Terminated with extreme prejudice

                                     Amsterdam, 16 June 2012.

I have got to admit, he does look quiete pleased here the old man, sitting there surrounded by two grand daughters, one of which is mine - the one on the right you know - and he never knew about untill recently....

two and a half decades of Pas De Contact, never could be bother to answer serious attempts of make up and hug, living in the Dutch capital, far away from my native soil in the south of Holland, contact with a "loving" family terminated with extreme prejudice...

Struggling with feelings that aren't the nobelest when my sister send me a friendship request on Facebook, trying again against all odds, ugly relations fighting inside my Farang mind while I was once again living it up in that southeast Asian paradise for Farang males and shelter of hope for a better life for impoverished undereducated Thai Hot Mommas, called  Pattaya... 

My sister on the right and my old ladyfriend Amanda on the left...

Enough personal shit here, think about it what you want!!!

Thrown back to soccer stone time

                                              Amsterdam, 14 june 2012.

At night back at my apartment after a mad cycle trip back from the house of a friend, a 12 % Kasteel beer down my throat, exasperated by the flow of cycle traffic, realising I am most probably not the only Amsterdam citized who has watched the debacle of the Dutch soccer team, oranged clad Dutch warriors against the black and white clad Angstgegner of German origin throwing us back to soccer stone time, no way we will make it to the next phase of the European soccer championship this time around...

Should get ready for bed, early time up tomorrow, hard work at the petting zoo awaiting me, but no...exasperation is still in full swing, taking over all my mental control and capabilities...so I take a spraycan - no matter what color - and add DEAD to the painting I made of Antonia last week...

At night back at my apartment where I have been amazed at her enthusiasm and seemingly unquesable thirst for the Adults-Only game, having lost count of the numerous sessions of physical pleasures we have shared, playfull manual and oral stimulations we shared with each other, never wasting any time but ripping off uncomfortable clothes, her purse on the table, naked among a pile of clothes, panting and sweating on my bed, a half empty bottle of Appie Heyn table wine, needless to mention color red, waiting for further consumption...

But no...nothing of that will happen again when she sees what I have done to her painting, raping and mutilation of what is basically my own artwork but in the process of making it she got to consider it her personal possession...

A post mortem libido urge.

                                      Amsterdam, 11 June 2012.

The perils of Thailand's prostitution industry have taken over the well meant intentions of Lord Morpheus' dream world, tossing and turning, clammy sheets that feel wed to the touch though in my hazy presence of this regularly returing limbo, it only adds to what is top of the pops in the order of uncomfortablity...

Ring, ring does my house phone but in my dream like state of existence it only sounds like these feminine knuckles raping the outside of my New Star guest house door, down and trodden, out on booze and Ya Ba, flat broke ladies of the nightlife, maybe looking for a couple of hours of sleep at my side before returning to the boulevard, maybe one or two red ones helping a starving Hot Momma's belly in the dreaded morning after...

Ring, ring it goes again but this time it is my cell lying comfortably close at the side of my bed, bringing me back to my Farang Land life, back to my bed and my house here in Amsterdam West, the crappy old and dusty house I occupy when I am not on the road in some far-away garbage belt dictator ruled state in Farawayistan...

A sweet female voice asking me if I was asleep, a voice full with promise and true Amazonian feminine sexuality, Antonia from Aruba, one of my Aldults-Only-Game partners, asking me if I am in the mood for some carnal games of pleasure and fun....

Three o'clock in the morning, more dead then alive, on my bike down to her house, the feeling that I am driven by a post mortem libido urge uppermost in my wine destroyed mind but trodding on with determination...  

Hannes doing a good job on my artwork

                                      Amsterdam, 09 June 2012.

Hannes, the four year old son of my upstairs neighbours Anne marie and Renske, improving my latest artwork...     

                                     The finished product...

Selling my games at the Anne Frank House

                                              Amsterdam, 06 June 2012.

Another foto from a customer of me selling my games at the Numero Uno tourist hotspot in Amsterdam, the Anne Frank House.

Thanks Mathilde.

Guilty without a reasonable doubt

                                    Amsterdam, 04 June 2012.

In between the showers of heavenly piss harrassing my beloved good old Mokum, I manage a quick sortie to the Anne Frank House today, not much hope of making big money but then what can I do but try to gather the rent, a miserable doomed Euro at a time, but then even a miserable doomed Euro is better as the proverably Nada...

Mister Ben from the nearby city of Leiden, the first human being stopping by, drenched to the bone with that heavenly piss that threatens the Amsterdam streets one more time in short moments, mister Ben who desperately wants to know where is the gay monument, not much interested to join the Anne Frank queue of soaked would-be visitors trying in vain to protect themselves against the urine of the Gods, the other wrarth of these devine beings blowing underneath there newly boughts umbrellas whose cover shows the colors of my city, black, white and red, three crosses embedded in a red and black background, bought in one of the Westermark square souvernir shops...shit, they do better business then me with their darned umbrellas...

Mister Ben from Leiden who after a short of time of pensive thinking is willing to pose for me, wants to know about these funny looking games, buying four for twelve miserable doomed Euros, money for food a cheap bottle of Mooi Kaap, red wine, nothing left over for the rent...

But then who cares...back home, the home that will be threatened with eviction soon though my savings will help me out I guess, my old ladyfriend Antonia is waiting, always willing to pose for me and brightening up my lonely evenings every so often, who always tells me she knows what I want...I guess I am guilty without a reasonable doubt!!!

  

No carnal frontiers for a street alcoholic

                                     Amsterdam, 02 June 2012.

Back to the days of rain, back to days of financial insecurities causing me momentary lapses of sanity, too much worrying about my bills, the rent is due, gas and light have got to be paid, the mad life of a dedicated street seller trying hard to make a decent living, paying his taxes but getting hardly any feedback...

I am an agent of chaos but at least I have enough D'Argent for some nutriiouc food back at the local supermarket though the appearance of Rob, The King Of My Toilet I usually like to call him due to his habit of raping my toilet bowl with his incessant bouts of alcoholic diarhea, does not amuse me...quite the opposite, maybe a night in the house alone with my jars of paint will quit the worrysome state of my mental health... but no a five crumbled Euro note is pushed into my hands with a hastily demand to buy him the cheapest bag of tabacco, his watery half drunk eyes on the queue...

A bag of Samson tabacco in my hand, waiting for Rob standing in the queue and calling to me in strong Amsterdam voice to buy some dope from the nearby coffee shop, screaming after me about that 150 kilo African hooker he picked up last night downtown for 150 Euro, a Euro a kilo and that for a all nighter...bemused faces in the supermarket queue follow my fast disappearing frame...

Shit three times in arow, the man knows no shame whatsoever, nor does he have any carnal frontiers...

The Eoru crisis might be back full on, world markets in an uproar again but the local street alcoholic Rob, aka The King Of My Toilet, still counts his dough by the kilo, black and meaty!!!