After spending most of the day drinking with Pierre, I spent most of the evening drinking with Pierre. He has a vital, but diseased and cynical attitude to life. Through those many hours I shared with him, he must have described in detail at least twenty of his most memorable fucks. There is much to be said for his way of life. I wish I were capable of allowing myself such wanton shallowness.
I don’t think I even like Cathy D--- any more – perhaps because I associate her with Pierre and his bunch of cronies – perhaps because I’ve just lost faith.
I think it’s better to be alone and lonely rather than to be intimate with fools. I drank a bottle of whiskey with old Mick Lewis later that night
I slept with Tobsha on Monday night. We were celibate. She’s a dominant kind of girl. Lovely in many ways, but just not my type.
My voice is better now. It’s exciting to be able to sing again.
I am hating too many people now… or else I am feeling nothing for them… not caring – not at all –their lives seem so bleak and desolate… it depresses me – I keep looking to their deaths, or their old age. It is just one of those times; I cannot keep all those brutal facts of life out of my mind.
It’s to do with fear, you know – feeling so cold towards them …
*
I’ve mentioned the remarkable Pierre Voltaire before. He was a charismatic rake with a charming manner and with a goatish sexuality. To be succinct, a devil. At this time or very soon after he would be singing with The Fabulous Marquises, a pretty cool group which also boasted the talents of Ed Clayton-Jones, [who was later to play for The Wreckery and, briefly, the Bad Seeds].
I recall that night with Tobsha vividly. It was a clean, very white, very comfortable bed in a small room. There was definitely some form of attraction there, but nothing ever happened - I think, in a way, we were polar opposites. And I know I was intimidated by her sexual predation.
Mick Lewis reminded me of something amusing the other day. At some point around this time, [it may even appear later in the diary,] The Crystal Ballroom hosted a battle of the bands, with the voting done by the audience. The Ears took first place and the Serious Young Insects came second. First prize was a record contract with Laurie Richards and second was a crate of cider. There was no way we were going to get into a legal situation with Laurie [as Mick tells it] so we negotiated with the SYI to swap. In those days of short term goals, pennilessness and the necessity of immediate gratification, a crate of cider was magnificent recompense.
2 comments:
i should have added this to my previous comment re pierre voltaire. when he was in the fabulous marquises, he used to march into the crystal ballroom striking poses all over the place. one night i heard someone say "hi pierre" to which they apparently didn't hear pierre answer. the person said hi again to which pierre turned around and like a 3 yr old snarled "i said hello" struck some sort of pose with his arm around his head and sauntered off. to this day i can still picture the scene in my head.
Debra
Your story doesn't surprise me at all. Though he went straight as a die in later years, Pierre was a real goer. I remember carrying his totally unconscious form down a set of stairs and into the street. Nick Cave had the feet, I had the head. We waited on the nature strip to see if we'd have to call an ambulance, but ultimately he recovered.
I used to get accused of pretension too, you know... but it was mainly because my eyesight so so bad I couldn't see anyone to say hello to them [and I was too vain to wear spectacles].
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