No desire to go to any museum. If the old magnificent Museum of Modern Art was reconstituted I would, but no desire to return to the Magritte or Fin-de-Siecle. How I loved the old Museum of Modern Art; in one place Alfred Stevens’ Salome, Le Genie du Mal, La Figure Tombale, Death of Marat, Tresors de Satan, Magritte’s La Goulue and Lola de Valence, the room FULL of Paul Delvauxs. It was a special place; destroyed, broken up, most of the pieces I mention now locked away in storage with no place to show them. Fuck the Magritte Museum—a little Magritte goes a long way with me. A museum full of them is way too much. Milking the Magritte cow for all its worth they have killed the goose that lay the golden egg, to mix my metaphors. Ah fantastic (talking of milking cows), I just saw Beatrice and two friends crossing the road under my hotel window and walking towards her place! I see a lot of the street girls passing through this little alleyway and past the Plaza to their spot; maybe they all live together just to the east of the Rue Neuve?