"Blogging isn't journalism, it's graffiti with punctuation."

>blowing hookas with the hookers

>spent the morning on the trains, speeding through dusseldorf and the lush green that flows through deep valleys and alongside cavernous creeks. my window portrayed a tapestry.

made it to amsterdam, and now i remember my europe.

now the city swelters with life, with seediness and sex and dirty streets and echoing screams from the crazies and i feel like i’m back in the world again, where things make sense.

my hostel is, get this, a christian hostel. in the land of milk and honey, they’re trying to sell me on ‘homosexuality is an abomination.’ i decided to keep my atheism a secret, yet politely decline their christian-values-meeting invite.

pigeons and streetcars and falafel and canal-boat-rides and british boys sans-shirts and everything that makes a european city luminous.

amsterdam burns like Brimstone.

i am a moth that can’t stop scorching itself against the flames.

the vastness of the city coupled with the strong aromas from sidewalk cafes.

the overwhelming snarky attitude. the bikes and bike-bells. the way i walk with a bounce, and their eyes go 15 centimetres below my collarbone.

i’m going to savour all of this, so no time to dispell the words on a keyboard. tomorrow i will have stories, encounters, and visions to disperse.

don’t wait up, i’ll be out all night.

take the stairs two at a time, slap the screen door behind me.

trail of dust. running into the distance.

disappear into the night.

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