Jacqueline Bisset in a white T-shirt in The Deep (24th Nov 1997)

Jacqueline Bisset in a white T-shirt in The Deep, that's why I go to Soho Cinema & Astral. 

My chest is nervous, and gripped with tension, and excitement, because I'm going back to Astral & pub. Keep earning a bit more money and keep on going to London. Just that. I'm a sleazy person, in Berlin, that's the way it is. 

To lose myself in Astral for a full 5 hours, what a luxury! 

H.C.'s pink lace stare (so like Nana) will always remind me of dark black windy September afternoon, 1992, when I first went down Dean Street. I will always go back because of that. Sex is all there is to life: Soho Cinema/Astral/Sunset/Boulevard: I will remain in Soho permanently: that is what I work for.

"Collective lust roared unashamed at the theatres" (20th Nov 1997)

"Collective lust roared unashamed at the theatres": Berlin 1928, Paris 1860, London 1997. They are beautiful girls in the films. Wouldn't it satisfy my curiosity if I just went to Astral and did it? What good does it do, boasting proudly how long I've lasted, 20 days, 21 days, if I'm being eaten away inside my brain every day. Like Toulouse Lautrec, make myself at home among the sex cinemas and sex dancing. The colours & intoxication & pounding music can fuel me, give me energy. 

I love the openness & relaxation of the girls in the sex films like Egon Schiele loved his models. 

I tried giving up sex cinemas and clubs but I couldn't, it would just be on my mind. The more I try & resist, the weaker I become. How strong I felt the day after Soho Cinema's shame, how strong I felt the day after Astral and red room--it is a strong part of my life. 

Your injunction to me to "do something" takes me in the opposite direction to that what I think I want to go: as I sail down this "do something" river I feel the sense of danger increasing, the sense of being up a creek without a paddle, and moving full speed away from the main river to my destination and the territory I know increasing. But, this is my problem. I wouldn't want to bore you with my problems. I must make this choice for myself, of course. 

Haunt the balconies of the Coliseum. 

I've become sex-obsessed this year, more morphine-addicted than ever. 

I am nothing without the sleazy nightlife, don't just go to musicals, opera, cinema, I do want Boulevard, and Soho Cinema/Astral. So it's my little naughty vice: everyone needs to let off pressure. I've done nothing today, because I wasted it, consumed by sinful desire, so better to have gone and gone it, and been relaxed for the next few days: do what you need to do: a little of what you fancy. It is my project. "Theo had quietly adjusted to Parisian nightlife and the 'hour of the flesh'". Your sexuality is your most powerful force: you must indulge it. Remember that girl watching me as I read the Eric Cantona headline: how thrilling to turn by her and go in sex cinema. The day after going, I made such huge progress, because I'm no longer preoccupied by thinking should I go or not. 

IT IS VITAL RELEASE VALVE FOR ME AS A WRITER. The vampirism returns! I've got a crippling addiction. Laudanum-head, like Miranda Richardson in Kansas City. 

"They are the typical ramblings of a drug user eager for a fix but without the means to pay....But the previously unseen letters show that as well as his desperation to acquire the drug, he also shared the addict's paranoia about his habit. Although Coleridge's habit was widely known--one reference book describes it as a 'crippling addiction'--the letters reveal the large quantity of opium he took...Coleridge admitted two years before he died that despite repeated attempts, he had never broken his addiction, describing it as the 'poison, which for more than 30 years has been the guilt, debasement, and misery of my existence'. Sotheby's specialist Peter Beal said 'These letters offer a particularly vivid and rare first-hand glimpse of the compulsive habits and routine of one of the most famous drug addicts in literary history.'" This hysteria of erotic excitement. The sleaziness of life is its vitality.

Last night in bed I comprehensively decided against going to Boulevard/Soho Cinema (19th Nov 1997)

Last night in bed I comprehensively decided against going to Boulevard/Soho Cinema. Now this morning, putting on my tape, I straightaway want to go back to see the dancing girls. Isn't it terrible. This sexual festering disease in my brain, that Manu battled with, Dali, Lorca; so accept it, everyone of artistic temperament has it. 

