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

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A Decade of One’s Born Days

I simply wished for a simple life

A truly simple kind of life.

Because

What could be more important than family,

Or a home at night?

Popcorn and pop

And a movie sometimes

Then the struggle with the baths

And the teeth and the pajamas

With a good night kiss and a hug

That’s just a second longer than usual

As the day fades away, solemn in the night

The safety of it all

Can hide the poverty

And the struggles and the pain

It makes you forget the warehouse job

And the endless flow of brown boxes.

It really does

It can hide the troubles and the bills

And the never-ending need for food.

And the pinch of daily grievances

A father and a husband,

Us against the world

Through a decade of one’s born days.

For a few moments

When the lights are out but the kids are peaceful,

Asleep in the nicest bed you could afford

And it seems to be enough

So you turn off the lights

And think maybe,

Just maybe,

You finally starting to win.

East-End White Trash

East-End White Trash

 

The East-End,

For all its flaws,

Remains now

The only place to find

Hard working people

Just looking for a life

Of family, pride and labour.

 

Sainte-Claire

And Des Ormeaux

The small houses of Beaugrand

And the dead cement of Montreal-East,

The old alleys of Palumbo feed us

And the port still lights out way

As we count the blessing of Bellerive.

 

People of humble means

Simply content

And carrying on

With that quiet resignation

Knowing time will forget them

But laboring away as they only know.

 

Time are changing

But slower here.

The factories have left

But the tracks carve a canyon, still.

The churches have gone empty

But the schools remain full.

Do more with less

And something out of not much.

We have been used to this

A long, long time ago.

 

Yet, after all the trends have gone…

Done taking away this city’s soul.

As neighbourhood

After neighbouhood

Goes under the ravages

Of gentrification

 

We’ll still be here.

At the end of the line

They won’t be looking our way.

We are quite certain of this.

 

Blood of the working class.

And the last of the honest fools.

East-End,

White Trash.

New Year – New Photo shoot

My photos were long overdue and so I was lucky enough to get the very talented Josee Brouillard onboard.

Here are five of the unedited shots from that shoot.

One Trick that Helped me Ditch Pepsi

Or Coke, or soda or pop or whatever the name you give to high sugar beverages in your area.

I’m not THE hyper-fit guy (I’m a writer god damn it!) but I was going pretty fat a little over two years ago. I was witnessing the birth of my second daughter and was about to hit 210… My glory days, it seemed, were behind me. I am not back to 180 and in the best shape of my life. And now it’s Feb. and the gym is full of “resolutionners” and so I will allow myself this “health post”.

There was a time, in my twenties, when I could tank 4 or 5 cans of Pepsi a day and piss them twenty minutes later and I’d still only weight 180. I was training and running around being up to no good and not sleeping much.

That all went south with the kids (obviously) and while I do enjoy the life of a father, I didn’t want to have a hard time breathing playing with them and that shitty sore back that was killing me all the time.

No fucking way that was going to be me. But kicking Pepsi turned out to be harder than expected. I never drank alcohol and don’t eat meat. But I felt the sugar down of quitting Pepsi. Go figure! Sugar was shit.

Still I liked to have a bubbly drink in the evening (go right ahead, call me cupcake, I don’t care) and so I found a simple, stupid way to ditch Pepsi.

You mix 2/3rds sparkling water with 1/3 fruit juice of your choice…that will cut 2/3rds of your sugar intake and your brain will think you’re having your evening drink. You quit the sugar without quitting the habit.

After a while I’m mostly having the sparkling water with lime. Tastes like Sprite without the sugar. Last time I had a Pepsi I almost puked it. That tells something.

That was my trick and this is now a story. ( I’m a writer so, don’t judge me.)

Take care,

Ian

 

894784 or The Number of the Future

Unaware that we already were living in Farenheit 451.

We had suddenly stepped into the world of 1984.

And so it appeared,

894784,

The number of the future.

2017 is a year of work in progress.

Alright,

As I have decided to focus on my daughters and my work in this shitty time, I am here to give a more professional, proper update on current and upcoming projects :

Confirmed for 2017 :

DOWN WITH THE UNDERDOGS, the second book in the D’Arcy Kennedy trilogy (following 2016’s GRAND TRUNK AND SHEARER is coming along very nicely and although we have not agreed, with Down and Out books, on a specific release date yet, I have my eyes on that Bouchercon Toronto date for a presentable product.

MONTREAL NOIR, the anthology, to be released by Brooklyn’s own Akashic Books has no official release date yet, but I’d be disappointed if it didn’t happen soon.

DANCING WITH A SWITCHBLADE will be my third collection of poetry. This one will have to go to November as priority has to go to DWTU.

Projects still in progress/negotiations :

My first full length movie script, POLY, is still under consideration by one of Montreal’s major film production company. Movie business is really slow when you have little to no contacts…I’d turn that fucker into a novel, but it’s hard to write a Franglais book about montreal’s bilingual street arts scene and make sense out of it…sometimes you have to tell a story visually, this is one of these times…we’ll see.

I have two, possibly 3 conferences to attend this year, it’s still early for those and will update as confirmations come in.

Cancelled :

I will no longer be involved in the KILO graphic novel for personal and obvious reasons.

My playlist this week : Post Pop Depression, Crouching Dragon’s soundtrack and Velvet Revolver for some reason…

That’s it for now.

Take care,

Ian.

 

Write It When It Hurts. (I think you could say I’m a little pissed.)

It had been too long and  it was too late. We had been dragging it for a few months too many and I was just pissed. It had nothing to do with ordinary anger anymore; regular anger, common anger, every day anger anymore. It wasn’t you “were late in the cold” anger or even “screaming around in the kitchen” anger.

This was silent anger and it was probably even worse.

It was anger that settled deep Inside your chest. It was simmering, draining anger. Anger that settled down in your gut, and there was no way to get to it. It just say right there where it hurt for real. It settled down in your mind and in your soul, rotting you from the inside only to leave a pool of fucking shit right where it mattered the most.

And you feel it, you know it. You can’t shake it off. That shit is incrusted there so hard you can’t even speak about it anymore. That’s the kind of anger I was talking about.

It was the kind of anger shrinks all over the world made their fortunes on. But I was too poor for a shrink.

This one’s gonna have to stick around for a while.