Be dark, brooding & Byronic! Explore the sordid with ——. You sound weary says my mother. Indeed I do

Be dark, brooding, & Byronic! Explore the sordid with ——. You sound weary, says my mother. Indeed I do. I barely have the heart or willpower or confidence to form any words at all. 132PM. All I want to do is drink. Then I can be Byronic & sordid. I long for the dark sordid cinema, the wandering hands, the women coming in to be used by all & sundry, like I wanted to use that Russian whore in the lift last night; I long for Evalina, & Iga, & Diana, & the Monte Carlo girls, & Olga & Alla, & the Ciro girls. The sight of a whore is profoundly thrilling to a man. Demi in Soho. Pamela. My life is ruinous. I feel always that it is over with —— & me, because how can anyone love me? Today marks four weeks together. I cannot believe it has lasted so long. I feel gutted and choked that it is over; I always feel like this. This is how Kafka had his relationships, and Munch, & Proust. They brought scarcely any joy or happiness, just pain, & jealousy, & the paranoia that it was already over. Today is Iga day. That is amazing. Three years ago today I met that black dressed white haired Iga in the Golden Gate [gone].When —— ends things, I will lose myself so totally in the sordid. Back to the cinema & Demi & Pamela and back to Berlin & Vienna with a vengeance. I completely fucking destroy myself in the sordid. The whores of the Gare du Nord Brussels, the whores of Schillerstraße Munich, the whores of Stuttgarter Platz & Mazurka [gone] & Ciro Berlin, the whores of the Gurtel Vienna. And yet, just 730PM last night, —— wrote to me “—————— all my love xxxx”. I dreamed about her before I woke, in the Queen Anne I thought though not really, pushing past Vicky dancing just inside the door, went over to —— on the other side, in green top like on my wall, Tina told us off for talking too loud, & stopped the music until we shut up. I want to be like Henry Miller, not Ernest Dowson. Men & women with dynamos between their legs! Volcanoes inside them! That is how I want to be with ——. Not this broken down, weeping, sobbing creature, tormented & tortured & torn apart by inadequacy & self-loathing & permanent paranoia that she has doubts about me & is about to call it off. Last Friday meeting her at the Horse & Groom was so overwhelmingly powerful; to see her at work again, sex dancing for the other men again. And then she left with ME. In front of all those men who had been lusting after her, & fucking her with their eyes, & pawing her with their hands, she left with ME. We practically made love in the street outside the pub, we practically made love when we got off the bus in the street on the way to Plumstead station, we practically made love on the train all the way in to Charing Cross. And then when we got home, I couldn’t make love; but she just smiled, and whispered in my ear, “It’s all right. We’ve got all night” and then I could make love. The pink top blonde on the plane to Munich. I will f–k everyone & destroy myself in the sordid when it ends with ——. Now I find myself longing for this sordidness, this destruction. This Sodom on the Spree. Andrea, that Greek whore, do you remember! The size of her breasts. Martina in Nuremberg, The Egyptian in Soho. Diana, Yulia, Iga in Berlin. Emily in Munich. Francesca the Hungarian Gypsy in Romilly Street. OK so if the affair with —— is about to end, be wild, mad, crazy, angry, bitter with her. I would go to these European cities to watch the strippers & f–k the biggest breasted whores I could find at night, but during the day I would pass the time in the art museum, and so consequently would walk around looking at the pictures shaking with repressed erotic urges, and if there was a pretty young woman also strolling round the museum in front of me, it would be impossible to control my priapic arousal; and then in the early evening I would pass my time in the operas, and in that steamy hothouse atmosphere, knowing I was now so imminently to get to the strip clubs & the brothels, it was all I could do to make it to the interval before rushing away to slake my desperate lust. Remember the huge breasts of Clarisse in Brussels?! But it was the sexy little blonde over her shoulder that was the hottest memory. I want to spend a week in Brussels f–king myself to death. A week in Munich & Nuremberg f–king myself to death. A week in Vienna f–king myself to death. A week in Berlin f–king myself to death. That is my plan when —— leaves me. The ‘instinct of perversity’ is strong in me, as it was in Rops & Poe. Of course I must detour to Namur this time. I will go all out with —— knowing that between 28 April and 4 May I have two chances to go to see Janice Watson as Salome at the Berlin Staatsoper & then begin my destruction in the sordid. Opera singers are incredibly erotic to me, as they are always the last thing I see & hear before I go to my Tallulahs & Esmeraldas. Violeta Urmana, Elena Prokina, Stefania Bonfadelli, Anna Caterina Antonacci.


