Not finished yet, finished

 Acrylics on paper with some finsihing touches with oil pastels

A heavy tropical storm of halucinogenic torment

Crazy thoughts come and go, visions from the past flashing through my half drunk mind, the Appie Heyn Landerbrau which comes at 49 cent for a half liter alu can is playing havoc on my gray brain mass, the revenge of the alcoholic Kraut nerds, cheap but unescapable...

People arriving and departing, a fluid situation where everything is up for graps with a vast population who find themselves homeless in the most upper part of my body, wading knee deep through the alcoholic haze that rules my semi-conscious brain patterns, wed rags scuttling through dirty high alcohol sewer water, walking like zombies without direction or purpose, only visiting me to make my trails and jubilation even worse as usual, their first impressions of my nutcase excistence formed on the ride in from the imaginary mental airport...

As usual I try to find solace in freaking around with my jars of acrylic paint, hoping against better judgement the heavy tropical storm of halucinogenic torment will turn into a slight drizzle...

Maybe I should hit the bars downtown again tonight, experience another bribe of black nylon stockings... 

A pair of black stockings

Maybe the lady receptiost boss has been bribed with a pair of black stockings, after all there is pleasure for ladies covering their legs in nylon, all of her attention now devoted to her new X-mas gift, absentmindedly tossing over the room key and Pas D'Attention to the local male following this female American tourist with the Dutch name Paulina like chasing a ghost, or maybe a shadow that one can never quite catch...miracles do happen but not in my life, just a one-way ticket out a otherwise lonely X-mas night for both of us...

The bribe of the pair of nylons works, it fuctions remarably well to make miss black nylon obsessionist forget the huge plaque behind the reception that reads "No Visitors In The Rooms", it works miracles too on the illusion that would have otherwise been a lonely X-mas night in the room of a big foreing city, foreign affairs in the home country of her ancestry, finding your roots becoming something new all in its own deception...

Have I run away from my chaotic appartment where unfinished artwork is covering my paint stained floor just to get trapped by the female machinations of an American tourist who is affraid of the loneliness of the Amsterdam night...

I feel a bit like a rat whose body is slowly but inescapably wrapped around by a hungry pyton, if I try to drag myself away it will be a one-sided match I guess...I have Pas D'Option but follow her upstairs while she sniggers and is crackling in crazy anticipation, hoping fervently she won't crack every bone in my rat's body while she squeeses the loop tight, puts her robes of lust around me untill there isn't a single bit of breath inside me...   

Merry X-mas and a happy 2014

Not Finished Yet, Finished

 Sometimes I am not really sure which one I like best, the original sketch with charcoal or the final product painted over with acrylics and finishing touches with oil crayons.

A portrait

On paper with acrylics and oil crayons

Suicidal tendencies

If I had suicidal tendencies I could and probably would be dead at twelve, chocked to death in between eating binges, drinking high alcohol content but dirt cheap liquor untill I quite literally sag together like some over-ripe piece of rotting fruit, a rope around the proverbial neck seems more like a uncomfortable but quick enough way to go and leave this earthly realm of tears, maybe put my nutcase head town a bowl of cold water and wait till it is all over though rumour has it nobody has ever accomplished that, throwing oneself in front of a high speed train seems a bit of an overdone kill and bloody fort those that have to cleas up the mess, try to imagine the trauma you bestow upon the engine-driver, never mind jumping off a highrise building, same effect and same trauma for those that hose the street afterwards ...

But then I have Pas De suicidal tendencies, as a matter of fact I have just been given my street licence again, 46,50 in stupid Euros will ensure another crazy summer in the Amsterdam streets, another summer of selling my treasured and highly profitable Mandala games...

Anna Frank House, here I come though Thailand will be first on my list, less then seven weeks to go untill departure.

The drawing I did while waiting for my turn to pay.
   

One painting, two faces

Pages from my sketchbook; ANIMALES

booze and dope for Mayke

Mayke, the hippy offspring who grew up with her hippy parents on the beaches of Goa in Magic Land, as I often refer to Hindustania, India you know, in a alternative hippy community where free sex and heavy pot smoking where the norm rather than the exception, never mind that the gray brain mass of a six year old child should be protected from mind altering substances. Don't these young human minds have enough to cope with already seeing the crap of the adult world on the six oçlock evening news though I seriously doubt that the members of that hippy community were in the possession of a ancient black/white TV set, most likely their doped up minds were more into open air orgies on the Goa beaches...

Mayke whose lovers she treated like raw recruits, almost like cannon fodder, who were often shifting in their rented shoes waiting for their cherished hour to come in - I hope for their sake they didn't forget to bring that dreaded rubber along - young and old, sucking in a lung full of fresh breath, pull in the gut and enter at your own peril...

Mayke who was sort of normal when I met her during my bicycle messenger summer, sort of normal and sort of free of drugs and alcohol, Mayke who in these mad bicycle messenger days of mine whould leave free Boomerang Ansichts in my letter box explaining me her lustfull plans with yours truely for the coming night and ending her crazy written monoloques with Beer Is Dirty, often posing for me in the nude before here sexual intentions got the upper hand...

Mayke who returned to her evil ways of drunk and stoned wandering homelessly, all her money gone to well built but expensive lovers and Amantes Adios to the her house and hello to the homeless shelters...

The last I heard of her she was interned in an institution for the mentally insane...that is what booze and dope does to you when you are six years old...

This sketch I did in 2005 just after my mad years as a bicyle messenger had come to an abrubt and sudden end.

 

Amanda, mother of young Charlotte

 Based on an old ladyfriend and the mother of Charlotte, the eight year old daughter we have together though presently living in Mama's native England...

