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April 15, 2005


No feeling of adventure this trip, I sleepwalk through airport, train it to Centraal station, drop bags in locker, walk the streets unencumbered by possessions or thought. It's kind of nice to feel so empty. Maybe, too, a little scary. I smoke the usual, meander in search of a bed. I know some people here but neglected to email ahead. I find the Hotel d'Amsterdam, get their last room, it has 3 beds, 2 windows, but the door doesn't lock. That's OK, I've got nothing to protect, everything is back at the station, I don't miss my laptop, take a good long nap. John Berry recommended the Bimhuis so I get directions at a coffee shop. Bimhuis is the home of improvised music in Amsterdam. Big government bucks get thrown behind art here, including jazz and experimental music. There's a bar next to the performance hall and it's cool to smoke spliffs there. I drink fresh-squeezed orange juice and feel vague as my reflection in the big window. No one knows me and I don't know here. It's possible I don't exist. Sarah emailed to tell me my monorail art proposal had been accepted and I pondered how that might shape who the I is.