A one-child policy

                                   Amsterdam, 29 June 2012.

Toda Raba I say to my latest Israeli customer, thank you so much in Hebrew, one of the many thank you's I have picked up in my "carreer" as an ambulant street seller...seems to work too, a happy customer with a newly game - if nothing else it will serve to keep inpatient young offspring busy in the often endless queue outside the Anne Frank Huose here in sunny Amsterdam - and another Five Euro ahead for me...

If no customers I just continue making games while my mind goes on never ending narratives, trying, mostly in vain, to find solutions for world problems.,.

Maybe the aim of the infamous one-child policy of China's exploding population, maybe it helps stemming an ever increasing influx of children but also in creating abandoned baby girls in a society bend on boys, with female infanticide and gender-selective abortions...

Similar baby girl unfriendly practices in India where the preference for male offspring comes into reality by the idea a dowry for the bridegroom, maybe male children better capable of supporting parents in old age...

However, the lack of female will greatly enhance prostitution, sexual rape, a generation of deperate bachelors that lack sexual outlet, no capability of finding a adequate female companion of wive...

Better I stop this negative mental narrative and concentrate on my customers

His case is about to be dismissed

                                      Amsterdam, 24 June 2012.

Stale tabacco breath mixed with the smell of cheap Pilsener waving into my face, black rotten horse teeth with pieces of Shoarma meat sticking to the gaps only mere decimeters away from me, yellowish tabacco stained fingers, nails with plenty of dirt underneath holding a transparent styrofoam half full box of Appie Heyn Shoarma meat, two rolls of bread with a corner bitten from one of them...

Was it Jor, Jos, Joost or Shiva, or maybe my real name Hans, he mixes them all up, even after nearly seventeen years of mutual acquaintance he hasn't gotten my name straight...I guess twenty years of heavy drinking and drug abuse can do that to you, countless unnumerable gray brain cells blown to smithereens...

twenty to thirty hastily deperate visits to the toilet - one for each beer he consumes - getting rid of what Rob, the King Of My Toilet, describes as black water with chunks of dark matter with a terrible stink that comes out of his ass with great speed....

Shit three times in a row but what sort of life is that???...I guess his case is about to be dismissed...but then I know why he is here, the last two of these Hoegaarden Wit Beer my mate Paul brought along last night when we had our Italy against French soccer match watching session...nice beer and not exactly in the cheap price class he is used to...

The Shoarma meat and bitten into rolls of bread come as a bonus for me, an empty bank account took care of that...the promise of a bottle of red wine tomorrow when his Rabo Bank card will supply newly printed social wellfare Euros will probably be a Rose...after all remembering my real name is just as difficult for poor Rob, the Street Alcoholic, as seeing the difference between Rose and Red Wine...    

My payroll Desperado customers

                                     Amsterdam, 20 June 2012.

With a nice summer sun once again shining over my beloved Mokum, I find myself back in front of the Numero Uno tourist spot in Amsterdam, the Anne Frank House selling my funny handmade games to people of all nationalities, Americans fascinated by my GATOR cap - a free gift from a Cuban customer presiding in Fort Lauterdale, Florida - Japanese families nervously approaching me, dragged to my little street shop by their exited progeny, Spanish speaking Ecuadorians with no English in the South-American heads - No Problemo as Arnie would say - Italians who have conveniently forgotten the bad economic state of their Maffia ruled native European boot, Greek tourists who have wisely moved their doomed Euros to unknown Swiss bank accounts...

Rowdy English school children on an educational visit to Holland's capital, or maybe a group of Turkish German speaking muslimas shyly wanting to know what I am selling, Wie Geht Das Dann?,...

Pictures aplenty with everybody promising me to mail them rather sooner then later...

When I fianlly get home, plenty of dough in my pocket but not so many games anymore, dusty from the street and mentally exhausted from all the tourist questions I had to answer in a multitute of languages, I find my Yahoo inbox full to overflow with mails...some of these pics here in this blogstory.     

A trvial incident in the life of a street alcoholic

                                             Amsterdam, 19 June 2012.

Business is slow but at least the weather is perfect for a determined street seller like me, and slow or not my games still go fatser as I can possibly make them...

The positive nature of slow business means at least I can retract my gray brain cells to the more obscure corners of mind and memory tracts while my hands do the job, more and more games ending up on my maroon red window curtain that serves as sort of carpet that displays my little one-man street business...

A mental journey back to the orient, back to King Bhumipol's Asian realm where life is easy, the food healthy, tasty and cheap, where the ladies always give me beamy smiles, a couple of red ones and the privacy of my room will ensure willing models for my chaotic artwork...

If nothing else I can go and see some Farang friends and have a cold to the touch beer, maybe listen to the Hot Momma stories on Pattaya's infamous boulevard...

But no, Nada of this...heavy screams originating from the Westermark remind me that Gerard, one of the square's alcoholics has been freed from a three month monkey house sentence this very morning and already well on the way to King Alcohol's realm of mind destroying cheap supermarket supplied pilsener, maybe a couple of mind enhancing pills as a bonus...

The man is out of his mind on dope and booze but that is a trivial incindent in his loser's life on any given day. But after three months of prison enforced cold turkey he is super high and ready for a fight with whoever crosses his miserable existence...

I am not all that amazed to see him walking by ten minutes later, sweating like a pig and bleeding like a cow that has just met the butcher's knife...I guess he found his destiny for today...

Like I said, a trivial incident in the life of a street alcoholic!!!    

Delightful little names

Delightfull little names given to me during my backpack trips around the globe:



Barang....Cambodia
Farang....Thailand.
Limey.
Ferengi....Malaysia and Indonesia.
Rooinek.
Soutie.
Khawaja....pronounced in Egypt as Khawagga, from
the turkish Fat Man.
Msungu...certain african countries.
Gwailo....in Hong Kong.
Gringo....seems obvious.
Honkey.
Rosbiff.
Tomi.
Satan Nyora...Devil Snake in Bantu..< I liked that one >
Sassenach.
Round-Eyed Foreign Devil...Taiwan < I`ll never return >
Gai-Jin...you guessed it, yes Japan.
Sahip...India.
Bwana...Kenia.
Orang Puti...Borneo.

If anybody out there in the Internet realm has got any more to add...pls do so.

Hope you enjoy my collection of delightfull little names.

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...