Fankial problems

Sh*t three times in a row. Every time I open a newspaper I`m besieged by stories about the financial crisis roaming the earth like a wild fire.

Even the bloody terrorist attacks on Mumbai or the inevitable bloodshed that is about to happen at Suvarnibhumi New Airport and The old one called Don Muang, when the police will storm them and throw the anti Somchai Wongsawat prostesters out in the street, can not move the credit crisis to page thirteen.

Reading these stories - like I`ve a choice in the matter - I wonder how long the USA can keep going on throwing billions of green backs around as though it were free toilet paper.
Looks like Obama has a serious job ahead of him. Not something to envy him for.

My own problems - what is gonna happen when Suvarnibhumi is still occupied by the time I fly to Krung Thep? - seem tiny in comparison.

Jogging in the cold of winter.

Outside it is cold and that white and wed stuff called snow is coming down in droves, big white flakes obscuring the view of the garden behind my house.
It`s not that I object to the laws of Mother Nature, or her whims for that matter, the problem is that I`ll haqve to go through this bad weather later for my usual half hour of jogging in Westerpark, I`m determined so no way this sh*tty weather will be an excuse to stick indoors, stay in the warmth of my appartment.
The big red colored gas heater is located right next to my bed, radiating an ever broadening aura of cozy heat, something to think about while I`ll do my jog.

Not that I`ve any serious rights to complain...think about the other creatures of Mother Nature, the birds and mice that need to leave the warmth of their burrows, a warm and cozy place on a bough surrounded by poison ivy that keeps out the cold...no way there, these warm blooded animals need food aplenty to keep the internal oven going.
The alternative is not acceptable!!!

Yeah, lets think about these things while I do my jog today, sleet in my face combined with gusts of ice-cold wind, slippery snow on the path underneath my running shoes.
My cold might be gone but my nose is still running, and will so even more during my jog.

Clammy sheets and feverish dreams

Amsterdam,

I did my social participation thing at the animal farm though I was staggering around the place most of the morning due to my cold and subsequent flu.
Well, at least I got my payback the way my Buddhist believe taught me. Beautiful sofia came over with her cute little dog jopie giving me a great and warm embrace. Too bad about my cold, I had to tell her no kissy kissy stuff here or you will get infected too.

I wake up every ten or twenty minutes or so, my body racked by heavy coughs and covered in clammy sweats, my sheets are soaked with it and ready for the dryer.
All night my short bouts of sleep are tormented by nightmare attacks. The feverish nightmares that can really do your head in
and leave you in a state of bewilderment.
These dreams in my case are always the same. Prostitutes the world over, ladies that I took back to my cheap and dirty hotel rooms for a night of pleasure, women that helped my while away the lonely nights in far away countries. Females that had very little say in the matter coming from poor backgrounds, often as impoverished as church rats. Having kids staying with their own mummies while they go out in the darkness of third world streets in dubious neighborghoods looking for customers, money in exchange for sex. Drunk and smelly men, big beer bellies and macho behaviours. Male violence is no stranger to these poor creatures of the night.
Hunderts of these, if not a couple of thausend shared their bodies with me in far away countries where there is no social wellfare system.
Each and every one I remember vividly. How could I not? They inhabit my dreams, screaming at me with distorted faces and worn-out bodies, their mental health gone down the drain with every passing customer. They are trapped now, need to keep working in order to pay for the expensive medicines that countless STDs and Hiv require. Addicted to booze and drugs that need even more cash......I wake up once more wrapped in sheets soaked with my bodily fluids, my body trembling with fever, feeling cold and hot at the same time, I get out of bed deeply disturbed staggering to the fridge for an ice-cold beer, the darkness of my house surrounding me.

Het Geuzenbos

Amsterdam,

"I go out for a ride, need some fresh air", I tell Kyung when I see her im my street waiting in the ATM queue.
I actually really do after last night`s little party downtown, I didn`t get home untill well after seven in the morning half drunk on Red Wine and dead tired.

