confession: i spent last week in amsterdam without enough sleep and not due to drugs, alcohol, or prostitutes but because sometimes sleep leaves me behind which doesn’t mean i’m not tired but when the days and nights of awakeness sleeplessly blend together, the sleeplessness becomes an altered state and i feel like i’m low-grade hallucinating through continuous hours. i overhear people’s conversations on the street and my mind mishears their words, transmuting their mundane chit-chat into extraordinary science fiction tales.
confession: every time i’m in europe i’m reminded that the most challenging aspect of european travel is finding a public restroom (or having the exact change to pay for its use).
confession: i didn’t buy enough postcards. i thought 20 would be enough. i send snail mail to more people than i realized. also, sleep deprivation inspired me to send the poetess two of the same postcard, written twelve hours apart.
confession: dutch sounds like german wearing a taller person’s costume.
confession: according to an icelandic airline’s in-flight magazine, dutch people are the tallest people in the world–women average 5’8” and men average 6’1”. i encountered several women over 6’ and several men over 7’. the tallest dude i passed on the street was taller than me even while he bent over to scratch his knee.
confession: i wrote very little this week in amsterdam. i worked even less. i walked much. i visited galleries, museums, and churches to fill my senses with art. i spent hours in libraries gathering information about the community’s ethos and saying hello to my book friends patiently waiting on shelves. i ate delicious cheese and bread and cannabis-infused baked goods. i experienced every moment of aliveness. i absorbed the energizing intensity of rain, wind, and windmills. i bought flowers. i drank coffee. i sucked in the second-hand smoke of every grungy 20-something toking on the streets to activate a contact high. i lived a good week.
confession: i flirted with the working girls standing in their cubicle windows in the red light district, especially with the ones who looked bored or in need of cheering up from their 20-minute sessions with british businessmen.
confession: i’m home again. i still haven’t slept but i’ve written and worked between flashbacks from amsterdam. in the first half-hour after my return i remembered that one of the best part of traveling is coming home.