Dikke kees aka Fat kees on Cold Turkey

Amsterdam,

Russel, one of our employes at the farm and a 100 % street shit like me - told me last week about Dikke Kees his dealer and assiosiates,

Michiel, a frêle-framed loser who brought in the daily dough for his crack habit working for Max, arrested...

Max with his flaming red shoulder long hair, big guy with a shitty face and a likewise tember, spending X-mas and New Year in jail...

And then there was Ali, the Marrocan supplier - Hell freezing over, why do these shits always have to be Marrocan? - living out on the Haarlemmerweg, another small framed shit whose mouth seems to have make up for his diminutive frame... spending these so-called Holy Days in jail, New Year`s celebration, fire crackers and people being merry and toasting with full to the overflow champagne glasses... - hehehe- seen from the inside of a nowadays not all that clean Dutch prison cell, behind bars and kicking the habit brought about by your own mercandise...

Small wonder I saw Dikkie kees - Fat Kees - thought everybody else calls him Big Kees due to his bulky frame, walking down the Haarlemmerdijk, his habitual alu can of cheap beer in hand, big blue ice bonnet on his carzy head, demanding free smokes from people whoe were glad to be out of the house on a sunny afternoon after three X-mas cold sundays, screaming across the road "heeft U twintig Euro cent voor mij?", freaked out of his head after three days of forced Cold Turkey...

I wasnt`t all that surprised I found my cycle tyre flat of air like the Sahara without water monday morning...Fat Kees hates me to my guts but sneakiness is only Kees his repertoire when Cold Turkey is in the air or a speed ball has gone down the neurals of his fucked-up mind the wrong way again.... all other times he`ll steer well clear of me though he might promised Harry a few nasty things considering me hoping for a few cherished aforementioned cheap alu cans of beer...

Lady with a broken nose

Acrylis on canvas

NO WAY IN MUSLIM HELL

Amsterdam,

Finally, the dark and lonely days of X-mas are gone and over with, walking around snowy streets nearly devoid of people reminding me the harsh way of my self-chosen life of solitute around these so-called Holy Days.

The Noordermarket on each monday morning is clamoring with activity, people go to and fro chatting gayly under a nice winter sun. I hear the languages of the world, tourists checking out free city maps are the norm, not all that strange considering the Anne Frank House is just around the corner.

My mind is as always these days on my upcoming trip to King Bhumipol`s Asian realm, erotic images of Asian beauties trying to work there way to my conscious mind, battling vainly with the hordes of ravages Hot Momma faces, faces from the past that haunt me into the present, refusing vehemently to trun themselves into sexy dream world play mates, instead reminding me of their plight, the swearing eye and bad tooth, the baby back home in the Northern impoverished Isan provinces, the hopes they had and the drug and alcohol crazed life that came out of it...

I wonder where they are nowadays, institutionalised in a local Wad? Not much left there in the brain of a Hot Momma on a early pension, cared for by the monks and living on scraps left behind by the villagers - their Karma will survive another day...

My thoughts trail on and on hardly noticing the worl around me...I did see the mysterious multi-colores eyes of a Muslim lady, veiled and all that, passing by. I presume she can NO WAY IN MUSLIM HELL imagine what life is like for her Thai contemporaries.

The inside of a lady`s belly; pulbic property

Amsterdam,

Sitting behind my computer screen, big fat Mary-Jane joint dangling from my mouth`s corner and a recently opened alu can of Albert Heyn Pilsener cold to the touch, ready for consumption, totally prepared for blogging...

Going back in time I`m lying on my bed here in Amsterdam, my latest bed partner next to me, another tourist lady picked up during my frequent haunts downtown in the multitute of backpack cafes in the Warmousstraat, a bit tired but highly satified after our mutual physical bit of the oldest game between man and woman...

With my male seed dripping out of her snatch and my hand absendmindedly playing with her her erect nipple, I`m aware that as a gentleman - am I really a gentleman? - I should ask her "hope you use protection"...considering the sex was so hot and steamy, our lust so overwhemlming that we had luscious mating condom-free.

A tricky question though...one never knows whether or not the question will be appriciated...my latest lover might take offence believing it should be the man taking care of that part of our hot encounter...

Yeah, let your female erotic feelings run lose and expect your new partner to have a more sober mind, remember that the inside of a woman`s belly is after all Public Property...public debates on telly and in the newspapers, countless fora on the Sacred Internet discussing abortion and the Rights Of A woman`s Own Belly make it clear enough, a female`s womb is not her personal organ but a public domain open to anyone who dares to enter...the discussion.

In the end I leave this "tricky question" where it belongs...inside my Farang gray mass of neurons, get out of bed to make her breaky before sending her on her way with my blogspot address hidden in her purse. Kissing her goodbye before she boards bus 22, wondering if all my male seed has safely dripped out of her private parts or maybe one macro small spermatoide was a winner but I will never know about it.

A bit like all the hunderts of Thai Hot Mommas I send running out of my Farang excistence, 500 Baht in a worn purse or maybe hidden in her bra, condom-free sex here too means one or more of these hunderts of Oriental bed partners from my dark and crazy sex-driven past might well have left me with a bun in her oven!!!

Muslim Lady in the Jordaan

acrylic on paper,. The lady in the drawing I saw last saturday on the Noordermarkt here in Amsterdam.

Ehm from Thailand

pen drawing on paper

Midnight dreams.

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The Fearfull One

Aquarel on paper

Brontosaurus in aquarel

The corrupted human mind

Cabbages and Knights,

Oceans and Mountains,

Colors and Shapes,

Places with people in them,

Doing things that mean someting,

Where does it all come form???

The answer: Emergent properties of relationships manifesting themselves
at prgressively higher levels in a hierachy of increasing complexity.

Neural constructs created in the human mind end therefore tainted
and corrupted!!!

