classical music concerts, while I was sitting in the back row—the red scallop neck girl at the Barbican, little brown bob who sat opposite me in the Barbican lobby, black fur coat at the Wigmore, the grey skirt lush in the Wigmore lobby. The erections I have got in art galleries! Especially the Brussels Museum of Modern Art and the Wiertz Museum—I have got to go back to Brussels this autumn! To the Modern Art, the Wiertz, the Cathedral, the Gare du Midi Pullman bar, it is such a morbidly erotic place, even before I get up to Empire and the Gare du Nord. I got great erections in Antwerp, too. And Munich Neue Pinakothek. Oh how erotic it is to be there during the day, going to the New Pin and Lamm’s, knowing it is just preparation for what I am going to do later—cross Bayerstraße and round the corner of Schillerstraße and disappear into the White Coffin. My heroes are Walter Benjamin, Karl Kraus, Friedrich Nietzsche, Karl Marx. I live every day of my life now as if I am on holiday, just drinking and eating and w—–g. The gorgeous beer in the Calcutta, the gorgeous fish & chips in Dionysus, the gorgeous KFC in Leicester Square. The gorgeous tuna & mayo rolls in Charing Cross Station. When in Berlin I live for the knesepfannes in my hotel bar and the ham & eggs rolls in Thobens at Berlin Zoo station. In Vienna it is the alt wiener rostbratens in my hotel bar; I no longer go to Wegenstein’s after the staff attacked me. I went back once but it is always so empty there, in contrast to the warmth & conviviality of Lamm’s in Munich. I think I almost go to Munich solely so I can eat in Lamm’s & have a glass of their ice cold Augustiner beer. I go to Berlin solely so I can eat the knesepfannes in my hotel & the Zoo Thobens rolls. Oh I so much want to go back to Munich! But where to stay—the Regent which I love for its bar, or the Intercity for its ease? I go to Vienna solely for the cold Zipfers served by the white shirted girls in the Dorint bar before I commence my afternoon of sightseeing, which usually means St Stephen’s Cathedral, the Pummerin bell made out of Turkish cannons left behind after the Siege of Vienna, the Butterfly House, the KHM, the Belvedere and the Leopold. Always the same places. Sometimes I will mix in a few Third Man sites, like the Am Hof, and the steps where Harry Lime stood when the cat gave him away and we see him for the first time. I will not go into the sewers again.
After Lamm’s what else is there to do for me in Munich, apart from struggling to the New Pin & trying to make it back to the Intercity before I explode? Nothing. Really. Lamm’s is the be all and end all of my every day in Munich. At nights, the White Coffin becomes the be all and end all but I think even that has finished for me now, as it has become just full of memories which the here and now increasingly struggles to live up to. The more fantastic memories you have built up in a place, or exquisitely painful ones, the more blood you have left on the tracks, the harder it is to get the same thrill out of the place & the more disappointing it becomes. It becomes a law of diminishing returns. There is a rising arc of your first few visits when it gets better & better, then you reach the zenith, then level off, then the arc inexorably descends, and every trip becomes increasingly distressingly flat and uneventful. The whores get more flat-chested and unattractive every time you go. In Berlin, Yulia, Riccarda, Iga, Diana, gone forever. Maybe they were always poor but the excitement of going somewhere new made them seem more sexy and alluring than they really were. The more you return the more you tend to see the same women in the cold light of day, as it were, and you realise they weren’t all they were cracked up to be.

There is just a basic primal thrill to be sitting in a dark cinema with your swollen cock out

January 1, 2017 § Leave a comment

There is just a basic primal thrill to be sitting in a dark cinema with your swollen cock out, surrounded by other men all with their cocks out. There is nothing quite like it for raw nervous excitement.

I always laugh in the Ciné ABC at the signs saying optimistically “New films every Wednesday!”