I love the noisy sexy music and the girls stripping and dancing to it. In a debauched Parisian, Bohemian way. 

Even the Helmut Newton books turn me off now: I've had too much. Didn't go to pub and Astral, regretted it on train home. Perhaps I should have done. Better to let it out. Train girl wasn't there. Quite relieved. Perhaps she doesn't work there anymore, or gets a different train. Isn't there a lack of vitality, though, by not going? The shame speeds things up: Astral, Soho Cinema, Boulevard. You need to indulge, taste the mixture, inject it into your veins. 

The urge inside my brain to be alone is so overwhelming, and so driving, so central, so demonic. Peel all the layers away and what you get down to in the core is this urge to be alone. That's what obliterates my life, it is the black hole drive machine in the centre of me. 

Egon Schiele: cocks out: sitting in front of nude girl in stockings masturbating smiling: sitting in front of mirror: sitting in Astral Cinema. "Lautrec drawn to everything vital and beautiful:" what is more beautiful than an erect straining cock sticking out of trousers in Astral? "and so he was addicted to the lively colourful activities of the demi-monde." The inspiration comes from the rotting stuff in the gutter: "and so Soho, with everything that belonged to it, became a second home to him...he saw stars rising & falling in the cabaret heaven and found an inexhaustible source of inspiration for his work... But now he revelled in everything that Parisian night life had to offer his artistic eye: dance, theatre, circus and brothel. He became the interpreter and chronicler of this small world where it must be added, man in his individuality always remained in the forefront for him." I'm fascinated by the men with their penises out in Astral, the sexual tension. 

My favourite painters are painters of prostitutes: Manet, Grosz, Dix, Lautrec, Schiele. 

I am the interpreter and chronicler of the small world of Soho: Soho Cinema and Astral tomorrow. Men with their cocks out. 

Regain a healthy relaxation about the demi-monde, prostitutes, sex-dancers, actresses.

They are very kind invitations but they obviously made the mistake of thinking I am a human being (11th November 1997)

They are very kind invitations but they obviously made the mistake of thinking I am a human being. I do love the Soho Cinema/Astral Berlin 1920s sex films. I do love the Boulevard/Sunset Strip Berlin 1920s sex dancers. Paris, Renoir, female nudes, 1880s. Berlin, Dix/Grosz, prostitutes, 1920s.

I love the secrecy of Astral & Soho Cinema (1st November 1997)

I love the secrecy of Astral & Soho Cinema. Now winter is here, I want to spend the whole winter in the sex cinemas in the mist and blackness.

How strongly and how repeatedly Soho Cinema and Astral turned me on (31st October 1997)

How strongly, and how repeatedly, Soho Cinema and Astral turned me on, and how little Sunset Strip does. Watching the girls at close quarters, I thought how sexy I would find this sight now if it was on a screen now and I could be rubbing my cock in the dark. Perhaps £6 spent in Soho Cinema without staying wasn't a mistake: the sexual tension in Soho Cinema and Astral is incredible. In Sunset Strip so non-existent, dry, dusty & polite. Soho Cinema & Astral is wet and sticky and there are slopping sounds, dicks sticking out of trousers and being rubbed gently: how sexy it is! Like Oscar Wilde found rent boys exciting, I find the cocks out in Soho Cinema & Astral exciting. I should have stayed in there yesterday with my £6 ticket: Sunset Strip was the mistake. 

The September blackness: it was only the visit to Soho Cinema and the visit to Astral that improved me, brought relief, blood pulsing back through my veins, excitement to lift me out of the blackness: and then just the prospect of going back again sustained me for the next 3.5 weeks, that heart pounding, illicit excitement. You need something to make the blood pulse through your veins, and stimulate you: if you haven't got a relationship then you need Soho Cinema & Astral. The nerves and excitement of doing something illicit & shameful. The only thing that helped me get through the death and the funeral was the thought I'd rush back to Soho straight afterwards. It is my peace, my relaxant, my chocolate after the medicine. To escape from relationships, I go to sex cinemas. How dull & useless I feel in relationships.