Back in the Tweede Mijl on a rainy monday morning, back in that Amsterdam homeless centre run by dazed volunteers from the Dutch Hinterland who speak Pas D'Anglais, never mind the Polish Lingo spoken by their countless Polish visitors who live it up on free soup and sandwiches - better as the half eaten Mc'Donalds hamburgers I sometimes see them take out of dustbins at the Anne Frank House, Back to my friend Allie who would have done better getting herself interned in some obscure Kloster somewhere south of Franch...Pas De Francaise Ici Aussie but at least no constant complaining about my incomprehensible English in these f*cked-up blog stories...
Back to my drawings of Tweede Mijl Habituees, down and out rejects from the Amsterdam streets who whisper among themselves about the Good and the Ugly, the coppers tolerant to the max and those that tolerate Pas De Merde...
It is the time of singing together, religious Chansons about the love of their personal Numero Uno hero, that misguided martyr who came out of pre-dawn Palestine and would have done a whole lot better clamouring his Message in the here and now, the time of mass comunications, In The Name Of Jesus, Our Lord...returning to their Devout Christian Hamlets back in the Dutch Hinterland, sipping Black Earl tea and chatting about their good deeds done in the Sodom and you know what back in Amsterdam, help out the needy, thrilled to have interaction with those that are willing to take the Hand of Jesus but are high on coffee shop shit and cheap supermarket beer, a sniff of crack in the morning to make the day's start easier.
But maybe I am way too crytical about these matters of eternal soul and mortal body...better return my mental energy to my three young female couchsurfers from last weekend and the great weekend I had with them, showing them the infamous Red Light District and the fun talks we had in my house here in good old Mokum while enjoying the sweet taste of Red Wine...
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