20th October 2019

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I burned my nose on a mixture of coke and too much poppers with a guy last night 

Walking through the streets I felt like Daniella Westbrooks, the feeling of having drained myself of life force through sex as a sensation focused in at my septum which I had phantom feelings of caving in as I thought of Daniella Westbrook.  

I left his place in shoreditch in my huge chubbaca fur and my hair tussled. He worked in marketing and was a jovial gentlemen who you wouldn’t suspect (but maybe would because of that, and also a bit short sneaky) and I think it was a wedding ring on his finger but I couldn’t tell which hand back to front and it wasn’t particularly notable to me anyway. Except when I felt the ring upon my skin profaning her honour 

I woke up at 1pm to my sister asking me for money . I barely have any money Lana and I need to buy myself new trousers they’re my one pair ripped but transferred her a tenner in my surrendering delerium

Since I was awake I had some rice and chicken and vegetables and a wash 

I’ve not headphones as music touches everything I’m in I’ve got to have it every day so in a haste I rushed out the door to beat the shops shutting in futility — realizing it’s a Sunday. So I searched 24 hour electronics shop and it said Curry’s PC world in Liverpool street 

I made it the PC world but it’s SHUT. But I am so glad I did however. As this brings me to the main crux of inspiration to splurge this  

My hair is still slightly wet from the shower and with the cold air is giving me a thrilling rush. Sometimes (or maybe bestly?) it is the body and the sensitivity of the body, rather than pure intellect, that incenses art and imagination. I have a long black coat on that goes down to my knees and is double breasted.  I feel  FILM NOIR . There is a slight sting to my nose from last night but it is more like an exciting spice and reminder of debauchery that I can wear as a side piece, than simply a painful ailment. The sensational fresh wet of my hair, prolonged perhaps with vaseline that I used to style it, the cold air, the sparse streets giving mystery, and my long coat concealing me, make me feel so glamorous..... I feel film noir , (mystery, detectives, femme fatales, the covert) like Marlene Dietrich , as I walk, stroll, or lean up against a side 

How thankful I am to live in the city this evening (when I have the creativity to enjoy it, but sometimes you are to dumb or unlucky to find these simple pleasures and though I have to be careful with money right now but will have enough if I’m careful I don’t have the mental taxation and fear of not having enough ) 

I remember when I was a teenager, daring to walk out in the suburbs down a different road which was so daring since I was a hermit and never left my house — hoping I would find something or have a chance sexual encounter. Now I am in the city big thriving metropolis which I don’t enjoy all the time but on this SPARSE nights (neither busy and bothering nor desolate and lonely) 

And it is a nice time.....the evening specifically. Morning wouldn’t be the same . Being out at 3am alone in Sloane square with straddly hair and smeared makeup looking for the right bus In the COLD feels scary (not because of men, they are a game), like I have to run away before the break of dawn illuminates and reminds me of everything and exposes the vulgar and beastly that looks good at night and I feel anxious knowing I won’t get sleep 

However this horrible being out all night last night with no sleep has led me to awake into this elemental and architectural luxury of today (tonight)  

 The streets are sparse. 

It feels so chthonian and dark of me that my day has only just begun yet it is night time evening darkness. 

The day is my night my days are black 

It’s 18:44 I am currently on the street of Chiswell street 

There’s metropolis buildings and an old one with lighting that lights it from beneath making it mysterious and imposing 

I would love to have an illicit meeting time every so often like this — perhaps spying on a cult, selling goods, escorting or a dark moody evening or not people having fun but languidly reclining and bathing in dark glamour and muted expressions 

I slowly walking along feeling the breeze feeling luxurious in my aimlessness 

A mixture of decadence and Buddhism for I am washed anew and I do think the oriental half of me keeps me from drowning myself in hedonistic excesses as many (gays? Creative people? Or whoever maybe foolish of me to generalise, but there are many dissidents who go to nighttime excess) do

The look of shoreditch ahead from Liverpool street threatens to dispel the glamour, in its streets that are littered and messily shoehorned “trendy” spots (sometimes I enjoy it but not right now — my mood is dark glamour and the street lights there are urine fire yellow of medievalism — I steer back into the moody metropolis of whiter lights ) 

My stomachs rumbling and I feel clean enough to have a lovely Macdonalds double cheeseburger mmmmm