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flood the streets with love or light or heat whatever

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Jul. 10th, 2008 | 11:21 am

i'm home from europe.

there was lots of mostly pleasant and a few unpleasant dramas: crippling bouts of illness, losing passports, finding passports, missing flights, hazy drunken encounters with strangers, hazy drunken evenings with distantly related family members, miles and miles of walking through my soul city as an incredibly lonely soul, being overwhelmed by russian, being underwhelmed by gaudi, undefeatable mediterranean beach dust, wimbledon and pimms with lemonade and tennis whites, stubborn roskilde festival dirt and giant field-of-ashtray, and much to my delight, flowerbomb and mushroom cloud fashion.

barcelona was beautiful and vibrant and inspirational. and pulsing with tourists. it was sticky-hot, and a little bit gauche. barcelona is like the grand dame drag queen of cities: it's snobby about nothing except its singular almost-tackiness, and recklessly enthusiastic about everything. there are no rules, just free spirit and vivacity. barcelona has no manners, no inhibition, and no boundaries. it smells like seafood and wet dust, and it sounds like cat-calls and jangling jewellery. i have to go back there. such a gem of loveliness.

london is still london and it still makes me catch my breath and i still struggle to contain my excitement as i walk through the streets. the east london hipsters are still so endlessly wrapped up in their scene, and the markets are bustling and the city boys still wear suits and have pints in the pub before noon. hampstead is still a borrough of satchels and old rich brick, and brick lane still compromises between its bengal culture and its filth and its artsy-chic. camden town was mostly intact, but somehow campier than ever. the houses are still sandstone pastel rainbow in notting hill, and george orwell is still resident at the top of portabello road. the tides in thames still go up and down and the the london skyline along the river is still visually underwhelming but historically delightful. i'm moving back there. i just don't know when. somebody tell me when.

roskilde festival was eden. that place is home to the most stylish and also filthiest people ever. so i would say was dirty-muso-viva-glam. there was so much dust and bad gypsies stealing from charity and a continuous cloud of cigarette smoke to peer through, and so much delicious but nutritionally void food. the concerts were seamless and i have never seen bands so delighted to play, nor a crowd more willing to dance dance dance. the danish sun seemed almost eternal, and then at night it was freezing in the overcrowded, mattress-less tent. i think you could say det er for vildt. it was too awesome.

now all i want to be is a 80s-glam-rock danish pop star. it doesn't look like it's going to happen anytime soon. sunshine-bathed vancouver is so beautiful it makes me sick and i have an extended engagement with this hard-to-hate place for some time, it seems.

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