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...
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