To have hostility against you is the strong way (25th Jan 1999)

To have hostility against you is the strong way. To live in polite sociability is soft, and weak. Stunted people resent tall beautiful noble people, that is life.
Two of my greatest heroines, Nana and Lulu, are sexually rampant. They shock people by the way they flaunt their sex. His insolent display of luxury. He wanted all of them to worship his sovereign nudity.
This is what he wanted—their hostility out in the open. Now he could get the INTOXICATION he needed. The RAUSCH. He needed to put himself beyond everything. This was the clearest way he could show his contempt for everybody—and indulge PLEASURE. Taunt them. Tease them. FLAUNT. FLAUNT. I want the chance to flaunt and worship my sovereign nudity, and they are giving me the chance.

I am autistic (15th Jan 1999)

I am autistic. I am sybarite. I live for the erotic image. I live for pleasure. The joy of this. The intoxication. The RAUSCH. I am hard to get close to, to get to know. I continue in my sleepy, dreamy, happily grinning, horny trance. Mad people are happy, they are joyous; they have moved beyond social norms, social taboos, this gives them complete freedom, like the bag lady in NFT, like Oscar Wilde with his rent boys in the West End. I like watching, I like all the penises around me, I am polymorphously perverse.
The pleasures of my life.
He lived in real life the kind of sex life other people only fantasised about.
He defiantly lived purely for eroticism, recording erotic images into his brain to keep him permanently stimulated, permanently swollen, bulging inside his trousers.
This is the safest harbour I have ever found, or ever will find.
“Oh my poor babies, you don’t know who you have taken on!”

It’s fun, isn’t it? It’s INTOXICATING (13th Jan 1999)

It’s fun, isn’t it? It’s INTOXICATING. Rausch! Schadenfreude! People are just objects for me to use, or not, as I see fit.
I live to a straight line of pleasure. Everything revolves around that. I do exactly as I want to do. I am Aubrey Beardsley. Pleasure is my god. The chance to show my contempt for people comes at its greatest though SEX. This is my weapon to destabilise. To bring my SYBARITISM into their living rooms, and GET AWAY WITH IT. It is fantastic that I am so much on their minds. I want to give them more to think about, I want to boggle their minds EVEN MORE. Think dirty thoughts all the time. I am recording and collecting the material for my book. Van Gogh has been through this. Nietzsche has been through this.

This break with —— had to happen for me to ever really start writing (12th Jan 1999)

This break with —— had to happen for me to ever really start writing. They are doing what I want. It amazes me—all the trouble it gets me into, and I still keep going back; I’m very proud of that. Like Oscar Wilde said, the only way to avoid temptation is to give in to it, otherwise it will just eat you away. I stay nice and calm and serene. You have to break the siege. This is my Brothel in Rosenstraße. Sneaker Pimps Six Underground. I am detached from everything, I am just an observer, I just avidly write down whatever the story is. I am just ink on the page; how hard for them to get to grips with. Think dirty thoughts all the time. I live on the outside of society. Like Nietzsche. Like Van Gogh. Like Oscar Wilde. Like Edvard Munch. Like Egon Schiele. Like Philip O’Connor. Intoxication! RAUSCH! Schadenfreude. Madness, drama, passion. I do exactly what I want to do. Gold dress. Wittgenstein’s going back into the Prater. Oscar Wilde’s going back into the West End. Van Gogh’s going back to the brothel. Black schoolboy with his teachers. I am outside society, because that is where I can write. They have no artistic ability. They have no cultural life. They do not have books. A knowing twinkle in my eye, because my book is growing. I must devote all my spare time to the luxuries of the game, and the book now. And saving my money. Moonlight Sonata in my heart. Your Childhood in Menton in my heart—“don’t let them gag me.” HE KEPT USING THEM. The rich multiplicity of his life. This was the best time of his life. The chance to wind so many people up. Anything which forces me to turn in and concentrate on the book is a HELPFUL THING; everything brings progress—nothing bad ever happens. They are all my jewels. My shocking reputation. The freedom of my life. My opiate fantasies. My sealed train. Spending 24 hours a day writing my book. To be a hermit in a citadel. I NOTICE NOTHING BUT THE BOOK. To be able to devote every day to my book again. I am Nietzsche. I am Van Gogh. Beautiful, dark, like F.G.Lorca. I go my own way, always. The chance to use my Eros to show my total contempt for people. He was enjoying himself, and writing his book while doing it. Oh the pleasure I have had here. That is all I think about. The story ideas I have had the next day.