Just wondering what type of tree that is outside the Max Hotel window—a monkey puzzle tree perhaps?—when a young man in red scarf and a bobble hat stops to pee in the big pot at the base of it. Under the tree the sign pointing to Yser-Ijzer, where Fifth Avenue can be found; only in the last couple of months did I realise that Yser/Ijzer translates as Iron. Reminding me of my iron-hard erections, no doubt, if I’ve remembered to take the medication. And I’ve indeed taken the medication, 2 days in a row, completely pointlessly, because I never even came close to enjoying intercourse with anyone, not even a woman. I scarcely found the arousal to enjoy intercourse with myself. Yes, my FOURTH trip to Brussels this year (and I’ve been nowhere else) and I still have not enjoyed carnal relations with anyone in those four trips. Four consecutive trips without any jollies may be an unwanted record for me. My finances dampen my mood all the time and make it increasingly difficult for Eros to spark and catch fire. Always the nagging thought, it is time for Hamburg. But also, oh Vienna. Though I did NOTHING on that trip in December either, and couldn’t wait to rush back to Brussels—Vienna to Brussels in one day, and then in Brussels had one of the great Brussels nights of my life with sensational Brazilian Diane. One of the great f—ks of my young life, SHE would bring this holiday to life, that’s for sure.
My erections on this trip, and my ejaculations, have been forced and feeble. I yearn for a true unbidden, unexpected erection, unexpected arousal, and true joyous ejaculation. If these are my last words on earth, god help me. I love my MOTHER. Risible erections, risible ejaculations. The story of four consecutive holidays now. I yearn for Vienna, but the last great night of my life was when I rushed BACK from Vienna to spend a last night in Brussels. So there is no easy answer. Eros comes when you least expect it so I sit waiting for what I least expect. In my experience, what really unlocks Eros is the LAST MINUTE changes of plan. On the trip back from Vienna for my last night in Frankfurt, I at the last minute decided to carry on to Brussels, and What. A. Night. You have to make last minute changes to unlock Eros, this is the lesson of my life.
You cannot call yourself a literature lover, unless you ejaculate into the pages of your favourite books, so they are stained forever by your SPERM. By your LIFEFORCE. Before you have fingerprinted them with your EROS. With your PRIAPISM. Then, I usually tire of these books, and give them away to some charity bookshop, or my library—no matter, my legacy lives on in these books in a most extraordinary way. Orgasm, and paperback books, are my two greatest pleasures in life so to combine the two seems absolutely natural. You want to borrow one of my books? No problem! But make sure you give it back! Don’t go extracting my DNA and try to clone me!
Oh Christ, blue fucking skies now. Rain more unlikely than ever. Very very disappointed. On my 4th beer 1115AM. Men wearing gloves in weather which is really not that cold; footballers wearing gloves—ditto. Discuss. I have a policy, even if my hands are really fucking cold, I will not put my gloves on unless I see at least two other men wearing them first. No one wants to be the only man wearing gloves. I’m afraid even if my fingers are fucking freezing off, I feel too self-conscious to put my gloves on (and they are only fingerless gloves at that). One is terrified of looking weak. Similarly I will carry a little umbrella in the rain but will only put it up if it is really lashing down. 1221 Six cans down. Still here in the Max. Not much option on a Sunday. Not really interested in going to O’Reilly’s for an Irish Breakfast OR a beer—they are too expensive; 450 a pint. No. Let me keep on buying my 1,40 cans of Jupiler from the shop next to my hotel for a while longer, then start my pilgrimages (maybe). Even back home in London I am an afternoon person; I like to start my drinking by 11am or 12 midday at the latest, back in bed by 5pm at the latest to sleep. It is how my Eros must adapt. In Vienna at least I can then go out after midnight to Manhattan or Tete, of course. Brussels does not really have this option. And Berlin died a long time ago.
Just a cold, overcast day; little chance of it actually raining again I think, unfortunately. By NOT eating before, it means I am going to have to stop my drinking and come back for something to eat SOONER, so that increases my chance of being able to get up and out again later for a second round. I need to buy a beer as soon as I walk in to the Cine Paris, that will FORCE me to stay there longer; therefore increasing my chance of getting turned on, despite myself. I always get turned on in in porn cinema EVENTUALLY, it’s just I always feel like walking out as soon as I walk in. Oh I just wish something could spark me to life. Wish I could be inflamed with Eros, and with Priapus, the way I am when I ANTICIPATE these journeys, but never feel it when I am actually here; or very rarely, and those are the special trips I remember for all my life. But you cannot manufacture it; it just has to happen spontaneously, out of the blue, spontaneous combustion of your erotic senses, when you least expect it. So I sit patiently, waiting for what I least expect, anxiously, mournfully. It would make more sense to do something different, go up to Rue d’Aerschot and then back to Fifth, BEFORE going in Cine Paris, so then I’ve no reason to always want to rush away from Cine Paris but I cannot do it. I know porn cinemas are best when I am really sleepy, really far gone; going to them at the START of my day is always pointless, but still I do it, every time.
Third beer begun, 140pm. Overcast today but starting to heat up. Honestly don’t think I’m going to do anything naughty on this trip. I always say I’m going to come here like a rutting stag, but in reality my reticence and lack of lust are dominant. To feel lust, it has got to be random, and completely unexpected—like the white vest girl on the boat. I certainly could have —— her like a rutting stag if I’d had the opportunity. Not seen any soldiers yet. Let us not forget it was just 4 weeks ago some loser tried to detonate his bomb in the Central Railway Station, at 8 o’clock at night!
Thankfully the presence of a McDonald’s 20 yards away has lured the American ladies away. I am only being rude jokingly; they are very pretty, and I would not mind a McDonald’s myself but am trying to be strong and stay hungry. A full stomach is the enemy of Eros and will kill any last chance I have of my erotic flame, poor little pilot light, sparking into any explosion whatsoever. Or if not explosion, at least some chance of heat. Probably though I’ll just stay here in the hotel and drink myself into a stupor. A Jupiler stupor. A Maes haze (or Maes farce, if I pronounce it correctly).