So, while the world waits for the most experimental short of 2026, I’ll be here, refreshing my inbox and wondering if the lambs in North Carolina know that their international debut is currently being held hostage by a bureaucratic labyrinth in The Hague.

The Sovereign of Streets I’ve never met man, high or low, With a heart like the cities I know. The heat of a Thai village breeze, The scent of the jungle and trees, Is a love that I’ll never let go. I dream of the Athens night air, With the dust and the ghosts in my hair. The sunrise in Siem Reap was gold, A story that never gets old, A passion no husband could share. I earn in the green of the West, Though the exchange is a bitter-pill test. With the dollar so low, And the

"While the administrative wheels of Zonklast Studios are still grinding through the Dutch system, the creative wheels are already at full speed. Collaborating with George Tounas is the exact kind of high-caliber European partnership I envisioned when I applied for my DAFT visa. Onward to the set." ~SunnyJ

One day, there’s a boat on the line, A hull that is sturdy and mine. To sail through the wind and the foam, In a land that I’ve dared to call home, Where the future and water entwine.

The clogs are a charming display, In a storefront along the doorway. But those shoes, they don't bend, To a nomad, my friend, They pinch every toe in their way.

A short prose section on the psychological cost of settling down in a country that runs on spreadsheets

This led to the wonderfully slim, tall, and—let’s be honest—terrifying staircases that are now a hallmark of historic Dutch homes. They are so steep, they are essentially ladders. You don't walk up them; you ascend them with a silent prayer and the focused concentration of a seasoned mountain goat.

And after all that waiting, after all that silence, it feels like the simplest, most beautiful freedom just to sit here — cup warm between my hands — and watch the world go by

I used to ride through Boone with a helmet strapped snugly, pedaling at my own rhythm. Now I’m preparing myself for Amsterdam’s bike ballet — a choreography of speed, timing, and confidence. It’s intimidating, but also thrilling.

The weather app said sunshine all day — the kind of day where cyclists stream by in sunglasses and the café patios overflow with clinking glasses.

Dutch can sound serious and guttural at times, but the more I learn, the more I discover these linguistic treasures tucked in between the hard consonants. Words that make me laugh, smile, or feel a little less alone.

Dutch may have a reputation for sounding harsh, but I’ve found its vocabulary sprinkled with whimsy, cheek, and wit. Every funny word feels like a linguistic treasure — and a reminder that sometimes, the best way to learn a new language is to laugh through it.

From Boone’s helmets to Amsterdam’s freedom, the bike has always been my companion. And I can’t wait to live life again by the bike path — this time with the wind in my hair, and maybe a basket of fresh market tulips rattling up front.