Thursday, November 4
Sitting in the kitchen at Neill Road, again, 9.50am, listening toEwan McGregor reading his account of his motorbike trip round the world, sickening how a superstar lives a superstar life as well. Well, today he rode through Mongolia and had a crisis of nerve, wanting to get off the dirt tracks and onto good Russian road, until his director persuaded him to tough it out, and he found love and spiritual revelation in the desert spaces among hospitable ancient tribes.
And I cried, for my beautiful lost Mongolian lover, and knew she was just a front for my lost mother, and cried for how basic and absolute is/was my desire for a good woman, no, just for the love of a desired woman, how it overrules by miles all other desires, how I ought to watch it inThailand, I'm sooooooooo vulnerable, carrying round over half a century's neediness!
Level 3
And I cried, for my beautiful lost Mongolian lover, and knew she was just a front for my lost mother, and cried for how basic and absolute is/was my desire for a good woman, no, just for the love of a desired woman, how it overrules by miles all other desires, how I ought to watch it inThailand, I'm sooooooooo vulnerable, carrying round over half a century's neediness!
Level 3
Tuesday, October 12
Holby. A father breaks down faced with a diagnosis of his teenage daughter's terminal cancer. "It's not fair. It's not FAIR!" My words exactly, and I repeat them and howl for quite a few minutes, mourning my wasted youth and beauty, those DECADES of energy and loveliness just robbed, taken from me, robbed of youth, life, vitality and most of all love - denied love constantly, consistently, again and again, NEVER EVER knowing what it was like to love and be loved in return, to build on love, worse, being denied essential warmth and companionship as well as sex year after year after year - it's so NOT FAIR, and here I am now old and ugly and desperate and what a fucking joke hoping it'll come my way now, dream on, go into the Thai dream, the only real dream, and die!
Level 4
Level 4
Friday, October 8
Sitting in the kitchen at Neill Road listening to Toby Stevens reading the last instalment of Will in the World. About Shakespeare winding down his life, the Tempest quote about the cloud-topped palaces .... we are such stuff etc... everything going to end, dissolve, disappear, as if it has never been. And I will too, am disappearing, dissolving even now.
Level 3
Level 3
Monday, August 9
Funny. I was sitting in The Renoir waiting for The Story of the Weeping Camel to start and thinking it'd been a while since I blubbed, and was I harder and colder than this time last year, when I seemed to be blubbing and getting angry and sad and euphoric and horny all over the place. Or does it just seem like that in retrospect? And have I hardened myself cos of Ono and more recent out-of-hand rejections?
But sure enough, I blubbed - not at the notional or factitious sentimentality of the mother-baby camel story, but because I loved the deeper and deeper sense of these people's authentic trational lives (even as the bright little boy leads the move away from it!), and felt close to Ono, it being her culture and maybe background too, and especially at tehe end loved the young mother's singing to the camel with the plangent one-string 'violin' accompaniment - all the sadness and hope and joy in the world seemed centered on that, and on the family singing with which the film ends, and I felt sad at having lost her, at having lost love, and at always (it seems) being excluded from that warmth and closeness and companionship that human beings share.
Level 2
But sure enough, I blubbed - not at the notional or factitious sentimentality of the mother-baby camel story, but because I loved the deeper and deeper sense of these people's authentic trational lives (even as the bright little boy leads the move away from it!), and felt close to Ono, it being her culture and maybe background too, and especially at tehe end loved the young mother's singing to the camel with the plangent one-string 'violin' accompaniment - all the sadness and hope and joy in the world seemed centered on that, and on the family singing with which the film ends, and I felt sad at having lost her, at having lost love, and at always (it seems) being excluded from that warmth and closeness and companionship that human beings share.
Level 2
Wednesday, June 30
She's gone. And she's never coming back. She's never coming back. She never wants to see me again. She doesn't want to see me, speak to me, listen to me, laugh with me, stroke me, hold me, hug me, kiss me, embrace me, come close to me, press her cunt hard against me, thrust her arse up to receive me, drape her legs over my shoulders, slumber beside me, wake up cuddling, blow me a farewell kiss on her way to work, call in the evening to say she's coming, click-clack heels past my window then a cheeky, smiling (hiding!) face in the dark doorway... She wants to turn her back on me, ignore me, smile at another younger, stronger, better-looking man, slide into his arms, thrust upwards to his pounding tireless cock, his firm smooth jawline.