It takes just ten min. of cycling direction Ruigoord and I`m in the middle of nowhere, a small cycle lane with wild vegetation on both sides, coots and ducks in the canal, wind in my face and a huge bird of prey gliding on enormous wings overhead.
I`m snottering like hell, the occasional sneeze with big drops of snot flying out of my nose - good thing I wear a raincoat. This is a serious cold I`m having, a little gift from Hannes, my upstairs neighbors` little baby boy, from last week when I was up there playing with him.
I might not be much of a father to my own kids but I really adore their little son, most likely because he is not my own, no respopnsiblity there.
These thought are racing through my head when I reach the turn-off to Ruigoort. I notice a sign and an animal grille - a sort of contraption that spans the road and stops cattle from crossing from one field into the next.
The sign tells me this is the Geuzenbos, a forest completely given over to nature with stray horses and scottish herefort cows.
This could actually be fun, I lock my bike, cross the grille and enter a complete wilderness, muddy trails go up and down small hills covered with low bushes and trees.
The presence of huge lifeforms are evident by big heaps of cow and horse manure, the sort of animal shit I`ve been involved with at the animal farm for children where I do my volunteer job.
I`m real careful here, don`t fancy the idea of running into a stray horse or wild and mad bull trying to protect his little family on his own turf, his very own territory.
I`m extremely excited at the same time...then through the branches of trees and bushes I see a massive red haired bull, his horns are set apart with a huge distance between them looking real ominous, his nose is running with snot just like my own.
Hisa is sniffing the air suspiciously for my presence, his eye sight is probably not very good.
I remember the warning on the sign at the entrance...keep at least 25 m. between yourself and the animals...but I know an even better precausion...make a hasty retreat, yeah, sounds pretty good to me.
Cycling back to Amsterdam I feel real good despite my snotty nose. Such a nice place and even within cycle distance of my house in busy and crowdy Amsterdam. I`ll surely return.

ARelaxedLifeNowadays

Amsterdam.

The new main library in Amsterdam, located near the main railway station is huge and offers free internet access. Now I might have my own internet at home, still it makes a great break during my daily cycle tours through the city, check my e-mail, some of the sites I visit, that sort of thing.
My daily cycle trips, the fresh air I breath while my legs do their usual job on the bike`s pedals, deftly avoiding racing cars and careless tourists that cross the busy roads often deep in conversation and burdened under bulky backpacks.
Despite the normal cold I always seem to catch at this time of year, I feel quite happy with life. I live in a big house, have plenty money with a good income though I only work at the animal farm for children two mornings a week, The Mary-Jane addictions that have plaqued my life, my very excistence, ever since returning from India thirteen years ago. It has been well over a year I believe since I smoked my last joint.
Even the weird and stangely disturbing dreams that always leaves me covered in clammy sweat when I wake up, leave me dead tired, about ready to drop down for the rest of the day, have mostly vanished.
The "Brotherhood of Evil Friends"....well, I see them occasionally when I go on my daily jogging rounds in the park, from a distance that is, big groups of rowdy drunks that seem to have nada to do all day but knock down cheap Albert Heyn Supermarket beer, smoked overpriced joints and tabacco, quarrel over spare change.
I see them in my street sometimes staggering along drunk as skunks, their clothes ragged and smelly.
Have I ever really been there with them....not even all that long ago actually.

TheOtherSideOfBuddha

If Buddha Had Known What He Was Talking About


If Buddha had been truly enlightened, he would not have told people that this world is full of sorrow and called it an evil that they should try to escape from.
He would have seen the meaning of sorrow, the wisdom that sorrow brings and told people to face it head on.

If Buddha had been truly enlightened, he would have understood the meaning of each stage in our lives including old age and death.
He would have seen that the progressive weakening of the mind and body is as instructive to the soul as the climb toward maturity.

If Buddha had been truly enlightened, he would have seen that sickness and pain help us focus on what makes us spiritually healthy.

If Buddha had been truly enlightened, he would not have told people to walk away from life, but to wade through it.

But I know how painful it is to confront each weakness. I, too, fear old age, infirmity, and the seemingly unending sorrow in the world.

If I could wipe it all away today, I would, but that would mean that everything everyone has suffered to this moment was meaningless.

So what is the purpose of my life?
What does a better world mean?
How will people continue to learn in the new world?

What does it all mean?

Bird Poop

I wake up early due to the rowdy sounds of the starling clan that has taken up permanent residence in the trees of the inner garden behind my house. I was sure they would migrate soon enough to their wintering place somewhere in south Engeland, apperently they`ve decided that the pickings, the human garbage of a city like Amsterdam, are more than abundant enough to sustain them through the winter. Why bother to fly over a fast expanse of sea to a cold and rainy England when the pickings can be just as good right here in their summer city where the streets are full with left over greasy patatas fritas and garbage bags clawed open by stray cats?

In the beginning, just a few weeks ago I actually quite liked this show of city bird life, wellcoming their noicy appaerance each late afternoon just before nightfall, their flying antics in flocks of huge numbers before settling down for the night in their sleeping trees.

However, by now the enormous quantities of starling bird poop under these slepping trees has started to produce a horrible stink, I`ve to keep my windows closed if I wanna keep this shitty smell out.