the end of the Days Of Rain

                                                   Amsterdam,

I did this somewhat mysterious looking Buddha last night after returning from the Anne Frank House, a bit like celebrating what at the very most looks like the end of the Days Of Rain...

33 games sold in quick sucsession after several days of never ending rain, a nightmare to any determined street seller!!!

No more naked ladies from my dream world, that little sex obsessed monster that took up permanent domicile in my crazy brain somewhere during my early teens, taking over the control of my gray brain cells during these boring days of incessant heavenly piss battering the windows of my old house here in Amsterdam, forcing me to fill up all these wooden boards I found outside with the city's garbage this so-called summer and laboriously dragged up these steep stairs of my house for just that purpose, with colorfull acrylic ladies from my dream world...

A somwhat mysterious looking Buddha on newspaper, one page of the free episode of Metro coming in handy after reading about the mess of the human species...

Another naked lady from the Days Of Rain

                                                  Amsterdam,

And yet another naked lady - Una Desnuda Mas - made during these endless Days Of Rain here in good old Mokum, making my battered old house here in the Dutch capital look more and more a complete replica of my New Star guest house at the end of my wintery stay of three months...

The remants of take-away food, empty pilsener beer cans, half full bottles of Mooi Kaap red wine, jars with acrylic stained dirty water and used paint brushes, my colorfull artwork depicting all these beauties from my crazy gray brain cells, all around me while this incessable rain batters my windows...

But not the sounds of giggling young Isan women from the notorious Pattaya nightlife, sitting on the bed wrapped in orange colored hotel profided towels, their jet black hair shiningly wed from a recent shower while they nibble at barbecued chicken legs, watch the Thai love channel on my TV...

No sounds of snoring Isan Hot Mommas when I wake up, next to me on the bed, left side, right side, the floor covered with sleeping Asian beauties while I carefully make my way to the bathroom to relieve my full bladder...Mister Good Samaritarian in full swing here...hospiatlity to the max for impoverished undereducated Thai wh*res.

No, here I wake up alone in the bed, waking up to all these colorfull women that come out of my living dreams, memories aplenty but Nada En Realidad...just Days Of Rain.   

Cuatro Desnuads Mas

                                                    Amsterdam,

Okay, I freely admit, though it is still several months before my next departure to that weird and mysterious kingdom at the other side of the world, King Bhumipol's realm who is still in hospital being kept artificially alive to avoid military contra police political problems in that volatile society where the locals prefer to hide their true feelings beneath a facade of the eternal smile, the smile that made them famous the world over, a tourist destination of sun, beach, good food, cold beer and smiling friendly people...all that at bargain prices...yeah, I definetely need that departure...

Being here, locked up in this tilting over old but oh so typical Amsterdam house, rain battering against my windows, Nada to do but paint, paint and paints some more, naked ladies aplenty coming out of my drug and booze destroyed gray brain cells, alcoholics ringing my door bell, making polite and friendly small chit-chat, making me wonder when the eternal request for some small change will come up, the real reason why they braved the torrential rain outside and made it to my house, dirtying my toilet with their cheap beer destoyed darms...searching my Frigo for cold to the touch Appie Heyn cans of beer, unabashed and shamelessly...

Shit three times in a row, wish this rain would stop and I could go to the Anne Frank House, sell my games and save up Mas Y Mas Dinero for my next trip to that sick old man's kingdom only ten or twelve hours flying east... 

Teeny Lady memories

                                                   Amsterdam,

Shit three times in a row but did I make a big mistake the other day promising my upstairs neighbours to empty my attic room, a bit of a lumber-room or maybe like a glory hole where my old ladyfriend Mayke stored six or seven cubic meters of personal rubbish after her big eviction day from her house in Amsterdam Noord...

Well, actually, I dragged it all up the four storeys of steep stairs in my crappy old house while Mayke was introducing herself to my neighbors as the new tenant, smoking a big fat Big Mamma joint from the Heavenly coffee shop in the process...

Mayke went nuts again, as she often did before in her sorry life, smoking too much weed and drinking too much booze, forgetting all about her rubbish while enjoying the benefits of her homeless excistence, hanging out with the band of drunks in the park, soliciting drunk old American males in the notorious Amsterdam Zona Nocturna to finance her heavenly dopamine habits...

I seem to remember starting a very own Mayke Rubbish Eviction Day from my attic room, running into crates full with dirty clothes with the rot in it, books from her hippy youth, mouldy and all that as well as a big carbon box full with Teeny Lady packets - lady's bandages you know - with the used bandages carefully wrapped up and pushed back in its original packings...

