Sunday, 31 May 2015

You tried to stop me being a vampire

You tried to stop me being a vampire, and I am grateful, but it's no good, it's all I can be, but before I was tormented and ashamed by it, now I feel relaxed and content about it. I don't feel particularly good about myself at times, but I know I never try to hurt another  human being, I know I never try to diminish another human being, and as long as I never have anything to reproach myself for, I can feel contentment and acceptance of myself. I have no bitterness for them. If you cannot think positive thoughts, it's best not to think them at all. I prefer to fill my mind with beautiful, intelligent, kind people who I admire and respect and look up to. The ugly people I just politely remove from my memory banks. I only want the admirable people in my memory banks. I feel sorry for the others, because they are only hurting themselves. Hatred does more harm to the possessor, etc. It will be on their conscience not mine. They are storing up an awful lot of trouble for themselves.
I think Sarah was ignoring the reality of my condition.


Saturday, 30 May 2015

It's like a submarine deep under the sea under the terrible pressure

It's like a submarine deep under the sea under the terrible pressure, and you suggest opening the hatches. Then I sink and drown. If Vicky takes all her clothes off when we're playing Wallball, on this hot sticky summer day. In her orange sleeveless jumper over her big fat breasts, black miniskirt, big knickers, bare legs. This is Treasure Island weather! and Treasure Island time of year. May 30---July is Treasure Island, hot midi blue skies. The Bull.
Autistic people live in their narrow blackened world, their very narrow range. Keep their eyes to themselves, their personalities locked inside. They are perfectly intelligent but it is a flat gramophone record.  Most people's intelligence is in a round globe. Because normal people have got fingers, you're presuming I've got fingers too.
Writing is expelling the poison from your body. Otherwise you will poison yourself. You have all these suitcases filled with mud, and you have to carry them round everywhere with you, in case there are still some specks of gold in there you've missed.
I'm blinkered. I can't  break out of the 2 dimensions to think in 3 dimensions. I can't make that leap to a globe, that can only happen in the first 3 months. That split second sudden mystical inflation.


Thursday, 28 May 2015

Going down the road I felt like Oscar Wilde

Going down the road I felt like Oscar Wilde, Stephen Fry. Beautiful and ugly at once.
I am fascinated by this expedition into my interior. It sounds quite pornographic.
I'm like black, I take everything in and use it but radiate nothing back. It absorbs light and heat, and radiates nothing back off again. It becomes a closed hothouse system inside the black.
An exotic Oscar Wildean, Brazilian granite, Victorian, vampiric world.
It requires a leap of faith I cannot make. It's over the black horizon: I can't see it. You say move towards it and you eventually will, the new world, but I say you are just sending me closer to the edge where I will fall into black space, it is increasingly less safe the further I move towards it. I stay dead in the centre of all the centrifugal forces and will never get pulled out to the edge, like a marble on a gramophone record. I don't want some bland empty new world, I want to stay and make a better job of the old world, start to mine all these cultural and moral riches that have always been here untapped. Now I can start to make use of them. When you've given me the ability to mine all the riches that have always been here, why would I want to travel to some new world there. I wanted to go, when everything felt dead here, I was not living in a treasure chest, it had become a suffocating coffin. Lorca wanted to go to New York, which he knew he'd  hate, because he had to escape the deadness of Spain. It is saying Sarah helped me to be more myself.
I took a 6  month holiday to the New World, and came away more Andalusian than ever. Lorca came to New York feeling dead and feeling Spain was dead, but though New York was so loud and noisy, he came away feeling in comparison he was more alive and Spain was more alive. I'm sure there's a flaw in this plan. Ah, that's the clever bit. You've got to adjust your thinking. I am different. I'm not like you. Most brains are like a globe, but some are like a gramophone record. This is genuinely how I see the world. You describe a world I don't recognise. You describe a world you inhabit, but you've no experience of my world. It is a flat gramophone record. That lack of stimulation at birth, prevented the two dimensional gramophone record from mutating into a round globe. The left side of my brain is just a black vacuum, it was never built. So that could be quite a problem for you. Every so often you meet someone who makes you wish you were a globe. You've been waiting 26 years to mine the gramophone record, all the incredibly complicated recorded treasures in every groove, with no start in sight, then you meet someone like bob and the gramophone record suddenly wants to be a globe, otherwise it can't bear life anymore. You try and make it happen, get me over the edge to the New World, but like elastic after 6 months I snap back again. With relief, to be a gramophone record again! The riches! And now you find the gems and jewels are starting to come to the surface. You can start mining now. Your eyes are suddenly filled with the riches, you cry with joy and pleasure. Why would you ever consider leaving now. Sarah has given me the ability to mine the riches now.
It was the desire of a gramophone record to become a globe. Then after 6 months elasticated stay in the new world, he snaps back, and now the desire of a gramophone record to be a gramophone record!
For a while I wanted to be someone else, which I believe is impossible, then a brief 6 months glimpse of what it would mean to be someone else, then with relief I wanted to be myself again. All I know about is what's inside me. Sarah has opened up my interior to me, for my exploration. Like the Amazon was inaccessible and unexplored before the first explorers started to break into it and find amazing unbelievable things.
If some woman had come to me at 19 and said I'd pay for you for the rest of your life, that would be lovely.
People who attack me are envious, because they know I've got more riches than them.
Carmen in Spanish! Yes, I must go now!
See, going to Soho does stimulate my brain!
You're saying if I just let myself go, take the safety catch off. I'm saying there's nothing there.