Hip Hip Hooray to the Isan clan of Hot Mommas

Amsterdam,

There seems to be some sort of coffeeshop war going on in my neighborhood. Not much of a problem to my near 24 hour a day intoxicated farang mind - the only mentally clean hours seem to be my mornings at the farm where fresh air, hard stable work and a stubborn Shetland pony rule my excistence.

Once again I find myself in a situation where my departure date for Thailand is coming up fast but with my mind in Ganja green clouds I hardfly seem to notice...yeah, if it wasn`t for my friends, colleages at the farm and people around me constantly reminding me of my incredible luck having three months in Southeast Asia, how little time remaining...tell you, I might well forget it laying on the couch in my crappy old house, with one of my favorite Hliister romans, a can of cheap supermarket beer and a nowadays not so expensive joint...laziness to max, an expensive and self-destructive way of whiling away a boring life.

Funny though, just twelve hours of flying high up in my aluminium flying machine, will bring me to a completely different world where it is not the sweet parfum and mind enhancing smile of Miss Mary-Jane that attacks me with false promises but the sex promising smiles of Isan clan females that will be in control of my mental processes, a different sort of entertainment on sale in tropical country for lonely European males...and that all at deflated prices.

Good food and cold Leo beer, fresh vegetables and veal, chicken or prok used for your meal, cheap but clean accomodation where the receptionist or else the cleaning lady will gladly take the place of the ladyfriend that was so particularly lacking in presence last summer.

A problem with Miss Mary-Jane...don`t worry your new found oriental love will gladly fuck your brains out, give your former lover a firm kick in the proverbial green leaved marijuana ass and take her place...In the end you will be off financially and physically feeling better.

Never mind your mental depression...you`ll feel like walking on clouds, like there was never an endless run to the neighborhood`s coffeeshop maffia, the dealers of a high ,induced by a certain plant life but now replaced by the expert dealers in cheap but great sex. Like I said; Hip Hip Hooray to the Isan clan of Hot Mommas!!!

Marine Iguana from the Galapagos islands

Pastels on paper

Lady with serious face

acrylics on paper

The walker

acrylics on paper.

Waiting for a doctor`s appointment.

Amsterdam,

So there I am, back in my old house, my dirty and covered in cow manure farm clothes still covering my unwashed body. I should take a hot shower, have a shave and put on fresh clothes for my hospital appointment at 15.30 h. But iunstead I find myself in this crappy old house I have lived in since returning to Holland in 1995, smelly and trembling, too lazy to even get up from my chair....the effects of my latest Mary-Jane addiction strong and demanding...a quick walk to the neighborhood`s coffeeshop would take care of my addiction needs...no more bodily shivers but big disappointment of having given inn to green colored mental inducement to laziness.

However, the idea of having to face my doctor stoned out of my mind does not appeal to me. No way to hide my mental trip...my enlarged eye balls will be a dead give away and anyway, are doktors not trained to see "certain things"!!!

Not that I should have any reason to complain. I mean the society I live in takes care of the bills, the bills that keep me alive, the expensive medical care my ravished physic needs to keep going in the here and now...my only payback to Dutch society, a few half days of hard work at the animal farm for children, hard and honest ARBEIT to ensure my rights for the Dutch dole...

Fair enough, square and fair...a few difficult hours without the mind dulling effects of expensive grass, green stained marijuana pods promising paradise on earth, though in truth only inside my european skull.

Theo Van Gogh, five years later!!!

Amsterdam,

Last monday it was exactly five years ago since the ritual slaughter of the Dutch freethinker, big mouth, the man who liked to kick against the establshed pillars of Dutch society and who according to many, was on a personal crusade against the Maroccan inmigrant colony aka - in Theo`s mind - The Fith Convoy of Goat Fuckers...

His messy death might well have been the real kick off for extreme right in Holland like Geert Wilders, or else the beginning of the end for the infamous and equally notorious - abroad any way - Dutch knuffel kultuur, basdically lets smother them with our love and hope they will adapt, get a job instaed of the comfortable Dutch dole, hope they will forget and quit their naughty street behaviour, stop pickpocketing innocent tourists and hunt down the Dutch Santa Claus in noverber/december, maybe a bit of fun stealing a lady`s handbag while she is waiting for a red traffic sign...

The eternal sigarette was Theo`s trade mark, the happy and healthy smoker, light one sigarette with the butt of the last one, keep the public debate going and get a bit of enlightenment on the maroccan problem while dragging away on a Camel butt...

Five years ago during a cloudy autumn day, on the way to his office, on his crappy rusty bicycle that was craeking its protests against its owner`s sheer bulk and weight, just having visited his favorite tabocconist for his daily dose of cancer sticks, he got overtaken by a tradionally dressed young Marrocan called Mohammed Bareidi, a fanatic bound on his seven virgins in the Muslim afterlife, he shot Theo off his bike and ritually cut his throat paying no heed to his victim`s cries for mercy, adios you despicable heathen brought forth by the hated Dutch whose dole money he was quite happy to accept but whose ways were unacceptable to him...

A short shoot-out in a public park around the corner from his bloody crime, a police bullet in the upper Marrocan leg put and end to his dreams of cherrished marterhood, no seven virgins - or were there nine??? - but a painfull leg wound and a life time senctence in Vught`s high security prison, bent forward mate, we have the daily internal search...

Too bad for Theo Van Gogh he will never see the political earthquake his messy death brought about...though the Dutch population might very well need another marter before the message will really come across I fear...

Artwork by Frank Shepard Fairey

The American Artist Frank Shepard Fairey has been commisioned by the Amsterdam City Council to adourn the wooden walls that for now have surrounded the Amsterdam Centraal Station for years due to extensive renovation projects.

Here are some photos of his work.

Flowers

Acrylics on paper

I WAS BLIND...

