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 ...

And this will be my afternoon completion. Hello Evelien I too can feel you every moment I breath in/out forever I will smile now at what is and what will always be. Too; to all I have known along this  road I am truly not as alone as my solitary travel must suggest. Like tendrils searching a source back to my heart beating please. A kiss a kiss is sustanance in me; as I devour each freely given glee I will not forget anyone of thee. Demanding more of Hemel's finest beer; the leaves have fallen but earth is so alive. Spicy touches linger over a tongue rarely so smiling. Every bit grasps and holds a moments urgent thrust - it must end but that is also a way. Back into the book(The Ginger Man) I leave my stylus next to inkwell never to be a blot.

Antique clock Gillette & Johnston of Croydon turns us to four chimes and I recall that at eight I was meant to wash beyond sink and step up to shower and sing hurrah as my wiener is cleaner than my mother's tongue. Time there is prior to seven to pamper an essence away and scratch the oils to the sewer with hair and suds never redeemed. What bother Mariken is brought to me and Cupid dances for a malty beverage. The vein of my blood flowing into this scroll (app) has me happy to be bold and true and behold behaviour beginning this end; beer preserve us - I am not alone even if this bar suggests a vacant stool (Dan Laythorpe should be here still). Who would condemn me to death if I wasn't this way and shrank off this mortal path smiling at a similitude to corps now renounced along his way. Cheers Dan. And I haven't been to a party in years!

Left after meeting Joep's English mischief and I do play with conker/concur in feeling I know this face from a dream. Black cherries and cream. Some one that would read a short passage and make me smile at her laughing. Joy to make me feel this word game isn't just me me me. Chapter sixteen is lingering long and I thought I knew I would leave Samson accomplishing that section. On the beach of Magnetic Island(QLD) I can remember a Northern Ireland sweetness hidden bare breasted amongst dunes 1999, as I was in the last throws of Once and Future King. Did fondle her as my manhood rose and I knew there was a reason she was at my feet when the books last page was eclipsed by my seed steaming over her white volcanoes. When next I saw her on Bondi Beach I wanted the same again but I felt undone sharing a mixed dorm, when chance could repeat, and quantities of vodka made me vulgar and pressing, desperate, writhing and too hands on in full glare of peers and leering perverts. This girl...

Only one sock. Laughing to myself I was hopping mad (silly billy) in Barbarossa Hostel on Antoniusplaats. Markt Stall. Bartering a la L.O.B. two pairs of merino calf length and he gave me another pair even though I did not want or need. Left stall holder ministry of one legged walks - Cleese I became. Love this Nijmegen everyone so happy not overcome. The Staat newest album is I_Con. It is en route to 42. It is Saturday which is a Vinylday I think it is my only link to commerce. And I am in The Klinker (the stones) brew up Groene thee listening to Grimes. Who are this electro pop synth band. Nonja the dog blends with avant-garde screen prints. A collective. Booked for dinner at seven bells. Three courses for six euros. When the world implodes on itself maybe a few cities will linger as the explosion fades into darkness. Another thee then Saint Jacob's Chapel.