Last night I made a rule for myself—

Last night I made a rule for myself—in future I will never again enter a brothel/night bar/brasserie à femmes, call them what you will, without ——- one of the girls. Because this is ridiculous. To keep going to these places and keep leaving without having done anything is ridiculous. In future I will force myself to always go with one of the girls before I allow myself to leave. If there is no one I fancy, I will just go with the one that is least bad. That means waiting till I can travel with plenty of money. But I must start this. It is like going to a porn cinema without masturbating. Ridiculous. And never go to Rue d’Aerschot without doing something with one of the girls, too. This too will actually inspire me to save money to make this viable. Now, with this new rule in mind, I look forward to coming back to Brussels again. Even in Manhattan in Vienna in December, there were at least 3 very desirable girls but again I did nothing. This must stop. There is no point travelling at all if I keep doing nothing when I get there.

Nuremberg restored my faith in eros at least

Nuremberg restored my faith in eros at least. Magnificent videokabins in Stage 2000 followed by the stunning window girls/laufhaus girls of the Frauentormauer. Walking along the Frauentormauer on my first stop in Nuremberg on the way to Vienna I remember thinking “A man could make his home in Nuremberg”. Daisy, Rubina. So many stunning girls. If I did not do anything it is perhaps because it was already so late, almost midnight, and I had just had a Burger King whopper, large fries AND six onion rings and more than anything needed a s–t. En route to Frankfurt now, 12 minutes delayed at least, but hopefully I’ll still make my connection.

216 Back in the Plaza bar. Flurries of snow outside

216 Back in the Plaza bar. Flurries of snow outside, stopped already. I decided I don’t want to go to David Bowie’s Berlin house and next door café ENOUGH. I can no longer be bothered. It is too damn cold. No, it’s snowing again. Wow, hard now. Not sure what to do. I would like to pop back in to King George and/or Caligula but the trouble with flat-rate 100 euros entry f—k all you want brothels is it deters you from ever going in as you might not fancy anyone. I would love to go in, have a look at the talent on offer, have a couple of drinks and then move on, but at King George and Caligula that would set me back 100 euros even to do that (and last time I went to King George I went with girl to room only to have her demanding more money before having sex with me, which seemed to run counter to the whole idea of the place. When I refused she just gave me a handjob and wouldn’t even take her bra off! Scammed!). Better to save that money for Vienna—all those night bars filled with floozies are free to get into, just a beer to pay for. The new black ponytail Yugoslavian receptionist just came through the bar. She is like Princess Mort from Orpheé. On check in, she was checking in someone else, her blouse tight over bosoms and low cut and falling open, and you could always see the top of her cleavage. Quite intoxicating.

I am not a bad person but the only world I feel comfortable in is the world of strip clubs & brothels & porn cinemas

I am not a bad person, but the only world I feel comfortable in is the world of strip clubs, & brothels, & porn cinemas. The only time I feel at ease, and relaxed, and where I am meant to be; the only time my soul really soars. This precludes me from all normal “healthy” relationships; I feel suffocated, and imprisoned in them. My true nature just becomes ever stronger as I get older; it does not go away; on the contrary, it becomes more insistent; more strident; more unwilling to compromise. There are so many beautiful young women in the world and I want to enjoy as many of them as I can for as long as I can—given I have already lost in London: Carnival Strip, Astral Cinema, Sunset Cinema, Soho Cinema, Boulevard Strip, Peep Show (all of them), Pleasure Lounge; in Berlin: almost ALL of Stuttgarter Platz; in Vienna, Pour Platin and Fortuna Kino; in Brussels California Kabins and Cine ABC; as well as other places I lost before I even knew they existed—the knocking shop right outside the door of Gare du Midi Brussels; the Martin Luther Strasse sex kino in Berlin. Serious ill-health or terrorism or random accident can strike me down at any moment, so I must live every moment as if it is my last. I do not want to die financially healthy with no fantastic memories; I would rather die in extreme debt but with the most fantastic collection of dirty memories, dirty experiences.