I WAS BLIND BUT NOW I CAN`T SEE.

Another message by the annonymous Dutch street artist called LASER 3.14

Lord Shiva`s Inheritance

Amsterdam,

If I took a well paid job I wouldn`t need to worry about filling my spare time, something to do to keep my head and body active, chase away boredom and henceforth stop these irratating short walks to the neighborhood`s coffeeshops. A six pack of cheap beer and four or five expensive pre-rolled joints...a few cherished moments to get myself stoned out of my head and forget the usual daily boredom of the long term unemployed Dutch male...

But then a well paid job is hard to find, a sympathetic boss even harder...the mind killing job of a production employe, something like eight boring hours a day behind the assebly-line or maybe toilet cleaning with Marrocan inmigrants telling me what to do...no way I am looking for that type of work...

So it is back to cycling around the city, a stop at the McDonalds for a one Euro hamburger for lunch, another stop at the public library to use their free internet and check my mail...

Getting home somewhere early afternoon with a non-planned joint in the back pocket of my dirty jeans, hoping to keep the addiction problems at bay which usually come with a big attack the moment I set foot across my threshold of my house...

Every year since my big trip to Lord Shiva`s Magic Land I seem to have to go through at least one Mariuana addiction a year....Mary-Jane`s green claws having a serious hold on my mental processes, forcing me to live my life dedicated to her Mental High!!!

Spider

Pen drawing with aquarel on paper

Kijk Op De Wijk

Kijk Op De Wijk.....an anual neighborhood`s cultural activity with the farm participating in the fun. Milk the wooden cow for limonade, pet the goats and rabbits, maybe a free ride on the donkey`s back...yeah, high shrieked voices of toddlers and young mothers discussing the merids of bringing up the smaller members of our Amsterdam multi-culti society...

For me it basically means another spare day of hard work at the farm while everybody else is having fun in the park, hard work and little pay!!!

Bold sparrow

pen drawing on paper

Fighting sparrows

pen drawing on paper

Fighting house sparrows

a pen drawing

The world wide crisis hitting me...

Amsterdam,

Wow, the world wide crisis is finally starting to hit me as well. With a reputed 27 percent drop in foreign tourism in Amsterdam, the queue at the Anne Frank House is getting shorter by the day, no more fat Americanos or beer gut growing english visitors bent on coffee shops and bars but having a quick sojourn experiencing the gruesome Anne Frank Story, waiting in line while their guts try to convince them all these big pints of Heineken from last night need to come out orally mixed with the all time english favourite, chips with fish, a nice combination coming out of a male english throat and landing splat on the pavement...

Other tourists hurrying away from the splattering greenish colored stuff spreading all over the asphalt, drops of it on expensive cruiseship vacationers pants...maybe think again next time you mix fish and chips with heavy Heineken beer, mate...

Yeah, my memories of the past serve me well for this blog now that the city is slowly getting empty with even the backpackers accomodation out of clietêle - down and out rock bottom sleeping place available in dirty dormitories where the farts of your fellow travellers will play havoc on your nostrils...

Yaeh, good thing I save up my peenies early in the season or else....no more long backpacking months while wintering in tropical Asia, no more honey to spend on the infamous Thai pussy, a long summer of hot dreams, luscious hot Thai ladies bent on my return to the land of relaxation, no more light brown beaches with azure blue sea, cold Leo and charming female local companionship to while away otherwise boring nights...

Yeah, I saved up my pennies, now I`ll have to make sure I don`t spend them all on expensive coffee shop shit instaed!!!

Opium and Facebook

Another message by the anonynimous Amsterdam street artist called Laser 3.14

Mentally and bodily destructive in the long run

Amsterdam,

With well over 11.00 games sold I feel I can rightfully take a bit of a break, try to handle yet another Mary-Jane addiction problem, running to the neighborhood`s coffeeshops at all hours of the day in a mad search for a Big Mamma - a pre-rolled joint containing a mix of heavy skunk and even heavier Hashies, probably skunk too, one of our main export articles apart from smelly cheese, flowers, wooden clogs and tulip bolls for the tourists...

Basically the dough I make with my games will roll back into the Dutch economy, or at the very least the Amsterdam coffeeshop industry, where it will go henceforth...I have no idea and don`t really wanna know...the very idea of the Heavenly Coffeeshop owner living it up on a tropical island paradise enjoying cold beer and hot local pussy on my hard earned dinero tends to irritate me enormously...

Still I did my thing, be a part of the Amsterdam inner city selling my games, looking after tourist luggage and showing them the way to the Van Gogh Museum, the Tulip Museum and even to the Anne Frank House though they are standing right in front of it...keeping the police informed on the going-ons of Eastern Europe pickpocket activity at the hottest tourist destination in town...

Well on the way to seeing Abraham, well on the way to slowly getting old but still hanging out with the losers from the street, drinking half liter cans with Rob and Richard, a joint to relax - or was it a joint to stop the withdrawal symtoms....

Running over to the nearest travel agency for yet another trip to the East, tropical weather to enjoy during the cold Dutch winter...if I`ll have enough dough left, that is, not spending it all on the aforementioned false delicacies of this world, unnecessary goodies that enhance my mind but are purposeless in the long run, mentally and bodily destructive in the long run....

Peter Nit Noi Chang...from the street

So there he is...an artists` impression of Peter Nit Noi Chang aka by the Thais as Peter Big Tumpui, a certain referal to his obesity, fat to the max you know.

Peter had quite the travelling life despite his sheer body weight having been to the Indian Sub-continent on several occasions. Trips to the Thai Kingdom a-many looking for young Thai pussy and cheap accomodation in the PS Guesthouse in the notorious Soi Yamato in Pattaya.

