Slow train to Berlin

I left all my sadness back under the grey blankets of Holland. Listen to some Pixies, draw some pictures, and now I'm ready to fuck Berlin sideways. The white bark of the birch trees from the train window is killing me. They look soft like skin, like the way Klimt painted them. Branches weeping gently downward. The landscape feels familiar this way...There is an undue amount of babies on this train. Ive been watching Jan beat the poor girl in front of me with his stuffed rabbit for the better part of an hour, I think he might laugh all the five hours more we have to go...And there is this little girl hugging tightly to her dads neck as they walk up and down the aisles, and she looks at everyone with her big doleful brown eyes. Maybe I have baby fever, but Im pretty sure they're ten fold cuter over here. Maybe its the water, or the welfare state. I like moving, awaiting some new city, now in this moment I feel free and unafraid. If only I could bottle it up for the lean times. AAAAAND a few hours and one good train nap later, Im here in Berlin. We had dinner all together, and picked our homestays. I am with Ahnka and Evera, two lovely women, and their two lovely cats and one tiny dog. The apartment is a luxury (especially after two weeks of hostel living). Nice balcony and dream of dreams...I can smoke inside, which is half the reason I came to Europe in the first place of course. Good art on the walls too, that means good people. Pictures will follow after I smoke a few rollies complements of Ellie, drink some tea, eat my pillow chocolates, shower, sleep and go to school for eight or so hours....

I need a vacation from my vacation

I've been away for about a month now. I think part of the novelty has worn off. I am still pleased to be here, but these past few days it wasn't quite enough to fight off the sadness. I miss my friends and my bed and my plants. I could stand to hold on to something familiar, even just for a moment. I keep having tearful reunion dreams which probably doesn't help, goddamn subconscious. I wandered the streets of Utrecht quietly crying, half in wonder that I am here and half in desperate longing to be back on the couch where I came from. I know this is to be expected, and will pass as quickly as it came. We are moving to Berlin on Sunday. I think the change of scenery will revive my flagging spirits. Holland has been kind to me though. I felt very comfortable here, I got to know my way around the city pretty well, ate some good food, spilled a few drinks with some good people, even ran into old friends and kissed cheeks on the street like I belong here. I haven't been drawing as much as I promised myself I would, which might also be contributing to my feeling soggy in the soul. Aside from a few shitty doodles in the margins of my lecture notes, I have had an artistically dry week. I've been spending a lot of time on the bottom bunk listening to the New Yorker Fiction podcast and wondering how the hell I got here. I have been compulsivley telling everyone how great it is, but it is that great, no joke. I suppose its much more romantic to be sad wandering the wet cobblestone streets of Europe, than feeling kind of dumpy in my cluttered apartment. This too shall pass. I don't regret coming here for one second, its still the best thing Ive ever done, and Im still learning new and amazing things everyday...some of those things are harder than I thought, some of them are about being home where ever I go, or being able to soothe myself when shit gets real. As important as all the critical theory that is being stuffed in my skull. There is an art to everything and I will slowly master this like I learned to weild the pen and brush. Or maybe I need a good hard slap to remind me what a privelage it is to be able to travel at all, and it is. I shouldn't lose sight of that.

Amsterdam Redux

I couldnt stand another stoned horror show, so this time I went to Amsterdam with a plan, hit the museum district hard and fast. Upon the endless urging from Erin and Steve I started with the Van Gogh. He is Hollands pride and joy, I didn't even know he was Dutch...is that bad? It is a true delight to see his work up close, it is so much more expressive than you know. I stood in front of Almond Blossoms sketching and weeping softly in to my notebook. The collection is really expansive and nicley currated. Interesting little asides about the work the museum has done with archiving and analyzing the hell out of every single piece. You can see xrays of the paintings under paintings. Its a lot to take in. Next stop was the FOAM contemporary photography institute. Real cool, some real freaky shit in there. Lovingly rendered photographs of organs and body parts from forensic files on accidental deaths, suicides and murders...along with the autopsy reports. The scarriest was a heart ripped in two by a bullet to the chest, self inflicted. Same photographer, next room...landmines from every country along with what they're made of and how they will fuck you up. The FOAM is a labyrinth and in every nook and cranny there are visual and interactive delights. If you ever find yourself in Amsterdam I would stop by. It was a long day...So as a follow up Max suggested we go sit somewhere pretty and read, thus weed ferry. Very cool if you can hold your shit together when you're stoned, but I can't. The boat is all wood inside and filled with beautiful plants and big windows that look out on the canal. We got a spliff and some tea and set to relaxing, only I started to lose touch with reality and realized outside of the symbolic order is in fact MADDNESS! Had to watch Glee 3D just to get right with the world. Later on Max cooked some horrendous steaks and then there was a really crazy lightening storm and then we all went crazy and then we went dancing. That pretty much sums up the week.

