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...
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.
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