Friday, March 28, 2014
Back at the Anne Frank House
Amsterdam, March 2014.
The disjointed crazy ramblings of my senilic chaotic mind are once again in full swing, the well known mental expressway to blogging hell and way beyond, a result of Pas De Clients and feeling bored like a polar bear swimming useless circles in the miniature pool of his Artis zoo carefully trying to poodle around his own shit, packing production here at the world famous Anne Frank House in Amsterdam but nobody buying, spending money on my handicraft...shit the nutty tourists in that feared mother of all queues look even more bored ads that aforementioned captive polar bear abck at our city Tiergarden...
Buy my games and get yourselves maybe ripped off but at least entertained I want to scream but no...still no customer, maybe I should set loose a starving rabit Spanish Toro and watch the foreing visitors to my city scatter in all directions fueling foul language for loosing their prescious place in the waiting line...
A fat punk girl finally walks over, big boogers hanging out of her nose making me wonder if they are part of her punk dressoir, after all her short fat fingers look actually small enough to enter her over-sized nostril holes...I feel so bored today I consider picking my own fingers up the punk girl nose and see what mayhem may ensue, maybe tell her about the bastion of female debauchery I witnessed in crazy Pattaya only mere weeks ago but somehow feel it might be a super bad idea...
But no...she is a poterntial customer and therefor off limits for my mental ramblings and physical intentions like nose picking in a mad hunt for whittish colored slimy boogers and instead convey the sincerity of a single male impoverished streetseller with rent due....
Works too cos she buys three games...
The disjointed crazy ramblings of my senilic chaotic mind are once again in full swing, the well known mental expressway to blogging hell and way beyond, a result of Pas De Clients and feeling bored like a polar bear swimming useless circles in the miniature pool of his Artis zoo carefully trying to poodle around his own shit, packing production here at the world famous Anne Frank House in Amsterdam but nobody buying, spending money on my handicraft...shit the nutty tourists in that feared mother of all queues look even more bored ads that aforementioned captive polar bear abck at our city Tiergarden...
Buy my games and get yourselves maybe ripped off but at least entertained I want to scream but no...still no customer, maybe I should set loose a starving rabit Spanish Toro and watch the foreing visitors to my city scatter in all directions fueling foul language for loosing their prescious place in the waiting line...
A fat punk girl finally walks over, big boogers hanging out of her nose making me wonder if they are part of her punk dressoir, after all her short fat fingers look actually small enough to enter her over-sized nostril holes...I feel so bored today I consider picking my own fingers up the punk girl nose and see what mayhem may ensue, maybe tell her about the bastion of female debauchery I witnessed in crazy Pattaya only mere weeks ago but somehow feel it might be a super bad idea...
But no...she is a poterntial customer and therefor off limits for my mental ramblings and physical intentions like nose picking in a mad hunt for whittish colored slimy boogers and instead convey the sincerity of a single male impoverished streetseller with rent due....
Works too cos she buys three games...
Monday, March 24, 2014
Dirty Thai money
Amsterdam, 24 March 2014.
Back home, back in my beloved Mokum, Adios and goodbye to that confusing foreign country tweve flying hour in that big alu can belonging to that Chinese hedgehog and safely back on Dutch soil, thank you so much yellow man and Doei Doei untill the next time around I will have to shell out big bucks for your services, your hard to digest on-board plastic wrapped food and formated movies...
Thai money aplenty left over, waiting in my chaotic appartment untill I have the dubious honor of being allowed to spend it King Bhumipol's Asian realm Una Vez Mas, soft to the tough red ones, brownish one thousand bills grimey from hunderds of Thai and Farang hands, dog eared and soiled from use, a layer of painted dirt after having been stocked in wallets and lady's purses, hot coffee stains and cold Chang smudges, having been stockpiled in crowded 7/Eleven cash drawers...yeah, it smells of stale sweat and prickly heat powder, a few invisble grains of cocaine, notes written on it, the cell numbers of Thai hookers and expensive massage parlors, the occasional sentence of obscenity, graffiti in international languages testimony to the Numero Uno tourist destination in the world. It has been used to pay for food and soft drinks, cold beer and strong Thai moonshine whiskey, drugs and laundry service, a doctor's care, sex and a lover's gift, and maybe a drvie-by murder even - the favorite way of getting rid of the Amour competition in Thailand -
The marginalia of my chaotic mind knows no bounds looking at these colorfull notes back here in Holland where no bank would exchange them and therefore totally uselessly laying around in my house though only short hours ago I could get everything and all with this dirty paper that has seen it all, a big quantity of shit that wouldn't fool even a blind man waiting for its rightfull purpose five, six or maybe seven months before the fun starts again thanks to the overprised services of China Air...