Young Thai pussy and good food are Peter`s only mental occupations, living the life of a homeless in Amsterdam, enjoying heaps of free food and coffee at the many Amsterdam walk-in centres for the homeless, easy but nutricious food so he can save up his disability pension for his winters in Southeast Asia.

Though the last couple of years his time in Amsterdam was full with street people problems...well, what did he expect showing semi-nude pictures of under-aged Thai prostitutes to down and out boozers and druggies, boasting about his sexual prowess with Thai Hot Mommas that could have been his grand children....jealousy in full swing here I presume, accusations of balling teenage Thai ladies of the night and serious threats....

Well Peter, if you survive the homeless scêne in Amsterdamm you still have a problem with your massive body...a fatal heart failure is on the prowl...

Get a life...peter

Having to sit it out for the Hot Mommas

Amsterdam,

So is this gonna be another boring day in the house with the rain pattering against my windows while I`m stoned out of my mind on Heavenly Coffeeshop Big Mammas, at five euro a piecer they do their job quite nicely, knock me out with a bang, leaving me ready for the slaughterhouse....a cheap Albert Heyn beer to wash it all down.

I made my money for my hibernation period in King Bhumipol`s mystic kingdom in Southeast Asia, plenty of money to get the attention of the local Hot Mommas. Ladies of the Night so determitedly walking the boulevard on their high heels, clickety-clack do their platform shoes go while they walk up and down holding hands with their sisters in arms, a hot smile for a promising date for the night....

Interesting prospect for me as a lone male from Ancient Europe having sold my games at the world famous Anne Frank House, unrest in my pants while I try to sit on my dough, waiting it out till early january - my usual departure time.

Trying so hard to ignore the attractions of the street. Sweet smells hanging around coffee shops betraying the super quality of the stuff on sale inside...temting to sit in the park again exchanging the latest gossip while my mind goes quite literally lucid on all the cheap beer and expensive dope consumed....total understanding brought about by King Alcohol and the iron clutches of Mary-Jane`s sweet temtations...

Maybe better I go jogging in the park late afternoon, drink another cup of hot chocolate instead of having alcohol devils detroy my guts, alcoholic`s diarrhoea playing havoc on my darms and belly...maybe better I join a gym and get muscular again for my female friends awaiting me on the Pattaya Boulvard, fully aware of my refilled fat wallet....

THE SEARCH FOR TRUTH.

IF YOU WOULD BE REAL SEEKER AFTER TRUTH, IT IS NECSSARY ONCE IN YOUR LIFE YOU DOUBT, AS FAR AS POSSIBLE, ALL THINGS!!!

Eviction Day

Amsterdam,

My eyes are glued to the trees in the inner garden behind my house, keenly studying the leaves for movement, blowing in the wind. Too much wind means a no-go day for the Anne Frank House, just like rain means an equally boring day in the house or hanging out with the darned Westerpark Boozer Club...

Not that the gang of former Evil Friends is in any good state, mentally and physically wrecked by too much little balls of coke, provided by Mister Harry the spoiled millionaire son`s inheritance...if I can believe the rumours well over 80.000 Euro gone down the drain...up in crack inflated clouds of smoke, causing a moment`s euphoria before the strong addiction strikes again, more crack and yet more...

Hey Harry, maybe another visit to your Mum for another couple of these funny colored strips of paper, so easily transformed into crack, popularity among your friends and the bad health comes for free. Your house a sticky and smelly chaotic mess with a letter from the housing corporation informing you of the inminent end of your rent contract...

Hey freak, you might well wander home blind drunk and stoned out of your nutty brain finding your crap outside in the street and an expensive cleaning company trying to make order in a appartment that has seen it all. From Ramond balling his Marisca and leaving his unhealthy coke and alcohol invested sperm on the already too dirty to touch carpet, a toilet bowl dark brown with alcoholic`s diarrhoea and a shower head disfuctioning....

Angry neighbors, the result of countless fights and endless screaming at any time of the day or night...

Yeah Harry, when Eviction Day finally arrives for you, I will hopefully be outside in the street laughing my head off and kicking my boots through your paintings!!!

Mashmour...from the street

So there he is...Mashmour, a total nutcare from somewhere in the Ethiopean highlans of Tigres, having come to Holland by way of Eastern Eupoe living in a tent for years in Poland, for the treasured asylum status somewhere in the midd-nineties last century. Always hanging out at night in front of the nightshop on the Wittekade here in Amsterdam-West...

Eventually he and Huessein stayed around, both of them serious head cases, suffering from severe war traumas, always boozing cheap supermarket beer with the Westerpark Brotherhood of Drunks, living on the dole, shoplifting bottles of Ruby Port, frequent coffee shop visits and house evictions.

Poor Mashmour ended up staying in a so-called Tokkie Woning, six two-room houses for those who absolutely don`t fit in with the rest of society on an abadoned lot at the end of my street.

Last I heard Mashmour got admitted in the Valerius Kliniek in Amsterdam-South, an asylum for the mentally insane....

Get a life Mashmour...sorry mate.

Richard ....from the street

So there he is, long awaited and finall there as an artist`s impression...Richar The Little shit. Grew up most of his early youth in a boarding school for bad boys, adopted as an orphan in his early teens and a mayor pain in the ass for whoever had the bad luck to ever come into contact with him.

Lost his house after a two year stint in a Surinam hellhole for dope related causes losing 25.000 Euro on "buziness money" in the process, illegally earned dough with a huge marijuana plantation here in Amsterdam - probaly stuck to the greasy hands of corupt Surinam police officials - can`t have been much fun as a white boy in surinam jail, especially so for a person who considers the negroide fellow human being equal to an ape.

Richard who got an restraining order, went to jail countless times, father to a daughter he is not allowed to see by judge`s order due to little duaghter and Mummy related domestic violence - not that the heavily tattoed and always totally doped up Mummy was any better on the Beat-You-Up department.

