Dikke kees aka Fat kees on Cold Turkey

Amsterdam,

Russel, one of our employes at the farm and a 100 % street shit like me - told me last week about Dikke Kees his dealer and assiosiates,

Michiel, a frêle-framed loser who brought in the daily dough for his crack habit working for Max, arrested...

Max with his flaming red shoulder long hair, big guy with a shitty face and a likewise tember, spending X-mas and New Year in jail...

And then there was Ali, the Marrocan supplier - Hell freezing over, why do these shits always have to be Marrocan? - living out on the Haarlemmerweg, another small framed shit whose mouth seems to have make up for his diminutive frame... spending these so-called Holy Days in jail, New Year`s celebration, fire crackers and people being merry and toasting with full to the overflow champagne glasses... - hehehe- seen from the inside of a nowadays not all that clean Dutch prison cell, behind bars and kicking the habit brought about by your own mercandise...

Small wonder I saw Dikkie kees - Fat Kees - thought everybody else calls him Big Kees due to his bulky frame, walking down the Haarlemmerdijk, his habitual alu can of cheap beer in hand, big blue ice bonnet on his carzy head, demanding free smokes from people whoe were glad to be out of the house on a sunny afternoon after three X-mas cold sundays, screaming across the road "heeft U twintig Euro cent voor mij?", freaked out of his head after three days of forced Cold Turkey...

I wasnt`t all that surprised I found my cycle tyre flat of air like the Sahara without water monday morning...Fat Kees hates me to my guts but sneakiness is only Kees his repertoire when Cold Turkey is in the air or a speed ball has gone down the neurals of his fucked-up mind the wrong way again.... all other times he`ll steer well clear of me though he might promised Harry a few nasty things considering me hoping for a few cherished aforementioned cheap alu cans of beer...

Lady with a broken nose

Acrylis on canvas

NO WAY IN MUSLIM HELL

Amsterdam,

Finally, the dark and lonely days of X-mas are gone and over with, walking around snowy streets nearly devoid of people reminding me the harsh way of my self-chosen life of solitute around these so-called Holy Days.

The Noordermarket on each monday morning is clamoring with activity, people go to and fro chatting gayly under a nice winter sun. I hear the languages of the world, tourists checking out free city maps are the norm, not all that strange considering the Anne Frank House is just around the corner.

My mind is as always these days on my upcoming trip to King Bhumipol`s Asian realm, erotic images of Asian beauties trying to work there way to my conscious mind, battling vainly with the hordes of ravages Hot Momma faces, faces from the past that haunt me into the present, refusing vehemently to trun themselves into sexy dream world play mates, instead reminding me of their plight, the swearing eye and bad tooth, the baby back home in the Northern impoverished Isan provinces, the hopes they had and the drug and alcohol crazed life that came out of it...

I wonder where they are nowadays, institutionalised in a local Wad? Not much left there in the brain of a Hot Momma on a early pension, cared for by the monks and living on scraps left behind by the villagers - their Karma will survive another day...

My thoughts trail on and on hardly noticing the worl around me...I did see the mysterious multi-colores eyes of a Muslim lady, veiled and all that, passing by. I presume she can NO WAY IN MUSLIM HELL imagine what life is like for her Thai contemporaries.

The inside of a lady`s belly; pulbic property

Amsterdam,

Sitting behind my computer screen, big fat Mary-Jane joint dangling from my mouth`s corner and a recently opened alu can of Albert Heyn Pilsener cold to the touch, ready for consumption, totally prepared for blogging...

Going back in time I`m lying on my bed here in Amsterdam, my latest bed partner next to me, another tourist lady picked up during my frequent haunts downtown in the multitute of backpack cafes in the Warmousstraat, a bit tired but highly satified after our mutual physical bit of the oldest game between man and woman...

With my male seed dripping out of her snatch and my hand absendmindedly playing with her her erect nipple, I`m aware that as a gentleman - am I really a gentleman? - I should ask her "hope you use protection"...considering the sex was so hot and steamy, our lust so overwhemlming that we had luscious mating condom-free.

A tricky question though...one never knows whether or not the question will be appriciated...my latest lover might take offence believing it should be the man taking care of that part of our hot encounter...

Yeah, let your female erotic feelings run lose and expect your new partner to have a more sober mind, remember that the inside of a woman`s belly is after all Public Property...public debates on telly and in the newspapers, countless fora on the Sacred Internet discussing abortion and the Rights Of A woman`s Own Belly make it clear enough, a female`s womb is not her personal organ but a public domain open to anyone who dares to enter...the discussion.

In the end I leave this "tricky question" where it belongs...inside my Farang gray mass of neurons, get out of bed to make her breaky before sending her on her way with my blogspot address hidden in her purse. Kissing her goodbye before she boards bus 22, wondering if all my male seed has safely dripped out of her private parts or maybe one macro small spermatoide was a winner but I will never know about it.

A bit like all the hunderts of Thai Hot Mommas I send running out of my Farang excistence, 500 Baht in a worn purse or maybe hidden in her bra, condom-free sex here too means one or more of these hunderts of Oriental bed partners from my dark and crazy sex-driven past might well have left me with a bun in her oven!!!

Muslim Lady in the Jordaan

acrylic on paper,. The lady in the drawing I saw last saturday on the Noordermarkt here in Amsterdam.

Ehm from Thailand

pen drawing on paper

Midnight dreams.

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