Back home, back in my beloved Mokum, Adios and goodbye to that confusing foreign country tweve flying hour in that big alu can belonging to that Chinese hedgehog and safely back on Dutch soil, thank you so much yellow man and Doei Doei untill the next time around I will have to shell out big bucks for your services, your hard to digest on-board plastic wrapped food and formated movies...
Thai money aplenty left over, waiting in my chaotic appartment untill I have the dubious honor of being allowed to spend it King Bhumipol's Asian realm Una Vez Mas, soft to the tough red ones, brownish one thousand bills grimey from hunderds of Thai and Farang hands, dog eared and soiled from use, a layer of painted dirt after having been stocked in wallets and lady's purses, hot coffee stains and cold Chang smudges, having been stockpiled in crowded 7/Eleven cash drawers...yeah, it smells of stale sweat and prickly heat powder, a few invisble grains of cocaine, notes written on it, the cell numbers of Thai hookers and expensive massage parlors, the occasional sentence of obscenity, graffiti in international languages testimony to the Numero Uno tourist destination in the world. It has been used to pay for food and soft drinks, cold beer and strong Thai moonshine whiskey, drugs and laundry service, a doctor's care, sex and a lover's gift, and maybe a drvie-by murder even - the favorite way of getting rid of the Amour competition in Thailand -
The marginalia of my chaotic mind knows no bounds looking at these colorfull notes back here in Holland where no bank would exchange them and therefore totally uselessly laying around in my house though only short hours ago I could get everything and all with this dirty paper that has seen it all, a big quantity of shit that wouldn't fool even a blind man waiting for its rightfull purpose five, six or maybe seven months before the fun starts again thanks to the overprised services of China Air...
Sunday, March 23, 2014
The day after the Thai polie tried "valiantly" to rid Rachadamnoek Nok of the anti Yingluck led government demonstrators...I guess they had quite a party.Friday, March 21, 2014
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Merits of self-destruction
Bangkok, 18 March 2014.
I am enveloped in silence, hard to believe if you have ever spend one night in Bangkok but then one night in Bangkok makes even the toughest men humble, but then being here in this Ha Roi THB room in my old haunt Soi Ngam Dupli, in this massive room where the walls are adorned with my latest art endeavour, drawings in color pencils of Miss Endoo dressed only in her Eva's costume lingering lavishly on the mussed bed, abandoned now for a much needed shower leaving me utterly alone to ponder the company that never ever during our mutual time here in the Thai capital leaves me alone...apart of course for these incessant shower sorties, Ron Ron Mak Mak, summer is approaching and with it the inevitable heat. Luckily the Thais possess a lot of water and do they know how the use it...
The wall above the dresser full with crayon sketches of a naked Miss Endoo, looking down at me and reminding me somehow of the my self chosen life of solitary, a passport and airline ticket my only Grandes Amigos, persuading myself gradually that being alone is GREAT and SACRED, chosen to be alone but now seriously wondering if I could survive being alone again...
Standing in the centre of this empty room that breaths and smells of Miss Endoo, immaculately clean - the female touch you know - shoes regimentally straight lined under the bed, her female pharaphenalia carefully arranged on the dresser table, lip stick and nail polish, prickly heat powder and skin ointment, tiger balsem and her combs...
No family buffaloe in the hospital needing expensive vet care, no family crisis up north in the Isan but a fat pinkish colored lady's wallet that spews forth money like the Etna volcano eruption destroying Pompeii making me somehow wonder if all this, this Asian love affair I once again got into head over Farang heels will destroy me as well at some given point...
