A rebel without a clue.

How does this great thing keep happening whenever I become now? Truly their still exists the kindness of strangers. From Julia at a crossroads stood next to the Town Hall to four plus I in Starbucks(not for coffee but just to keep warm) and Julia brought me here as there seemed no where to go apart from Ibis, etc where I would have missed the true Germany. Wow I was there for just one reason - to meet a mother whom probably always put her precious cargo first so could incorporate my loose organisation. Julia, enjoy tonight your trip to the theatre with your son - I hope you realise how true your mother is? Gerd, whom finally let me rest after an afternoon of culture and photos and walking me round and passed the start of Christmas Eves Pilgerweg. Beyenburg with it's dam and deep hillsides reminds me of what my feet might really fear if I don't double my socks and walk without fear. An excited man whom gives you every warmth. And a woman who cared so much to see how it all f...

Did what I could with those pieces of eight I'd been waiting to see, in fear they would never be enough for all my needs, and now I have got my stuff together I'm off to the Bahnhof via Molepoort and the Ratthaus. Bye Nijmegen and your untroubled soul. It is back too weak for the many. Must quickly see Venlo the town of the incident William  Boyd's Restless where the SIS got trapped, framed etc - double double agent. My alarm didn't go off but that isn't relevant. Brisk walk, €10.50 into Limburg, with a kerstkoek and coffee. Time is such a slave master. Last night I realised all decisions have ceased being made by people but often it is people that suffer when any analysis abandons people for the whimsical system and its brutal demands. If the money was in a bottomless pit I would continue to Le Puy-en-Velay from the east and perhaps relive the uniqueness of the French Camino once more. But I cannot walk so far nor so fast and I would put a gun against my temple s...

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!