Droogpruim Emiel and Dikke Joop

Amsterdam,

Okay, I admit, freely so and without restraint, sometimes when I get into my Thailand blogstories, I can be laying in on a bit thick...still, with my old mate Emiel coming over next week, Dikke Joop from Zwolle in hot pursuit on this old man's heels, with Paul joining the party, a massive beer session in Cafe De Wildeman or else Cafe Het IJ, big Thailand female-related stories will grow with the intake of each more glass of Lager and laying it on thick again, the qualities of Hot Mommas from King Bhumipol's Asian realm will be talked into the ground again...no doubt, no doubt.

A males only type of afternoon will ensue, going into the night and ending inside my centrally located house here in Amsterdam Westerpark...no doubt, no doubt.

Maybe running into these two slightly elderly Surinam ladies, short skirts and all that, whom Paul and me met last sunday afternoon, sitting outside Cafe Het IJ and enjoying a nice and pleasant late summer sun, cold Columbus beer and eyeing female Surinam thights whose owners told us they were still single...

Well, I guess everything is possible and I wouldn't put it beyond these two old geezers to drag these black elderly Mommas back to my place for an evening of typical male/female philandering...after all Droogpruim Emiel and Dikke Joop are old hands to that male paradise called Pattaya...   

The Damschreeuwer and his suburban madness

Amsterdam,

The soup is untasty and called Goulash Soep in my native Dutch but as always at the De Tweede Mijl - aka as De Tweede Kwijl because of their foul food, never mind the stuff has been donated to this volunteer run homeless centre smack in the middle of the Amsterdam Jordaan, by the Appie Heyn supermarket in the Westerstraat - take what you get and shovel it down your homeless and sour smelly street person mouth weithout complaint, don't foget to listen to our bible songs and gospel cantations, however cantankerous you might feel due to your latest police ticket for sleeping in the park again ...

The bloke opposite me is dressed in a 600 Euro Armani suit, 200 Euro snake leather shoes and boasting about his upcoming trail, some sort of high time dope pusher who has gone downhill but still clings to his expensive clothes??? Clamoring about suburban madness and the injustice of the system, showing his table partners the few coins left of his dole money, all his dough gone to his tailor, I guess...

Only when he walks out of the joint I realise he is the notorious Damschreeuwer, the freak who started screaming his head of last year during the silence period of the Dutch Dodenherdenking - the day we remember our fallen comrats during the Nasi swines' occupation of our beloved Dutch soil - people panicking and running all around like beheaded chicken, trampling those that were unlucky enough to lose their footing in the ensuiing Mêlee...

He seemed proud enough about his nickname the Dutch press gave him after his little stunt, even giving me the address of his very own personal website before departing and leaving me in the same sort of bewilderment as those that were rushed to hospital, trampled and all that, those that came to Dam square here in Amsterdam to commemerate the deatd war victims but nearly lost their lives themselves by the Cry For Attention of a mad man..

Anyway here is his website, just in case you wanna check it out...www.damschreeuwer.yolasite.com...he even plans to publish a collumn each month about his personal vision on the Dutch society, his ideas of Suburban Madness.

Anastasia from Unknownistan

                                                     Amsterdam,

With a nice late summer sun here in good old Mokum I find myself back at the Anne Frank House, probably selling the last of my funny little games this saison, probably my last chances of drawing my customers, trying to complete this little amateur art project I called "My Customers At The Anne Frank House", trying to incoporate some basic personal info of my models into my drawings.

Like this young black lady from the USA - judging from her accent anyway - who rushed by my little street business, mesmerised by my handmade Mandala games but in a hurry to catch her Eurolines bus to London, buying 6 games before rushing off again...

Thanks for buying my games, miss Anastasia, and I hope you caught that bus in time...

Pennies and Euros

PENNIES FROM HEAVEN AND EUROS FROM HELL...

A quote from the Amsterdam street artist LASER3.14

The sex ambassador of the Low Countries

Amsterdam,

There was a certain mental bell ringing inside the gray brain mass that makes up my personal being, my soul and character so to speak, when my mate Paul told me about this remark I left on a newspaper story some malevolent Dutch reporter wrote on Peter Klashorst, aka Het Konijn Dat Klashorst Heet...

