So finally my trip is almost at its end. Friday night in Brussels and I stay in my room, in my big white bed listening to classical music on the radio, Clara. Let me keep my head down tonight, as my Eurostar leaves 730am in the morning. So no I did not get to the Wiertz Museum, sadly; instead I spent about 4½ hours in Cine Paris—the longest session in a porn kino I’ve had for years & years & years. I think the fact I knew this was my last chance to enjoy it before I go home, and that I had no money to do anything more than that, gave a keenness to my arousal. Films that would have had me walking out within 10 seconds normally kept me highly aroused this time. And if you invest a bit of time & effort into a porn film you can usually get into it—Auto Ecole which yesterday I walked out on as it was absolutely rubbish now really turned me on. The actresses I thought unattractive yesterday now turned me on immensely. It is all in your mind. You carry the weather with you. You carry the eroticism with you, depending on what mood you are in.
Here I am, at the Molenbeek Hilton. Having a Molotov Cocktail in the bar. Beatrice was wearing a white coat, black leggings & a red/black lumberjack shirt, and funnily enough in the window of Bimbo beneath me I see the same kind of lumberjack shirt; I bet she bought it there; yesterday I saw 3 women who I thought were hookers going in and looking at stuff, before heading back to their spot and sure enough I saw the 3 of them in the street later. I will miss the street girls if they are indeed banned from the area (Alhambra, I only recently discovered, though it is not marked as such on any map I have seen) as the Mayor intends. A little bit of sex adds such colour & life to a city. Sterilisation, sterilisation, sterilisation. Castration. Emasculation. Whores have been the lifeblood of so much European art & literature & music down the centuries. The sterilisation of Europe is a sign of our cultural decline & enfeeblement. A healthy society can cope with sexuality, eroticism, red in tooth & claw, and should not cower in fear from it. Every time I look up from my notepaper, I see another casually stunning Brussels woman passing beneath my window. Better than any pornography. I hope Belgian men realise how lucky they are. When, when, when, am I going to go to Italy? Christ they go on & on. The women of Brussels really are mindblowing.
Surprised how quiet the hotel bar is this Friday night. The Swedish three next to me and another 2 couples I think on the other side. Berlin is 90% full of ugly, post-war 1950s buildings, then every now & then you will see one of the gorgeous pre-war, 19th century buildings, and they are so beautiful it breaks your heart. How beautiful this city should be today. You see the beauty under your feet still, in the little cobblestones they make the pavements with still. Oh, the old & young Swedish/Norwegian women were not with the man. I got that wrong. Those Stuttgarter Platz nights were so amazing and as far as I know no books are written about them, no films are made about them. I at least want to preserve their memory here. Thank you to Yulia, and Riccarda, and Iga and all the other girls, who did so much to bring my morbid eroticism flourishing into life.
The fascinating thing about my Vienna discovery that it is better to stay drinking in my room and watching pornography right up until the moment I run out bursting for WOMAN, rather than having a couple of beers in my room and then going down and stupefying in the bar for a few hours till I have lost the will to live let alone f—k, is that it enabled me to actually see the effect of drink on my Priapism. Last time in Vienna I actually wrote that I could never remember having such strong and big erections. This was up until my 6th bottle of Gösser; embarking upon my 7th bottle I suddenly noticed that something had happened, and my vertical erection pointing at the sky had now become a horizontal erection pointing at the keyhole; pressing on to an 8th bottle I noticed it became a downward swelling pointing at the floor. I never previously noticed the exact moment brewer’s droop hit me, and therefore in fact I never believed brewer’s droop had ever existed for me. Now I saw it really did. In Brussels, however, from the moment I cracked open the first can of Jupiler, or Maes, or Stella, I never managed anything more than a horizontal. Back home in London, sober, I woke up with massive vertical erections every day, so that was reassuring. But it cannot just be a difference in Brussels beer from Vienna beer; the psychological factor must have played a big part. There is an eroticism in the air in Vienna that I just do not feel in Brussels, despite the fact Brussels has more beautiful girls in the street than anywhere I have ever been. Viennese Eroticism is a special and potent property. Brussel Eroticism has always seemed like that to me too: I think of Rops, Wiertz, Delvaux, Maele, wonderfully erotic artists; but I don’t actually feel it in the air the way I do in Vienna: the Vienna of Freud, Schiele, Schoenberg, Berg, Webern, Klimt.
I do not feel as turned on in Brussels as I did in Vienna, or Berlin I think. My eroticism has been weak and half-hearted. Something in the atmosphere in Vienna perhaps excites me more; perhaps too in Berlin. I need to test that with one more visit. I should have been in Berlin now but bailed out and stayed in Brussels instead. The atmosphere in Brussels is not as erotic as Vienna, but I feel so calm and at ease here.