Mashmour...from the street

So there he is...Mashmour, a total nutcare from somewhere in the Ethiopean highlans of Tigres, having come to Holland by way of Eastern Eupoe living in a tent for years in Poland, for the treasured asylum status somewhere in the midd-nineties last century. Always hanging out at night in front of the nightshop on the Wittekade here in Amsterdam-West...

Eventually he and Huessein stayed around, both of them serious head cases, suffering from severe war traumas, always boozing cheap supermarket beer with the Westerpark Brotherhood of Drunks, living on the dole, shoplifting bottles of Ruby Port, frequent coffee shop visits and house evictions.

Poor Mashmour ended up staying in a so-called Tokkie Woning, six two-room houses for those who absolutely don`t fit in with the rest of society on an abadoned lot at the end of my street.

Last I heard Mashmour got admitted in the Valerius Kliniek in Amsterdam-South, an asylum for the mentally insane....

Get a life Mashmour...sorry mate.

Richard ....from the street

So there he is, long awaited and finall there as an artist`s impression...Richar The Little shit. Grew up most of his early youth in a boarding school for bad boys, adopted as an orphan in his early teens and a mayor pain in the ass for whoever had the bad luck to ever come into contact with him.

Lost his house after a two year stint in a Surinam hellhole for dope related causes losing 25.000 Euro on "buziness money" in the process, illegally earned dough with a huge marijuana plantation here in Amsterdam - probaly stuck to the greasy hands of corupt Surinam police officials - can`t have been much fun as a white boy in surinam jail, especially so for a person who considers the negroide fellow human being equal to an ape.

Richard who got an restraining order, went to jail countless times, father to a daughter he is not allowed to see by judge`s order due to little duaghter and Mummy related domestic violence - not that the heavily tattoed and always totally doped up Mummy was any better on the Beat-You-Up department.

Needless to see that Richard is just another druggie from the Amsterdam streets and one of my many street contacts, somebody who seems to thrive on other people`s misery and bad luck but his bad dental work and homeless excistence a clear indication of his very own misery and bad luck.

His weird hold over his teenage mate Rob still fascinates me though the man really is a Little Shit.

Get a life...Richard.

Martin..from the street

So there he is, an artistic impression of Matin-The-Big-Cokehead, smoking little balls of coke like there will never be any sort of tomorrow left but still the same Martin who loves to be Mister Cool who is doing good work for those addicted to dope, crack and booze at the Regenboog Stichting - the Rainbow Foundation - but he himself hopelessly chained to these little brown balls, smoking them alone or in the treasured company of Charly-The-Antilian-Cokehead.

Good team they are...a bit like a tag team but here it is the little pipe of coke being hit instead of the outstreched hand of your team mate.

Trying to get his dope dough Martin did some black work building up the Albert Cuyp Market each morning but got caught by the social wellfare department last winter.

While I was busy balling Thai hookers in Southeast Asia poor Martin was busy having the shivers I guess, having to kick the habit or else... worry about his next dope money sourch and placate the socio people at the same time...

Get a life Martin..sorry mate.

Buddha on my chest

Holand, Amsterdam.

The Buddha pendant hanging on my chest is burning a hole in my flesh no duobt trying to warn me I`m on the wrong track. I`m not suppoeded to be here on this old and rusty boat with Little-Shit-Richard and Rob.

Still having a boat excursion around the canals of Amsterdam is every tourist's dream and even a hot item among the local populace.

The Heineken beer coming out of this green colored bottle is gliding down my thirsty throat just fine while we manoeuvre through small little canals lined by houseboats and small water craft, a heron eyeing us curiously while coots swim away in front of the boat.

The still early morning is crisp and a grey fog is making it difficult to discern details, Rob is blattering away in his heavy Amsterdam accented Dutch about all that has happened these past two months while I was busy in Southeast Asia balling Thai Hot Mommas.

The usual street shit that should mean nada to me, the sort of stuff I had vowed to stay out of when being back in this city that I see now from a boat man's point of view while we move into Het IJ, the big river that seperates Amsterdam Centre from Amsterdam North.

In the end we find ourselves back in my house in the Spaarndammerstr. having a few more beers and I hear more street stories while Buddha has incinerated the hairs on my chest, burned a hole in the flesh of my chest all the way to my heart reminding me of my vow.

When they are gone quarreling about where to get more tobacco, I go back to bed sleeping off my hang-over and mentally making up my mind...tomorrow this new life of study and sports will finally start....no more heavy drinking but a New Life of dedicated running in the park and studies, boredom to the MAX but at least a better and healthier way to spend my days here in Amsterdam, better for my inmortal mind and empty wallet.