Just took me a night to sleep on it before I remembered...I was in Pattaya at the time lodging at the New Star as usual, and as usual I was reliving the Suzie Wong story, painting women from the notorious Pattaya nightlife by the sack full, my room the usual gathering place for the Hot Momma Sisterhood, my art work adourning the wall...

Peter probably was in Bangkok doing pretty much the same and I thought it would be fun spreading the word he was in Pattaya instead waiting for a fan group to knock down my door...never happened!!!

Anyway here is the story and underneath is my remark...

Peter Klashorst is terug in Afrika. De kleine kunstschilder kwam een jaar geleden in het nieuws toen hij in Senegal in de cel belandde. Hij werd verdacht van het gelegenheid geven tot prostitutie, het aanzetten tot losbandigheid en het vervaardigen van obscene afbeeldingen. In de praktijk betekende dit dat zijn appartement een zoete inval was van vrouwen en meisjes die bereidwillig hun benen spreidden voor de met geld strooiende kunstenaar uit Holland.


De afloop is bekend. Het schilderende rijkeluiszoontje belandde in de gevangenis, maar wist onder strafvervolging uit te komen door enkele ambtenaren om te kopen en met een vals paspoort het land te ontvluchten.



Inmiddels is onze zelfbenoemde ‘cultureel ambassadeur’ van de schrik bekomen. Klashorst is neergestreken in Nairobi, Kenia, en weekblad HP/De Tijd had een interview met hem. De toon is hierin snel gezet. We lezen hoe Klashorst in zijn zwaar beveiligde villa Keniase meisjes het bed in schildert. Hij vindt ze tijdens strooptochten langs clubs en door sloppenwijken – en niet zonder succes: “Toen ik hier pas kwam, neukte ik wel twaalf meisjes op een dag.”

Als geen ander weet Klashorst hoe gemakkelijk meisjes in ontwikkelingslanden de weg naar de villa van een rijke westerling weten te vinden. Schilderen en bezwangeren, daar is het hem om te doen. “Die vrouwen hier zie ik als een soort heldinnen, die ik financieel en moreel ondersteun door ze te schilderen en ook door ze te neuken.” Dat doet onze ontwikkelingswerker samen met zijn zaakwaarnemer, die tijdelijk bij hem inwoont. “Het is ook wel gezellig, samen neuken.”

De door seks gedreven Klashorst noemt zijn verblijf in Nairobi “de realisatie van een jongensdroom.” Nu kan ik mij veel voorstellen bij de realisatie van een jongensdroom, maar niet het cre”ren van je eigen afwerkplek in een straatarm land. Op een foto zien we hoe Klashorst – gekleed in wit kostuum, sigaartje nonchalant in de hand – aan de borsten van een jong meisje lebbert. Het kind – protserig gekleed in westerse lingerie – kijkt alsof ze allang niet meer gelooft dat een fotoserie voor een westers blad ergens toe kan leiden.

Zo kabbelt het interview naar zijn eind, met achterin HP/De Tijd als extraatje een paginagrote advertentie met zestien schilderijen van naakte negerinnen, door Klashorst eendrachtig geneukt en geschilderd. Dat geeft zo’n kunstwerk toch weer net dat kleine beetje extra impact. Altijd een zinvolle investering.



Hoe dit avontuur negen van de tien keer afloopt, is duidelijk. Onze scheppend kunstenaar verwekt een rits kinderen in zijn privé-bordeel (de teller staat inmiddels op drie) en licht de hielen wanneer hem dat zo uitkomt. Om vervolgens hier in den lande zijn seksversie van Kuifje in Afrika te bezingen in iedere talkshow die zich aandient.

Mag het weer, sekstoerisme? Blijkbaar wel wanneer je een kunstenaar bent en je werk in het Stedelijk hangt. Dan ben je geen perverse smeerlap, maar hooguit een ‘rare jongen’, de lieveling van progressief Nederland.