November 28, 2016 § 2 Comments

I always laugh in the Ciné ABC, at the signs saying optimistically “New films every Wednesday!” Well, yes, new in the sense that they are different from what was on the day before, but not strictly “new” when they are all from the 1970s! On this occasion it was Woman in Love: A Story of Madame Bovary from 1978 with a very beautiful Laurien Dominique. “Flaubert once described literature as ‘the dissection of a beautiful woman with her guts in her face, her leg skinned, and half a burned-out cigar lying on her foot.’ So he takes this young woman who is innocent to the ways of the world and throws some kinks into all of her dreams and plans. He makes her ‘real.’ We can see and feel what’s going on in the story. At the same time, though, he leaves Emma somewhat removed—-at a distance. ” The sex scenes are much shorter in these old 1970s films compared to the interminable never-ending scenes of today; the men get it over with very quickly, which as I mentioned before is much more true to life, in my experience. The stripper who comes on stage (in a manner of speaking) every hour is a delightful interlude and is something all adult cinemas should do I think.

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I had to laugh. The poster in ABC says “new films every Wednesday!”

October 23, 2016 § Leave a comment

I had to laugh. The poster in ABC says “new films every Wednesday!”. New is only in a very limited sense of the word considering all the films are from the 1970s. Whereas the Cine Paris has the newest high quality French porn. The Cine Paris roused me to a very high pitch of arousal indeed.

It has been a very long time since I’ve been as turned on as I was in the Ciné Paris today

October 23, 2016 § Leave a comment

It has been a very long time since I’ve been as turned on as I was in the Ciné Paris today; especially when the old man twice touched me. It has given this holiday a nice encouraging end. Christ, I’m ugly; I keep catching my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. There is a mirror all behind the bar which reinforces my first impression, that she is like Manet’s Girl at the Folies-Bergère. These are what I live for, these little moments when I feel so turned on. That is what I spend hundreds of pounds travelling for. That is what I run up thousands of pounds of debt for. So the kino in Rosa Luxemburg Straße and the Ciné Paris in Brussels were real discoveries on this holiday.

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Not wanting to go back to the Ibis bar while killing an hour or so before my Eurostar home I wandered down Avenue Fonsny

October 23, 2016 § Leave a comment

Not wanting to go back to the Ibis bar while killing an hour or so before my Eurostar home, I wandered down Avenue Fonsny and found this charming bar on the next corner, full of great ferns, and art nouveau posters and fabulous black & red walls—and the most gorgeous blonde ponytail barmaid. Like a Belgian Lotta, in tight green wool sweater and blue jeans over voluptuous bottom. On my last day in Brussels, I found Maes Corner closed, and in fact almost every shop in Brussels, too—is Day of the Dead a holiday here [yes]? I had two in O’Reilly’s, walked past the Metropole and the Cheshire Cheese Café, found the Dome Café also closed, then after one in some tiny sidestreet bar, and after much deliberation, I returned to Ciné Paris. The two rooms are big and clean, the seats very new and comfortable, the screens big and the picture perfect—quite the nicest kino I have been in. The French porn films are high quality, and I found myself becoming highly aroused. When a very old man sat down next to me and tried twice to touch me, I had to knock his hand away both times not because I did not want it, but his touch brought me to the edge of glory both times. He left, disappointed, though I did not want him to. I think I could easily make a home here in the Paris. It was the most erotic moment of the whole trip, far more than anything with Angelica in Club 77 or Christina in Brussels. I think I will have to return to the Soho cabins and Fantasy Videos in London. I am ready to have hands on me again. I think the barmaid’s boyfriend is at the fruit machine, she goes back to him whenever not busy. After a day of blazing blue skies, I was shocked to come out of the cinema, quivering, taking time to compose myself in the alleyway, to find it was raining! I take this as omen that I had at last found my answer in this holiday—it is back in the cinemas. I returned to Midi happy, feeling warm pleasure in my loins, and now pass the time here in the Orient Express.

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