After my lovely Brussels Grill steak, in Fifth Avenue at 322PM. Sleepy. Ready for bed. Two girls visible only. Maybe eight men. The demand is there; the supply is low. Let me drink enough and quickly enough that I feel the urgent need for a Domino’s Pizza before bed, to go with the steak I just had. These are my real desires on holiday these days. Any really really sexy floozies I am lucky to see will just get in the way of my eating.
Something I’ve not remarked upon (at all or enough) is how Brussels Grill give you COMPLIMENTARY bread & butter while waiting for your steak. Massively appreciated, and makes a massive difference in my choice of where to eat after a day of customarily “cultural” activities. Who knows when I will be back in Brussels Grill again. In Fifth Avenue today I had NO DESIRE for sex. At all. Just thinking about food. I get food at home, so why travel? A troubling question, which comes into greater focus now than it has ever done. Five nights in Brussels—no sex at all. Scarcely any desire for it either. I have started asking for my steak “medium” rather than “well done”, only to get it delivered to me faster. 1815.
OK, 120. Hungry. Let me go straight to Fifth, then back to Brussels Grill and/or Domino’s Pizza, for beautiful beautiful food. Early to sleep, in time to wake up for last nightcap in Saturday night Empire (i.e. Jennifer). Oh but it’s not so gloomy again. Where’s the snow? The rain? Makes me want to stay here for one more beer. Oh no, even glimpses of blue sky now! What is going on? But this does tell me the real pleasures of my holiday are No.1 drinking, then No.2 eating. The naughty things are in third place and easily and always crushed by my desire for drink & food. La Grande Bouffe—I’ve said it a hundred times before & I will say it forever—is my life, and my life is La Grande Bouffe made real. As much as I revere Bad Timing and The Night Porter and Last Tango in Paris, etc, etc, the real defining film of my life is La Grande Bouffe. So many times, even in the last few hours & days, I feel I am going to have a heart attack or stroke because of my eating and drinking (and f–king, not that I’ve done any of that for a long time).
1220! It’s snowing! It’s started. So today a day for joyous drinking, joyous eating, and maybe a little bit of naughtiness on the side. The beer starts talking out of my mouth again! 6th beer. No desire to move, or go anywhere. 7th beer. No desire at all to go to Cine Paris today, as much as I exult in its continued existence. The sooner I get to Fifth Avenue and get away the sooner I can have a lovely Brussels Grill steak and/or Domino’s Pizza.
I have no woman, no child, so might as well spend all my money on travelling, and having as much pleasure as I can every day I am not at work. Santana Black Magic Woman. You might as well spend a lot of money on drink, and a lot of money on food, as this is what holidays are for.
There must be a reason why I never want to walk up to Gare du Nord—even though it is probably a shorter distance to Gare du Nord than to Fifth Avenue. And I think my sub-conscious tells me I really do not feel comfortable in the Rue d’Aerschot—even though the sexiest, most beautiful girls are to be found in the Rue d’Aerschot. My sub-conscious always directs me to where I feel MOST COMFORTABLE. In Vienna, that means Manhattan—because it is opposite my hotel probably. If I stayed at a hotel opposite Angelique no doubt I would be in Angelique every single night and would not feel comfortable in Manhattan. If I’m going to have sex, I really don’t want to have to walk far, before, but especially afterwards, when I’m shattered, and emotional. In Brussels, Fifth Avenue and Rue des Commercants, even though the quality of girls in these two places is so much less than at the Rue d’Aerschot. My sub-conscious is my river deep underground, my underground Nile, which directs me towards my true desires. So, I did not go to Rue d’Aerschot today after all—and always at back of my mind, Empire and Manuela. 1749. In Brussels Grill. Felt like a Brussels Grill steak and fancy a Domino’s Pizza back with me to follow. Indigestion heaven. No bread this time at Brussels Grill? Food, food, food, all I think about is food. No Ina at Fifth Avenue after 5pm. Monday night—unbelievably—busy like a Friday night. Party night. Packed with men.
Yes I think about food more than I think about sex, but to go and eat something first isn’t the answer because eating just dampens my desire for sex even more. After eating I just want to sleep. So hard as it is, I must stay hungry, hungry for food and hungry for sex, as only after sex will I permit myself to eat food! Yes, make that a new rule for myself. I am never allowed to eat until I have f—-d, someone, anyone. After 6 solid days of drinking my stomach is thinner than ever, but my face is fatter than ever. Drink always goes to my face first (in more ways than one, obviously). So yes, before I allow myself to eat today, I have to go to Cine Paris, Fifth Avenue and walk the entire length of Rue d’Aerschot up to 218 (the last window?). Only then will I allow myself to eat. Brussels Grill steak or a Domino’s Pizza (or, preferably, both). We shall see.