Tuesday, 26 May 2015

I've realised now quite happily that a vampire is all I can be

I've realised now quite happily that a vampire is all I can be, the question is whether you can bear it or find it unbearable. All my life it was on the edge of being unbearable, then after black bob for 9 months it became unbearable, and my life stopped. Sarah made it bearable again, and downright enjoyable. I enjoy being a vampire now, I like the freedom of it. I had a crisis of faith and Sarah was my priest who helped me through it. Sarah was my priest, she talked it over with me for the few months of the therapy, and helped me through. I've gone back to my faith, with great joy and happiness now.
I'm a vampire, it's no good trying to make me a normal social person. I can only be what I am. I will never find happiness trying to be something I'm not.


Monday, 25 May 2015

BEHAVE DISGUSTINGLY

BEHAVE DISGUSTINGLY. That is true to me. Her way I betray myself. My actions are the same as my painting, like Picasso. Behave disgustingly, write disgustingly, be strong, volcanic, vile.

Every photograph of Chaplin

"Every photograph of Chaplin published in the papers is very beautiful, noble. You feel that he exists in some sort of solitude, a mystery, an equilibrium which neither the American insults nor the London triumph can destroy. Impossible to be more within the actual and within the inactual."


"Picasso. A propos of Edith Beaumont"

"Picasso. A propos of Edith Beaumont. 'After Edith's death I behaved disgustingly. I didn't answer Etienne's letters. People have to understand what I'm like, They want you to become someone else when you're through painting. My actions are the same as my painting.'"

"I admit my solitude---there is no other way"

"I admit my solitude---there is no other way. But I feel as though I were on a wreck drifting out to sea."

I must somehow

"I must somehow, without offering purchase to any sort of pride, rid myself of these depressing weaknesses. I chose this struggle and this solitude. It is the defence of the invisible, the theme of the book. But one is always weaker than oneself. A vehicle that doubts...That wonders if this role is not absurd in an active world that craves presence."

"Rain. I have to begin revising the book"

"Rain. I have to begin revising the book. But I experience one of those failures of nerve produced by the atmosphere of rejection I have been struggling against for so many years and which I manage to forget when I am working. Once work is done, there is a chance for this kind of depression to invade. An inferiority complex: I wonder whether my denigrators aren't right and if I am deceiving myself as to the value of my undertakings. I have a bad tendency to exaggerate what rejects me and to minimise what is in my favour. This discouragement robs me of the strength indispensable for the completion of my work. Since I believe that this loss of faith is shameful in relation to the two beings who have given me all their trust, I conceal it, and this is yet a further effect which diminishes me."