Maybe I should run out of this Sala Thai Guesthouse, run below a blue Thai sky containing a fat primary yellow white sun, hot like hell that will probably cause me to perspire as though I am about the face the firing squat in some Caudillo ruled south American parody of a democracy, feeling once again the pangs of guild and anger, the merits of self-destruction doing a serious numero uno demolition job on my already over-damaged Kharma...
I am enveloped in silence, hard to believe if you have ever spend one night in Bangkok but then one night in Bangkok makes even the toughest men humble, but then being here in this Ha Roi THB room in my old haunt Soi Ngam Dupli, in this massive room where the walls are adorned with my latest art endeavour, drawings in color pencils of Miss Endoo dressed only in her Eva's costume lingering lavishly on the mussed bed, abandoned now for a much needed shower leaving me utterly alone to ponder the company that never ever during our mutual time here in the Thai capital leaves me alone...apart of course for these incessant shower sorties, Ron Ron Mak Mak, summer is approaching and with it the inevitable heat. Luckily the Thais possess a lot of water and do they know how the use it...
The wall above the dresser full with crayon sketches of a naked Miss Endoo, looking down at me and reminding me somehow of the my self chosen life of solitary, a passport and airline ticket my only Grandes Amigos, persuading myself gradually that being alone is GREAT and SACRED, chosen to be alone but now seriously wondering if I could survive being alone again...
Standing in the centre of this empty room that breaths and smells of Miss Endoo, immaculately clean - the female touch you know - shoes regimentally straight lined under the bed, her female pharaphenalia carefully arranged on the dresser table, lip stick and nail polish, prickly heat powder and skin ointment, tiger balsem and her combs...
No family buffaloe in the hospital needing expensive vet care, no family crisis up north in the Isan but a fat pinkish colored lady's wallet that spews forth money like the Etna volcano eruption destroying Pompeii making me somehow wonder if all this, this Asian love affair I once again got into head over Farang heels will destroy me as well at some given point...
Maybe I should run out of this Sala Thai Guesthouse, run below a blue Thai sky containing a fat primary yellow white sun, hot like hell that will probably cause me to perspire as though I am about the face the firing squat in some Caudillo ruled south American parody of a democracy, feeling once again the pangs of guild and anger, the merits of self-destruction doing a serious numero uno demolition job on my already over-damaged Kharma...
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Old love never dies...
Banbkok, 15 March 2014.
A strange and hard to explain urge drawing me back to good old Pattaya, the kingdom of male Farang testosteron, the holy harem of the Isasn born clan of females who always consider me handsome Khe Mak Mak, but then they consider any Farang male daring his crazy presence and a over stuffed wallet in the streets of and bars of Pattaya Suay Suay... and though the Nana Plaza water buffaloe story might have no appeal to me, nor do I give much weight to the Soi Cowboy party letters where Mum is sick and the family funds have run as dry as the Isan rice fields enduring yet again another severe drought - after all it is me responsible for at least part of these money gathering rip off stories so how com I would fall for it myself for the tender administarations of a local daughter of Eva..."Een Beetje Dom" as the new Dutch queen Maxima would say explaining her hubby's mental capabilities, ah yes a liitle ietsy bietsy stupido as her Argentinian accent would sound to us the Holy Dutch of the Sacred Low Countries....yes, indeed dear reader of this blog I am getting carried away again here though with numero uno good reason I can asure you...stay with me and you weill get it all down to the ietsy bietsy detail...
Been with me for a while in this nutty blog, not yet given up on all the madness I throw into the realm of the sacred internet...if so you might remember that soft hearted Pechabun born lady always looking for fun on the infamous Pattaya boulevard, in the possession of an exceptional fat pink colored lady's wallet, not much interested in Thailand's version of the sons of Adam but having an insatiable urge to hang with Farang sons of the devil's own...yeah that is the one drawing me back to testosteron high heaven of Farang debauchery and female rip-off gossip queensdom...
I shy away doing my utmost to forget nights of passion and getting massage till you drop, not wanting to get into the Pagwan shit of all too many male farangs promising their Asian love affair eternal Amor and a trip to Farang Land, two or three Hassip Hasip Leuk Kreung babies with a soft pinkinsh skin and a big european nose without the cilicon job though at 48 she is well past her motherhood prime, and not much into the responsibility of infant caring...no way, she wants to care for nice Farang like me, pay expensive dinners and Red Wine to her lover Farang Man...
