The future might be haunting me...

Amsterdam, 30 May 2014...

The sweet sound of silence is not my cup of Englsih tea, sitting here in the Amsterdam city centre, the Westerkerk towering above me, countless toursts of all nationalities chatting gayly wait patiently, waiting in line to see the world famous Achterhuis, the place where the Family Frank was hiding during Hitler's reign of terror, his not so grorious time in history, trying hard but in the end in vain to escape the horrors of the Nazi deathcamps in Poland...

Half my life, summer after summer sitting here behind that endlessly long line of foreign visitors, waiting for customers, making Indian Games by the sackfull and selling them quicker than I can possibly produce them, the base of my material success and the financial background of my trips across Mother Earth...

maybe show a Chinese lady from Hong Kong the infamous Amsterdam Red Light Ditsrict, free of charge but a number one good meal at my all time favorite Kam Yin Chinese/Surinam restaurant in the Warmoesstraat, Nasi Special Pork at 6.50 in hard Euros seems like a good deal for a free show of the city...

A Thai monk in the line wanting the same deal only mere days later, carefully wrapping his orange colored garments around him while he watches gilrs in sexy lingerie lingering behind huge windows and eyeing him shrewdly - is he trying to hide his hard-on from the prying eyes of Lord Buddha? Well, don't worry mate, the greatest of mankind must have severe consideration for your new found lust in the sin district of Amsterdam...

Yeah, sun in my face, Beaucoup D'Argent and a great day, the future might well be haunting me but right now I am enjoying myself....  

Amsterdam urban paintings

Amsterdam urban paintings

Friends at the Anne Frank House

eah all my mates, neighbors and Anne Frank House pesonal come over to my Plekkie, the place where I have been selling my handmade Indian Games for over a quarter of a century, making Beaucoup D'Argent for my winter stints in King Bhumipol's Asian realm...

Today with Paul...

Amsterdam urban paintings

Amsterdam urban paintings

Portrait in acrylics

The female bachelor's party

They told me it was their lady's day on the town, the female bachelor's party before the nightmare of the groom starts in earnest, the day he has been fearfully awaiting since the fabled words he mumbled on his knees holding his beloved hands and murmering the death sentence to his days of unlimited alcohol, raucous drinking, fun with girls dressed in Bikini island garments with negotiable morals, the comitment to progeny and work slavery, Adios and goodbey to his income...

Yeah, these ladies were having the time of their lives with yet again another single male chained to their female dresses, bound to the sacred commitments as handed out by the holy church and townhall, the golden ring on madam's finger a testimony to the manacled legs of the groom's surrender to a connubial existence...

Out loud today they sang their song of victory to that endless long line of visitors to the world famous Achterhuis of Anne Frank on the Amsterdam Prinsengracht...

Nude female drawings

The fool's number 11

Amsterdam, 12  May 2014.

If I am lured into the realm of evil ways it will be my own doing, no enemy or personal foe responsible in the here and now but only stupid Moi is to be blamed...

these words are foremost on my mind when I walk into the lobby of the Amsterdam Casino, no security guards blocking my way or Marrocan door bounchers give me the quick exit in case the fickle Lady Fortuna, the godess of all who enjoy a good gamble, is once again on my side, my crazy luck on the tables of luck never having forsaken me, making casino personal in several confusing foreign countries wonder seriously what is my trick...

I have been thrown out of more gambling dens as I care to remember, it is no big deal, Chinese houses of money in Macao, gambling dens in The Phillipines or obscure dank and badly lit rooms in Bangkok full with exited people willing to damn their hard earned Dinero away on the roulette and black jack tables to name a few, one can get used to anything, still eventual flying out of places of questionable luck and losing the dough fast and furiously gets boring and embarrasing...

The telephone of my guardian angle is ringing in my mind when I get a free welcome fiche, making me handing it over to my mate who is a regular customer to this money palace, telling him to put the white plastic sign of temptation to my former evil ways on the fool's number, 129 times and number eleven has fallen yet a screen above the table of financial unsavourable dishes tells us but is does for my fiche...