Needless to see that Richard is just another druggie from the Amsterdam streets and one of my many street contacts, somebody who seems to thrive on other people`s misery and bad luck but his bad dental work and homeless excistence a clear indication of his very own misery and bad luck.

His weird hold over his teenage mate Rob still fascinates me though the man really is a Little Shit.

Get a life...Richard.

UNDO IT!!!

ONE CAN NOT UNDO WHAT HAS BEEN DONE!!!

Klaas... from the street

Amsterdam,

So there he is...an impressionist`s view of Klaas from the street here in ancient Amsterdam.

Klaas always pushing his old crappy bicycle loaded to the max with old crap found in the rubbish and hopefully some idiot will spend a few Euros on something or other hanging and dangling from his rusty bike which is long over due to its pension, up to 500 kilo of crap...needless to say Klaas has got iron muscles.
Oh yeah and you can smell him up wind from several km. distance. Once I did a bit of arm wrsetling with him in the park ending up with sticky hands because of all the carefully accumulated dirt of years.

Get a life, Klaas.

Pickpockets warnings in Amsterdam

Amsterdam,

More pickpocket warnings the Amsterdam police wants me to hand out to my customers at the Anne Frank House.

Cheap Entertainment in Amsterdam

Amsterdam,

If rain in the morning is an indication of your day ahead than better I stay in my bed, enjoy the warmth of my personal roosting place while dozing off again feeling sorry this is Amsterdam and not Pattaya where I could just turn around and mount my bed partner who I picked up the night before, young and moist Thai pussy ready for the shagging and included in the Long Time deal made the night before on the boulevard.

Maybe a short walk to the Heavenly Coffeeshop just around the corner, conveniently close so I wouldn`1t get too wed in this awfull rain, just a few puffs of Mary-Jane and whiling away the rest of a boring day, not making any more games for the week ahead but instead give in to Marijuana induced sweet oblivion, maybe a good movie on my TV set, work myself through the newspaper one more time or else emerge myself in a Hollister weekly. All of it Cheap Entertainment that won`t bring much education along...as I said..Cheap Entertainment to the max, no comparison to whiling away a rainy and boring day in Southeast Asia where sex is cheaper thas the aforenmetioned shit in Amsterdam.

Martin..from the street

So there he is, an artistic impression of Matin-The-Big-Cokehead, smoking little balls of coke like there will never be any sort of tomorrow left but still the same Martin who loves to be Mister Cool who is doing good work for those addicted to dope, crack and booze at the Regenboog Stichting - the Rainbow Foundation - but he himself hopelessly chained to these little brown balls, smoking them alone or in the treasured company of Charly-The-Antilian-Cokehead.

Good team they are...a bit like a tag team but here it is the little pipe of coke being hit instead of the outstreched hand of your team mate.

Trying to get his dope dough Martin did some black work building up the Albert Cuyp Market each morning but got caught by the social wellfare department last winter.

While I was busy balling Thai hookers in Southeast Asia poor Martin was busy having the shivers I guess, having to kick the habit or else... worry about his next dope money sourch and placate the socio people at the same time...

Get a life Martin..sorry mate.

Jim aka Sexy Cook

Jim aka Sexy Cook, my lady friend in Pattaya`s Soi Yamato during the years I stayed with Lucky and his Thai wife Tuk.

see my blog www.heraclio5.blogspot.com

Martine

Amsterdam,

Rust zacht lieve meid.


Martine Elise de Vries.....29 july 1976 - 08 july 2009.

Martine`s personal euthanasia.

Can`t really say I was swept off my feet with surprise last sunday when Sanny informed me of Martine`s suicide - how I hate that word.

I used to work with this good looking and extremely intelligent young woman when I first started opening at the Animal Farm she was my first assistent always present helping me cleaning stables, bringing the animals outside, feeding them and chatting together while having breakfast or lunch.

She seemed an active young lady in the possession of lots of female friends, plenty of boyfriends as she once informed me proudly, no problems with i genetori - The parents in Italian, I`m learning Italiano these days - and serious about her volunteer job with us at the farm.

I did however always notice the cloud of sadness hanging around her, as seemed to have most of her friends...her suicide came as no surprise to anybody...it really was a matter of time.

So goodbye it was today going to the funeral together with several old hands from the farm, goodbye to you poor Martine, Lieve Schat, won`t forget your full laugh and the sparkle in your blue eyes, your unselfish devotion to your work at the farm.

Despite all your activities, your female friends, the men in your life, your ladies soccer hobby you could always talk about so vehemently over breakfast.....

Considering I am mostly animistic in my relious convictions, I can only hope I am wrong becuase if there is no God then there is no heaven and therefore it seems safe to say I will never see you again, not in this life nor the here-after.

RIP Lieve Schat, als er een hemel is vedien je hem meer als ik.

Free drinks at the Anne Frank House

Amsterdam,

It is not all that unusual that my customers at the Anne Frank House give me free gifts like a lunchbag with sandwiche, some spare change - do they think I am begging or what? - Rob coming over every so often bringing me one of these free little plastic bags from the Tweede Mijl with stale white bread with chocolate, hardly worth eating but I accept it gratefully anyway feeding it to the neighborhoods population of city pigeons once he is gone again.

Today was cashing in on free drinks. First an alu can of cherry coke from Mathias, a hopeless German junk with rotten dental work and always wearing a yellow stained pair of jeans - guess where the yellow stains come from - a cup of hot chocolate from a Canadian lady waiting for her friend while having a chat with me. And last but not least a small can of Grolsch - the best Dutch beer in the world - from one of the many local boats touring the Amsterdam canals. They threw me the first can short so it landed in the poluted water of Prinsengracht, but the second can was much better aimed landing right into my outstreched hands - good aim indeed and the can is cooling in my frigo right now awaiting consumption later tonight.

