Depressed and morose yesterday. For the second day in a row I saw no sexy girl passing the Dome, I had a brief and miserable stay in Cine Paris. The films were dull and the perverts would not leave me alone, even when I said no. Passed Beatrice twice in the street but felt no desire for her whatsoever. Had just one beer in Fifth Avenue and the selection of girls was worse than ever. Forced myself to walk up to Rue d’Aerschot but there was no one there worth going with; how could there be, when I was in this morose mood? You carry the weather with you. The fact Brussels has been so bright & sunny & blazing blue skied may have had some effect in darkening my mood. If it had been raining I may have been more in my element; I don’t know. Peak Brussels has been passed and the descent down the other side is now steep and rapid. So now my last morning; 5.5 hours to kill till I have to be back at Gare du Midi. I don’t want to go home! Maybe the street girls and 5th Avenue will be better when summer comes. I think now Brussels will just be a one night stopping off point while I am on my way to Berlin or Vienna. It is easy to say I drank too much on this trip to Brussels and therefore destroyed all the pleasures I might have had in 5th Avenue or Le Coin or Cine Paris or Gare du Nord, but I rather think I drank too much on purpose because sub-consciously I did not really WANT to go these places. My sub-conscious is very strong, and it rules me more and more the older I get. I can feel its dark underground river guiding me very deliberately. It is the subterranean Styx, the subterranean Nile, directing my life, and for some reason it didn’t WANT to do anything in those naughty places. It wanted to keep me chaste. I came with a plan to live with wild abandon for four days and f–k a different girl every day—let myself go; but my sub-conscious for some reason didn’t want it.