30-Sept. 2010.
With my ticket safe, my wintering stint in far-away Thailand in the back of my stained blue jeans, dough in the bank to live it up while the Brotherhood of Westerpark Drunks is freezing their balls off surviving on luke-warm cheap supermarket beer, lots of bad l;uck and malignious curses aplenty mentally send alcross uncharted fast oceans to my New Star Guesthouse and poor Moi...,"how does he do it?" while knocking down another dirt cheap Pilsener...
Far away on my habitual chair drinking tasty cold Leo, watching the Yings in the massage parlour across the road clamouring for clientêle, waiting for Miss Make Pose little Bit, Make Love Nit Noi, I could feel the hatred and jealousy from a past I was mostly done and over with, enjoying the attentions of Hot Momma models who were happy enough to be models to a Ting Tong Farang ameteur painter who never had any motivation in life but enjoyment to the fullest..."sorry Miss Jif but I don't like to feature in the Bangkok Post sunday supplement like Peter Klashorst making big propaganda for his Tuol Sleng torture museum project", "not interested in fame and glory, riches and all that comes with it...I will make money enough in front of the Anne Frank House again this coming summer...
Ring...Ring...Ring...my phone bringing me back to the here and now, reminding me I promised Ingrid to help her out with a troublesome pony back at the petting zoo, sweating and transpering here in my bed in Amsterdam, taking a nap and relaxing from shovelling horse manure all day....
Reminding me that barking up the wrong tree is still wrongfull irony, no Jiff, Tuk or Joy knocking down my door with little feminine knuckles but a plain and simple telephone call reminding me of my social duties...
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