Together with 14 games out and sold I should have no reason to complain, just another mildly sunny day at the Anne Frank House collecting the dough for my next trip to Thailand, back to Southeast Asia while my friends here in Amsterdam are going puple in the face with jealousy.

Easy money for Thai honey!!!

selling mandalas part three

selling mandalas part two

selling mandalas part one

The Concept Of FRIENDS.

Amsterdam.

FRIENDS ARE LIKE BIRDS, THEY WILL FLY AWAY WHEN IT GETS COLD...

WANNA SEE A REAL FRIEND...LOOK INTO THE MIRROR AND HOPE FOR THE BEST.

Henk`s Crazy Death

Amsterdam,

Por el amor di Dios mas poderoso it seems only days ago I was blogging about the Old Man across the road, the man with the fatty dog and its spiderly legs looking so grotesquely on that overweight little mongrel that enjoyed sitting in front of the window in his master`s lap hoping for another free bon-bon, more cause for a primal canine death....

Yeah blogging about Lady Death in my blog can never been a good omen....nor good fortune.

But I have to get there again when today I found out about Henk Koch`s early demise...A big heavy set jew dark haired with a several day`s old blue/grayish colored shadow of bearth tumbles on his chubby face, who always remembered me of the Two Detectives in the comic hero called Thin-Thin, he even had a twin brother looking pretty much alike!!!

Now Henk was maybe the biggest junk in Amsterdam but somehow managed to always keep the other side of his life in perfect order like paying his rent and water bills, his electricity, that sort of thing...but apoart from that he was always drunk as a skunk, doped up while drinking beer with the Westerpark Brotherhoop of Drunks, talking nonesence and staggering home late afternoon to smoke more horse...Yeah that was his junkie life..but then he kept his house, big and spacious, in picobelo state...though he did have problems with the neighbors that eventually forced him to move out to a new place somewhere in south way out of town, convinced that he would be back to the Westerpark every day to booze....

Well, no more, as a matter of fact he has been notoriously absent for quite some time now.......

Today the bad news broke, he has been found by his twin brother not drunk as a skunk but as death as a traffic accident bestricken skunk, most likely he ODed on horse...I can see him in myind`s eye staggering around his emulously clean appartment, his rotten liver flooded with hard booze, his over-used lungs heaving making breathing a torture, his bowels erupting filling his pants with an evil smelling watery black Alcoholic`s Dirrhea...his last sensations in his Crazy Life the rasping of his own tortured breathing and the foul smell of his owm bowels...no time left for last thoughts but an ever stronger cold invading your worn-out body....your miserable Death just as Crazy as your whole long Crazy Excistence on this otherwise beautifull planet....you should have gone out and take a look, Henk, take it from me....

Adios Henk and thanks for showing me your great house...oh yeah and thanks a zillion times for beating the crap out of Shawn The Free loader, that was fun, I liked it!!!

If there is a special heaven for Professional Drunks, Crack-Heads, Dope Abusers and Horse Smokers....I`m sure you`ll fit it just right, mate!!!

The Old Man and his dog

Amsterdam,

Still half asleep and putting the kettle on the fire to boil water for coffee, a peek out of my window down to the street below, for a moment I hestitate than I see what I have bewen expected to see since late last year...

When I moved into this house in the summer of 1995 one of the first neighbors I got to meet was the old man across the road, skinny frame and a parchment yellowish skin color looking sickly and spending most of his time behind the proverbial geranium flowers scanning the going-ons in the street from his small first floor appartment that he shared with his aling wife who hardly ever could be seen outside the house.

Both of them old and suffering from a broad spectre of old people`s ailments waiting for the bony hands old Lady Death to stretch her all-encompassing embrace upon them.

The old man`s one and only friend - apart from his wife of course - was his little mongrel, fat from too much inactivity but in the possession of thin dog`s legs who would never get further away than the corner of the street during its many walks with his master, the old man across the road.

Apart from frequent shorttime excursions out of the house this fatty to the max dog would spent the other part of his canine life sitting on the old man`s legs looking out at the world below....

Late last summer bad luck befell the old man breaking his hip and being send to a care centre for the old, his wife being carried down and placed inside a coffin a few weeks later. The old man couldn`t even get to the funeral because of his broken hip.....

....This morning the old man`s appartment was empty, no more furniture inside or whitherred away plants on his balcony, curtains taken down and the appartment stripped of all his personal belongings....later during the day another neighbor told me he died recently in his care centre while he was asleep.

Are you reading me?

Another anonymous message by the Amsterdam street artist called Laser 3.14

The alcoholic soap continueing!!!

I find myself back in Westerpark after a night out in the city hitting the tourist bars in the Warmousstraat looking for backpack ladies in the mood for a short fling with a local male, no much success though, just waking up alone, late and with a hang-over from too much Red Wine.

Jeeesus, it seems like years ago since last I drank cheap supermarket beer on a bench in the park, not that I`m sitting with the Brotherhood of Westerpark Drunks though I`m in the company of Rob and Richard The Little Shit whose left eye is swollen and sporting all the colors of the rainbow. He has done his nick some real good honor no doubt having been fighting again.

My free beer has to be paid for in some way if not in Euros so they excitedly tell me all the street stories again, How Ramon aka Demon keeps squatting that junkie house again and again being kicked out again the next day by the coppers...

Like I didn`t know that, Mister Hans van Rent, the neighborhood`s cop for that district was at the Anne Frank House last sunday asking me "what can I do, every time I kick these weasels out and I turn my ass they are back inside?".
With me asking him "inside were, your ass?".
He didn`t like the joke, "no inside that house dammed, you know these people, can`t you tell me what to do?"
"Maybe you should lock them up". Hehehehe.

