Dos Desnudas

                                                  Amsterdam,

Considering I am uploading more naked ladies to this blog, it must be clear to you, reader of these crazy stories, it is pissing down again here in Mokum, effectively stopping me from my daily sorties to the world famous Anne Frank House to sell my profitable Mandala games...sigh, sigh, sigh, you probably think, but no...there is a certain attraction being locked up in this crappy old typical Amsterdam house with its steep staircase, slowly tilting forward because of the marshland Amsterdam is built on, by the powers of Lord Thor and his magic hamer Mjolnir throwing thunder after thunder across the Dutch skies, unleashing massive amounts of heavenly piss...

Inside this house where I am surrounded by my own colorfull artwork, producing more and more, wooden boards found aplenty in the garbage and labouriously carried up these aforementioned steep staircase, risking my limps and very neck but being in my artist's equivalent of a Buddhist prayer cell, covering them with Senyoritas desnudas in acrylics and forgetting time and the world around me....

The mad dog's final destination

Another naked lady from my dream world

                                                 Amsterdam,

With all the rain pestering my life and those of my fellow city dwellers, I have Nada to do but stay indoors, remembering my other life, my other home, not even all that far away from my beloved Mokum considering they have these aluminum people cans with wings, pay six or seven hundert of these worthless Euros - get rid of them before the Euro crisis makes turns them into toilet paper - and only twelve hours of flying, back to Thailand, back to my Hot Momma contacts, my easy going female models in that Asian kingdom where their king is still atificially kept alife to avoid succession riots...

Nada to do but keep myself busy freaking around with my jars of acrylic paint, my dirty brushes and that little sex obsessed monster inside my European mind, showing me erotic pictures of my aforementioned Thai ladyfriends who were always so willing to take of the feminine garments, stretch out on my New Star guest house bed languidly, a glass of Mhekong whiskey filled to the brim, cubes of ice melting in that amber colored liquid, her friends giggling and exchanging the latest gossips or watching the Thai love channel on my one hundert channel TV...

Here in Amsterdam I only have my dream world...and my paintings!!!  

About wild roosters

                                                  Amsterdam,

This is Mark and his twelve year old son, Arjan,  from London who found their way back to my couch after a week of typical father/son bonding cycling the Hoge Veluwe, a big forested nature reserve in the middle of The Netherlands, far enough away from unruly London where young hoodlums with too much English ale down their Brittish throats and keen on a bit of lagerloud fun set the English capital on fire, a bit like a second German Blitzkrieg but then the lagerloud/football hooligan way...

Telling me about their cycle tour in rainy Holland, the couchsurfing addresses where they interacted with their local hosts and about the confusion they experienced with some of the Dutch traffic signs...

Like the ones telling them about animal gratings across the road, stopping big grazers like Scottish hedgeford cows and semi stray ponies from leaving their forested enclosures, animal gratings which are called Wild Roosters in Dutch but they mistook for wild roosters in the Queen's English, the wild roosters they spent days trying to spot before a friendly Dutch http://www.couchsurfer.org/ host helped them out of their English Babylonian dream world... 

Naked ladies from my dream world

                                                  Amsterdam,

Money talks and God walk across the Lake of Galilea, but these days Thor the Thundergod seems to rule the weather here in Amsterdam with the rain still battering the windows of my old but typical Amsterdam city house and if God, or else his son that misguided martyr Jesus Christ, really walked the Lake of Galilea without drowning, he would probably drown anyway because of all that heavenly piss coming down on him...

No money talks at the Anne Frank House selling my games, hardly enough of that paper or nickel stuff for a cold Guinness at Cafe De Wildeman with my pal Paul, enjoying a easy evening out in the company of a Amigo while watching fustrated young cops running up and down the alley on a police related matter...

My house becoming more and more a representation of my New Star guest house in my second home, Pattaya, ten or twelve hours flying in an Eva Air airbus...paint brushes and spray cans, jars with dirty colored water, half empty alu tubes of acrylics paint, wooden boards standing and lying around at random depicting more and more naked nubile ladies from my dream world....

If this really was my New Star room I would have my LIVING models sitting all over the place, nibbling at barbecued chicken legs and wrapped in orange colored reception delivered towels, their hair wed from a recent shower washing off the sweat accumulated on the Pattaya boulevard waiting for fat bellied half drunk Farang customers...great inspiration indeed but here in good old Mokum I only have my memories, my dream world...   

My personal Mona Lisa

                                                    Amsterdam,

Jars of dirty water containing paint-stained brushes, my scetchbooks lying around at random, mixing with old plates full with dried out acrylic colors, spray cans and markers, Ami Winehouse singing No More Rehap on my music system, a half emty bottle or Mooi Kaap red wine, cold beer in the cooler....

Working on several paintings and sketches at once...

Almost like being back in my New Star guest house back in tropical Thailand though no Hot Mommas running down my door, bringing along tasty food like barbequed chicken legs, Khao Pat Kung and big bottles of Mekhong with ice and Cola, cold aluminium cans of Le,o here in my other home, Amsterdam, but rain, typical Dutch rain battering against my windows...

Alone in my crappy old house with that steep stair case that always seems to impress and scare at the same time, my http://www.couchsurfer.org/ guests...though none of them around either...not today, today which is a living testomony to another "lost" year in my chaotic existence, reminding me of another year gone, my birthday never having been a day of celebration, more like a day of withdrawing into my own world, going into the more darker corners of my Farang - or was it Gringo? - gray brain mass...

But then these remote corners of that nueron mess are either ruled by the that sex obsessed monster showing me pics a-plenty of erotic posing women, my models in Hong Kong's Kowloon, giggling Thai ladies from the Night Life, Phillipino Hunting Girls....or else confront me with these scênes of the war torn countries that I was so obsessed with visiting in my earlier years, my old and worn backpack my only friends then...

Small wonder I prefer to spend my birthdays on my own, painting naked ladies or else this sad but strangely smiling personal  Mona Lisa...she is probably having a bit of fun on my behalf... 

High Heels and Low Lives

                                                         Amsterdam,

My live is ruled by High Heels and Low Lives - even giving them capital letters without a second thought in this blog entry - I realise watching the sluttily dressed prostitutes in the windows of that infamous Red Light District in Amsterdam, explaining typical Amsterdam tourist information to Mark and his twelve year old son who are my latest http://www.couchsurfing.org/ guests, who enjoy my free near professional guiding services in this most popular part of good old Mokum and who have come to Holland to do a one week cycle trip of the Hoge Veluwe - a national park about forty minutes train trip from Amsterdam - Mark and his son who wanna do some good old Father/Son male bonding, cycling the forest and Dutch "mountains" for a week...

My life is ruled by High Heels and Low Lives I realise while listening to my alcoholic friend Rob's babling, street stories of the neighborhood's population of druggies and alcohol devotees, low lives and losers who have turned King Alcohol, the Green Deity Mary-Jane - Marijuana, get it? -  and Emperor Crack into their personal Gods, a bad life style and Pas De higienic bodily care, sniffing around the dustbins and garbage like their canine friends for possible left overs to sell, maybe an old tuner or broken down DVD player...

My life is ruled by High Heels and Low Lives I realsie when I wake up in the middle of the night, that little sex obessed monster that has taken up domicile somewhere in the recesses of my gray brain mass during my teens, battling the other addictions that I have vowed to refrain from...