The irony of my life

                                               Amsterdam, 30 July 2012.

Cycling the urban wastelands of my beloved Mokum, or maybe the mental wastelands of my crazy fucked-up caucasian mind, on the way again to my little ambulant street seller's spot, probably the best street seller's place in the whole of Amsterdam, knowing fully well I should feel happy and relaxed with my life, doing good with my one-man street business, money in the pocket for my second home twelve hours by an alu flying can to the other side of the world this winter, far away from the ravages of King Winter in Holland, good food and the loving administrations of my more than just plenty Thai lady friends...

But no, my mind doesn't want to feel happy, no way that gray brain mass of mine wants to feel at peace with world around me, mental worries about entering the autumn of my life, turning fifty real soon, the biggest trauma yet of my life only mere weeks away from me, old age coming closer with each passing day, beckoning at me from just around the corner of this urban wasteland - or was it the mental wasteland of my crazy fucked-up caucasian mind? - gray hair streaking my scalp's hair, never mind that my facial hair has reminded me of the coming of age each morning I brave my bathroom mirror, reading glasses in the pocket of my coat for the last four or so years...

Not that I should complain, not about the trips I made, seeing the urban wastelands or quite some garbage belts, desperation in the eyes of Pnom Pehn street children, African hookers offerring me their nubile dark black bodies for a few stupid Kenian shilling, the dead eyes of a Thai Hot Momma after yet another crazy drug and alcohol induced suicide, the mutilaterd bodies of countless Bloody Diamont refugees in Freetown where the authories were as corrupt as the avarage Thai beat cop but still refused me entry to the Sierra Leon hinterland - probably for the best or I wouldn't be busy this night writing this nutty blog story -

Back in my beloved Mokum and stupidly feeling sorry for myself, forgetting all the little pleasures Lord Buddha threw my way...

Like this beauty I met during a cycle trip in Mexico and who followed me to Amsterdam, took me to the wedding of her best friend in her native Kassel in that Sauerkraut Und Bratwurst country of hers....

Not that it worked out but then, that is the irony of ugly relationships in my life...shit, there I go again feeling sorry for myself. 
   

Exclusively at fault

                                     Amsterdam, 24 July 2012.

This is the time of year I most certainly don't need pleasure oriented women on my phone wanting me to come over well past midnight with the morning after waking up again in my own bed, the whole phisically pleasurable experience feeling like a mot pem adventure...

The time of year when stupid street alcoholics knowing fully well about my profitable ambulant street business, acutely aware of my fat wallet after yet another sunny day at the Anne Frank House seem to have a renewed interest in me...yeah, lets phone Shiva and hassle him for some seriously needed dough, ring his bell while on the way to Appie Heyn and/or the Heavenly Coffee Shop conveniently located around the corner...

My cell never stops ringing where only mere weeks before when the torrential rains pouring down on my beloved Mokum, was as dead like a proverbial rat having been driven over by a bulldozer...

Maybe I should kill myself slowly, after all I don't have the courage or bloody nerves to do it fast...though hindsight sacarsm is out of place here, I am exclusively at fault and responsible for my own mistakes.... 

Ugly relationships

                                     Amsterdam, 16 June 2012.

Torrential rain once again making life difficult for a stupid but hard working determined street seller like me, locked up in the house where I am surrounded by my own chaotic art work spread out across the floor and wallpapering my walls, Across The Universe on my telly but not noticing how the world is turning though beaming out of my speakers of my newly bought Samsung flat screen, no guitar that gently weeps but disappointment at a never shining sun in my beloved Mokum...

Antonia on the phone again at 0 four hundert hours while I sleep off the Domaine Saint Etienne red wine my neighbors gave me the other day after helping them out with a newly bought dish washer that needed to be carried upo three speep stair cases, wanting me come over in a rush, "I will pay the taxi", she told me informing me about her friend Julia from one of these stupid little Dutch islands in front of Senyor Hugo Chaves native South American soil, finding them both in their lingerie, lustfull eyes and way too much cocaine up their female nasal passages, giggles and near rape scenes soon following with me in the living room two exhaustive hours later still drinking red wine and realising that the Anne Frank House is a no go for another day!!!

Waiting for Andrea but ending up  with a Menagerie-A-Trois with two ladies of a totally different rodential nature and an extravagant male focused intenttion on their doped up minds...ugly relationships are the doomsday scenario of my life!!!

A one-woman murder epidemic

                                   Amsterdam, 10 July 2012.

My clothes feel slightly damp while I have a coffee and a chat with Jack from the small coffee shop, taking a break from selling my games, maybe a bit of protection from the fine drizzle of heavenly piss...at least the Gods up there weren't having a big party last night, pestering us, mortal human beings, with the after effects of way to much booze the day after...

A ruffled looking skinny woman with greying stringed black hair and an unhealthy complexion wanting a mineral water, obviously one of the junkie women from Westermarkt looking for shelter as well, dirty blue jeans that look a matted black by street filth accumulated over countless ages, strange dark red blotches around the scrotch area betray me she is probably on her menstrual period though clearly the dough needed for tampons mostly likely having gone up her nose instead...

Nothing new in this department, probably surviving by soliciting, almost cerrtainly HIV positive but always willing to serve her suicidal clientele without the dreaded condom...

Small wonder when I cycle home, say 15 minutes later, I see this one-woman murder epidemic waiting for me around the corner, wanting to know if a thirty minutes suicidal game of the Adults Only version of fun could be financially arranged...   

Muslim inbreeding

                                          Amsterdam, 04 July 2012.

I suppose I could feel perfectly happy here, sitting in front of that daily endlessly long line of foreign tourists waiting to visit the world famous Achterhuis where that poor Jewish girl and here next of kin as well as some other poor souls who happened to be Jewish during the pogroms of Mister Hitlir's mad rule of Nasi Deutschland, were hiding....

Sun in my Dutch  heavily tanned face, a customer every so often, people asking for directions in a multitude of foreign tongues, a model for my sketchbook maybe and the house's security guards greeting me politely whenever they walk past keeping a keen eye on the line of potential visitors for non welcome pickpockets...

But no, always somebody in this city disturbing the pease, a drunk Muslim in tradional garb, drunk as a skunk, holding on to his rusty bike for dear life or maybe just as an aide to keep him upright and screaming his head off about Geert Wilders, that anti-Muslim Dutch politician...

Or maybe how all Muslims want to marry their sisters so that no h*rny family outsiders will procreate with them and deliver a beating after the act for good measure...I guess that maarying your sister means serious inbreeding problems is beyond this King Alcohol induced Muslim fool....

Shit three times in a row, where are the Anne Frank Huoser security people when needed???