Episode XIIII - Fiets crew, assemble!
Posted: Fri 28th Jul 2017 06:04 am
I think I must be a maschochist. There's no real justification for a wake up call set for 2am is there? I could get a later flight - I definitely could.
But the excited little fellow that lives in my stash box doesn't sleep well on days like these. In fact he sleeps especially badly on those nights that the lad is sending letters full of characteristic cheek and charm with news of treasures already found, ready and waiting. The stuffs that will grease the gears of our hunger - supplies for the coming safari.
So he figures he may as well be on the move as early as possible. Screw the sensible option. Get the red-eye. Sleep is for the weak and all that. A couple of hours will do he tells himself - must rest.
He ignores the phones blips and burps for a while. He knows who they're from.
Tossing and turning.
An hour later.
Still awake.
He checks the messages.
He's right.
The messages make him laugh out loud but do nothing to inspire rest.
She stirs.
The dog farts. (Sorry that bit isn't true but something had to bring an end to this self absorbed writing in the first person eh?)
In the end - rest he did. For a little while at least.
Dreams of Amsterdam.
When?
Bleep bleep bleep.
Now!
So.
The red-eye again.
A familiar smirk.
A familiar feeling.
Stark lighting in this bunnies stoned and tired eyes all of a sudden.
Hood up. Shelter. Ahh that's better.
The dabs are settling in nicely and making it all go away.
The canna caps swallowed before leaving the house are working their way slowly through my system - a brief taste of coconut oil in the back of the throat is a gentle reminder that I have perhaps a good hour or so before they hit. Should be smooth sailing. Wake me when Mokum calls mr trolley dolly.
For the last few years I've been enjoying a reccurring dream that has a changing narrative but unfolds within a familiar, yet fantastical setting. Myself and and an ever changing cast of others rolling around an historic city with warren like streets. Adventures good or bad; Sometimes an odd mix of both play out in the same or similar streets. Always in that city. Never the same view twice but always the same ambience.
Upon awaking I always remark that it doesn't quite look, but it does most definitely feel like our beloved. There are no canals, no coffee shops; but the fabric of the place is there somehow. Perhaps in the colour of the stories that play out? Slightly silly, seedy, woolly and weird. It's indescribable as all good dreams are. But I know for sure that it's my minds stored version of mokum. I love to go there. It's special. I hate coming back. Waking up. I don't go there tonight. No need.
In the real world there's often a moment before each trip where i anticipate some buyers remorse at the cost and frequency of these visits to my (our) lady Amsterdam. I often wonder if I should perhaps be more mature and frugal? I wonder if I'll ever grow tired of her as some do?
Im glad to say It doesn't seem so.
That moment came and went in a fleeting second this afternoon when I finished work; wrote up the last day of the 420 report and gave myself a break. Reminded myself that feeding the soul makes for good all round health. Allowed myself to enjoy, reminded myself that life is good. And that It's for getting out there and having a laugh with like minds. And that my friends is exactly what I'm en route for...
The sun is coming up. My caps are kicking in. Keep up reader, I'm coming in hot.
Amsterdam bitches - woop woop!
But the excited little fellow that lives in my stash box doesn't sleep well on days like these. In fact he sleeps especially badly on those nights that the lad is sending letters full of characteristic cheek and charm with news of treasures already found, ready and waiting. The stuffs that will grease the gears of our hunger - supplies for the coming safari.
So he figures he may as well be on the move as early as possible. Screw the sensible option. Get the red-eye. Sleep is for the weak and all that. A couple of hours will do he tells himself - must rest.
He ignores the phones blips and burps for a while. He knows who they're from.
Tossing and turning.
An hour later.
Still awake.
He checks the messages.
He's right.
The messages make him laugh out loud but do nothing to inspire rest.
She stirs.
The dog farts. (Sorry that bit isn't true but something had to bring an end to this self absorbed writing in the first person eh?)
In the end - rest he did. For a little while at least.
Dreams of Amsterdam.
When?
Bleep bleep bleep.
Now!
So.
The red-eye again.
A familiar smirk.
A familiar feeling.
Stark lighting in this bunnies stoned and tired eyes all of a sudden.
Hood up. Shelter. Ahh that's better.
The dabs are settling in nicely and making it all go away.
The canna caps swallowed before leaving the house are working their way slowly through my system - a brief taste of coconut oil in the back of the throat is a gentle reminder that I have perhaps a good hour or so before they hit. Should be smooth sailing. Wake me when Mokum calls mr trolley dolly.
For the last few years I've been enjoying a reccurring dream that has a changing narrative but unfolds within a familiar, yet fantastical setting. Myself and and an ever changing cast of others rolling around an historic city with warren like streets. Adventures good or bad; Sometimes an odd mix of both play out in the same or similar streets. Always in that city. Never the same view twice but always the same ambience.
Upon awaking I always remark that it doesn't quite look, but it does most definitely feel like our beloved. There are no canals, no coffee shops; but the fabric of the place is there somehow. Perhaps in the colour of the stories that play out? Slightly silly, seedy, woolly and weird. It's indescribable as all good dreams are. But I know for sure that it's my minds stored version of mokum. I love to go there. It's special. I hate coming back. Waking up. I don't go there tonight. No need.
In the real world there's often a moment before each trip where i anticipate some buyers remorse at the cost and frequency of these visits to my (our) lady Amsterdam. I often wonder if I should perhaps be more mature and frugal? I wonder if I'll ever grow tired of her as some do?
Im glad to say It doesn't seem so.
That moment came and went in a fleeting second this afternoon when I finished work; wrote up the last day of the 420 report and gave myself a break. Reminded myself that feeding the soul makes for good all round health. Allowed myself to enjoy, reminded myself that life is good. And that It's for getting out there and having a laugh with like minds. And that my friends is exactly what I'm en route for...
The sun is coming up. My caps are kicking in. Keep up reader, I'm coming in hot.
Amsterdam bitches - woop woop!