Van mij mag het menselijk konijn Klashorst nog heel lang in Nairobi blijven. Om dat te bereiken heb ik het artikel uit HP/De Tijd in het Engels vertaald en samen met de foto’s en een begeleidend schrijven naar het Ministerie van Justitie in Kenia gefaxt. Ben benieuwd wanneer Klashorst van zijn bed wordt gelicht. Kan nooit lang duren. De bekentenis hebben ze immers al
 
And my remark...

Meneertje Klashorst is tegenwoordig actief als sextoerist in het Mannelijke Koninkrijk genaamd Pattaya, een Big Party Place 2 uurtjes van Bangkok.


Voor deze die het intereseert; Onze Lage Landen Sex Ambassadeur woont daar altijd in Soi Honey Inn, in de New Star Guesthouse, en voelt er zich prima op zijn plaats al zijn de thaise vrouwen niet donker genoeg naar meneer zijn zin.

Heraclio uit Amsterdam.

I will in due time translate all this in English!



.

The Zebra Lady

                                                   Amsterdam,

Took me about two hours of being inside the "zone", that special place inside my Farang mind that my sub-conscious moves to, dragging my more conscious eternal soul along in the process, whenever I take up my brushes, open my plastic cans of acrylics paint...

Getting rid of it took even less time...blond Mari, my latest couchsurfer, returning from her penpal's wedding in Sneek in Northern Holland's Friesland, shot one look at it and fell in love with my latest artistic enterpreneur attempt on the spot, taking it home the next day when she left my appartment for her early flight back to her native Finnish soil...

Wow, wish all my paintings would go that fast...hope you gave it a nice place in your bedroom, Mari...oh, and, yes, I enjoyed having you stay with me last weekend.

Mind productions

My mind productions continue, just stupid art work really that comes forth of a crazy Western trained mind that feels bored, that looks for a way out of alcohol and drugs related addictions of the past...

No ambitions to bring my paintings, my drawings and the occasional weird story where everything is a much out of context as the thoughs and memories inside my gray brain cells, mental neorons going helter-skelter, to a higher level, make a bundle on a bestseller or else 5000 Euro for every piece of artwork I produce...

No ambitions whatsoever, just trying to get my thoughts and mental processes locked up inside that Buddhist prayer cell that my sub-conscious wanders off to every time I take up my brushes, open my jars of acrylics, another Triplex is gonna be covered with naked ladies...

I am in my own little heaven, soft music on the radio and a good bottle of Mooi Kaap red wine, my mental Buddhist prayer cell releasing huge amounts of dopamine that no real drug can cope with...

                                            Amsterdam,

As always when I am in my personal Buddhist prayer cell, that incomprehensible part of my Farang mind where my sub-conscious wanders to, dragging the conscious part of my being along, while I am freaking around with my paint, my brushes and markers, someting is taking shape on my paper, or wooden board, my mind going back to the past while

A ban on the Burka

                                                      Amsterdam,

Finally the Dutch politician yellow bellied sh*ts got their act together, goodbey to the infamous Dutch Knuffel Kultuur and a serious ban on the Nikaap, the Burka and likewise all bodily covering Islamic garments, that female unfriendly attire that hides the beauty of the female shapes, the carefully groomed hair and mascara faces from the public eye...

Hey beautifull lady, where have you been all of my life?

Welcome to the real world!!!

Boeven Tekenen at De Tweede Kwijl

                                                   Amsterdam,

I find myself back at De Tweede Mijl, that homeless centre in the Amsterdam Jordaan run by misguided volunteers from the Dutch hinterland where protestant and/or catolic convictions run amok in the zealous minds of small village inhabitants...three sessions a week of God's holy work in the big evil city and your inmortal soul will be saved from hell and damnation, no hell for all time but sweet eternity at the feet of their sacred Saviour while the Sadam and Idi Amin Dada characters as well as countless like-minded roast their buts a charcoal black...

I find myself back at De Tweede Kwijl - slobber, slobber, dribble, dribble, drool, drool...foul tasting soup and stale bread donated by local supermarkets, responsible for a nasty but persistent nickname - drawing hoodlums and alcoholics, junkies with serious problems with Lady Heroine, King Crack and super Numero Uno customers of the American Marlboro company, their CEOs living it up on Thai beaches, local hookers being supported by their fat bellied Farang sugar dadies who couldn't care much about the dark as hell lungs of those all around me here in De Tweede Mijl, or was it Kwijl?

