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


>jeremiah commented that i look persian. the waiter at the Majestic cafe asked me if i was indian. a guy who tried to pick me up as i sat on the steps of the War Monument thought i was italian. another waiter started calling out to me in spanish as i passed his establishment. the security guard at the poezenboot (“cat boat,” a refuge for stray kitties that i visited) called me ‘indo-asian.’

i’ve always known that can pass for many different ethnicities, but i guess i always downplayed it, like it was all in my head. i guess i really do carry some fetishized ‘exoticism’ with me that people respond to, and i’m half proud, half repulsed.

proud because i like the way their curious eyes make me feel.

repulsed because i know they’re trying to categorize me so that i will fit neatly into their knowable world. that who i am must be coloured by my ethnicity, or something racist like that.

i get it all the time.

so, last reflections of amsterdam? did the rijksmuseum and saw some vemeers and rembrandts ‘nightwatching.’

oooh, la la.

went to the museum amstelkring (our lord in the attic), a catholic church that had to be hidden in an attic when the city became protestant in the 1600s, and has remained essentially untouched in all that time.

then the poezenboot. pussy pussy pussy, i luv me some furry pussy.


then madame tussauds, had my photo taken with 007 pierce brosnan, i look ridiculous.
the place was filled with families, lovers, and friends. for the first time, i seriously felt lonely. i never felt lonely on last year’s mediterannean extravaganza, and this year it’s creeping up on me. not meeting as many people as i hoped. gotta toughen up, gotta smile, gotta remember where i am.

where am i?

arrived in copenhagen this morning (or kobenhaven as they call it), my hostel is lovely and loaded with ripe men. no christian bible studies in this joint.

dying for a shower, a meal, and a bus tour.

the sky is a different here. it’s a sea-bed. a mango. a red pepper.

they say that i should be in the follies
hot tamales
they say i’ve got a pair of eyes
just like all sven gallies.

i confess
that i possess
the sweetest charms in town
and unless
i miss my guess
the boys all follow me around

i can make a music master drop his fiddle
make a bald-headed man part his hair in the middle
i can make a texas farmer forget his hay
make the devil throw his fork away

cuz i’m a red-hot mama.

sophie tucker


2 responses

  1. r

    >read your words like your spirit enchanter

    July 21, 2006 at 8:10 AM

  2. r

    read your words like your spirit enchanter

    July 21, 2006 at 8:10 AM

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