I seem to remember shying away from that chaotic little room for a long time...sigh...I guess I will have to muster up the courage to get up there again and keep my promise to my neighbors, empty the place, put Mayke's "stuff" with the garabage outside so they can renovate the room and use it as a bedroom for Hannes, their four year old son...    

Dos Desnudas

                                                  Amsterdam,

Considering I am uploading more naked ladies to this blog, it must be clear to you, reader of these crazy stories, it is pissing down again here in Mokum, effectively stopping me from my daily sorties to the world famous Anne Frank House to sell my profitable Mandala games...sigh, sigh, sigh, you probably think, but no...there is a certain attraction being locked up in this crappy old typical Amsterdam house with its steep staircase, slowly tilting forward because of the marshland Amsterdam is built on, by the powers of Lord Thor and his magic hamer Mjolnir throwing thunder after thunder across the Dutch skies, unleashing massive amounts of heavenly piss...

Inside this house where I am surrounded by my own colorfull artwork, producing more and more, wooden boards found aplenty in the garbage and labouriously carried up these aforementioned steep staircase, risking my limps and very neck but being in my artist's equivalent of a Buddhist prayer cell, covering them with Senyoritas desnudas in acrylics and forgetting time and the world around me....

The mad dog's final destination

Another naked lady from my dream world

                                                 Amsterdam,

With all the rain pestering my life and those of my fellow city dwellers, I have Nada to do but stay indoors, remembering my other life, my other home, not even all that far away from my beloved Mokum considering they have these aluminum people cans with wings, pay six or seven hundert of these worthless Euros - get rid of them before the Euro crisis makes turns them into toilet paper - and only twelve hours of flying, back to Thailand, back to my Hot Momma contacts, my easy going female models in that Asian kingdom where their king is still atificially kept alife to avoid succession riots...

Nada to do but keep myself busy freaking around with my jars of acrylic paint, my dirty brushes and that little sex obsessed monster inside my European mind, showing me erotic pictures of my aforementioned Thai ladyfriends who were always so willing to take of the feminine garments, stretch out on my New Star guest house bed languidly, a glass of Mhekong whiskey filled to the brim, cubes of ice melting in that amber colored liquid, her friends giggling and exchanging the latest gossips or watching the Thai love channel on my one hundert channel TV...

Here in Amsterdam I only have my dream world...and my paintings!!!  

About wild roosters

                                                  Amsterdam,

This is Mark and his twelve year old son, Arjan,  from London who found their way back to my couch after a week of typical father/son bonding cycling the Hoge Veluwe, a big forested nature reserve in the middle of The Netherlands, far enough away from unruly London where young hoodlums with too much English ale down their Brittish throats and keen on a bit of lagerloud fun set the English capital on fire, a bit like a second German Blitzkrieg but then the lagerloud/football hooligan way...

Telling me about their cycle tour in rainy Holland, the couchsurfing addresses where they interacted with their local hosts and about the confusion they experienced with some of the Dutch traffic signs...

Like the ones telling them about animal gratings across the road, stopping big grazers like Scottish hedgeford cows and semi stray ponies from leaving their forested enclosures, animal gratings which are called Wild Roosters in Dutch but they mistook for wild roosters in the Queen's English, the wild roosters they spent days trying to spot before a friendly Dutch http://www.couchsurfer.org/ host helped them out of their English Babylonian dream world... 

Naked ladies from my dream world

                                                  Amsterdam,

Money talks and God walk across the Lake of Galilea, but these days Thor the Thundergod seems to rule the weather here in Amsterdam with the rain still battering the windows of my old but typical Amsterdam city house and if God, or else his son that misguided martyr Jesus Christ, really walked the Lake of Galilea without drowning, he would probably drown anyway because of all that heavenly piss coming down on him...

No money talks at the Anne Frank House selling my games, hardly enough of that paper or nickel stuff for a cold Guinness at Cafe De Wildeman with my pal Paul, enjoying a easy evening out in the company of a Amigo while watching fustrated young cops running up and down the alley on a police related matter...

My house becoming more and more a representation of my New Star guest house in my second home, Pattaya, ten or twelve hours flying in an Eva Air airbus...paint brushes and spray cans, jars with dirty colored water, half empty alu tubes of acrylics paint, wooden boards standing and lying around at random depicting more and more naked nubile ladies from my dream world....

If this really was my New Star room I would have my LIVING models sitting all over the place, nibbling at barbecued chicken legs and wrapped in orange colored reception delivered towels, their hair wed from a recent shower washing off the sweat accumulated on the Pattaya boulevard waiting for fat bellied half drunk Farang customers...great inspiration indeed but here in good old Mokum I only have my memories, my dream world...   

