"Don't be here in ten years." – The Factory Line

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In Between Works

When you’re down and you doubt your shit, it’s usually because you’re too tired. You start to doubt and you write whiny, shitty blog posts such as the one I wrote last week (since deleted)

Every now and then it happens and I go back to this :

“When I begin to doubt my ability to work the word, I simply read another writer and know I have nothing to worry about. My contest is only with myself, to do it right, with power, and force, and delight, and gamble.” – Bukowski

Have a good day

The Montreal Conundrum

The Montreal Conundrum

There’s no leader, no one better, no one breaking ahead of the pack. Everyone has to be the same, standardized over decades by a creeping nanny state that takes care of everything and where nothing gets done. Everyone the same, everyone equal. We elevate mediocrity to the ranks of greatness because of an ideological flaw. We try to give everyone a shot, sure, that is commendable, but once they are on their way to reach the sky, you put them on a six foot leash. It’s a conundrum. You want everyone to have access to opportunities but you won’t let individuals achieve greatness because we all have to be equal.

The end result is not as good as you wanted it to be.It really isn’t.

Montreal, you are a hundred page novel, a 40 minute film, you’re 14 bucks an hour. You are the greatest lover alive who can’t bring a women to orgasm. You are ordinary and you can’t seem to escape it. You’re are few inches above the bottom dwellers and you’ve been hovering there, silently drifting in circles for decades now.

You’re on fucking life support.

Admittedly it’s not your fault. That is also true. The federal doesn’t care about you, the provincial laughs at you one way or the other. You’ve been landlocked by decades of language and cultural policies, none of which came from your own needs or demands. You are the victim of pressure groups that are outside of your city limits, You are stuck in a bureaucracy to thick you can’t even put up a sign without a permit anymore and everyone wants a piece of it. Everyone wants a piece of you but gives nothing in return. You are claimed by all and supported by none. You are own your own and you’re dragging everyone else’s dead weight behind you.

They’ll come visit, they’ll drink your beer. They’ll take your money, but then call you a snob when you say you want to do more with yourself.

Bits and Pieces from Crass : A Year of Ordinary Havoc. (Montreal : The city with a cramp up its ass.)

Ian promo 2012 b

Montreal was a city people loved to hate and hated loving. We were on our own and we knew it. The Federal didn’t give a fuck about us because we were in Quebec, the Provincial didn’t give a fuck about us because we voted Liberal. The PQ gave up on us because we never voted for them, the Liberals took us for granted because there was no one else to vote for. So they threw crumbs out way while we were trying to patch shit up in the city. Our jobs were constantly challenged by exchange rates, gas prices, Ontario subsidies, language police and the wedge politics of the separatists. It was a fucking nightmare to live in. Every year was a different stress but every year we made it through somehow because we had three good things going for us : cheap energy, cheap beer and cheap education so that we can end up educadedly-unemployed.

Of course we had all the festivals. But everyone who was born in this city knew that most festival jobs were minimum wage. We had booze and we had sex, that we had plenty of. We had rich americans here to drink and fuck and the cute waitress made a few bucks if she showed some cleavage but that was it. The rest of us shoved ourselves from one closing factory to the other, waiting for bombardier to get another grant and re-open the line.

No one here believed we were a “design city” or a cultural capital. That was just good marketing. Hell, our hockey team had won one cup in thirty years and people still watched this shit like it was God’s gift to the rest of us but I knew better. Most of us knew better. Montreal was a worker town that managed to fool itself for a while; a third tier city that pretended to be first class and now we were gonna pay the price for it. We were one economic hic up away from a crash. It was coming alright and we knew that too. It was like the entire city had a cramp up its ass but had yet to get up to realize about it.

Turning one of my paintings into a table

I turned a painting into a work table for the job using a bunch of old legs, tampered glass shelves we had laying around and some silicone. I bought the canvas that fit with the glasses we had and used the wooden frame as support for the legs. The glue smeared on the edges, so that’s a technique I’ll have to improve, but as a prototype, I’m pretty happy about it,

MAD paintingDSC_0030DSC_0039DSC_0041

White Collar Job (an Excerpt from Crass : a tale of ordinary havoc)

Service Canada had called and said they had found something for me. I had done some college and that was enough to qualify me for an entry level position as a clerk in some downtown office. They were gonna cut my unemployment if I didn’t go.

I was fucked.

What a horrible place to be. Everyone is silent. Everyone compliant. Everyone on time. Everything was beige and gray and bland. No one dares a joke, let alone some vulgarity. No one can stay alive for long without vulgarity. I know I couldn’t and my time was running out. I can’t stand silent for eight hours without saying something inappropriate. My brain needs it. I was gonna offed someone (or everyone) and it wasn’t gonna take long, that was for sure. Hell, I was even given a warning for my tattoos.

“The government sent me here, if you want me gone, you better call them.”

They didn’t fire me. The prime they got for “reinserting “me in the workforce was probably worthy of seeing my sorry face for a few more months. When the cash ran out, I could count on a swift letter of termination, but until then, I was stuck with these idiots.

God damn it.

There’s nothing worse than a desk job to kill a man. It’s not shit. A desk job will cut your testicles right out of you. The moment you sit your ass in that chair there are two little incisors that cut through your scrotum and then ,PLOP PLOP, your nuts are falling right to the fucking floor. You don’t even feel a thing until you’ve realized you trampled them on your way to a freaking latté.

At least in a factory you had to fight your way through. You felt it in your guts, every shift was a fucking battle, a championship bout where you separated the men from the pussies. If you could stand 10 or twelve hours of that shit, you could stand anything. You had hatred to fuel you. You got home, pissed, punched a wall or the fridge or your own damn face if you wanted to, but you had hatred in your heart and that gave your purpose in life.

I never thought I’d miss the bitter cold of winter routes or the loud noises of heavy machinery but I did. I fucking did. Now Talk about a fish outta water.

Things I’d like to Add to My Collection in 2015

I rarely blog about things I’d like to get (I mean, material things) but it’s the new years,I took time to look at what I got this year and it’s pretty good (True Detective, Stray Dogs, Summer Wars, Helix, Dark Angel, Ergo Proxy)

so here’s what I hope to add to my collection in 2015 :

Movies/TV

Evangelion 2.22 and 3.33

Twelve Kingdoms

Aeon Flux (the original anime)

Complete my Battlestar Gallactica collection

Samurai Champloo

Spin City Season 4

Interstellar

Maybe I’ll afford myself 2 or 3 “random” criterion collection movies this year.

Also REALLY looking forward to NewsRoom season 3.

 

Books :

More of the following :  Murakami, Bukowski, Brian Wood… I discovered John McFetridge this year, probably will get more of his work too.

 

Rarer items :

Maybe a rare print from Becky Cloonan

A painting by Jacob Bannon

“White Trash” By Chris Makos

 

Music ;

Some old Bjork, Supermachiner, Bossk, Mogwai, lots of ambient, less heavy (or heavier in a more creative way) kind of music, if you know bands like that, send them my way…

 

that’s pretty much it.

 

Take care,

 

Ian

 

 

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