California Diary 11

L.A: 18th August 7.37am

Mark Rothko gets me every time. It's only colour.

So Paula and me go to the Museum of Contemporary Art. It's downtown and I have been there before. Saw a great David Hockney show a few years ago.

A lot of this kind of stuff leaves me cold. I cannot see it's worth. A waste of money and time etc.

But some artists get me and I them. The ones that do can make me laugh, cry and reflect. Mark Rothko is one such artist. His paintings are dense; they trap me and take me on a trip. I fall in to his colour. There are two here and I stand for quite a while in front of them.

Afterwards, we take a walk around the new Disney Concert hall. The shell is made of aluminium and it resembles a mountain range. It's is a fantastic piece of architecture. Executed to perfection. I take a few photos.

We eat at this Italian restaurant in Pasadena. We have to walk through the kitchen to get to our tables. Again I am reminded of the groundbreaking scene in Goodfellas. One shot and one camera. Ray Liotta from Cadillac to stage side table, via cooks shellfish and racing tips, a minute of movie magic.

We eat meatballs with pasta. It's my dream American dish. They are very good, but Paula thinks that there should be more garlic involved. There are pictures on the walls, family members, baseball, players and famous people who have eaten here. This is the real thing. Homespun.

We are tired when we get home and we fall asleep in the lounge. I don't even make my bed. I wake with a backache.

It's my last morning here and the last diary entry. I fly home this afternoon. There is just enough time for some gift shopping and maybe lunch. It's time to say farewell. I don't know if I'll ever be coming back.

I first came to California twenty years ago when I was just a kid. It's when I first met Paula. It was just after a break up of my first proper girlfriend. I came and stayed with a girl then called Elizabeth who features elsewhere in this diary. I was young and dreamy then, had cinematic ideals of America that were only enhanced by that trip. I fell in love with California you see, actually believed that I was the reincarnation of Jack Kerouac. I also kept a diary then and to read it now makes me laugh and cry. Such weighty, overblown hip language. All composed through Ray Bans on highways and in diners. Some of it even got published.

I have been back here several times since. I was here during 9/11 and witnessed awful fear and heartbreak. It was a tough experience that has stretched out for years. In the end I lost someone in its aftermath. A woman called Jane who I lived with and loved for over a decade. She went through major depression in that following year, when all I could do was take cocaine and become a sad career focused idiot. I broke her heart, and slowly she broke mine. She was my apple pie, and when there was none left I turned in on myself, devoured my own soul and became a drug addict. I'm not now and never will be again.

On this trip. I came here to work things out. To write a new diary and to see where I stand in the world. I have had a truly awful year so far. I have had a nervous breakdown myself. I lost someone again. Ruth. She was without doubt the greatest love of my life. She had the courage to help me save myself and push me to move forward. I foolishly rejected that at the time, was unaware of it. She was the sexiest, funniest and cleverest person that I have ever known. A femme fatale of the highest order. I took everything from her in the end, wore her down until she bit back. Now she is gone for good. That's it, and I have to deal with that. It was my entire fault. I needed to find out for myself why that happened.

I think I have. In fact I know I have.

Ruth is not Jane and Jane is not Ruth. It was as simple as that. I could not make the difference and it would turn into anger, stupidity and madness. I love them both, but I blended them like bad coffee until my cup ran over. It has nearly killed me, and I say that in absolute seriousness. I could go on for hours about this but it would be boring, and I may end up diluting it. But that is all there really is to say about it. I worked it out walking back from that picnic table in Santa Barbara a couple of days ago. I have to forget about it now. I cannot be sorry forever. Ruth and Jane both know that. I know that they forgive me and I have to be satisfied. There is nothing more to gain.

I'm going to be fine.

Farewell California. It's time to bury you and the past.