I draw them with conviction thinking about my neighbors' four year old son who in his infancy innocence calls my hobby of inmoralising the outcasts of the Amsterdam society "Boeven Tekenen", drawing the hoodlums...  

Mrs Drupdoos

                                            Amsterdam,

Another drooling day, the Gods drooling from their sacred mouths, boredom to the max for those devine beings up their in their heavenly cloudy realm, drooling down on us mere human beings...

My mood has been rumoured to be in better conditions I presume while I watch the approach of Mrs Drupdoos - a Dutch nickname I have given to an old bag lady who often comes over to the petting zoo where I do my volunteer job, Mrs Drupdoos who hopes from a free cup of coffee, maybe a hand-out and a Gratis sigarette from one of my volunteer employes...

Mrs Drupdoos who gratulated me with my 49 th birthday last month before starting her litany about her Incontinent Problemen..."I loose my urine down there in small drops all day, Hans"....s*t, three times in a row, I really don't need that, not with this heavenly piss coming down all day, with all the horse manure and cow dung shovelling I still have to do...

Sh*t, three times in a row, wish I was back in Thailand surrounded by my female models, my Tv blaring away the latest Thai love songs, my tubes of acrylics, my artwork standing around at random in my New Star Guest House in Soi 11...

A thousand female voices

                                                    Amsterdam,

The very depths of desolation are no stranger to me, I have seen it in the heavily exaggerated mascara eyes of Third world sex workers with no local currency in the pockets and empty bellies, their guardian spirits on a life time strike, whispering softly from dank and dark alleys, promises of a sexual undertone to passing strangers from foreign lands...

I guess I have to follow the rules of this weird unfair world, having painted the heterosexual division of the world sex trade most of my adult life, having heart stories of what drunk first world males can do to undereducated third world prostitutes, from a thousand female throats...

I guess I will have to follow the complex rules of this new world where the Euro is on a fast track to becoming obsolete, a penetrable mystery that is beyond my Farang imagination where the assasination of the dough of an economic powerhouse could well mean the end of my self sought mental suffering...no more wintering stints in countries famous for their unfair sexual exploitation of Western males...or was it the other way around?

I still hear their stories while I paint them here in my house in Amsterdam, vividly remembering while I am in my personal Buddhist prayer cell, painting, panting and yet more painting, naked third world models, portraits in acrylics while their voices fill my Western head...   

The wish of an admirer

                                                    Amsterdam,

I did a sketch of this particular lady last year in one of my sketchbooks before starting on this massive two meter by 70 cm. wooden baord, uploading the sketch but never the original painting...

With an admirer on http://www.flick.com/ wishing to see the original painting the sketch was based on, I felt compelled to upload it as well...

This massive wooden board with my crazy acrylic based artwork hangs on the wall of the staircase of my house here in Amsterdam, for my neighbors and all my friends to admire before entering my appartment but most of all to inspire me to freak around with my paint every time I return to my house...

Thanks Andrés for liking my work, it is apriciated!!!

The Mad Art Of A Chaotic Mind

                                                 Amsterdam,

The title of this blog story seems - at least to me - perfectly fitting to my personality, adequately named for the way I am, the state of my house a living destimony to my day to day affairs...

Never knowing exactly what the outcome will be when I start my freaking around with my plastic jars of acrylic paint, my brushes chosen at absolute random, the details totally unimportant to me while I move into my lttle mental Buddhist prayer cell, my acoholic contacts from the Amsterdam streets and parks sitting around me while I stand in front of  a canvas, wooden board or drawing paper, they drink my cold to the touch beers stolen from my Frigo, exchanging their latest street cr*p while skinning up another joint, telling me about De Neger who lost his house after eight months of Pas DE Payer his rent, his dole money going into a bottom less pit called Chasing The Chinese Devil, smoking Lady Heroine more important than paying his Alquiler...

I don't listen to their weird sh*t but paint and paint wishing on a sub-conscious mental level they weren't here...the outcome you see in this picture, I guess they are there too though I seem unable to detect them in this piece of chaotic art.