My personal Mona Lisa

                                                    Amsterdam,

Jars of dirty water containing paint-stained brushes, my scetchbooks lying around at random, mixing with old plates full with dried out acrylic colors, spray cans and markers, Ami Winehouse singing No More Rehap on my music system, a half emty bottle or Mooi Kaap red wine, cold beer in the cooler....

Working on several paintings and sketches at once...

Almost like being back in my New Star guest house back in tropical Thailand though no Hot Mommas running down my door, bringing along tasty food like barbequed chicken legs, Khao Pat Kung and big bottles of Mekhong with ice and Cola, cold aluminium cans of Le,o here in my other home, Amsterdam, but rain, typical Dutch rain battering against my windows...

Alone in my crappy old house with that steep stair case that always seems to impress and scare at the same time, my http://www.couchsurfer.org/ guests...though none of them around either...not today, today which is a living testomony to another "lost" year in my chaotic existence, reminding me of another year gone, my birthday never having been a day of celebration, more like a day of withdrawing into my own world, going into the more darker corners of my Farang - or was it Gringo? - gray brain mass...

But then these remote corners of that nueron mess are either ruled by the that sex obsessed monster showing me pics a-plenty of erotic posing women, my models in Hong Kong's Kowloon, giggling Thai ladies from the Night Life, Phillipino Hunting Girls....or else confront me with these scênes of the war torn countries that I was so obsessed with visiting in my earlier years, my old and worn backpack my only friends then...

Small wonder I prefer to spend my birthdays on my own, painting naked ladies or else this sad but strangely smiling personal  Mona Lisa...she is probably having a bit of fun on my behalf... 

High Heels and Low Lives

                                                         Amsterdam,

My live is ruled by High Heels and Low Lives - even giving them capital letters without a second thought in this blog entry - I realise watching the sluttily dressed prostitutes in the windows of that infamous Red Light District in Amsterdam, explaining typical Amsterdam tourist information to Mark and his twelve year old son who are my latest http://www.couchsurfing.org/ guests, who enjoy my free near professional guiding services in this most popular part of good old Mokum and who have come to Holland to do a one week cycle trip of the Hoge Veluwe - a national park about forty minutes train trip from Amsterdam - Mark and his son who wanna do some good old Father/Son male bonding, cycling the forest and Dutch "mountains" for a week...

My life is ruled by High Heels and Low Lives I realise while listening to my alcoholic friend Rob's babling, street stories of the neighborhood's population of druggies and alcohol devotees, low lives and losers who have turned King Alcohol, the Green Deity Mary-Jane - Marijuana, get it? -  and Emperor Crack into their personal Gods, a bad life style and Pas De higienic bodily care, sniffing around the dustbins and garbage like their canine friends for possible left overs to sell, maybe an old tuner or broken down DVD player...

My life is ruled by High Heels and Low Lives I realsie when I wake up in the middle of the night, that little sex obessed monster that has taken up domicile somewhere in the recesses of my gray brain mass during my teens, battling the other addictions that I have vowed to refrain from...

Extarvagant people at the Gay Naked Butt Parade in Amsterdam

People sketchin at the saturday Noordermarkt market

Amsterdam,

Some people I saw at the saturday Noordermarkt market trying to escape the gay main event of the week, the Naked Butt Parade, 60 boats full with extravagantly dressed gay people 

Gigeau De Paris

                                              Amsterdam,

Gigeau is an elderly, battered looking gay man who told he came to Amsterdam for the Gay Parade which is taking place this week here in my beloved Mokum, as it does every august, with the canal parade as the absolute highlight, drawing tourists - gay as well as straight people  - from all over...

Though Gigeau was in a hurry, not lining up in that endless long queue of Anne Frank House devotees, just passing by on his way to the Prinsengracht to obtain a good viewing spot, still willing to give me ten minutes of his Gay existence for this sketch, drawn to my little one-man street business by the sight of my funny handmade Mandala games...

Thanks for your time, Gigeau and hope you liked the Naked Butt Parade....sorry little joke from my side...

Houses on Keizersgracht in Amsterdam, part two

Houses on Keizersgracht in Amsterdam, part one

Thijs from Rotterdam.

                                                  Amsterdam,

Somewhere in between the showers of shitty rain that pestered the Amsterdam centre today, I managed to sell some of my funny little handmade Mandala games...

One of them to Thijs from Rotterdam who bought one for his Argentinian ladyfriend who beamed huge Sonrisas at me while watching form their place in the daily line of tourists outside the Anne Frank House, how I made this quick sketch of her Dutch boyfriend...

The Begijnensteeg in Amsterdam

This is one of my favourite alleys in Amsterdam centre.

Seen from the Nieuwezijds Voorburgwal, just around the corner from the Amsterdam Historisch Museum