Mierda three times in a row, I knew I should have shied away from Pattaya, go to Hua Hin instead and loose my immortal soul at night sitting on the beach and staring at the Thai moon and knocking down big condensed bottles of Chang elefant beer, hoping I will keep my wits together and don't get Ting Tong ideas like going for a swim and ending up like Mister Starman dead as a zombie on a Thai beach, the cremation chamber at the local Wat waiting for yet another stupido dead Farang...
Miss Endoo is waiting for an alive and kicking Farang son of Adam...like I said Old Love Never Dies...
A strange and hard to explain urge drawing me back to good old Pattaya, the kingdom of male Farang testosteron, the holy harem of the Isasn born clan of females who always consider me handsome Khe Mak Mak, but then they consider any Farang male daring his crazy presence and a over stuffed wallet in the streets of and bars of Pattaya Suay Suay... and though the Nana Plaza water buffaloe story might have no appeal to me, nor do I give much weight to the Soi Cowboy party letters where Mum is sick and the family funds have run as dry as the Isan rice fields enduring yet again another severe drought - after all it is me responsible for at least part of these money gathering rip off stories so how com I would fall for it myself for the tender administarations of a local daughter of Eva..."Een Beetje Dom" as the new Dutch queen Maxima would say explaining her hubby's mental capabilities, ah yes a liitle ietsy bietsy stupido as her Argentinian accent would sound to us the Holy Dutch of the Sacred Low Countries....yes, indeed dear reader of this blog I am getting carried away again here though with numero uno good reason I can asure you...stay with me and you weill get it all down to the ietsy bietsy detail...
Been with me for a while in this nutty blog, not yet given up on all the madness I throw into the realm of the sacred internet...if so you might remember that soft hearted Pechabun born lady always looking for fun on the infamous Pattaya boulevard, in the possession of an exceptional fat pink colored lady's wallet, not much interested in Thailand's version of the sons of Adam but having an insatiable urge to hang with Farang sons of the devil's own...yeah that is the one drawing me back to testosteron high heaven of Farang debauchery and female rip-off gossip queensdom...
I shy away doing my utmost to forget nights of passion and getting massage till you drop, not wanting to get into the Pagwan shit of all too many male farangs promising their Asian love affair eternal Amor and a trip to Farang Land, two or three Hassip Hasip Leuk Kreung babies with a soft pinkinsh skin and a big european nose without the cilicon job though at 48 she is well past her motherhood prime, and not much into the responsibility of infant caring...no way, she wants to care for nice Farang like me, pay expensive dinners and Red Wine to her lover Farang Man...
Mierda three times in a row, I knew I should have shied away from Pattaya, go to Hua Hin instead and loose my immortal soul at night sitting on the beach and staring at the Thai moon and knocking down big condensed bottles of Chang elefant beer, hoping I will keep my wits together and don't get Ting Tong ideas like going for a swim and ending up like Mister Starman dead as a zombie on a Thai beach, the cremation chamber at the local Wat waiting for yet another stupido dead Farang...
Miss Endoo is waiting for an alive and kicking Farang son of Adam...like I said Old Love Never Dies...
Sunday, March 9, 2014
The death of the starman.
Pattaya, 10 March 2014.
The man looked like a nacroleptic chimp in an express elevator to hell, always throwing a mishmash of half stammered insults, his speech slurred by too much booze, at passers-by. Not exactly a clever thing to do in Pattaya were half the visting population of male Farangs is Mao to some level at least most of the day, yeah, even the Iraqi army has made better tactical decisions during its stand-off with the Amis in the Gulf...
His mind was always in some out of control jumping miasma of cheap local moonshine whiskey, the man really needed to learn the difference in watered down horse piss and good quality cold to the touch beer if he wanted to move up in my hierachy of street alcoholics...
Her did have a certain humor though, that I have to give hime. When I made a drawing of him looking like a clown with a bottle of locally kitchen brewn cat piss he told me...
"doesn't look like me, mate".
So I added some of the countless tattoed stars in his face - hence his local nickname Starman - to Mister Acohol Induced Farang Clown...
"Ah, yes, now it looks like me, dude".
Like I said, the man at least possessed humor!!!
