Competing women

Acrylics on wood.

Amsterdam,

Intriguing title you might think but the meaning is clear enough to me, though.

Tow clans of distintive different females practising the same lifestyle, experiencing the same whoremongering beer addicted lazy type of male contemporaries in their lives, bringing up the children they fathered with them before continuing on their extra-marital affairs.

A flea ridden poolhall in the Hot dusty Thai countryside where female flesh has a mere five minutes physical attention with a meagre 100 Thai Baht disappearing into a female purse, a hungry baby back home can be fed another day - a different way of paying child support I presume.

The same smothering heat in dark beer shacks in equally dusty African villages where the male beer drinking clientêle is even darker as the dimly lit interior, their shadows mixing with sluttely dressed equally dark-skinned females waiting in the back of the run-down place...

I must have spent a small fortune getting smashing drunk on local brews surrounded by the impoverished masses of the world in dank and potentially dangerous bars and bordelios of a questionable reputation - but then I always looked like a tramp myself dressed in my beat-up blue jeans, unshaved ravished face and sweaty T-shirt, mixing with the Drunk Scêne locally across the world, mastering the street talk and sticking to my own confidence, always ready for a good bar brawl or challenge the biggest of them all to a Number One arm wrestling contest, "su dinero aqui en el centro de la mesa, amigo"...

More of El Señor Mas Poderoso, much...MUCH MUCH more went to an amzingly huge army of Hot Mommas offering a few cherished hours of physical entertainment, solace to a troubled Western trained mind, a double-troubled guilt complex brought about by a false sence of secure thinking so common in the West....in the end they took my sex-dough without a mumrmer - hopefully not too much of that stuff went to the wrong destinations, freeloading boyfriends, YaaBaa, Qat and what else, maybe a bottle of Phillipino Rum to a down and out flea-ridden alcohol addicted Hunting Girl down on the Puerto Gallera beach - that traquil beach resort with its darkly lit alleys and cozy bars, completely run by local stunningly beautifull Hunting Girls who were non-stop "me, available, sir, no problem, me like you very much, sir"- yeah, the ladies were everywhere and always "at your service, sir", needless to say there was extremely little male-related violence in Puerto Gallera, I seem to remember quite a few heavy Western Man related female violence though....

With my departure date for male friendly Thailand approaching soon it seems obviousl I feel my thoughts trailing back to these chaotic human backyards of this crazy planet. Wheter it be a memory of getting disturbed by local soldiers checking IDs while balling a ungly Puta in a dirty back room of the reputedly worst and dirtiest bar in town, on an even dirtier straw-filled matrass - no bed but plainly on the earth floor very long ago in Antigua....

The skinny black chick I took back to my shithole hotel somewhere in Colombia, whose pink snatch I loved to eat so much - I seem to remember drinking beer untill I bust in a bar where everybody was armed to the teeth, before I picked her up...but the images of that are expotentially vaguer then the face of pleasure she gave me while riding my erect male member - when I see her now in my dreams she visits me as a run-down witch whose face is hooribly scarred by years of heavy alcohol abuse....looking at me accussingly...threateningly....like she knows things I do not....she and that whose darned clan of Global Hot Mommas...