Today is the greatest

First art excursion of the trip (finally). Karen and I explored all that Utrecht has to offer, which is suprisingly much considering its not so big. Went first to BAK a contemporary art space where they are commited to "artistic research." Showing currently Irene Kopelman presenting part of her doctoral thesis, which she defended publicly a few days earlier, sorry I missed that. Cool that she did it in public insted of locked in the academy. Does that make her an art doctor? In theory I suppose. The exhibit is titled "The Molyneux Problem" which refers to some question John Locke posed about a blind person being taught to discern the difference between a cube and a sphere by touch, if he was then magically able to see, could he then recognize them by sight also? Thats a lame summary of a complex philosophic idea. But it was interesting to look at her work with this question in mind. She painstakingly observed glaciers in Antarctica, and was thinking about how we visually interpret the world around us and stuff. She asks "after you have felt and heard about art, can you still see it?" Whoa, you are an art doctor Irene. It was interesting to see art approached from a research and theory oriented perspective instead of my willy nilly ideas of intuitive line vomit.

I guess I've chosen life

Every night I am having prophetic dreams and every morning I wake up still barely able to believe I am here, or sometimes alive at all. Everything's perfectly strange and wonderful.

Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love

Saturday 9/3: I will miss all of the people from Noise. Though I learned a valuable lesson...never give a pack of restless feminists access to unlimited booze, unless you want shit to get so real. The next thing you know I am half undressed and having a US vs UK wrestling match on the muddy lawn (US always loses aka I might be a little concussed) then unceremoniosly vomiting into the shelf toilet. This morning there is more than just a little death behind the eyes, and we had to be out of the dorms by noon...dragging an overstuffed suitcase all over hell and creation was not SO much what I wanted to do today, but I ate some street food and now I feel less like the poster child for the zombie apocalypse. Gotta lay off the sauce, but when don't I say that...and the next thing a beer magically apears in my hand and I dont EVEN remember how it got there. Anyway...Strowis is rad, the guy running the show is wearing a Pixies shirt and Blonde Redhead is on in the commoms (obviously music choice directly corralates to quality of hostel). Its close to good food and even a tattoo shop (just saying) though negotiating six girls in one room might be a true test of my good christian nature. I think maybe I need to take myself out to the movies tonight, as a reward for surviving the last two weeks, the last 24 hours, the last 26 years.

Sunday 9/4: Thunder and lightening all night in between frightening fever dreams...I am not getting out of bed today. Old story.

Make with the Noise

The Noise conference is almost over which means they will be kicking us out of the castle. It isnt that big of a deal because it has lost a lot of its former charm in the face of bad cafeteria food, nightly keggers on your lawn, hazing rituals, and shitty looks from the business kids who actually attend the university. Turns out they aren't so keen on sexuality or feminist theory, but to each their own. It was a real intense way to start out this trip, but also such a privelage to be a part of. I realized I am totally fucking smart enough to be here once I stop being a baby, and start applying myself. Also if you dont know what the hell they are talking about...look it up on wikipedia. Not a joke. It makes me wish I had taken my whole scholastic career as seriously as I have taken the last few days, its so rewarding. Oh well wish in one hand and shit in the other, see which one fills up faster. Its starting to set in that I am not going home for a long time. If I think about it too long I feel the creep of a lonley and homesick whiney baby, and I can't let that asshole ruin this trip for me. We are moving to Strauvis on saturday which is a former anarchist squat turned hostel, situated in the heart of darling Utrecht. Back to civilization, where I can get a real meal or at least some french fries and mayo, instead of having to subsist on a salami hidden under my bed and hard boiled eggs I pilfered from the lunchtime salad bar. There are even movie theaters where I can catch up on all the american made crap I missed out on before I left (yes I came all the way to Holland to watch Cowboys v Aliens with Dutch subtitles).