He lost the humor together with his drunk life a few weeks ago having been found death as death comes on the Pattaya beach where he always slept off the the enormous quantities of consumed booze before starting again, never mind what time of day...
A useless life having come to an equally useless death at 47 years old with the Dutch embassy yet again charging relatives back in his native Holland for transport back home...if he had any relatives at at...
Maybe better to cremate him at a local Wat, cheaper for the Dutch tax payers I guess...
The man looked like a nacroleptic chimp in an express elevator to hell, always throwing a mishmash of half stammered insults, his speech slurred by too much booze, at passers-by. Not exactly a clever thing to do in Pattaya were half the visting population of male Farangs is Mao to some level at least most of the day, yeah, even the Iraqi army has made better tactical decisions during its stand-off with the Amis in the Gulf...
His mind was always in some out of control jumping miasma of cheap local moonshine whiskey, the man really needed to learn the difference in watered down horse piss and good quality cold to the touch beer if he wanted to move up in my hierachy of street alcoholics...
Her did have a certain humor though, that I have to give hime. When I made a drawing of him looking like a clown with a bottle of locally kitchen brewn cat piss he told me...
"doesn't look like me, mate".
So I added some of the countless tattoed stars in his face - hence his local nickname Starman - to Mister Acohol Induced Farang Clown...
"Ah, yes, now it looks like me, dude".
Like I said, the man at least possessed humor!!!
He lost the humor together with his drunk life a few weeks ago having been found death as death comes on the Pattaya beach where he always slept off the the enormous quantities of consumed booze before starting again, never mind what time of day...
A useless life having come to an equally useless death at 47 years old with the Dutch embassy yet again charging relatives back in his native Holland for transport back home...if he had any relatives at at...
Maybe better to cremate him at a local Wat, cheaper for the Dutch tax payers I guess...
Friday, March 7, 2014
Seven Dwarfs on the loose
Pattaya, 07 March 2014.
Back in Pattaya, that one time fisherman village that when Snowwhite was on the run looking for something more rewarding in the male equipment department, after all these Seven Midgets were rumoured to be out of favour by Mother Nature and therefore not exactly well endowed, got turned into an R and R place for young American Marines back in the days of the crazy Vietnam war, debauchery started in earnest and the Seven Dwarfs took over looking also for something more rewarding...
Bullshit for real with the riffraff of the world hurrying over in big alu flying machines, the Isan clan of undereducated females sill clever enough to smell international dough in with what were at in these days uncilliconed Asian noses and boarding the local buses in their hunderds turning local transportation to Pattaya in harems even Roman emperors would have been jealous of, carnal extasy ensued and Caligula would have felt perfectly at home...
Bars aplenty making a silly mockery of the anachronism from a long ago American prohibition past, sex starved pitbulls from ancient Europe on the loose in an Asian chicken run...
Thai prostitutes throwing their precious I-Phones around while on cold turkey but saying more prescient things when once again on Ya Ba, the Crazy Drug as the Thai police calls it...
The disjointed ramblings of my senilic Farang mind could continue for a while trying to make sense of the ruling chaos created by these Seven Intelligent Dwarfs in the White House back in the days of American commitment across the globe, my mad and chaotic scribblings trying to create written order of an open air madhouse but I am reasonably sure, dear reader of this blog, you are getting the picture...
Back in Pattaya, that one time fisherman village that when Snowwhite was on the run looking for something more rewarding in the male equipment department, after all these Seven Midgets were rumoured to be out of favour by Mother Nature and therefore not exactly well endowed, got turned into an R and R place for young American Marines back in the days of the crazy Vietnam war, debauchery started in earnest and the Seven Dwarfs took over looking also for something more rewarding...
Bullshit for real with the riffraff of the world hurrying over in big alu flying machines, the Isan clan of undereducated females sill clever enough to smell international dough in with what were at in these days uncilliconed Asian noses and boarding the local buses in their hunderds turning local transportation to Pattaya in harems even Roman emperors would have been jealous of, carnal extasy ensued and Caligula would have felt perfectly at home...
Bars aplenty making a silly mockery of the anachronism from a long ago American prohibition past, sex starved pitbulls from ancient Europe on the loose in an Asian chicken run...