Friday, 22 May 2015

"Love, a subject he simply fails to understand. Like friendship, love eludes"

"Love, a subject he simply fails to understand. Like friendship, love eludes; he confuses it with a kind of police court disease, analogous to asthma or to the intelligence service."
"The letter emphasises a solitude which is the result of my poor navigation through life, and my supposing that it was only honest to admit as much, so that I have finally been stranded on a desert island, where no one perceives my signals."
"Poor, poor Marcel. Poor sick man with his lunatic gaze. He knew nothing of love, only the obsessive torments of his lies and his jealousy."
"The satisfaction of what is called vice is always 'fresh' in that it is a departure, equivalent to what a Sunday picnic at the roadside represents for certain people.""All of Sade's outrageousness derives from a sickly timidity which he has determined to overcome. He attacks and deifies himself out of fear. At first people mocked him in Barcelona. He managed to overcome the comrades who mocked him by accumulating reasons to be mocked by them. He has made people afraid to be dupes. Now he is followed and imitated by those who mock(ed) him. He is a madman making his obsessions serve his egotism, his lyricism, his mysticism, his presence."

Monday, 18 May 2015

Because they know I'm better than them

Because they know I'm better than them. Like they knew Eric Cantona was better than them, so they tried to destroy him, because they cannot stand that. You know FG Lorca was better than them. Jealousy. They obviously feel very inferior to me, so they try and crush me. I enjoy strolling past and letting them know they've failed and will always fail.
"I don't know what he's running on at the moment but it's something special. It's sheer love of the game, something that all the great players have had."
I don't want to be with people, because it means I have to stop being me, stop being who I am, then you might as well be dead. I don't want to be like them, because I don't admire them. I want to be like FG Lorca, Oscar Wilde, Vincent Van Gogh, who got on with their lives without hurting anybody else, and got terrible abuse for it. I never want to be in a room with another person ever again. I've found contentment now with Sarah. If you're having a crisis of faith, you have to test the two options, till you can find grace and acceptance again.
"A victim of certain mistreatments, or of simple rudenesses so frequent among the aristocrats, and which Proust's imagination amplified enormously, he flung himself into the dark corners of his room and onto paper. Then he wrote the way he stamped on Charlus's hat. He took revenge and made up for that long loving overture of his toward the world of society. It made a kind of brutal break, the shifting of one light to another. And to tell the truth, it is those episodes of revenge that are the best."
"A guilty pleasure at this regression into infamy."
Jemma at the station gave me another very big amused smile again. She gets prettier every time I see her.

Sunday, 17 May 2015

Dreaming my daydreams, writing my stories, without hurting anybody else

Dreaming my daydreams, writing my stories, without hurting anybody else, and without trying to disturb anybody else. It's amazing how much abuse that attracts. That's all right.
I pretend I am Oscar Wilde, F.G.Lorca. Until I have achievements of my own, I wear theirs like an overcoat.
To get abuse thrown at you in the street, you'd think that you must really have hurt someone, but it's not so. It's good. If I am annoying the stupid people, I'm doing the right thing. That's all right.
To deliberately try to hurt another human being surely you must be completely obsessed by them.
The majority of people are of low intelligence and pretty ugly personalities. When they find someone intelligent and beautiful and pure and serene in their midst, they don' t like it. They try to crush you, goad you into being ugly back. I take great pleasure in defying them. I like to remain intelligent and beautiful and pure and serene. So it will continue to eat away at them.

Saturday, 16 May 2015

"What's the point of a revolution if there's not to be general copulation?"

"What's the point of a revolution if there's not to be general copulation? Aren't sexual ins and outs the stronger?"
Make a virtue out of what's worrying you. Embrace what's frightening you. Become what's scaring you. Use it to fill you up with power. Nothing bad ever happens.
We now have a Labour government.
"The English way, to turn inward, to forego life. To suffer instead of to insist."

In my brain there is an edge of the world

In my brain there is an edge of the world. No one will listen to me and understand that. I feel like the sailors who screamed at Columbus because they were going to fall off the edge of the world. You keep insisting over and over (and so does everyone else) the world is round, and I feel so frustrated and angry trying to make you see there is an edge which you are pushing me over. Because the world was complete and is round, your brain is complete and is round, everybody's brain I've met is complete and is round, my brain was never completed because my  mother ignored me from the moment I was born, there is an edge I always fall over which is not there for other people so they can't understand. And I want to hit my head trying to explain to them, why won't they listen. Autistic people have an edge they fall over, it is very upsetting for them. They wish their brain was whole. But you can't. Because it is irreparable.

