So I spend my life in the fleshpots? That’s what I like to do and they can’t stop me. I am the way I want to be and they don’t like it

September 30, 2017 § Leave a comment

So I spend my life in the fleshpots?
That’s what I like to do, and they can’t stop me. I am the way I want to be, and they don’t like it, they don’t like my brilliance, my intelligence, my beauty, my serenity, my grace—they are my pawns. They are playing into my hands, they are falling into their parts in my experiment without realising they are giving me the research I need.
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I’m suffering from an addiction I don’t want to be cured of. Soho is experiencing life at second hand I know

September 28, 2017 § Leave a comment

I’m suffering from an addiction I don’t want to be cured of. Soho is experiencing life at second hand I know. First hand is not possible, I can’t get excited about something I’ve never known. The Dionysian frenzy of it. The thrill of doing something illicit, the thrill of burying your whole life in illicitness.

strippers (4)

I can’t do anything worthwhile till I’m in my 30s anyway in decadent Berlin with floozies in brothels

July 14, 2017 § Leave a comment

I can’t do anything worthwhile till I’m in my 30s anyway, in decadent Berlin, with floozies in brothels, my face is too young, so might as well make use of this pleasant waiting time to write my books telling my story up to now, reappraising, just typing up the backlog. This is like the timeless woman-filled warm paradise of 1 to 4 years old. This is the best time of my life. I can see now my life hasn’t even begun, nor should it till my late 30s. This is the warm paradise before the real action begins, and I arrive in Berlin of Europa Europa, Rosa Luxemburg floozies. Floozies are good! Wedekind, Toulouse-Lautrec, with flamboyant Mephistophelian luxurious swagger. It’s what you think about things, not the situation itself. It’s all positive interpretation. I’m very fortunate, writers get better, they don’t even start till their 40s. This is the delirious warm paradise before my real life begins! Filled with warm girls, floozies, sex-dancers, at Babushka, Shang-hai and Maxim’s! Even at the Post Office that was part of warm paradise.

grosz-g-8-sm

Wedekind loved bordellos; why shouldn’t I?

July 14, 2017 § Leave a comment

Wedekind loved bordellos; why shouldn’t I?

I do think there is something sexy in illness, in disease, in fever

January 16, 2017 § Leave a comment

I do think there is something sexy in illness, in disease, in fever. When your body is mired in swamp-like, creepy crawly things, and you cannot go out, when your libido is brought to a halt, then your erotic wells start to fill up and you crave release and erotic abandon again. The same way despair is essential for erotic excitement, disease and fever serves the same purpose. I am a great advocate for despair! A great advocate for disease! A great advocate for fever! The cheapest, most tawdry, and awful sexual experiences of my life are the ones I never forget, and the ones I yearn to experience again. The more awful it was, the more I seem to crave it.

I want my desires to be like Dirk Bogarde’s in Death in Venice; aching, yearning, quivering, shaking with repressed longings, lusts

January 9, 2017 § Leave a comment

I want my desires to be like Dirk Bogarde’s in Death in Venice; aching, yearning, quivering, shaking with repressed longings, lusts; to want something so much but to be so afraid of the shame that you will bring on yourself if you did it and got “caught”; when you no longer fear getting caught, when there is no sense of the forbidden, the verboten, the taboo, all the point goes out of it. I want to wander again the diseased, bleach-drenched streets of Venice [Nuremberg, Munich, Berlin, Vienna, Brussels], bent double with desire for something that I know I can never have, a flower I can never pluck; or can I? why can’t I?! I can do what I want, and to hell with the consequences! To hell with society’s damnation! We are in hell when we live in accordance with what other people want us to do, and let ourselves be frightened of what other people think of us! To hell with restraints! Embrace relaxes! I want to be bleeding for someone again, to leave so much blood on the tracks of those European cities, their tram tracks; I want to be under such pressure that my nose drips with blood onto the pages of my moleskine notebook as I am writing of my desires with cold blue hands in cold stoveless rooms like Nietzsche. I want more cold! I want more ice! I want more darkness! I want more loneliness! So then I can experience those highs in the low places again! So I can experience that smutty smutty glory, in the dirty sleazy places. To become infected again, worse than before; I can understand how men actually want to fuck without condoms, to risk their own death as that is the only way they can carry on getting the high they need. I can understand how Nietzsche caught syphilis, how Cesare Borgia caught syphilis, how Gustav von Aschenbach caught syphilis. My last experiences with Soho whores were such cheap, unbelievably tawdry and awful experiences, but I got turned on just thinking about them! The girls could barely look at me by the end such was their scorn and disgust; but I don’t care; I love it. It is the very wretchedness of the experience that provides me with the glory I need.

viscdeathtorment

The great Justice Palaces of Europe that have always meant so much to me, like so many Hanging Gardens of Babylon, representing for me the battle between purity and corruption

January 4, 2017 § Leave a comment

The great Justice Palaces of Europe that have always meant so much to me, like so many Hanging Gardens of Babylon, representing for me the battle between purity and corruption—i.e. the purity of the man who acknowledges his sexual urges and admits the pleasures he finds in releasing them with beautiful florid & lurid young women of the Tingel Tangels and the bordellos, versus the corruption of those mean, vicious, jealous members of society who try to destroy the man for his honesty—will come to have a greater significance than ever before. How many beautiful, honest, handsome gentlemen will find themselves brought before a Judge and made a criminal, made a pariah, made an Oscar Wildean figure of shame to be spat at by all and sundry on railway station platforms or in the street. All because he hadn’t had sex for a long while and really really needed it!

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