Friday, November 28, 2014
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Monday, November 24, 2014
Painting moslimas
Amsterdam, 24 nov. 2014.
Painting moslimas in my house with some old work for devine inspiration
Friday, November 21, 2014
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Fruitseller in Bangkok
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Theoretical flawfull words of insult
Amsterdam, 18 nov. 2014.
I don't really buy into the idea of the truth of an ever lasting love affair, even though the last four weeks in King Bhumipol's mysterious Asian realm has given me every appearance of doing so, maybe as a gifted evangelist with the misguided Holy Word of God on my side, an experienced madly religious TV disputer of the cloth, or else a Djalebba donned idiot from the local mosquee arguing the matrimonial bliss with great force, logic and passion for the Church or Allah's words on the need for life long female companionship, I would have been commended for my words of wisdom...
Though rumour has it that these catholic inspired fools are too busy chasing their choir boys and those Allah devouted Djalebba clothed freaks on a very different pathof a holy quest recruiting young crazies for martyrdom in the newly founded IS califat in the Middle East...too busy indeed to preach about their cherished Truth...
Yeah, dear reader to this blog as you can see my words are still a draw, crude un-nuaced terminology, trying to write about the sadness in my nutcase soul about my failed Asian love affair but ending up writing abstract theoretical fucked-up flawfull words of insult to those that believe in a higher truth...so sorry not indeed...
Sentimental and emotional attachments frighten me to a state of unexperience altruism which is not my cup of Thai tea...
I don't really buy into the idea of the truth of an ever lasting love affair, even though the last four weeks in King Bhumipol's mysterious Asian realm has given me every appearance of doing so, maybe as a gifted evangelist with the misguided Holy Word of God on my side, an experienced madly religious TV disputer of the cloth, or else a Djalebba donned idiot from the local mosquee arguing the matrimonial bliss with great force, logic and passion for the Church or Allah's words on the need for life long female companionship, I would have been commended for my words of wisdom...
Though rumour has it that these catholic inspired fools are too busy chasing their choir boys and those Allah devouted Djalebba clothed freaks on a very different pathof a holy quest recruiting young crazies for martyrdom in the newly founded IS califat in the Middle East...too busy indeed to preach about their cherished Truth...
Yeah, dear reader to this blog as you can see my words are still a draw, crude un-nuaced terminology, trying to write about the sadness in my nutcase soul about my failed Asian love affair but ending up writing abstract theoretical fucked-up flawfull words of insult to those that believe in a higher truth...so sorry not indeed...
Sentimental and emotional attachments frighten me to a state of unexperience altruism which is not my cup of Thai tea...
Monday, November 17, 2014
A final punishment to the assassin
Amsterdam, 17 nov. 2014.
From the air Amsterdam looked like giant grey and pinkish colored snowflake, good old Mokum lying half embedded between cold and rainy clouds, nothing special this time of year but horrible in my imagination after a full month in tropical Thailand, barely endurable after a full four weeks of Suk Sabai treatment by an Asian love affair, madly mouth watering Thai food making me go completely insane in the famous Farang tummy, particularly gratifyingly friendly local people whose enthusiasm for life and fun is infectiously addictive...
I felt deplorably mad with sadness looking down on my home town of choice, sensors, tubes, micropumps and all that other crazy biocircuitry inside my sunburned head making my imaginary impressions of Amsterdam looking battered, bruised and bloody, cold to the touch, a bit like after a bout with Mohamed's Ali's iron fists in his better days...if Amsterdam had a human face it would be with puffed-up eyes and ears, a re-broken nose, blood trickling down split lips, tears diluting the blood covering the major part of unhealthy looking cheeks...
I feel like an sadistic psychopath with a limited imagination and deplorable writing skills but truth be told it was how I felt barely a week ago coming back home to my dusty chaotic life in this capital of the Low Countries, decreed back in the miserable cold of another Dutch winter, a final punishment to the assassin of my own existence, savagely tortured for earlier sins in a former life
From the air Amsterdam looked like giant grey and pinkish colored snowflake, good old Mokum lying half embedded between cold and rainy clouds, nothing special this time of year but horrible in my imagination after a full month in tropical Thailand, barely endurable after a full four weeks of Suk Sabai treatment by an Asian love affair, madly mouth watering Thai food making me go completely insane in the famous Farang tummy, particularly gratifyingly friendly local people whose enthusiasm for life and fun is infectiously addictive...