Yeah, a small gift to a woman who wanted to be a mother most of her life and was well into her forties, biological clock reminding her everytime when her time of the month had arrived fertility was running short, high time to get that nutcase - Pauvre Moi - between the sheets and let him perform what he was made for...

Done on old paper I found in the street, with acrylics and pastels, late at night when the perils of another excistence plaqued me and prevented from Lord Morpheus' gracefull but sometimes fickle arms...

Three more paintings

 Done with acrylics, oil crayons and spray cans on a piece of carton found in the street...the little Mama Annemarie cartoon in the bottom left corner is done by the six year old son Hannes from my neighbors upstairs.

 The Dutch prime minister Mark Rutte, done on paper with acrylic paint though the original sketch was with a piece of black oil crayon..

I enlarged his head because the man seems such a ego-centric self-important nutcase, smashing his hospital issued spectacles because he seems so blind to the plight of the lower levels of Dutch society caused by his severe program of economizing...

The favorite lapdog of European policy makers in Bruxelles though...

Worked on this oil crayon portrait on paper all of last night, unable to fall asleep after my chance encounter with Naomi yesterday in the Pacific restaurant/bar/disco, remembering the days of yore when she posed for me all night and day.

Naomi, girlfriend, lover girl or model

Though her face looks dented and scared by the usual grief and despair, the trails and jubilations life seems to serve up as a daily fare, I still recognise her instantly, smiling inwardly at the fun we used to have together drinking Thai Leo beer and locally brewed moonshine whisky back in the days when life was good and we both were young, back in that already then overpopulated Thai capital where the daily dose of air polution your lungs have to put up with equals that of several packs of Marlboro, her favorite brand I seem to rermember and yes the red colored pack of lung destroyers next to her on the wooden table betrays me it most likely still is...

I am not all that charmed by the bunch of drak skinned over muscled wild mules sitting around her and eyeing me suspiciously, obviously aware of my direct interest in their female table companion...I am reasonably sure I won't be their object of compassion if I expand my influence and physical control I used to have over her all these years ago during our brief but super hot romantic stint in the Kingdom of the Thais, meeting up again in good old Mokum that co-incidentally was our mutual base and daily life excistence away from the Asian backpack days...pretty sure as a matter of fact I will be on their shitlist...

I could never figure out who was who or what was what in these days of steamy encounters, was she my girlfriend, my lover girl or plainly another model I just happened to share my old sheets with...eventually I was relieved of duties, out of her lover boy's job, just another male who passed through her sensual life, having done a pretty good job but Adios and goodbey, Doei Doei and Schüss, time for the next bloke around...

I drink my glass of Red Wine straight down while remembering our mutual days of yore, my manhood crutching against the frabric of my freshly washed blue jeans, plenty of memories and practice there too...

I guess I will walk home alone again tonight but I am sure my dreams will be fibrant and alife this night...

About old men and crayons

 Working with old crayons I found among all the shit that is hanging around my house, a bit like a bunch of old men on scoot mobiles hanging around some place of the city, the railway station or maybe the public square, coming back every day and bragging about their earlier lives when they were still young and not all that innocent...

Maybe finally time to start on that bottle of Vino Tinto waiting patiently for me in my little old fridge, hoping for divine inspiration and a stop to all that crazy nutcase thinking inside my gray brain mass...after all this looks like shit in the making, maybe the animal shit back at the petting zoo where, once again I was slaving away today doing my neighborhoodly thing and highly necessary Karma improvement

Pages from my sketchbook: Amsterdam.

Amsterdam, the city that has been my domicile and home away from home for nearly twenty-six years now, always returning to that city at the River Amstel, mostly with a heavy backpack full with laundry and empty pockets, sometimes hiding in the toilet of the train from Schiphol Airport to the city centre.

Pages from my sketchbook: ANIMALES

 Teuke, the cow at the petting zoo where  I still do my under-appriciated volunteer work two days a week

Duckies in the park, always fun to draw animals though they should learn to stop moving around so much.

Nude Female Drawings

Pages from my sketchbook: people in da street

Painting with Hannes

Painting with Hannes, the son of my neighbors upstairs.

Pages from my sketchbook, the street musician

A sketch from last saturday during the weekly and tourist popular Noordermarket

pages from my sketchbook, ANIMALES

 Something different in my sketchbook after all these naked females I have been uploading the last four or five weeks...done this morning at the petting zoo where I still do my volunteer job two days a week, hard and dirty work but Pas D'Argent remember...wonder how much longer I will particiapate in this neighborhoodly project...well, maybe if I keep up the sketching during the breaks I will find enough mental inspiration to keep heaving animal shit, cow dung and goat droppings, horse manure and the waste product of sheep...sheep, sheep and sheep shit...

Nude Female Drawings

Nude Female Drawings

The way it should be but ain't anymore

I am trying to cling to the brink of unconsciousness, nobody's head resting on the pillow beside me, unsuccessfull in the art of chatting up foreign tourists in one of the many pick-up joints downtown, in the notorious Red Light District of good old Mokum...shit, I am getting old...my eyes following a dream I am unwilling to let go, back to my younger years where charm and charisma were second nature to me, when I was freed of any kind of deception, when life was easy and secure, my tongue smooth as a bob sleigh parcours, running with the flow and ending up all that often late at night on the home in the dark streets of my beloved Mokum with another international conquest on the back of my crappy old bicycle...the way it should be but ain't anymore...

CNN telling me about civil war in the making once more in my number two home, Holy Thailand where I will soon be, Song Dhuan to go though, ticket in the pocket yesterday with a departure date set but Pas De Retour as yet...

Maybe once again running with crowds in a nowhere destination, running senselessly as seems to be the rule of Ma Vie, no idea what time it is, time is irrelevant, shoes all over the place but no time to take them off...

Yeah I am getting old indeed!!!