Hendrik Hol, childhood friend of Geert Wilders, is writing a film script.

The hysteria caught fire last springtime with Geert Wilders’s announcement that he was planning to make a movie about the baleful influence of the Islam. Well; the movie “Fitna” is there. Did you see it? Seldom there was so much upheaval about a cut and paste movie from which a first years’ student would receive an ear trashing (that’s a Dutchy!) of his teacher. You can start all over this first year, boy! No, that wasn’t much of a very good thing from Geertje. Three hours at You Tube and ready! All old wine in old bags (that’s a Dutchy too). Do not look at yourself. No, here in the Netherlands; we are the country with the guiding light, the country of wisdom. The steady tower in the turbulent waters of modern times. Now you know this for sure. Thanks to Geertje. Because he is seeing it the right way. It is all the mistake of the Muslim. It is always somebody elses fault.

You do not know it yet, but after this sentence you do, that the writer of these words was playing football with Geertje. We were kids those days. Playing football with Geertje did not go well. He could not play at all. Geertje was playing midfield, or in the attack on the left (I do not remember this exactly – or was it at the right?) and I was playing in the centre of the defence. Every fast forward ran past me like that and within no time it was 0-5. At VVV’03. Venlose Voetbal Vereniging (Venlo Football Club) from 1903. With yellow and black in straight lines. I do remember that I played on Puma shoes. I forgot about Geertje’s brand of shoes. I haven’t seen him in thirty years. That’s a long time ago. I could not remember that I had played football with him, until friend Rens showed me a picture of our team. There we were together on a picture, with eleven boys on red German gravel. Something like eleven or twelve years old. On the picture Geertje wasn’t Teutonic blond.

I am also writing a film script about the Islam, trying to get some attention of the media, because they do write about Geertje, but my writers’ debut isn’t read by anyone. I do not get reviewed by the press. I am not relevant, but I do not mind. Maybe I will manage this with the writing of a film script. The movie is also about the morality of the Christians. A script in which a former asylum seeker and member of the Dutch parliament is being helped in the Great, Golden Guiding Country of all Radiating Lighthouses. Thanks to the digital media it is possible to use all kinds of characters artificial, something that I have seen in Woody Allens’ “Zelig” and Robert Zemeckis’ “Forrest Gump”.

The movie is about the emancipation of human beings. About an Iranian president that is not to be trusted and threatens the world with bombs, an American president that does the same, a minister of culture in the Netherlands that like to carry hats and so forth.

It is taking place on a tourist vessel during summer in sunny Amsterdam.

On the deck below the former refugee is helped operationally to heal her from her inconvenience by a Islamic expert in clitology. The surgeon has offered even two, but one is more than enough, so she nods to the surgeon before the operation starts, but thanks anyway for your generous offer. The surgeon is an old pupil of doctor Barnard, the heart surgeon, but went down under the belt in his profession.

Finally a settlement. Are we helping each other. Everything will be alright.

Andrew Lloyd Webber is writing the film score.

As soon as the boat passes the Western church, some gay men are thrown down with their heads first by the imam of Isfahan. The man is happier than ever before. Luckily for the falling men there are a few safety nets hanging above the pink marble monument. It was a joke with the best regards from Iran. The gay men can appreciate the humor of it and kneel gratefully on the stones to the east. ‘Insjallah… Insjallah….,’ they sing grateful in choir because their lives, thanks to His Intervention, have been saved.

On the forward deck of the boat Geertje is having a competition with an Osama Bin Laden look-a-like. The real one could not be found by the producer. Worked once for the CIA and has already found the way to Isfahan; got the worst of it. Is as cold as a frog (that’s another Dutchy!), only once in a while he is put one stage again to frighten the people of the world.

Geertje is tearing a Koran into pieces and Osama’s look-a-like some bibles. Who tears number hundred apart first, wins the big price; a journey to Mecca for the Body Double and when Geertje wins it, he can travel to Rome and sit on the lap of the Pope. Normally the Pope likes it a lot younger, but for Geertje he loves to make an exception, so he promised the producer of the movie. Geertje is just upfront, but Bin Laden’s imitation speeds it up. It is 70-67 before the camera takes a close-up of the Major of Amsterdam who is shaking hands of a woman in a burqka. Her husband shakes enthusiastically the hands of a former pacifistic politician who is now cub master of a proud Greater-Netherlands movement.

The Dutch minister of Social Affairs nods approvingly and waves with one hand on his cross(ed)- crotch to spectators on the quay that got together so they would not miss anything of this spectacle.

The former asylum seeker laughs and radiates to the spectators, because her operation went by successfully. The stitches are itching and tickle like crazy, but to be certain the surgeon has used as extra support two component glue of the well-known brand Bison Clit ®. She is waving exuberant.

The former pacifist, who kicked her old party member in the back, congratulates her with this memorable fact.

All kinds of races, colors, religions; all are standing full of joy on the tourist boat.

Geertje wins with 100 – 97. The digital Bin Laden looks shameful. That this loss is happening in His Name. Geertje looks forward to sit on the lap of the Pope.