And I. I'm left alone, I'm always alone. Always have been alone. Always will be alone. It's SO unfair! It's beyond misery it's almost a joke. How can a human being LIVE like that. Well, I do, here I am, a raw, snivelling, feeble, boring freak, tricked out amusingly attractively - was! - but surprisingly nothing there you want to grab hold of. Alone. Alone. Always utterly alone. No-one to talk to though surrounded by people. No-one who calls, who cares, who wants me to care back. Just a vast black loneliness masquerading as a busy multicoloured (illusion of a) world.
And every other man - is my enemy, my rival, my victor. See how they scorn me, spurn me, kick me out of the way, ignore me, easy disposable meat as they glide effortlessly to their prize. How she simpers and giggles and snuggles as she presses herself to their sex-success, how she sniggers at me as I droop away tired, aching, drenched into the pouring rain. Always alone, alone in the rain, walking away from the only dream of love, a dream again and again utterly shattered.
(All this after seeing a pretty tallish slim long-haired Chinese (Mongolian?)girl, who I saw and admired yesterday, approaching hand-in-hand with a goodlooking 30-ish Turkish guy, who introduces her to a friend, "My girlfriend!" and they both beam wih the pride of new love, fulfilled and happy sex. And I believe - I KNOW - that this is Ono, that she's left me, if she comes back - or is back already! - she'll be fixing herself up with a younger, fitter more cheerful sex-partner - I KNOW she's gone for ever.)
Level 4
And I. I'm left alone, I'm always alone. Always have been alone. Always will be alone. It's SO unfair! It's beyond misery it's almost a joke. How can a human being LIVE like that. Well, I do, here I am, a raw, snivelling, feeble, boring freak, tricked out amusingly attractively - was! - but surprisingly nothing there you want to grab hold of. Alone. Alone. Always utterly alone. No-one to talk to though surrounded by people. No-one who calls, who cares, who wants me to care back. Just a vast black loneliness masquerading as a busy multicoloured (illusion of a) world.
And every other man - is my enemy, my rival, my victor. See how they scorn me, spurn me, kick me out of the way, ignore me, easy disposable meat as they glide effortlessly to their prize. How she simpers and giggles and snuggles as she presses herself to their sex-success, how she sniggers at me as I droop away tired, aching, drenched into the pouring rain. Always alone, alone in the rain, walking away from the only dream of love, a dream again and again utterly shattered.
(All this after seeing a pretty tallish slim long-haired Chinese (Mongolian?)girl, who I saw and admired yesterday, approaching hand-in-hand with a goodlooking 30-ish Turkish guy, who introduces her to a friend, "My girlfriend!" and they both beam wih the pride of new love, fulfilled and happy sex. And I believe - I KNOW - that this is Ono, that she's left me, if she comes back - or is back already! - she'll be fixing herself up with a younger, fitter more cheerful sex-partner - I KNOW she's gone for ever.)
Level 4
Thursday, May 27
Reading the end of 'The Dead', Gabriel's sensuous love for his wife and yet his gnawing suspicion of her alien desires and life apart from him... Oh and I dissolved into loud, racking sobs, that this shared life with the adored one was never given me; that it may be too late, as the body closes down and closes out the stronger, simpler instincts and feelings.
And how it's what I want MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE IN THE WORLD! And I've always known that, especially in the last 5-7 years, but been SO afraid to fully claim it.
Level 4
And how it's what I want MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE IN THE WORLD! And I've always known that, especially in the last 5-7 years, but been SO afraid to fully claim it.
Level 4
Wednesday, May 26
Libby Purvis's Mid-Week has John Lennon's half-sister - Julia? - and introduces her by playing 'Julia'. It's heart-wrenching, and everyone comments on how beautiful and sad it is. I carry on my bag-collection, tears in my eyes about the sadness of my (and everyone else's) life.
Level 1
Level 1