Twelve years clean but lady Fortuna is still heavenly on my side

A nude lady in acrylics

No expensive rubies and stacks of paper money for me, no Beaucoup D'Argent today, Un Monton of Indian Games sold at the end of the afternoon and happily cycling home looking forward to counting the day's financial catch, no, not today with Fontok Mak Mak, as the Thais call shitloads of rain, coming down in huge quantities, the divine celestial being up in the clouds of heaven having another massive pissing contest after yet again another holy orgy, leaving us mere mortal humans stranded in the claustrophobic interior of our homes...

Luckily I possess ameteuristic talents for creating nude females on wood or paper with cloggy acrylic paint and even love doing so...

Bottles of Mooi Kaap red wine for the necessary divine inspiration, after all no sexy model in sight on this rainy day, probably all on the phone with their girlfriends discussing nail polish and lipstick applying technics, maybe nighttime activities with their various foreign boyfriends but totally unwilling to pose for Pauvre Moi...

The only thing I have at the end of this rainy day is a nude lady on paper and done in acrylics...

an abandoned life unfullfilled

I can not affort to dawdle, after all she has got a half block head start on me from when I watched her walking by Cafe De Twee Prinsen on Prinsengracht, negotiating my way between tables occupied by nationalities from across the world, some faces familiar from earlier in the feared Anne Frank line-up outside, a half drunk cup of Java left behind, no time to explain to young blond waiting on tables the money is left on that wooden construction and "NO" the coffee was not bad but I am in  real hurry, no time to waist, walking fast but not running yet, Miss Fon, Miss Somali walked by, maybe high on GHB and Dutch Kabouter grass again but hopefully willing to pose for me one more time, throw in another couple of Mooi Kaap red wine and she will stay the night....hopefully anyway...

No nail through my Nugumbu haert but company for an otherwise loney night, forget my Thai Tilac far away in the Thai kingdom, not available unless I take the next China Air flight and patiently fly twelve boring hours across half the world, ten kilometers up high and watching on-board movies while trying hard to keep lust and desire in check untill arrival...

No way Phuen Phom, this black beauty from the black man's continent is only a short run away, maybe walking down the Brouwersgracht with her while pushing my bike loaded with my small transportable street shop, telling her about good old Mokum and hoping for...well, sure as hell freezing over you know what dear reader of this crazy blog...

but No, nothing and Nada when I enter the street, vanished in the crowd of tourists, sidewalks full with people, parked vehicles and rusty bicycles but no black twat moving seductively down the cobble stones...

Did I imagine it, did she glance back at me when passing the bar, her smile a bit fuller this time...I watch the canal full with boats, life is not always coming from the direction you might expect, I study the street feeling a pang of regret of what could have been, an abandoned life unfullfilled... 

A nail through the heart

Amsterdam 05 may 2014.

The color of her skin varies in the confused light of my chaotic apartment, changing from a Nescafe black to golden jasmine dried under the Sahara sun, perfect for a fresh new start. I stir it and rummage with it inside my f*cked-up mind trying to find divine inspiration that should be there to begin with...

After all good inspiration is worth more than a thausend words and Fon's nubile body the dream of any painter, especially to some halfwith ameteur nutcase artist like me, that wouldn't even fool a blind man's eye...

Fon who comes from some confusing foreign country deep inside the black man's continent and is on a short sejourn in the Low Countries, stoned out of her young mind on Kabouter grass and in the possession of three of my Indian Games, half drunk on Heineken from Cafe De Prins on the Prinsengracht and getting all the way to King Alcohol's Kindom on the bottle of Mooi Kaap red wine I bought at the Appie Heijn for my nocturnal consumption...

But a small prise tro pay for such a prize!!!

Her face looks naked and defenseless, narrower without her rimless glasses, accentuating the high nervous bone structure of her African face...

If this Somali beauty leaves me tonight after this posing session it will be a nail through my Ngumbu heart...