Meeting Miss Andoo's mother

Miss Andoo's home outside Petchabun,

She looks ancient, wrinkled face and cracked jaws that chew beetle nut non-stop, pausing only to spit out big blods of red saliva into a wooden bowl, half blind rheumy eyes that seem to look right through me while  her fingers bend by age explore my arms, my legs and shoulders, another big red slimy blog of saliva hits the of that wooden bowl that judging by the state of her dental work has been a constant companion in most of the latter days of her life, her meagre possessions spread around her, a space in a typical wood shack the northern Thai countryside is so rich of - though the words "rich" seems in this particular context a Farang invention - ....hard to believe she spends 24/7 chewing beetle nut and never venturing more than a single meter from this spot, apart, maybe, for sanitary pitstops...probably crawling on all fours to that moquito covered stained by age and beetle nut spotted matrass mere metres away from her "spot"...conveniently close, you know... 

I guess the only distraction to her daily beetle nut chewing routine are her children's irregular visits. Old age comes at a price most obviously here on the northern Thai countryside though back in the "civilized" west we lock our elderly away in old people's homes where they subsist on their daily tea and soft bisquits while we and wait for the enheritance...it all comes down to the same...

Getting  to  her wooden dusty shack meant wading through waist deep brarish water, the result of incessant rain these last days, another good reason for Mama Beetle Nut to never ever  leave her wooden dusty kingdom...yeah, I am out in the boons again...

                                                                                                                                 

Another butterfly trap,or maybe true love.

Petchabun, 27 Sept. 2013.  one

Bangkok, reknowned for being a sweltering hot and overpopulated metropole, but not upon  my  arrival just one week ago, no way, Naam aplenty coming out the realm of the gods, maybe they had another one of these infamous divine parties, Thai whiskey in overflown huge glasses, frolicking around the way only the immortals can up there in their divine kingdom of orgies, and now we the mere human beings have to endure the consequences the dreaded day after, heavenly and divine piss coming down on the capital of the Thai kingdom luckily for Pauvre Moi Miss Andoo has taken the precaution of umbrellas and as for excursions...well, let it suffice to say our room back at the Sala Thai Guesthouse will be nice and cosy, the bed comfortable...plenty of time to renew our mutual feelings of lust and love...

Maybe after all that has been taken care of, some days to Ayutthaya so Miss Andoo can do her Sumpur and enjoy the sight of temples hundert of years old but never seen by her charming dark brown Asian shiners, a gift from yours truely to my latest Thai lover friend before heading for her house in the province...

A tranquil time in Thai hinterland seems ensured for this Dutch Farang who has done yet again another twelve hours of flying, courtesy of China Air, to visit the holy land of the Thais, maybe about to experience once again the Butterfly Trap.  

The past will be relived

So how come I am so obsessed with Miss Andoo, my latest Thai love affair who has ruled my dream world for the last five months or so, basically since our sorry goodbye, Adios to you and enjoy your life when she stepped out of that Sonthaew in Pattaya on her way to her appartment and me heading for the Pattaya bus terminal, a few last days in the Thai capital, that dusty and superhot metropole most Farangs hate but I have come to love with equal strengh over the years as my GRAN AMOR for good old Mokum...a few days of getting my act together but constantly on my cell with Miss Petchabun...

I have forgotten the sheer number of Thai females passing through my life, mostly belonging to the impoverished and under-educated sisterhood of Isan born daughters of rice farmers, moving to the big bellied elderly Farang ruled pleasure kingdoms of Thai Territories Of Shame, though they often visit me in Morpheus´ world when I am alone and in a alcohol inspired slumber late at night in my bed here in my dusty and chaotic appartment in Amsterdam West, a bit like they want to remind me of all their crazy and sad stories, the stuff they told me while sipping Chang or Leo beer from a straw supplied by stupid MOI during nocturnal hours when business was slow or even non-existent...

I vividly remeber returning to His Majesty King Bumiphol´s Asian realm more than just once, only to be with and see again one particular lady of the Pattaya´s infamous nightlife just because her stories or personality, maybe her femininity, or else her whole phsyche touched my immortal soul so strongly I couldn´t get her out of my Farang head while living my life, doing my thing here in the Dutch Pancake...an obsessions so strong I couldn´t care a rat´s dark behind about the dough or the boring long hours in these stupid oversized aluminium flying cans where the styrofoam packed food ratios taste like the aforementioned rat´s crap coming out of that aforementioned rat´s sorry and unwashed behind...

So tomorrow the past will be relived, once again I will throw away the accumulated Euros during long and summery hours making and selling Indian Games, money I need for expensive detist bills but will waste at the other side of the world, in a culture that even after more than a quarter of a century I have no grip on, no comprehension of...the stupid actions of a man who can´t get a particular woman out of his nutcase head...