The Dutch minister of Youth and Family observes willingly and makes a cross for the Lord.

People dive into the water, swim to the ship and climb aboard. The times of the Beatles are reviving. It is a true feast. All of us are doing the polonaise. We bring up the rears, cry tears of happiness. It is peace. In the end we are all normal human beings. We are there for each other.

I am standing behind the wheel and take, completely dressed in Adam’s costume, a bite of an apple.

Intermission. Time for a liter Coca-Cola and a kilo popcorn.

In Geertje’s movie I did not see anything of the horrors that were done in the name of our Christian leaders in Iraq. It was God’s Will that war, according to some political leaders in the West. Not one bad word about God. Specially when it is His Will.

That’s why the tone of the movie is changing after the intermission. First I put a blazing photo- and film composition à la Koyaanisqatsi of Godfry Reggio. The film music is from Terry Riley. Pieces out of the “Requiem for Adam”. The accent is put from Amsterdam to abroad and I dive into history.

For example some scenes about the results of uranium bombardments by the West and mutilated babies in the city of Falluja. About the great hunger in the nineties thanks to the economic embargo against the country. About the Iraqi weapons for Islamic mass destruction of the devilish West that did not exist and also some images about the demagogic propaganda by democratic chosen leaders that learned the lessons of Joseph Goebbels inside out. About the attack on Baghdad and the bombs that the liberation bringers from the West threw over the former Garden of Eden. How a millennia old culture is blown into pieces. A few scenes about the West and his own weapon industry for mass destruction. About the war industry that earns a good deal of money with the killing of innocent civilians. Also a few pieces about the gaps in the 9-11 story, where Geertje doesn’t speak of. Public Enemy’s rap “911 is a joke” did I mix under this part of the movie.

It is also about the exploitation of our environment, the human greed. How the forests disappear, the fish as well. About factory farming.

How liberal capitalism with his egocentric dogmas do indeed mean the end of the history and the last human being, but then not exactly the way Francis Fukuyama meant it to be.

Also a few images of Al “Yes-I-should-have-been-the-next-president-of-the-United-States” Gore, who got screwed in 2000 and did not come between.

Afterwards the camera turns back in a long tracking shot, across the sea and the green pastures, in the direction of Amsterdam, to the tourist vessel. Geertje and all the others are standing on the boat; they climb with a rope on board of the Amsterdam at the Easter Dock, the replica of the former VOC ship. Those who subscribe the VOC mentality are allowed to travel with us on world tour, so I told them. We are traveling to all kind of countries that need our way of thinking, if they like it or not. We bring them the New World Order. It will be a beautiful cruise for the Rich of the Earth. A part of the cruise is also one weekend at the Cayman Islands; all participants can open a bank account to wash their black earned money white. The ship is fully booked with all kind of captains of industry that think their wallets are more important than the lives of other human beings and the environment. Also there are many presidents of countries who don’t think it is very important; the human rights and democratic institutions. In other words: the sails are full blown with “corporate and state corruption”. Just like it was in the old days. Nothing ever changes.

We sail with the Amsterdam across the North sea, round the British Islands and cross over the Atlantic Ocean. Halfway they find out that this isn’t a nice cruise, but that I had taken them with me to maul them badly; that this isn’t a nice cruise, but the final settlement of an account. Jack Sparrow, the well-known pirate captain, took over the wheel and waves his sword. George and Mahmoud are being punished for their ways of doing and thinking by a digital keelhauling. JP shares with them a wet suit. And another round under the keel. They snap deeply at breath when they stand alive on the deck, completely soaked, but not for George, because he took in a little too much water and did not survive the keelhauling. Twenty rounds later the rest is also gone. The method that is loosely imitated in Guantanamo Bay became fatal. They all found their way to Isfahan.

Geertje is set overboard in a rowing boat and is allowed to row back to his highly regarded West, that is in the direction of the East. A route planner to the Vatican is included. I shake hands and give him a shirt of our old football club VVV ’03. “Those were the days,” I yell at him when he is taking the first waves.

I get off the ship together with the former asylum seeker and the captain and I torpedo from a safe distance the wooden ship Amsterdam. Torpedos los! Bye Bye VOC. Auf wiedersehen! The explosions that accompany the end of colonial thinking, are being shown in multiple slow-motion shots from different angles. I saw that once in a movie of Antonioni.

I won’t tell you more. Maybe this script and this movie will not be made. I will not finish it. Because you never know what can happen with all kinds of threats. Or with criticism on whatever what. Before you know you have to go to jail. In the name of freedom, democracy, of the free wor(l)d. Or you find a fatwa in your mailbox. Even if you poke fun at it.

Oh yes. I almost forgot: why the writer of these words does not get any attention of the press and Geertje gets all of it. No-one knows me. Just like I do (not) know no-one. When I send my book to the press, no-one writes one word about it. Who knows it is a very badly written book. That’s what you get when you are not chosen for the parliament. I do not want that. Democracy? Where? In the USA? Really? Then you do know more that I do. Ever read something about the election fraud in 2000 and 2004? No? Google around, I would like to say. Just type it in: “Election fraud USA 2004”. Then you know immediately how it is in world’s best known democracy. Democracy in one party state China? Democracy in one party state Russia? In the Netherlands? Do you still trust voting machines? Really…? Me (and the politician) trusts completely in your gullible attitude.