Today is Foscari day. Yesterday was Lulu Viennese Eroticism day. Tomorrow is Iga day

Today is Foscari day. Yesterday was Lulu Viennese Eroticism day. Tomorrow is Iga day. Couldn’t resist going to Calcutta for two pints from stony faced Anna then texted —— on bus to work, she texted back but I never saw it till about 845pm, torturing me further.
Just two pints makes me feel so drunk. On bus home this morning, gorgeous big voluptuous girl in white top, black bottoms, massive big breasts. Brunette on bus to work tonight, black T-shirt, upturned bra-less breasts. I felt some Byronic power then.
Be WILD with ——. Byronic.
Gorgeous voluptuous cat face Russian whore, I had to rescue her from basement & we joked in lift. She made my chest flutter & my groin stir. I could have stayed with her all night.

Sunday night she said to me you are so sweet, you never once complained about the mess I live in

Sunday night she said to me you are so sweet, you never once complained about the mess I live in.
I wake Thursday tortured & tormented & filled with self loathing & self disgust & inadequacy again. These feelings of worthlessness never go away. My identity feels like it is melting like ice. Before I used to be the cold, hard, monolithic Antarctica. Cold, frozen, but hard, solid, together, I could walk around on solid ground. Now the ice is all melting to slush & as I try to walk it is cracking & melting under my feet & I feel I am falling through slush into the frozen water. Ha! I am with most beautiful woman. I should be arrogant & cocky & full of power. I feel more useless than ever. There is always an egg in my mouth. I can never talk to people or look them in the eye, still. I want to have a drink. I want to get my haircut. Discover my Byronic power. Please! Before I lose her.

Coming in from the Edgware Road in pleasant spring evening looking up at buildings & trees feeling I am Lord Byron looking at this sight

Coming in from the Edgware Road in pleasant spring evening looking up at buildings & trees feeling I am Lord Byron looking at this sight, & feeling the power locked up in everything around me. I feel there is something locked up in me too, I am capable of something spectacular.
Do I deserve you my dear? I worry sometimes you are too beautiful woman for me.
I still feel tortured & tormented by inadequacy in my relationship with —-/——; when I should be feeling high as a kite. I am still not finding what I need in myself to explode & burst forth, to bloom & blossom, and be that spectacular thing I feel capable of being.

Be wild, angry, dark, Byronic, Brandoish, Shelleyesque. Dark, brooding, angry. I am sick of this emotional weakness. I am Byron. I am Shelley

Be wild, angry, dark, Byronic, Brandoish, Shelleyesque. Dark, brooding, angry. I am sick of this emotional weakness. I am Byron. I am Shelley.
Why do I feel so crap, so disintegrated, so tortured & tormented by inadequacy? 6AM this morning I was thrilled to discover I had another message from —— sent 00:38 last night.
It was 16:03 now. The initial urge to rush to Calcutta & Lemon Tree to get drunk is subsiding gradually. Spurs are on ITV at 730 so I could go to Lemon Tree just for a coke to watch some of that after internet cafe. —— did say “please don’t drink today ok”. I expect she is going to M—–‘s private party this Thursday night. At last the people on Londonstrip are wondering where I am! Crightonjim wrote “Anyone been to Sunset recently? Trotsky’s reports seem to have dried up lately” To which Tony Watts replied “Excellent to hear from the formerly ubiquitous Trotsky again & this time with such brevity;-);-)” before going on to suggest a meeting at the QA between “the good Trotsky”, Colin Forcey, the other Col, Elgar, with the good St Dot as moderator. “The banter would be excellent. Let’s do it and soon guys”.
After a melancholy couple of days I am starting to feel better. Now I’m going to pub to watch football & drink COCA COLA. Niiiiiice. Hope you have a good night my LOVE.
In retreat like a stag at bay (tossing one off at the Staatsoper)
“Thank you for those kind words, Tony. My ubiquity is indeed not what it was. I am currently on a sabbatical from both sex dancers & the amber gnat’s piss contemplating the true meaning of life. I am growing my hair long & watching a lot of cartoons. They are very nice. I would be honoured (I think) to meet you & the Hellfire chaps some day at the QA but my current monkish existence precludes this for the time being. Give my regards to The Great Flame-Haired One. Before I go I would just like to confirm that my fears for The Lemon Tree were completely unfounded & the embonpoints are at this moment in time as magnificent as they have ever been. By the way, Katarina Dalayman will soon be dancing the Dance of the Seven Veils in a Berlin Unter den Linden Salome. My hands are trembling as I write this before I lapse into swoon.”
Enough of this horrible niceness. Girlish sentimentality. I am a BEAST!
The temptation to go to Berlin in May again for Salome, but really to see Evalina again, & the Monte Carlo girls, & Olga & Alla in Mazurka, and Nadia in Ciro………What the hell are you depressed about! Just a week ago, —–/——/—-/——–/—–, the Flying Scotsman stripper you have been in love with since Chelsea Barcelona night a year ago, Madonna Hung Up, Beyonce Check on It, was on her knees on my bed [CENSORED]!!!!!!!!!!!!! Spring is here, Tits are out all around you! Be an animal now!!!!!!!!!