There is a kind of dangerous desire for defeat for only in complete abject defeat and despair can one experience that release of pure nihilism

There is a kind of dangerous desire for defeat, for only in complete abject defeat and despair can one experience that release of pure nihilism, that eroticism of despair that enables real sexual ecstacy to flower, to bloom and blossom from the absolute fertiliser of shit in which one is now wallowing. For instance one can yearn for a wonderful blessed marriage to a beautiful woman to be lost because it restricts one’s true desire too much so one can be free to wallow in shame and degradation again, one can yearn for wonderful job and career to be ruined because it would allow one not to refrain from certain practices, so one can be free to wallow in shame and degradation again. This yearning for disaster, defeat, shame, humiliation, as only then can you achieve real sexual highs. Only in the most abject lows can you experience the most sublime sexual and spiritual highs. A real Sadeian Nihilism. A French cyclist who wants never to win stages of the Tour de France or to ever again win the race itself so the despair and the bitterness can become richer and richer, like a child biting down on a loose tooth to release that amazing sweet taste of blood and feel that amazing pain. This whole attitude is prevalent through the life of the Marquis de Sade, and I recognise it so strongly in myself. It is both terrifying, and disgusting, and makes me want to cry, at the same time as filling me with a dangerous excitement, a devilish desire, a feeling that is my true desire. So sitting with my beautiful never to be unloved wife in a pub together looking at some lonely old man sitting alone all afternoon with his pint, quietly and with dignity speaking to no one, but just periodically returning to the bar to politely take another drink, I find myself yearning to be that lonely old man myself as I get older. There is a dignity to them, a beauty. Like sad abused old dogs recovering from their terrible wounds in some dog sanctuary seem so much more lovable and noble than happy dogs.

I was happy in Nuremberg because I spent my night in the superb videokabins of Caribic; that made me bursting to f–k anyone, anyone would do

I was happy in Nuremberg because I spent my night in the superb videokabins of Caribic; that made me bursting to f—k anyone, anyone would do, just to stick this throbbing pole into somebody (willing, of course, and cheap). In Vienna I usually am left depressed and dispirited by the poor porn (disregarding what the ancient Chinese always used to say “even bad porn is good porn” or “no porn is bad”, depending on your translation). ML Revue kabins awful, Burggasse Peep kabins awful, and the Menzelstraße kabins were awful and now the place has closed down altogether. That really leaves me WSK, and while it is good to have the floozies there, Jackie in particular, the films shown are often rubbish and so it was on all three visits. That meant I reached Manhattan, Tete a Tete and Exzess in already subdued mood. It is often the case in Vienna. Berlin is poor now since Stuttgarter Platz was almost totally wiped out, but at least it has excellent kabins in BEC (Eroticpoint) which make me really desperate to walk on to Sissi or Monte Carlo to do something (I usually don’t, but the anticipation is exciting enough). If only I could choose the films at WSK Vienna would be perfect. I have often been tempted to ask a porn cinema manager if I could.