The Stoned Poet

Wednesday the 5th of November. It's cold, one of the first nights where I felt the cold biting my bones and frail limbs. Antoine, my good old drunken friend and I form a duo à la Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassidy, we love to have a good time filled to the brim with the finest of poisons, alcool. Tonight, we wanted to go out and simply have a reasonable amount of beers. No scuffing nor pushing nor shouting or rambling. We would be good boys, civilized. As we walked around Saint-Laurent, hoping we could go see Jazz at Barbossa, we are greated with a closed venue. God Fucking Damnit screams Antoine, I retort, Oh let's keep calm, we haven't even drinked yet, no need to get all riled up. Let's go grab a bite at Slice and Soda and then we can head towards l'Escogriffe and le Quai des Brumes to see what's up. Inside the pizza shop, the man tell's us he's closing so he deals us a deal and we are outted with two jumbo slices for 7$! Antoine tells me, "Wow it rea...

It's Friday 25th October, I'm posting fliers on old rotten drabbed poles who await in silence and agony. No sun caresses their envies nor woman or man to soothe their naughty desires or nitty gritty ways. I look at my phone, it's six thirty, the perfect time to get a beer, a nick and let all hell loose. I take one last pictures of the flyers, I run to my car and light up a cigarette while listening to Bob Dylan's He Was A Friend of Mine. Outside, the leaves hang low and many have fallen, a keen reminder that change comes at a great price. The cold weather mixed with Dylan's vocals on the Bootleg Series 1 to 3 send a shiver down my spine as I survey the streets of Montreal going around Mount Royal in hopes to find a parking near Saint-Laurent boulevard. A right turn, left, stop, go, turn and finally bingo, a spot lays empty. I park and head down two blocks, turn left, get a beer, get out, meet Francois a homeless guy, buy him a cookie and off I go to the show at La ...

October the 4th, I hop in my car with Antoine. Beer, a will to escape the ever dooming future of my generation and a hope of finding a groove that'll set me free from all morality and elusive mind bending thoughts or anxieties.  On a warm hot gloomy yet breezy saturdy night, I had my car parked downtown over the hills and as I locked at my car, the question was, will it stay put, will it roll down? Oh whatever it'll be fine I guess. Antoine and I take our stuff and I leave a note saying I just moved in and thus do not have a vignette for my parking yet, hoping it'll disuade any officers or parking agent of leaving a ticket on my windshield. We go down and turn on mcgill and walk and turn again and walk while talking, drinking a beer and suddenly, Antoine asks the question,  ''So were is the show?'' I reply, '' It's in a YMCA, in a gym more specifically.'' ''Damn thats crazy, just like when we saw shows younger at school in the gym...

  October 2nd, I wanted to go see le P'tit Belliveau at Quai des Brumes . Of course, it was sold out. So I was about to dip. But, But But, my friend Charlotte insisted we stay to watch live music. So what stands besides Quai des Brumes other than the mytical Escogriffe !   Going inside, we are greeted with a 20$ or PWYC, so we get our money out and reluctantly or rather unsurely we give it to the door gal and in we are. On stage, a girl with long curly black hair is swaying left to right with her grey guild motherfucking cool looking guitar. She sings out words, plays her guitar and enchants anyone who locks regards with her while the bassist dressed with an oversized green slick shirt is, well let's put it this way, making love to his bass as he chants out the groove. The drummer in the back is controlled, tamed yet gashed with a wildness that is subtle yet thrilling. The guitarist seemed straight out of sitcom was a melody virtuoso. He definitely knew a thing or two abo...

  Friday September 12, Caniche 666, Chop Sue Me, Heavenly Blue were playing on the same stage at Casa del Popolo to a lot of enthusiastic fans who came for different bands and reasons. A melting pot is the best word I could've used to describe the night.  First of, Fielding . I'll say it again, FUCKING GREAT LIVE BAND. The sound was cool, the vocals and the ensemble was tight, the aggressive picking yet contained was driving me dizzy! Their songs were sweet and electrifying. Together these guys just seem like the happiest of family onstage, a reminder of CSNY onstage back when they could tolerate each other. Their single sounded definitely more assumed and grooving onstage then on digital platform! Having listened recently to Hey Hey, My My the intro to the wield live album of neil young and the crazy horse, I would say this album pictures well the energy of Fielding onstage if you have never seen them. I ensue everyone to go see them live at least once. Plus, you might get ...

Et moi qui aurais cru avoir pu trouver le bonheur. Mais quel malheur finalement ces espoirs qui m'ont dupé, qui m'ont berné dans ma quête existentielle sans fin. Moi qui croyais y avoir vu une fin, une ligne médiane, une voie d'atterrissage; et non pas au paradis, ne vous foutez pas de moi, je ne suis pas si dupe. Je sais bien qu'il n'y a pas de point d'infini bonheur. Jamais il n'y a eu de désert farci au bonheur pur. Ce dit bonheur est bien une fabrication humaine, un concept accouché de la part de la dopamine. La même qui a dupé nombreux drogués à se piquer, qu'une dernière fois selon leurs dires, avant de mourir; avant de finir tout pourri dans les recoins sombres de la ville, bercé par une nuit qui n'en finit plus. C'est pour ça que je leur voue mon cœur tous les jours, par peur, par pitié, par tristesse, et peut-être par égocentrisme, par narcissisme, pour me sentir mieux le soir en rentrant. Vous savez j'ai vu un homme que j'ai cro...