Monday, April 28, 2014
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Cookie merits
Amsterdam, 15 april 2014.
Fifty stories up I have to go in the dusty corners of my crazy and rambling mind, senilic and suffering from constant turmoil, rambling memories going Honky-Tonky creating chaos and mental nuttiness, fifty stories and counting to find a semblance of the true me...
Rusty stairs with several rungs missing, a testimony to old age approaching fast and furious,a lot here in these dark twilight zones is seriously amiss, the air stinking of corrupting rot, empty files once full but now eaten away by imaginary cockroaches, too much Thai moonshine wisky and cheap beer, no bodyguards to stop me from entering my own private domain, the part of me I hate and fear at the same time...
My skin is clammy, my pulse rapid, rapid and shallow breathing, I am in shock, I can't feel my fingers...
I have to find the answer, it is why I have come up here despite my growing despair and angst, why buy cookies and offer them to my younger customers, never mind whether or not Mum gives them five cherished Euros to buy a game, a child's smile should be ample reward, but No I keep thinking about that daily one Euro disappearing into that Appie Heyn supermarket cash dispender, nothing to win here but the Gran Sonrisa of international kids waiting to see the world famous Achterhuis...
Brightly colored cycle gear and slightly overweight, an expensive Tour De France Bicicleta I wish I had to cash to buy, the free time to tour, the owner cocksure walking over, a green five note between beefy fingers...no what does he want looking like he knows all and everything about Pauvre Moi...?
"Hey Mon you gave my daughter a sinamon cookie the other day when we was waiting in this freaking line, now she keeps talking about your games, give me a red one okay?" "I had to cycle 45 kilometers back to Amsterdam to buy one for her, so don't disappoint me, okay Mon".
Ah yes now I know, there is merit in cookies after all...
Fifty stories up I have to go in the dusty corners of my crazy and rambling mind, senilic and suffering from constant turmoil, rambling memories going Honky-Tonky creating chaos and mental nuttiness, fifty stories and counting to find a semblance of the true me...
Rusty stairs with several rungs missing, a testimony to old age approaching fast and furious,a lot here in these dark twilight zones is seriously amiss, the air stinking of corrupting rot, empty files once full but now eaten away by imaginary cockroaches, too much Thai moonshine wisky and cheap beer, no bodyguards to stop me from entering my own private domain, the part of me I hate and fear at the same time...
My skin is clammy, my pulse rapid, rapid and shallow breathing, I am in shock, I can't feel my fingers...
I have to find the answer, it is why I have come up here despite my growing despair and angst, why buy cookies and offer them to my younger customers, never mind whether or not Mum gives them five cherished Euros to buy a game, a child's smile should be ample reward, but No I keep thinking about that daily one Euro disappearing into that Appie Heyn supermarket cash dispender, nothing to win here but the Gran Sonrisa of international kids waiting to see the world famous Achterhuis...
Brightly colored cycle gear and slightly overweight, an expensive Tour De France Bicicleta I wish I had to cash to buy, the free time to tour, the owner cocksure walking over, a green five note between beefy fingers...no what does he want looking like he knows all and everything about Pauvre Moi...?
"Hey Mon you gave my daughter a sinamon cookie the other day when we was waiting in this freaking line, now she keeps talking about your games, give me a red one okay?" "I had to cycle 45 kilometers back to Amsterdam to buy one for her, so don't disappoint me, okay Mon".
Ah yes now I know, there is merit in cookies after all...
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Only 10 o`clock in the morning but the infamous and feared by many Anne Frank House queue is already reaching the Keizersgracht and bending around it ensuring a two and a half hour waiting to see the world famous Achterhuis on the Amsterdam PrinsengrachtMonday, April 7, 2014
Borrowed money
Amsterdam, 06 April 2014.
Moving back into the twisted laberinth of the sub-conscious dusty corners of my fucked-up mind I find no solace or understanding for my self choosen path of life, in fact I see very little but shadows, the glow of sigarettes in dark alleys and unlit entrances of bars of a dubious nature where female faces with too much make-up that hide in vain years of boozing and drug abuse, their bodies clad in shining spandex that leave little to the imagination or their choosen profession try to wave me inside...
Laberinths of black Sois where the neon lights are the only thing that shine brightly advocating sex and booze, ladies and Khatoeys alike for the testosterone driven Farang males, fancy names like Honey a Go-Go, The Dollhouse, Amazon Girls and likewise imaginary shit having come out of the gray recesses of a madman´s drive to acquire the dough of the Western male sex addicts...
Western sex addicts who go to extreme lenghts to get themselves between the brownish colored legs of the Sisterhood Of Isan Born Females, no pure and unselfish life here but the desire for debauchery abundance of the Asian type, young and sensual, willing to fullfill a man´s every secret thought without even having to mutter them out loud...
It all comes back with a vengefull clarity while I look up in the green rheumy eyes of that old fart, as always dressed in his short dark green corduroy pants, big pauch falling over his belt, angry and desperately wanting to know `where is your neighbor, Old Hans` yeah, my neighbor here at the numero uno tourist spot in downtown Amsterdam where, on this sunny spring day, I have once again started selling my funny little Indian Games, plenty of customers but also plenty of neighborhood people wanting back money that has gone down the butterfly trap in Thailand...