Yeah, that past will indeed be relived...

 

The state of my bedroom

Only mere days to go before my next departure to The Land Of Smiles, twelve hours in a China Air alumium flying machine before touch down and searching the crowd of waiting relatives and friends, love sick local girl friends waiting for the fat bellied Farang elder love affair - though I still seriously believe it it the Fat Wallet and a free ticket to not so prosperous Rich West they are after - for Miss Andoo and her big Asain shiners...

Leaving behind a chaotic house where my bedroom is also my studio, littered with spray cans, stained paint brushes and jars of acrylics all over the place, countless drawings, most of them in a unfinished state of affairs, a bedroom where I have to find my way to the badroom during my nightly peeing sessions carefully moving my toes ahead and hoping I don't step on colorfull but totally and hopelessly chaotic artwork...

Surely I will have to do some serious cleaning here if I really want Miss Andoo to move in with me for some months this winter - shit three times in row she will most likely run out of me mere moments after setting eyes on this nutcase mess...

Cleaning in the making....but not yet!!! 
 

Finished

Done in my house here in Amsterdam. Acrylics on a newspaper page.

Finished.

Not finished yet.

Lord Buddha in acrylic

Hard at work on Lord Buddha paintings.

Hard at work on a rainy day here in my beloved Mokum, painting Lord buddha paintings.

Photo by my number one good friend Cesca.

Lord Buddha on a newspaper page and in acrylics

It has been while since I painted the face of Lord Buddha but, as always, this nobelest of man is one of my biggest inspiration sources, be it his phylosophy that has ruled most of my adult life or the serinity of his face...

Brouwerij 't IJ

Always a good idea to spend a sunny and free afternoon in Amsterdam at Brouwerij 't IJ in - www.broewerijhetij.nl - . Long cmmunal tables ensure you will easily get into contact with other guests and fellow beer lovers.

Here with Paul and a mixed Maltanese, swedish couple living in London and their prize, a home brewn six pack.

The most famous diary in the world.

A quick snapshot of a young visitor to the Anne Frank house today reading from the most famous diary in the world.

A disturbing phonecall

I am not too worried about the Anne Frank House's short queue of visitors today, maybe not so many customers any more these days for my Indian Games, but at least I can engage myself once more with my jars of acrylic paint, get this familiar feeling back in my fingers when I touch those stained old paint brushes, not minding too much the mess that is the basic of my existence any way, not much preoccupied with the smell of old or fresh paint any morning I wake up...

Not even really disappointed when a good friend phones to cancel our beer drinking session at Cafe De Wildeman - Kolksteeg Drie if you fancy to check out this popular bar right in the city centre of Amsterdam - after all rumour has it Nongshao Phom is in the city tonight and if I can believe a certain phonecall from Holland's deep south disturbing my mental peace today's afternoon while selling Indian Games again, she might well decide to have a beer there herself...the last person I need to see...

Finished

Finished

Miss Andoo's house in Petchabun.

06.30 h. in the morning is way too early for most people to wake me up, a certain nasty remark will almost certainly be my response, but in the case of Miss Andoo on my cell all the way from that Asian kingdom where I have been spending most of my winters the last quater of a century and will soon be again, less than three weeks remainding and still counting down...

Yeah well, it seems obvious that in her case nasty remarks about the early hour are hardly the case, after all I will soon enough wake up with her female extremeties, arms and legs wrapped around me like the tentacles of some open ocean octopussy, the way I remember waking up every morning last winter far away from my beloved Mokum, in that stupid New Star guest house room that has been my home all these long but highly satisfying and relaxing months in good old Pattaya, more years as I seem to remember...

Her voice is soft and feminine wanting to remind if I will please, please, please not forget my appointment at city hall, arrange the paper for her, get her the invitation letter so she can get the visa, follow me to Amsterdam rather sooner tha later, wanting to tell me about the mail she sent me with the pics of her house in Petchabun where we will stay in mere weeks to come...

Hurrying home to paint.

I hurry home on my neighbors donated Raleigh Velo, my old battered Indian Games suitcase as always having found it comfortable place on the back luggage rack, way to early but I can't give in to the temptation of my old acrylic stained brushes, no way I can resist the call to freak around with my jars of paint and create more faces from my personal dream world...

Third world undereducated and impoverished creatures of the night life the world over sceaming to get out of my Mbungo head, or was it my Farang gray brain cells, maybe a result of my Gringo existence in Central America...

Female faces belonging to an army of the sisterhood of man pleasing money hungry females...or maybe just poor creatures with no other choice in life but selling their young nubile bodies...

I want to paint them in my house here in good old Mokum and forget the Anne Frank House for a while. It represents, aftyer all, just another sad story of a young female