Thursday, 14 May 2015

"Deaf and dumb---that is what the French have become"

"Deaf and dumb---that is what the French have become. What pleasure can there be in opposing this stupidity, this weakness, finding happiness despite their eagerness to destroy it, escaping when they believe they have surrounded you, falling in their midst when they've forgotten all about you, splattering them with waves.
A frivolous and academic race of idiots. Everything I detest. Remarkable minds, noble hearts float on this swamp like wrecks of the charming fleet that once was France and the city of Paris.
I shall be---all my life and after my death---misrepresented, insulted, calumniated, dragged through the mire. Doubtless I'm paying for the happiness I find in the calm and confidence of those I love. You never stop paying, and you can never pay dearly enough."

Saturday, 9 May 2015

"The fact remains that the four greatest novelists the world has ever known, Balzac, Dickens, Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, wrote their respective languages very indifferently. It proves that if you can tell stories, create characters, devise incidents, and if you have sincerity and passion, it doesn't matter a damn how you write."
Somerset Maugham, A Writer's Notebook
"'You want strength, novelty, compactness, intensity of interest, a single vivid impression left upon the mind. Poe is the master of all.'"
"The detective stories were 'admirable...so wonderful in their masterful force, their reticence, their quick dramatic point'".
"When Doyle was enthusiastic about a subject it did not have to make sense, and he did not bother to follow it through and weld a story into a logically coherent whole. In a sense, he is the precursor of the children's serials of the 1930s cinema, in which each episode ends on a question mark. How the problem is resolved is of no consequence, provided that it is; he was a victim of the serial-writing habit in which impetus is all."

Friday, 8 May 2015

I'm a bleeding wound

I'm a bleeding wound, it always feels like someone's trying to rip my plaster off. I'm not looking for a relationship, because that would mean having to take my plaster off.
Let's be honest, I will go back to Sunset lots more times, and soon. That blonde girl, with big tits up to her eyeballs. The very long black hair girl, Red dress blonde from last time. Red haired Marlene Dietrich American girl with flame-arse from the Carnival. Morgan. New blonde nervous girl. Black short-haired anarchist, red lips.
I will enjoy going back to work when it happens. To start saving money again.

Thursday, 7 May 2015

Live with Sarah

Live with Sarah, as a monk. Tannhauser in the Venusberg. Oscar Wilde with his rent boys. The only way to avoid temptation is to give in to it. It is black and thunderous-looking now, 4:50pm. 

Tuesday, 5 May 2015

Black and overcast out the back. Big window open, lush green trees blowing in the breeze

Black and overcast out the back. Big window open, lush green trees blowing in the breeze. I love this weather. I want to go luxuriantly, relaxedly, to Sunset (and Boulevard). Nice relaxing springtime black overcast film, pub, as slow splattering spring rain falls outside, that lovely earthy smell, then leaving pub, the big-tit German girls, for Astral, then Sunset.
I love this, money in my pocket, free to do what I want.
Let's face it, I am never going to stop going to Sunset, Boulevard, Astral, and I'm never going to stop enjoying the illicit shame of it and the erotic lusty anticipation.
"I had to leave Paris as fast as possible. My nervous system was losing its organisation. By 'bearing up', one loses one's bearings, in the exact sense of the term."
"Thirty years of this manhunt of which I am the victim and this 1952 in which Mauriac thinks he can give the finishing stroke with impunity---that's what makes the mechanism go haywire. The soul resists. But what can that fuel, that gasoline do, when the gears and valves weaken?"

Monday, 4 May 2015

The nightmare is the outside world

The nightmare is the outside world, the dream is inside my head.
Tit Saturday today. All those skimpy tops and big bouncy tits up London. On the train back, excited by the heat and bare tit flesh of London, I was thinking about going back to Astral and even Brewer Street, the blonde who ran up the stairs in tights. I want her now. To be naked in that room. No I can do that on my own.
They won’t leave you alone. They can’t just leave you alone. They think they have to keep chipping away at you every day, making polite hints that you should change to become just like them every day.