Smiling in Slow Motion

APRIL

APRIL Thursday 1 I don't remember anything that happened today. Friday 2 New measurements for my shirt of Nessus in the hospital. This is a terrible destruction of my friends. David Dipnall Art student Robert Fraser Art dealer Billy Gibb Designer Terry Lear Musician Paul Treacy Costume designer Paul Bettell Film-maker Rudolf Nureyev Dancer Ian Chamberlain Actor Patrik Steede Writer Karl Bowen Painter Robert Mapplethorpe Photographer Howard Bruckner Film-maker Ken Hicks Photographer Mario Dubsky Painter Graham Cracker Designer Max Gordon Architect There are six or more others dying, including myself. HB has pestered the doctors and I have a complete new drug regime. What is it that burns? Is it Dapsone or Fansidar? Now I am on Foscarnet, please God this works. My life is becoming a nightmare, would it just be a bad dream. 326 APRIL Saturday 3 Howard and HB at Prospect, they have gone to Starvecrow Lane. I sit here with the letters and Sibelius. Easter Sunday We are going to Ely for the day, Ken, Tariq and myself. My skin, St Anthony's fire, has changed, looks as if badly sunburnt, the tickling is reduced. I slapped on a new lotion last Tuesday, it was as if I had put my skin in developer - I was covered by flaming spots, but these seem to be fading slowly. I have emerged from weeks of complete disorientation today - although I can't see, I can see straight. Today two celebs with HIV in the papers: Kenny Everett, who seems a stupid man- witness hisoutburst at Tory conference to bomb Russia - and Holly Johnson, who is charming. I think their decisions will help a lot, though I'm not certain quite how. Thursday 8 St Bart's. I came here two days ago, it's Thursday. My raging skin vicious as sunburn so it hurts even to a light touch. I'm certain it is St Anthony's fire that is lamented at the great altar at Eisenheim. The sheet of flame had pushed me into the zoo, a distressed polar bear walking backwards and forwards past the bars. As my ability to think slipped away I could do nothing but sit in the corner, it became impossible to walk in the street. I stopped eating, lost two stone and kept a constant temperature of 101° for three weeks. To open a letter became a major task, to answer it impossible, HB did everything for me.I couldn't write the diary - something that has never happened with the other illnesses. I felt dizzy, retired for whole days to bed, I burnt, I struggled through sleepless nights to find a cool pillow, my scalp itched, my back and arms burned, a recommended lotion turned my skin to salami. I'm brown as a berry, people in the street asked: 'Where have you been on holiday?' To one persistent questioner I said: 'Oh, just in hell.' As the Clock Ticks As time passes my reality turns to your myth, The sand runs through my fingers, ivhen, where, who, I am the demon in Christ's pudding, I am the bad threepenny bit surrounded by frails, 327 SMILING IN SLOW MOTION Currants and sultanas, swimming in brandy, Why don't you toss me, heads or tails, Kiss my arse, I'm the will-o'-the-wisp, Flames which circle round, Spectral, an eternal mist, Here is the Christmas red, The holly-pricked fingers, Put on your gloves, risk of infection. I am the blood on your hands, Who cares a penny for silver thrupence, I am the demon of sulphur, I smell of rotten eggs, Teeth and eyes. Thursday 15 I noticed my writing is more erratic, it seemed some inky spider had spun a web - my hands shook. To get in or out of a bath excruciating, took half an hour - taking the plunge. I won't make another film, I will write no more. I closed my eyes, hung my head and endured the pain; there was nothing - if being ill is painful then I can only describe this as terrible. I seriously contemplate suicide - not in mynature. The doctors have changed my drugs several times, yesterday the dermatologist came to visit and put me on creams and lotions and pills. 'We will have to take a skin sample.' I said: 'You can have it all.' You see I'm going mad. I said...