Apparently Ramon - or should I stick to his nick Demon? - also got his girlfriend pregnant.....this fat and ugly Westerpark coke addict called Marisca...she pregnant? She does nothing but smoke tabacco, soft drugs and balls of coke, drinks luke warm beer all day in the park and will have a piss right there on the spot just lowering her dirty pants in full view of whoever happens to be around....and that THING is pregnant?????

God save her child!!!!

The alcoholic soap in Westerpark is definitely continueing!!!

weird art, part two

weird art, part one

Ramon aka Demon

Amsterdam,

I`ve done good again at the Anne Frank House, my luck seems to know no bounds these days, better stay calm and don`t question Lady Fortuna`s obsession with crazy me!!!

Things similar to this are going through my head while I park my crappy old bicycle outside the De Tweede Mijl, a homeless centre here in Amsterdam, ready to enjoy a bowl of free soup courtesy of the Sisters of Mercy, when I spot Ramon aka Demon because of his loud and rowdy behaviour, Mister Number One Freeloader who got evicted last week from Mien´s house, Mien is in jail now for murder and the whole clan of coke junkies has been kicked out by the Amsterdam police with Ramon taking the place over again the moment the police retreated back to the station for a well-deserved cup of Java.

´Waarom helpt dan niemand me, verdomme`, like anybody wants to help this hyperactive drug abusing freeloader, stupid like a blind ass, a young bloke still whose teeth are already black rotting stumps inside his month cavity due to his excessive coke smoking, an alcoholic mother who spend most of her time on a bench in Westerpark drinking cheap luke-warm beer who told me once she is quite happy to sell her dirty and to stale piss smelling snatch for 40 Euros - no wonder Ramon ended up as a freeloader, a coke smoker and alcoholic, I mean with a Mum like that.......

I can still here Mister Freeloader King aka Demon screaming outside, his shrill voice ringing in my ears while I enjoy my cup of free soup.

A small gift from the Amsterdam police

Amsterdam,

This card is a small free gift from the Amsterdam police and the general idea is that I hand them out to my customers at the Anne Frank House. Zakkenrollers winkelem ook, Dutch for "pick-pockets shop too", or maybe I should translate it as "pick-pockets shoplift too"!!!

Not many tourists in Amsterdam, I prewsume the world wide credit crises is hitting the tourism industry as well, hard and furious, airplane half empty, hotels with a fair number of unbooked rooms, restaurants with no customers but my little one-man Mandala business is still going strong with another 18 games sold today, just a few relaxing hours in the sun and another 85 Euro filling my already well-filled wallet.

The HollandArtShop in Amsterdam

Amsterdam,

Three hours at the Animal Farm for Children helping out a lady in distress, Miss Domina Magriet even waied me the Thai way hoping to talk me into an extra shift because of staff shortage - Hey, she is the one always chasing her volunteers away with her dominant behaviour.

Still there is no way I can say no to the Thai wai, not with my Thai background anyway which she knows darned well!!!

I get to the Anne Frank House around 11.30 h. right in time for my appointment with a customer who phoned me last night for 40 Indian Games for a100 Euro, never showed up though, still business was good with 11 Indian Games out and 10 Euros looking after a backpack for a Japanese tourist - no backpacks allowed inside the Anne Frank House.

A short chat with Arjen who rents one of the little shops on Westermarkt trying to sell his artwork while watching the Westermarkt Brotherhood of Stupid Drunks slashing it out physically over tabacco and cheap supermarket beer with two cops on bicycles seperating them, trying hard to pacify them.

Good thing my dyas of drinking beer outside are mostly over!!!

Arjen Dijksma www.HollandArtShop.nl to see his artwork

A high alcoholic interest rate

Amsterdam,

Two short rings used to mean that the Brotherhood of Evil Friends would be at my door hoping for free beer and a few joints from the Heavenly Coffee Shop just around the corner from my house. A whole day in the park boozing and typical male boasting untill the dough was fini, fini but the thirst still unquenchably big. Yeah lets get to Shiva`s house, he has been at the Anne Frank House all morning making money with his funny Indian Games, he`ll have money.

Well, all good and bad things eventually come to an end with me closing down the Spaarndammerstreet free bar permanently, kicking the crap out of some of them to get the message across.

Nowadays when I hear two short rings I know it is Rob usually bringing me back the money he has once again borrowed, normally not more than five Euros a month though sometimes I feel generous and let him have ten Euros.

He comes to my house early evening smashing drunk and on probably more than King Alcohol alone, big stories from the Brotherhood of Evil Friends, who has done what and how....Ramon aka as Demon has squatted Mien`s house who has been evicted to seven years in jail for murder last year and whose house got emptied by the police last week, that is, they kicked all the junks out of the place and left it to the housing people to clean up the mess.

Richard the Little Shit stole his bag, the bag he is so fond of and he always takes with him during his trips to Belgium where his family lives. "This time I will kill that crapcake", he tells me excitedly.

We walk down the street to the Albert Heyn, he wants to give me a free bottle of Red Wine as a sort of thank you for the bloody five Euro but we end up in the neighborhood`s hang-out Bar Numero Uno right across the road - I`m fully aware he needs to visit the john again having serious darm problems, alcoholic`s diarrhea you know.

When about an hour later I find myself alone back in my house enjoying my solitude in front of my telly, I realise that these five Euros have turned into 6 Euros and five cents, a bottle of Red Wine, several beers, a fried chicken sitting in my fridge and waiting for consumption and lets not forget the glass of Red Wine in that neighborhood`s Bar Numero Uno while Rob had to do his messy thing on the toilet....talking about a high interest rate!!!

Pen Drawings of Amsterdam by Hermen Jan Janssen

A drawing by Hermen Jan Janssen, a street seller like me.

