I don't care about anything (29th August 1997 Vienna)

I don't care about anything. I just want to go on writing my letters to Seraphina. I'll just float along in the world, and waste my life away. I will remain in the ring of fire, where Susan Layton put me. I would rather sting myself than cross the flames.

"There is no cure for manic depression" (27th August 1997)

"There is no cure for manic depression. Pagett says that only since January has she recognised that she will only get better if she accepts that she would never be well. She now controls her moods through drug-based self-management. Well enough to recognise the triggers that might lead her back into psychosis, she self-administers a prophylactic accordingly."
"It sounds so fragile, a state of mind dictated by nicotine and too much dancing. But no, she counters, she feels quite unfragile, though it's taken two years to nail it. 'I try not to think...or to feel,' she ponders, sounding a little surprised by her bald statement. Perhaps not to feel too much? 'Perhaps...and not to indulge in it. I've never respected myself until now. If I can deal with this, it's like shaking hands with myself.'"

The only way to attain mastery over material malfunctioning is by adopting a more spiritual philosophy (26th August 1997 Vienna)

The only way to attain mastery over material malfunctioning is by adopting a more spiritual philosophy.
"You and Virgo are at the butt of the Sun-Pluto square and that is bound to bring out a side of you that you have repressed since childhood. A transformation has been trying to occur since 1995, but circumstances or a resistance to change have meant you've been putting off what you know you must do to find yourself. A metamorphosis is going on deep in your psyche, and you have to go with it, or you'll paralyse your personal growth."

I want lots of money so I can go to floozies all I want (25th August 1997 Vienna)

I want lots of money so I can go to floozies all I want. So I can see new gold dress dancers all I want. Just four more weeks to get through. I can't wait to lose myself in degeneracy, nihilism, the Gurtel again. Those black rainy nights. The orange cauldron.
Stay serene and smiling, like that little old bag lady rustling her carrier bag in the NFT back row. I just want to live in naughtiness and masturbation.

Elastic bands snap. I snapped (22nd August 1997 Vienna)

Elastic bands snap. I snapped. You stretched me too far.
I live in India, in divine time. I am a monk. A holy man. A fakir. If I am to be myself, that means I must be silent.

Sitting here in the hot sticky 8.58 morning heat (21st August 1997 Vienna)

Sitting here in the hot sticky 8.58 morning heat, with the birds hooting & chirping & whistling in the lush green fauna out the back, it's like sitting in a house in the jungle, Manaus, the Lost World, before setting off upriver to find something.

The Justice Ministry is judging myself (20th August 1997 Vienna)

The Justice Ministry is judging myself, and it starts out with very big promises of the changes it will be instigating, but then bit by bit it starts to back away from them, until things are allowed to go back how they were before.
Ashamed of myself, I judged myself most viciously. Now I'm starting to like myself again, and I start to think maybe what I did wasn't so bad after all, in fact it was the ONLY right thing to have done! So now the measures I put in place to punish me, and make me alter my future behaviour, have gradually been loosened and exceptions have been allowed more and more, until the restrictions have been virtually removed altogether, and I've gone back to almost exactly the way I was before.
I'm living like a monk, day after day, that's what I want.

It was a shame the Carnival Strip club finished before I perfected my wanking technique (11th August 1997, Vienna)

It was a shame the Carnival Strip club finished before I perfected my wanking technique. It was the perfect place for it. Pornography and writing, that has been my year. This would be my whole life, if I had the chance. The blonde Sharon in white-ribbed minidress.

I've had a nice quiet monkish day today (7th August 1997, Vienna)

I've had a nice quiet monkish day today. I'll have a nice quiet monkish day tomorrow. Resume my totally preoccupied air.
It's like trying to unlock the frozen water under Europa's surface, warm it up, make it flow again, and teem with life. I'm such a long way from the Sun; it is impossible to warm me.

If you want to be a writer you can't talk to anybody (5th August 1997, Vienna)

If you want to be a writer, you can't talk to anybody. Total silence. Eyes down, distracted, preoccupied. Be yourself. I DO WHAT I WANT. BE A MEAN BASTARD.
"Withdrawal from society and inability to interact with people."
I'm in such a safe, protected position.
While reading The Daughter of Fu Manchu in the bath, I found myself thinking sexily of Jo, in the style of Madonna in that black dress; also thoughts of Dr Petrie's big breast wife Kara.
I live a quiet life, like a monk. I'm happy. It is learning how to be happy with very little.

I'm like Camus's outsider (4th August 1997, Vienna)

I'm like Camus's outsider, I can't feel anything. He is executed not for the murder, but because he showed no emotion at his mother's death; you've got to show emotion to please them. If your emotions are numbed and you cannot show them on the surface, you will be punished viciously. I am emotionally dead, numb. I'm frozen. Camus's outsider wants to be abused by the crowd as he is hung, I understand this perfectly.
I have abnormal psychology, I can't feel anything.
The governing impulse of my life is to stay away from other people at all times. I know my lack of feelings will invite their incredible abuse and punishment, so rather stay away so they never find out. Keep the mask on so they don't see there is nothing underneath.
A little elastic band hasn't become a big elastic band. As soon as our 50 minutes is up, and you let go, it snaps back to being a small one again. We live in your little make believe world, and you try to kid me it's a big elastic band. It's still the same elastic band. Wouldn't it be better if we both accepted that reality. You pretending the small is big. Perhaps you think I'm pretending big is small. We see things differently, obviously.
My brain is full of holes, like Swiss cheese. I can't grasp things, and form coherent relationships, everything breaks down, fragments, falls apart. There's big empty spaces between me and other people.

Very dark and stormy (4th August 1997, Vienna)

Very dark and stormy. Leave it till 12:30, then decide. I do want to look at Maxim, etc. But I just don't want to go out yet! Can't I stay in hibernation for another 4 weeks? I will only miss one round of films.
I'm a Grafologist. My area of study is myself. An endlessly fascinating study it is, too.
If I want to spend my life going to Aphrodite, Sphynx, floozie, what's wrong with that, and writing my little stories. When the money runs out, fine, go back to work for another six months, to earn some more. That six months at the Post Office has brought me twelve months of complete privacy and freedom. It's fantastic. Write to the Post Office again in October.
Aphrodite is only good in winter, when you can spend the whole day up there, when it becomes my private kingdom, when you can leave Aphrodite and go on to floozie, or on to Sphynx. I can't wait for September now. Four weeks. This long August begins now.
All I need is pen & paper, and some plants.