A rebel without a clue.

Followed a path under the railway that crosses the Waal downstream from the bridge that proved so well built the Nazi's couldn't blow it up before retreating and here is the flea market turn right and you meet a Honig factory and prior to the new bridge that helps ease traffic. For two euros there is a different sort of museum. Very Kitchen and past tense. Julio Iglesias  and Tommy glued to one another. Christmas tat, fat pork sausages in a bun and ice skates hungup while the faux King gives us a burst of Christmas pre-1977. There is a regressive stride which all adult present upon a Sunday in a carboot/flea market which is the dance of the dying indeed. Why did I come here expecting something else? I shall for another .50¢ leave my load and head back along the Waal. Just time to turn about the back of the Saint Stephen Kerken and pick up Gozleme for after noon tea. Off to brew a green tea and relax Sunday out.

That was an experiment really. Rarely do I write in a style that sexual or suggestive in character; usually I would find the form of narrative troubling or exposing too much flesh to the circus. But I managed it without blushing too much and I might have taught someone a word they didn't ever hear before. When I came home after the brilliant three course meal in the Klinker Joep' gf and another guy were finding dutch terms of abuse - I recall dog whore(lots of whore) but I hoped to find fecund or its counterpart (it stemming from fecundus) but I didn't. The holiday is over. I need to move on and achieve this other end so the narrative will be less frenzied and egocentric. Once it was out of the box there was no other way for Saturday to end. Today is reliably here and should be a dreadful paranoid and sleeplessly fitting one: I often see this same coming to me as Alcohol departs. The last distorted me vanishes as I begin another pilgrimage by a visit to Sint Jacobskapel ...

This truly is the end and it makes me moved to know I am not alone in this mode. Say sorry and say hello Manuel I promise I will reference the Eythopian country as soon as I can dig out the fibres hidden in my wake. Back to family name Samson for Christoffel bok. Texels is so far my favourite Dutch whipme. What is fecund? Ho me oh art thou the most wonderful lozenge? A sweet to suck into a submission of white pillows I play with like sand, cream, swirling clouds so massive and youthful, Krausen of cauliflower, white cells, Bloom of Yorkshire flower erect and troubling for my sanity. Yes yes yes. You could swarm me in this black, brown, red, blonde, white boned sumptuous frame. Satisfied I would quit to Germany without my sack so subtle yet so Duchessly clean. But these seldom balls are unlikely to be rendered that; my fat would slide and be spat at. I could collude explain then I should depart because wenches have to give it all unless my seed is appraised on this spot; as a solitary ...