This perhaps is another theme for my Journals—not just impermanence, temporality, good things have to be enjoyed quickly because they will not last long—but the glory of despair. The rich resource that despair is. From despair you can draw all your power, your nutrients, your munitions. Ready to come again. Every time I read some schoolchild has killed himself because he was bullied at school, I think, oh, you didn’t realise! How you can use that temporary despair to absolutely fill you with power! The power to totally destroy your pathetic opponents!
I was only in London (at work) for just over a week between the two Vienna visits, but so much seemed to happen in those few days. A lot of developments. All of them may come to nothing once we get to December, but they were dramatic nevertheless. Life is always full of twists & turns. That is why I feel so sorry when you hear about these young people, kids at school, who kill themselves in despair—I want to say to them just hang on you fools! Things can change in a moment! Just hang on and around the next corner your life may completely change! Despair is a rich black resource, like a mother chewing on her own placenta. Feed on despair. Let it fill you up with strength & power for when the moment is right, for you to rise again. For you to bloom, and to blossom. For you to rise above your would-be tormentors and let them wither in your shadow. Despair is the greatest resource any human being can ever feed on, and you need to feed on it and gorge yourself on it. It is the fertiliser that will grow your blooms. It gives you all the strength you need, to come again.
The 1990s end of century was the sexiest time of my life; it was also the most painful time of my life. Do the two things always go together? I tend to think I need to direct my life back into painful waters in order to feel that sexiness again. A real erotic masochism. Make yourself lonely, make yourself isolated, make yourself a scandal, bring shame & despair & desperation down on yourself—only then will you be able to feel the real electric prickle of naked, rampant, not giving a fuck about anyone eroticism again.
Despair does not bother me. In fact I turn it into a fetish, and gorge on it like a mother eating her own placenta. Despair for me is an aphrodisiac, the blacker the better, I take it like a jelly and it keeps me hard for hours. Only in despair do I bloom and blossom like an orchid. It is the shit that fertilises me. It is my most natural and comforting state, like a child wetting the bed and lying there in the lovely warmth of his piss, because he just can’t be bothered anymore. The child watching others playing ball in the playground but he just thinks what for?: and cannot find any motivation to join in. He is already in another world.
By any measure, in Nuremberg and here in Munich I have seen some of the most beautiful Tallulahs and Esmeraldas I have ever seen, and yet I have done nothing with any of them. I have been in every club just to look, study, on reconnaissance. If I had travelled in despair, in some black tunnel that I was so familiar with in my former years, in what I called my “golden age” of travelling, then I would certainly have done something with one of the stunning window girls of Nuremberg, or in Munich with the extraordinary Natalia in Cabaret Imperial; yes, a young naughtier Steve Nicks, but now I realise more than anything a potential new Riccarda. Even busty Dara in the Dolly Bar, or blonde Claudia in Atlantic City.
What is extraordinary, no let’s say merely revealing, about travelling repeatedly back to the same places as I do, as is my wont, is not only to record how each place has changed since you were last here, but more importantly how you yourself have changed since you were last here. Sometimes you can meet each other at a bad moment for each other, and it is a disaster! Other times, by chance (it can not be by design) you meet each other at a good moment for both of you, and it is wonderful! But I think to really enjoy travel, and really experience amazing moments, you have to be in despair at home. But I am not; I am very calm at home, and I have had a very calm holiday here in Nuremberg and Munich, with Berlin still to come. The entrance to Rechthaler Hof toilets used to have a little table with a dish on it and a plea for visitors to leave some coins. This has now gone. I really wonder why. This is a mark of how much Spaten beer I have currently consumed.
I feel now like I did before my first grand tour to Sweden, Berlin, Vienna and Munich in 1999; incredibly small and attacked, yet hoping to learn something about myself in the despair and the black nights and the loneliness of my journey. This is when the wolves all come out and fall upon you.