Doublethink rules the world… Your vote counts. Foremost when you vote for me. When you vote for the other; through pre-programmed software the vote goes to me. No-one is able to control it. You can forget about a confirmation on paper. You do receive a proof, a contract, a legal piece of evidence for everything you do, except when you are allowed to vote once in four years for the government of your choice and when you are forced to put your responsibility in the hands of someone else. That’s quite easy for them and the one that controls everything can take a quiet nap, because whatever which way he fucks it up, you sleep like a rose, you do not wake up; you turn a deaf ear to it.

Humans like to have bread and games (that’s a Dutchy!). Olympic Games. That is what they like in Tibet: to play games. In freedom. The Chinese say: our freedom, that is important. Not the freedom of the Tibetan people. Some people like to set one against the other, to be first; that the winner takes it all and the loser nothing. Gold is everything. Silver? Bronze? Every sensible human being shrugs one’s shoulders for that. Deng Ciao Do-Ping won gold with the sport element “How to swallow cortisones” and the Dalai Lama won nine golden medals. An Olympic record! At the elements 100 meter meditation, 200 meter meditation, meditation since 1949, group meditation, meditation with a jumping-pole, meditation while standing straight, meditation in a wild water canoe, meditation on a bed of nails and meditation with two fingers in the nose he was way ahead of all the other participants. He didn’t get Tibet back for this highly acclaimed performance. Ah, the Olympic thought works most fraternizing. For all the peoples. Surely for the Tibetans and the Chinese.

We love to have dead bodies in our stomachs, many cut down trees, empty seas, crosses on a hill, Shell in the tank, bombs on people who think differently and much more of this kind of macho behavior. The one roars, the other is silent. In opposite of barking dogs there are people who chew and keep on talking. Without any manners. People like to act as if the other is less. That there is one that puts an example. The rest follows like meek sheep. I know it much better than you do. I am quite sure of that. Mèèèh.

We love it: all those polemics. To put things sharp. To set atom bombs on sharp is also something that humans do. You can always threaten with that to blaze the light out of the eyes of different thinking humans. That is what Dr. Strangelove, a character out of Adams’s debut, thinks as well. Then sister Heartfelt Love has to clear the way (but that you can read in the follow-up of Blue Earth, HaRPSiCHoRD).

Yes, satire does not know any boundaries. What has happened with our compassion for the other and our beautiful earth? The “Mirror of Fish” does, however, not know any compassion. What do you see when you look at your reflection in the water? Are you a good “Mensch” – “Man”? Do you know what it is to be humane; why “Man” has come to this “Blue Earth”? Where Jesus is hanging out? What really happened in the Garden of Eden, when Adam and Eve ate from the apple? The answers you can read in my first novel. Really funny instead of someone who is throwing with bombs, or when someone, dressed in a tent with wired gauze and haze in front of the eyes, blows up in a heavily visited market. That kind of scenes are not happening in the book. Blue Earth does not take place in Iraq.

It is a quite romantic book. It is not about playing football with Geertje. It is also not about the Islam and Christians. Makes it a lot easier. So I will not find a fatwa on my head. Or that the Great Inquisitor is following me for a piece of Christian spanking on a cross. Although I have to admit that I think that a fatwa will raise the sales of my first book to gigantic heights. Maybe I will write an essay in which I picture the Islam as the most retarded religion there is, then I am pretty sure I am nor far off with my point of view, but that’s also counts for Judaism, Christianity and other religions. Or I write a letter to the Ambassador of Iran and I apply for a fatwa. I wish they do not have a waiting list for it.

Wait… In the script I add a last scene. At the end of the movie I am together with the former asylum seeker, or at least her digital copied version. We are on a beautiful tropical island with a golden beach and quiet waves. We drink coconut milk. I call mobile with the Iranian Embassy. If they have a proof of fatwa for the both of us and if they can send it by mail. For above our bed. A well-known British-Indian writer is playing for butler and pours a few glasses of delicious rum. We can borrow his proof of fatwa for a year, so he offers. To have it already in our house, for the time being. We thank him for his generous offer. That is something I always wanted to have: a wonderful fatwa. I call with Reuters and send them a movie. In this movie I imitate with the former refugee John Lennon and Yoko Ono. We are lying on a four-poster bed. Hair Peace. Bed Peace. Fatwa Peace. On another white board I write: “Freedom of Speech”. The finally freed, no longer chased, asylum seeker spreads her legs and is pampered clitoral for the first time in her life. The thing is as firm as a rock. The beaver shot looks like the one from Paul Verhoeven’s “Basic Instinct”. She sighs deeply, shakes her hips full of delight and nods an approval. “Shake it and stir me,” she whispers film like hot in my ear.

Her will be done.