I felt deplorably mad with sadness looking down on my home town of choice, sensors, tubes, micropumps and all that other crazy biocircuitry inside my sunburned head making my imaginary impressions of Amsterdam looking battered, bruised and bloody, cold to the touch, a bit like after a bout with Mohamed's Ali's iron fists in his better days...if Amsterdam had a human face it would be with puffed-up eyes and ears, a re-broken nose, blood trickling down split lips, tears diluting the blood covering the major part of unhealthy looking cheeks...
I feel like an sadistic psychopath with a limited imagination and deplorable writing skills but truth be told it was how I felt barely a week ago coming back home to my dusty chaotic life in this capital of the Low Countries, decreed back in the miserable cold of another Dutch winter, a final punishment to the assassin of my own existence, savagely tortured for earlier sins in a former life
Friday, November 14, 2014
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Indian lady on the plane
Indian lady on my China Air plane back home from Bangkok last sunday...just a quick sketch, really.
Monday, November 10, 2014
C'est Afrique
Only back one day, one night and dreaming of Africa again, Cést Afrique dans ma tête, Les Femmes Noires fighting a never ending battle with their female Asian contemporaries, just back from Thailand but the black beauties call at me from the Dark Continent...
Do they want me to come back, the crazy Mzungu with the fat wallet, spending the dough these days in King Bhumipol's Kingdom, no more Kenian Shilling, tatty notes, greasy to the touch, finger prints on its dusty fabric...
No way, Thailand is so much easier going, the food so much better, the ladies Numero Uno En La Cama, La Biere cold to the touch in big condensed bottles so much tastier than that cat piss called Tusker...
Forget that African saying Once You Go Black You Never Go back, rubbish!!!
Sunday, November 9, 2014
A return trip to madness and mental montrosities
Amsterdam, 09 nov. 2014.
The never ending narrative inside my Farang head has been remarably quiet these last bunch of crazy months, even the drag my words realy are absent and non-existent...for a while anyway...
Though these last four weeks in King Bhumipol's Asian Realm they were back with a proverbial vengance, returned from the grave, tricked and deceived, hunderds of questions still unanswered, the one thing of my nutcase Farang existence in that fucked-up Land of the Thais UNCOMFORTABLE though always in the company of Miss Endoo, my latest Thai love affair, off and on at least, for the last two years or so, looking after my every need, physically but not mentally though blisfully unaware of it, my Ting Tong jokes and happy radiating Farang smile convincing her of how good a job she did...
My newly found mental narrative a mockery to her unselfish attempt to please the Farang hubby, a cruel joke played by legenday evil originating in the dusty corners of my fucked-up mind, holding back will buy me time sufficinetly for the return trip to madness and mental montrosities, carving an evil path through the alleys of international and inter-cultural love...
Stinking garbage coming out of a unknown limbo directed at the innocence of a Thai rice farmer's daughter turned whore whose heart is made of emarald and gold plated...
The never ending narrative inside my Farang head has been remarably quiet these last bunch of crazy months, even the drag my words realy are absent and non-existent...for a while anyway...
Though these last four weeks in King Bhumipol's Asian Realm they were back with a proverbial vengance, returned from the grave, tricked and deceived, hunderds of questions still unanswered, the one thing of my nutcase Farang existence in that fucked-up Land of the Thais UNCOMFORTABLE though always in the company of Miss Endoo, my latest Thai love affair, off and on at least, for the last two years or so, looking after my every need, physically but not mentally though blisfully unaware of it, my Ting Tong jokes and happy radiating Farang smile convincing her of how good a job she did...
My newly found mental narrative a mockery to her unselfish attempt to please the Farang hubby, a cruel joke played by legenday evil originating in the dusty corners of my fucked-up mind, holding back will buy me time sufficinetly for the return trip to madness and mental montrosities, carving an evil path through the alleys of international and inter-cultural love...
Stinking garbage coming out of a unknown limbo directed at the innocence of a Thai rice farmer's daughter turned whore whose heart is made of emarald and gold plated...
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