You can see more of his stuff on www.HJdrawings.com

Amsterdam,

enjoying the sun while making new games, selling them on the spot right in front of the Anne Frank House`s notoriously long queue, people from all over the world lining up, waiting to see a few bare walls, Anne Frank`s hiding place during the second world war, not that she survived it being betrayed and send to the gas chambers just before the end of the war. But then that is what makes the place so special, it is the admosphere that rules the inside of the house youy line up for!!!

My quiet pondering is rudely disturbed by the arrival of HermanJan the city drawer, a street seller like me and a Kathoey as the Thais call them, a member of the third gender, a transverstite who is usually dresses in mini skirts though often unshaved, a blueish/grayish stumble covering his chin, quiet a funny sight considering his mini skirt.

Today however he is dressed in his corduroy pants and apperently in a good mood judging from the super big grin that seems to split his face in two independent parts, proudly telling me his business is still going strong despite the drop in tourism here in Amsterdam.

Actually my own business is going pretty good too having sold already close to 400 Indian Games though be it still early in the season.

Humbert, Humbert...

Another message from the anonymous Amsterdam street artist called LASER 3.14

My sex date with Antonia

Amsterdam,

Can`t say my little sex date with Antonia was a real success. Sort of I got in a nad out of her place within an hour eating her snatch while she was lying face down on her favorite chair groaning pleasurably while sticking her well formed ass into my face.

By the time I got a sore jaw my male member had grown to quite a proud erection so I moved around the chair to get some head before the Big Time Shagging started.

No real complains there tough soon after I started shagging her ass she wanted me to stop and eat her tasty wed snatch again turning around with me sitting on my knees with my head between her well formed tighs making smoke as the Thai Hot Mommas call it

By the time it was al over she told me she had to check on her internet banking acounts with me getting the message loud and clear "YOU HAVE DONE YOUR JOB TIME TO GO", fair enough, I did tell her last month in that bar down town where we first met that I hated serious relationships after all.....

As for the chair....I seem to remember that she told me last month that that particular chair was the only bit of furniture she took with her when she moved out of her last appartment, I presume the bloody chair holds a certain amount of similar memories for her!!!

Lady Fortuna on my side.

Amsterdam during a rainy day.

Somehow I`ve this strong feeling that Lady Fortuna, the Goddess of good luck must be really on my side!!! What it is she likes about me, mister big stupid nutcase always getting myself drunk and stoned, never interested to get into a serious relationship, nor caring much about my social life, kicking friends, women, even my own family out of my life just like that, adios forever when you get too close to my emotional state of life, fuck off and leave me alone for I care!!!

Lady Fortuna is female and must therefore like me, maybe my unattainablity is what attracts her like all the other ladfies in my life, my good looks or maybe, most importantly of all, my horse dick which is always in trhe mood for some action!!!

Look at all the good luck that has befallen me since being back from my winter trip to Thailand... I found 50 Euro today lying in the street just like that, the second time that happened this month...just a few short weeks ago I found a very wed note of 50 Euro while making a short early morning walk on a rainy sunday morning.

Look at Miss Antonia from Aruba, rich and good looking, who keeps phoning me after we had sex the first time last month. Once was enough for me but she really wants more of that elusive thing called my male sexual organ telling me so on the phone though I did tell her I hate serious relationships, "lets get to your polace and fuck our brains out, goodbye in the morning and have a good life"' but no more and more....lots of guys would be jealous to the max...but me ....I shun it cherishing the memory of good sex and no more of it!!!

Maybe I should biuld up a harem and arrange them y date like the old rulers of Asian and Arabic kingdoms used to do...Yeah sound good to me.

As for now I will have to take another shower, brush my teeth and prepare myself for my sex date qwith Antonia d`Aruba, hot and steamy sex with me shagging her in all her orifices!!!

Female companionship to take care of my male needs

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Tempering with your genome

A message from the anonimous Amsterdam street artist called Laser 3.14

The story of a Muslim girl in Amsterdam.

She has been born in Amsterdam and into a strong Muslim religious family where both Mum and Dad spent their childhood in the Berber stronghold of Southern Marocco, where Mum hardly speaks the gutteral Dutch tongue - as a child she had to accompany Mum top one of her rare visits to the local doctor for translation related purposes.

When Dad wasn`t at work he would either be at the Marrocan Chai house with his mates playing cards and domino, at the mosque dressed in his djalebba or else in front of the telly watching Maroocan TV courtesy of the cable disk outside on the balcony - as a matter of fact most of the neighborhood has got one of these full moon shining metal disk placed on the balcony but then most of the neighborhood is of Marrocan desent, a bit like Little Tanger in Amsterdam West.

She was allowed to attend basic schooling and even four or five years of secondary schooling, only because Dutch Law declared it though. The university study of literature she was so keen on...forget it, Dad and Mum where already busy arranging her marriage with an much older uncle back in the Berber stronghold in the mother country so he could get his green card into the Dutch Kingdom.

Wether or not she wanted to go into the marriage as a virgin or not was not up to her, never mind her two brothers fucking their Marrocan heads of with Dutch girls. She had to keep the family honor to think of after all. A Dutch boyfriend would have resulted into bloody revenge by one of her brothers or even her very own father!!!

Wether or not she wanted to wear a headscarf or not was not her decision to make either. Once again the strong hand of her father and those of her brothers were always wavering above her poor Muslim head!!!

She sees her Dutch female contemporaries having fun and enjoying their adolescence bringing home boyfriends and experiencing with sex, that elusive thing which inside the family is a big taboo and only whispered about in the dark with her Marrocan and Turkish female friends who are all in the same situation.

She is lost in the hell of two distinct different cultures, devoured by the family honor and traditions brought to Holland by her parents and the freedom her Dutch contemporaries openly boast about ands she cherishes so much, lost in between two world s that are universally estranged from each other.

Isaan lady

Lady of the night, from one of my sketchbooks, acrylics on paper