Thai prostitutes throwing their precious I-Phones around while on cold turkey but saying more prescient things when once again on Ya Ba, the Crazy Drug as the Thai police calls it...
The disjointed ramblings of my senilic Farang mind could continue for a while trying to make sense of the ruling chaos created by these Seven Intelligent Dwarfs in the White House back in the days of American commitment across the globe, my mad and chaotic scribblings trying to create written order of an open air madhouse but I am reasonably sure, dear reader of this blog, you are getting the picture...
Sunday, March 2, 2014
The Bangkok hotel dilemma
Bangkok, 02 March 2014.
Normally this metropolis's residents go to consider lenghts to avoid having to breath the city's tocix air but me, the Ting Tong nutcase Farang who is always willing to risk my crazy life on the back of one of bangkok' s numerous motorbike taxis, as well as my knee caps and lungs, still I have to give them credit this air needs some serious decontamination, it needs to be chilled and dried and even then it still tasted like waking up after knocking down a three quater bottle of local moonshine whiskey, with the empty batteries of my electric toothbrush making matters even worse...goodbye and Adios, Doei Doei to the richly thickened air, syrupy with the fragrances of frangipani, jasmine and gardenias of kanchanaburi...I am in dire need of a spray can of air sweetener...
Not that I am really sure where in this amazingly big hubble the bubble of human over population I really wanna go, just told the driver to start moving, ref the engine and hit the ever growing jam of Mercedes Benz automobiles, three stoke Tuk Tuks and city busses leaving behind a sackfull of Cancer smoke that would even put Exxon Mobile to shame...
mayve settle down in the Sukhumvit District Eight Area, conveniently close to nanaPlaza and Soi Cowboy where sexually alluring flimflam artists catering to an ever growing army of sex starved pot bellied male idiots, are still on the rise turning the Thai Kingdom into an international Bordello rife with temples, or so it feels at times...
I could take up lodgings in Soi Ngam Dupli but rumour has the nearby Lumpini Park is a heaven for anti-government demonstrators, their tents all over the place and their behind the tree shitting practices have according to the Bangkok Post even chased the the park's population of water lizards back to the sewers they orginally felt comfy comfy in...
maybe the backpackers' paradise Khao San Road should be my number one choice but then I object to the Sihk soothtellers who keep telling what a lucky guy I am and then charge me a small fortune for their unasked for services, somehow that doesn't make me feel very lucky at all...
Normally this metropolis's residents go to consider lenghts to avoid having to breath the city's tocix air but me, the Ting Tong nutcase Farang who is always willing to risk my crazy life on the back of one of bangkok' s numerous motorbike taxis, as well as my knee caps and lungs, still I have to give them credit this air needs some serious decontamination, it needs to be chilled and dried and even then it still tasted like waking up after knocking down a three quater bottle of local moonshine whiskey, with the empty batteries of my electric toothbrush making matters even worse...goodbye and Adios, Doei Doei to the richly thickened air, syrupy with the fragrances of frangipani, jasmine and gardenias of kanchanaburi...I am in dire need of a spray can of air sweetener...
Not that I am really sure where in this amazingly big hubble the bubble of human over population I really wanna go, just told the driver to start moving, ref the engine and hit the ever growing jam of Mercedes Benz automobiles, three stoke Tuk Tuks and city busses leaving behind a sackfull of Cancer smoke that would even put Exxon Mobile to shame...
mayve settle down in the Sukhumvit District Eight Area, conveniently close to nanaPlaza and Soi Cowboy where sexually alluring flimflam artists catering to an ever growing army of sex starved pot bellied male idiots, are still on the rise turning the Thai Kingdom into an international Bordello rife with temples, or so it feels at times...
I could take up lodgings in Soi Ngam Dupli but rumour has the nearby Lumpini Park is a heaven for anti-government demonstrators, their tents all over the place and their behind the tree shitting practices have according to the Bangkok Post even chased the the park's population of water lizards back to the sewers they orginally felt comfy comfy in...
maybe the backpackers' paradise Khao San Road should be my number one choice but then I object to the Sihk soothtellers who keep telling what a lucky guy I am and then charge me a small fortune for their unasked for services, somehow that doesn't make me feel very lucky at all...
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