The Stoned Poet

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...

  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 ...

September 5th there was a show at Bâtiment 7 . A maniacal show for sure! Everyone was there cunts, batters, mad hatter's, clowns and more underage uncivilized pot smokers. Girls boys, trans, and more were at the rendez vous for a five band lineup. I came up dressed, stressed and with little rest.  First up was Mildew , they crammed up the venue and tore down any worries of a bad show. Their act was on point, even better than anything I'd saw before. They seemed to be willing to destroy the place if possible. James the bassist was caught crowdsurfing and playing bass once again, Matteo was seen making love with the feedback of his amp with the guitar posted right in front! What was missing tho was a drummer to smash his kit. But I know, money is scarce and the kit wasn't his so their was no possibility of utterly destroying the whole kit! But they swept the kids off their feet. Stay Out by  Mitch Afterwards, I was out, it was too hot. Slackin Idle were about to go on, playi...

''Ladies and Gentlemen, I hope you've enjoyed your night up till now, I now ask you to scream as I welcome Bad Objection on stage!'' It was a night of restlessness. I'd been partying for so long, I couldn't even remember what it felt like to be sober. The sun had dried my neurons, the weed had enhanced my hearing and sight. Basically I felt I was living in a moonage daydream. I hung with Chad during the day and by six o'clock, we arrived at Trashcan . Monoliths of emptiness guarded the place, you can feel needles crawl under your arms, hear the skateboarders skate upon the diy ramps. Many used to be waiting for their man here, some still do, but overall, the place has calmed down. Rookies who start going to Trashcan now a days, missed the good old days where the old bartender would inject LSD in the water to get everyone high, gone are the days of weird allegations of sexual harassement, or people being invited to sleep upstairs waking up the next day r...

Work was over, it was exactly 18h. I went back home, tired as fuck. I wanted to slouch my self down a hole, dive deep in darkness and lay my bones to rest. But the road awaits, from the corner of my eyes, mushrooms rest in the corner of my room, posters are solidely pressed to the wall. The light beems, shine, twirls. I get up, dress up, and swoop right back in my car. Cigarette ashes flicker all over the car, as I drive in a hurry to hauler up around the north shore. But as I get around, I miss the autoroute's exit towards Laval, more driving and then surprised I am to realize I've once again missed the autoroute's exit again. Geez, I'm not even high yet, no flock flesh eating molecules are in my veins yet to be and yet I've missed two exits. Fast forward an hour later, I'm finally at Jake's house. We get all funky, funny and forward we go on a little trip to Oka, before daylight breaks calling the hoops and cooks on the road.  Oka was full of effing bugs, ...

I saw Van Horne was shut down. From the 60's psychedelic dripped peace and love dream, to Dylan going electric, to those junkies starting off clean and ending hooked for life to brown sugar, Van Horne was nothing more than a dream, a call for redemption, a glimpse into carefree nights where anything could happen, as long as the cops let it happen.  It was never you and I who made it possible. Yes you or somebody else organized the shows, rented the material necessary and more, but sadly, it was the cops who made it possible for a while to have shows there. But to actually make Van Horne a place to host weekly shows was a mistake. It never was a place, it was simply an open area under a bridge, the same kind as where Anthony Keatis drew blood, the same where I last saw a junky sitting, lying down dehydrated and about to pass out, the same where lovers went to make love behind their parents back. Van Horne holds memories for all of us, but the truth is, if we want the mus...

  A lot of cunts don't know when to shut the fuck up and some others should open theirs more. Well Manella, who's a solo artist and a loud one rocking in Thee Soreheads , is one who should go on dialoguing her thoughts for hours. The songs performed with Thee Soreheads reflect and partake in today's new ways of feminism, liberty aspects and total freedom of expression. Songs range about not being anyone's sex doll to hating her alarm clock waking her up and just simply having attitude. The band is one to grind it's teeths on todays issues and concerns of the youth. Thee Soreheads played a set June 1st at Traxide , supporting Chire and Scarlet Wives and well... It was incredible! I spent the evening with singer of Gitni and we saw last minute there was a show at Traxide and so we sped our way to his place to smoke up a bit of tobacco coiled in a bong and afterwards, we dashed out in the night, fearless and thralled for the set at Traxide, Montreal punkiest undergro...

 I'd dragged my feets up to Lachine district under the red hot sun listening to high class proper muppet jazz and gizzmo sucked out of mans to be, all billed under a festival call La Dame Festive. Friends and I filled our ears and tummies along the canal with delicacies overpriced and spent the end of the afternoon playing haki-sac. By the time six o'clock came by, I was in a metro falling asleep as the lights and sounds sped around me in all directions, the destination was a show at Barfly publicized by vicious kids who've got nothing more to do than grind their feets and teeths on cheap knicks and good music. The bands featured on this bill were the Snatchers, Gitni and the one and only Sigil Grove. Upon arrival after fighting through endless dreams during my metro rides, I skated to the venue and felt a surge of energy as wind and the citie's vices fluded my tired neurons. Upon arrival, I met freaks from  Evergreen ,  Bad Objection ,  Steeple , crossed with The Sn...

  *Through the echoes, circling me, pitch black around, my breath intensifies, voices keep screeching, I can't understand surely what is said but I can distinguish Bad Objection, 4th Of May and a mention of a free show.* I wake up as an eerie scream swims out of my throat. Oh geez, I'm back in Montreal. It's been two weeks I'd been on a boat, away from all lunatics and the vices emancipating from the city's conducts. I get up, and I'm immediatly tipped off. My body's moving from side to side, all around me, the ground, the walls, the flowers, nothing moves. Every object seems to accept their state, where as on a boat, the sea caresses you and keeps reminding the boat's crew that nowhere is safe, no anchor may allow to settle for good, and every furniture as and inch away from being seasick. I open up my cellphone and upon arriving on Instagram I stumble upon a show, May 4th, besides Van Horne Skatepark, Free, All Ages! Conflit Majeur , Bad Objection , an...