Not me borrowing the darned euro cuurency from bored pensionados in Mokum´s centre, mind me, no way... but Beaucoup D´Argent borrewed by Old Hans, the specialist of Amsterdam humor - or so he thinks - and presently gagging on liitle green erection pills in Kho Samui pouring down the neighborhood´s pensions in a never ending butterfly trap of the Siam female gender...
Moving back into the twisted laberinth of the sub-conscious dusty corners of my fucked-up mind I find no solace or understanding for my self choosen path of life, in fact I see very little but shadows, the glow of sigarettes in dark alleys and unlit entrances of bars of a dubious nature where female faces with too much make-up that hide in vain years of boozing and drug abuse, their bodies clad in shining spandex that leave little to the imagination or their choosen profession try to wave me inside...
Laberinths of black Sois where the neon lights are the only thing that shine brightly advocating sex and booze, ladies and Khatoeys alike for the testosterone driven Farang males, fancy names like Honey a Go-Go, The Dollhouse, Amazon Girls and likewise imaginary shit having come out of the gray recesses of a madman´s drive to acquire the dough of the Western male sex addicts...
Western sex addicts who go to extreme lenghts to get themselves between the brownish colored legs of the Sisterhood Of Isan Born Females, no pure and unselfish life here but the desire for debauchery abundance of the Asian type, young and sensual, willing to fullfill a man´s every secret thought without even having to mutter them out loud...
It all comes back with a vengefull clarity while I look up in the green rheumy eyes of that old fart, as always dressed in his short dark green corduroy pants, big pauch falling over his belt, angry and desperately wanting to know `where is your neighbor, Old Hans` yeah, my neighbor here at the numero uno tourist spot in downtown Amsterdam where, on this sunny spring day, I have once again started selling my funny little Indian Games, plenty of customers but also plenty of neighborhood people wanting back money that has gone down the butterfly trap in Thailand...
Not me borrowing the darned euro cuurency from bored pensionados in Mokum´s centre, mind me, no way... but Beaucoup D´Argent borrewed by Old Hans, the specialist of Amsterdam humor - or so he thinks - and presently gagging on liitle green erection pills in Kho Samui pouring down the neighborhood´s pensions in a never ending butterfly trap of the Siam female gender...
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Feeding Snowwhite
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
240 LBS of African fat
Amsterdam, 02 April 2014.
She is not the type of woman I would eat faces with at one of Need-To-Get-Laid pick-up joints downtown, like the Winston bar even the Lonely Planet travel guide on Amsterdam describe as the Numero Uno place to be if you feel downright lonely in your over-priced hotel room, nor will she elevate anywhere up my personal ho hierarchy possessing an impressive 240 LBS in female body weight, her rancid vomit smell reminding me of watered down horse piss coming out of these red colored Appie Heyn beer cans of Euro Shopper and black stumped teeth do ample goodwill to speed up that elevator to ho heaven...
Sitting on the back of Rob The Toilet Man's bicycle who is busy trying to make his point, his arm flailing like the alu wings of that Malaysian Air Boeing the moment it hit the waves of the Indian Ocean say three weeks ago, needing ten more Euros for number one boom boom back at his imaculately clean apartmnent - hard to believe considering the man is an incurable alcoholic - forty she wants, thirty he has so ringing my bell at two thirty in the morning the only option left for this poor schmuck, begging for ten euros and maybe two cans of cold beer while Miss Big Babe is speaking in tongues on her cell phone...
Somehow I wonder what will happen if Rob wakes out of his alcoholic slumber in mid-coitus, on top of 120 illegal African LBS, his head between two night black boobs the size of soccer balls, desperately but probably in vain trying to keep his erection that has cost him forty stupid Euro and two alu cans of cheap beer...
Or maybe he will have even more conscious fun always having been the Gran Aficionado of the Bigger Babes Clan, blacker as a moonless night and an ass the size of an African Jumbo...
I give him his cherished ten Euro and two cold beers, he has always paid his dues after all...
She is not the type of woman I would eat faces with at one of Need-To-Get-Laid pick-up joints downtown, like the Winston bar even the Lonely Planet travel guide on Amsterdam describe as the Numero Uno place to be if you feel downright lonely in your over-priced hotel room, nor will she elevate anywhere up my personal ho hierarchy possessing an impressive 240 LBS in female body weight, her rancid vomit smell reminding me of watered down horse piss coming out of these red colored Appie Heyn beer cans of Euro Shopper and black stumped teeth do ample goodwill to speed up that elevator to ho heaven...
Sitting on the back of Rob The Toilet Man's bicycle who is busy trying to make his point, his arm flailing like the alu wings of that Malaysian Air Boeing the moment it hit the waves of the Indian Ocean say three weeks ago, needing ten more Euros for number one boom boom back at his imaculately clean apartmnent - hard to believe considering the man is an incurable alcoholic - forty she wants, thirty he has so ringing my bell at two thirty in the morning the only option left for this poor schmuck, begging for ten euros and maybe two cans of cold beer while Miss Big Babe is speaking in tongues on her cell phone...
Somehow I wonder what will happen if Rob wakes out of his alcoholic slumber in mid-coitus, on top of 120 illegal African LBS, his head between two night black boobs the size of soccer balls, desperately but probably in vain trying to keep his erection that has cost him forty stupid Euro and two alu cans of cheap beer...
Or maybe he will have even more conscious fun always having been the Gran Aficionado of the Bigger Babes Clan, blacker as a moonless night and an ass the size of an African Jumbo...
I give him his cherished ten Euro and two cold beers, he has always paid his dues after all...
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