Journal entry #2: Vodka and juice

Yes, once again, I declare myself being hereby drunk. It doesn't come as a surprise to anyone, and for those reasons, I will tell you why I drink.

I may appear being the stereotypical alcoholic writer, only, I'm not. If I drink, it's not because I'm depressed, sad or unhappy. No, far from that. I drink, to free my soul, to be away creatively, to not limit myself to what this world calls politically correct and incorrect, frankly, I never gave a fuck. I drink, for a good time. I drink, so that the free flows of my ideas come to life, in words, phrases and paragraphs that actually mean something. True, you could call this the slow descent into alcoholism, but no one's stopping me, and it's not. It's opening the door to a world of fabulous and ludicrous dreams, sugar-coated with all that makes this state that much better.

Pardon me, if I don't make sense. It's the vodka.. and I still love you

Today, we read my script: "Sister Ray!"... It was labeled a pastiche of "Huis Clos", a cheap noir that didn't make sense. An art film, deeply misogynistic. A piece of theater, a play, with no appeal to any audience i.e. not marketable.

FUCK YOU!

"Sister Ray!" was first and foremost an exercise in writing. It was an existentialist play on how we only care about ourselves and the death, lives and unhappiness of others are but mere stars on a cloudy and purple night. It was not "Huis Clos", although I like the comparison. It didn't make sense because it was intended that way: life doesn't make the sense. It was underlining the absurdity of existence. The emptiness of empathy. It was an art film, and yes, it's not marketable, but I never wrote for money, fame or recognition. I wrote, for me, because I have to. And "Sister Ray!" may not be a piece of genius, but it is smart, different and tops all the pile of bullshit Hollywood is accustomed to letting out. Fuck you critics! It will hit Broadway. You may hate it, love it, but respect "Sister Ray!" for what it is and don't hate it for what it's not.

In that regard, I chose to write another screenplay: "A sellout love story". It's your typical this, typical that, boy meets girl, rejected, tries to get her. Once again, I didn't come in this business to write predictable pieces of shit. However, if I have to, I will, but only once. Never again. I don't care much for a hopeless romantic and a fragile girl, for how they meet, how he's pushed away, and how he finally gets her. Life isn't like that. Life is true, with its cuts, bruises and burns. A love story in an underground station rings of fairy tale romance, but I'll do it. I'll write it. In a few hours, you'll call it genius. But remember me for the neo-noir surrealist satire known as "Sister Ray!", because that was my message. Not love, just a shitload of lust.

Besides that, I've been surviving here in London. Eating once a day. Chain smoking my lungs to death. I'm underfed, I lack sleep and I'm drunk, but that is what I came here for. Truly, I've never written as much as I do here. It's liberty. Freedom. I am one with myself in my writing. My poetry has reached new highs. As for my screenplays, the dialogue and story lines have gotten better. So did the style. And for the novels, I have two weeks worth of decay worth writing about. I am at home here.

I will be back in Switzerland Saturday afternoon, but not for long. A 10 month stay, then, I will never grace Geneva, Lausanne or Bern with my presence. I've given up on it. The square people, the redundant days, the lack of ambition, dreams and hope: it's a prison to me. I cannot, CANNOT stay there. In London, the multicultural city that has given birth to anyone from the Sex Pistols to The Libertines, this is where I belong. This is what I call home. Switzerland provided me with the experiences that made me part of who I am today. However, I hate her for it.

So that was today, besides getting drunk, directing my play and struggling to eat, I'd say, it was pretty boring. Vodka and juice, Fanta to be exact, where what made this night. The skies are gray and purple, crowded with clouds by the ever so parental gaze of a full moon. I'll be sleeping tonight, for once. That was today.

Good night