Hammers (warning : Contains French-isms and conversational run-on)

In this city of temperamental-désinvolture, it is easy to get lost in the never ending vortex of debauchery. Whatever your drugs of choice may be, whomever you are fucking (on a regular or non-regular basis), whatever music you cup your ears to, whatever your diet, in Montreal, there is everything available for everyone. It is, however, to each his own, alone, sometimes sitting in a kitchen surrounded by people who suffer spasmodic muscular contractions, drinking badly brewed beers and perhaps a broken refrigerator articulating a droning sound to your left. You may think this is fun -- ha-ha -- this atmosphere of semi-friendship. You are convinced that people are your partners in crime. They will lend you money, you may even lend them money or replace monetary issues by thoughtful advice regarding girls. You will stop by people's mildly-furnished apartments and roll joints, light them, smoke them. You may have conversations, feel fulfilled and strong once you left and whatever the weather may be at the time, lurk at people's asses and congratulate yourself for being somewhat perverted. It is not real. None of this is real.

You might think that by ignoring the news you can concentrate on your own work and care about your own life, that the others you get involved with do the same, but it isn't true.
You need to keep informed and alert because one day or another, things will explode and buildings will bleed and your lack of vigilance will come back to take a bite out of your ass.

When was the last time you heard about ballet-dance?

You are convinced that you love your parents or that they deserve your endless love because they made you with the simple friction of their genitals, rubbing against one another, on a moist and foggy night in the early 70's or 80's. I think some parents dislike their kids but it would just be the end of the world ("oh my god", people would say) if the grown-ups abandoned their infants on porches and in the middle of fields. They would return home, flashlight in hand, eat supper and forget about it.
That is why there are abortion clinics and that is why you need an appointment to get anything done, nowadays.
Even your nails. Even your hair.

When was the last time you naively forgot to check your carefully-designed myspace account?

I dislike people who sport expensive haircuts and I think they are shallow to think that most of us care. "I met this girl with a very pricey haircut the other day, she is amazing", you won't hear that. Purchase your own scissors. Do not follow the rules and do not let yourself be affected by the condescending ways of people who haven't lived yet, who haven't left their hometown to explore the depths of mount-whothefuckcares.

When was the last time you went to bed at a regular hour, wrapped-up in your own arms, and wished yourself the best?

I know a guy who is 26 years old, and he had it all. He used to work at the bank every day. His alone time would be spent frauding stranger's bank accounts. He took a plane away from Canada a long time ago and not a single soul knows where he went, but he's gone forever. Perhaps he will be seen, roaming on Waverly st., in three or four years, but his wig will prevent us from recognizing him and he will lead a happy life, in the city he loves, walk his dog Sally and smile at his reflection in the mirror, everyday, thanking life for giving him another chance.

Do you care about Christmas or remembrance day or your birthday?

We wake-up, sunk-in an old (crisp) futon and forget that in other cities and countries, people wake up cold, their head pounding because they slept on pointy rocks. Some people walk barefoot, everyday. It hurts but they don't complain, while we waste time worrying about catching the last train home, after a shitty concert in an over-crowded venue. We dance and let other people run their dirty fingers through our hair. Some people feed on puke and raw meats, inhale cheap glue straight-out of a brown bag. While all this non-sense is happening, we are laughing in kitchens and making love to people whom we will never love. That is why I cannot sleep at night.

When was the last time you made your own Chai Latte and sat next to your window in order to ask yourself the real questions?

My friend Clothilde says that Montreal's been harsh on her, that she felt different and unwelcome. Feeling unwelcome is probably the worst feeling in the world. It hurts when people die, but when people (whom are still alive) choose to desert you it's very tough to ignore it.
She is going back to Israel and it's terrible because not too long ago, I was teaching her how to lace her ice skates and I held her to prevent her from falling and hurting her bum.

When was the last time you yelled out, in the middle of a heavy conversation with a friend, " I love you, regardless of what we are arguing about" ?

Some people come here with their idealistic vision of art and they open galleries with their parent's money, and we go there and think beautiful things regarding what is hung onto the walls. "I know what she meant with that blue line", we will say. But we don't know and it does not mean anything. You cannot put emotions on a canvas, only paint or spit.

I believe in photography because it captures something real, unless it's staged photography. I like pictures of people sitting down doing nothing. It is interesting to look at people when they are bored. I like intrusive photography. No one wants to see cellulite or crooked legs or scars but I don't mind it because it's real and once again, real things are ignored and often put in garbage bags and left for dead, until it becomes "cool" again.

When was the last time you called your unsophisticated cousin and asked him how he's doing?

It's difficult to be a woman in this city, because if you're not into promiscuous sex, you're lonely and feel un-cherished and un-loved. Men are too busy with bands and "art" and masturbatory evenings to allow women into their lives, and the ones who are free are gone like this : Poo of.

It is difficult to be a woman in this city because all the other women are beautiful and they have strong personalities and you always wonder if there's a balance between you and the others. You walk around, pulling on your skirt, wondering about your body and how it looks and how it shakes. You attend house-parties and sit and look and behave. I am not sure why, but this city makes me insecure.



When was the last time you called someone back?