I want lots of money so I can go to models all I want [25th August 1997]

I want lots of money so I can go to models 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, Soho 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. You stretched me too far [22nd August 1997]

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]

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]

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, till 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)

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 mini-dress.

 

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

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.

 

The relief I found reading Moorcock (26th July 1997)

The relief I found reading Moorcock, you can be fragmented. The relief I found listening to Schoenberg, Berg, and Webern, you can be fragmented. The relief I found listening to Throwing Muses, and watching Jean-Luc Godard films, you can be fragmented. These things were so beautiful, I found them so moving, I could cry.

Trying to read something I write is like trying to eat a plateful of broken glass. My head is full of broken glass. Most people's heads are full of smooth panes of perfect glass, my head is full of a billion billion shards of broken glass. It was all smashed at birth.