John St. John

The Magical Retirement of John St. John, or "Aleister Crowley blogs about Paris in the twenties."

Basically, twelve days of:

"Woke up, did some yoga, wandered over to the cafe for a nice citron press, had a nap, thought about various Egyptian and Fertile Crescent deities, went to a different cafe for a pear and two Garibaldis, complained about discomfort from yoga poses, chatted with friends about yoga/cafe food/ancient Egyptian mysticism, sex with Maryt* who looks different with her clothes off, had snack, received experience of enlightenment about my true Will, brushed teeth, went to bed."

Also, who knew crazy Uncle Aleister was funny? viz:

7.35. The Sandwich duly chewed, and two Coffees drunk, I resume the mystic
Mantra. Why? Because I dam well choose to. {31}
7.50. 'Tis a rash thing to
say, and I burn incense to the Infernal Gods that the Omen may be averted; but I
seem to have conquered the real Dweller of the Threshold once and for all. For
nowadays my blackest despair is tempered by the certainty of coming through it
sooner or later, and that with flying colours.
9.30. The last 3/4 hour I wasted talking to Dr. R---, that most interesting man. I don't mean talking; I mean listening. You are a bad, idle good-for-nothing fellow, O.M.! Why not stick to that mantra?
10.40. Have drunk two citrons press‚s and gone to my room to
work a mighty spell of magick Art.

In other words, even though the technology has changed, the experience of bohemian living hasn't.

*Maryt Waska, introduced to Crowley by Nina Hamnett. The Wikipedia article on Hamnett is great reading all by itself.