When thinking outside the box just isn't enough
To conjure a more perfect day for an outdoor festival, one would have to conjure a cluster of unicorns to fart pastel coloured clouds of glitter and cupcakes. The sun was bright, the breeze was cool, and no one was talking about Humidex. I had a ziplock full of toilet paper, and was ready to […]
Alright Kiddies, it’s time to lace up your boots and get your hair all spikey, ‘cuz the punk show is coming. 77 Montréal is back for its sophomore season, and it’s bringing bands spanning 40 years, two continents, and four countries to celebrate the history of punk music and culture in our badass belle ville. […]
I’ll open by saying that I’m at least glad I’m not one of those flaky chicks who sorta kinda loves everything all the time, ‘cuz for a minute there, I was pretty certain. I try not to call art and music and such “bad”, but rather “not to my taste” (exceptions include when people hang […]
“Too old” is a state of mind. I am certain of this as I wake up fairly bright and reasonably early, my eye makeup still quite intact (thank you, Rimmel; sorry, bunnies) after my first legit punk show. And if there is a punk band that can be called legit, it’s Bad Religion. They’ve been […]
From Pretty Words & Things, a poem by Dawn McSweeney
Writer Perk #37: Pre-release tunes in my inbox. I’d never heard of Magneta Lane, and opted to set aside the bio for later, uploaded the goodies to my MP3 and headed out for a stroll. I was boppin’ and smilin’ in no time. Despite the ridiculous cold and layers of clothes, I was suddenly transported […]
Her name was Jyoti Singh Pandey. The attack reads like a cross between a depraved nightmare and a bathsalts bad trip: Jyoti, a 23 year old physiotherapy student and her male companion are trapped on a moving bus, repeatedly and violently violated, beaten and discarded, naked and bleeding. Then the assailants try to run Jyoti […]
Here we are again: pushing through crowds to buy crap, squeezing in mandatory generosity and “quality time” with people we moved away from for clear and sometimes talk show worthy reasons, or locked into awkward, hopefully drunken, office parties where you can leave with an adequate amount of regret and sugar cookies. Still, people get […]
I don’t have a Bucket List. Sure, there are an infinite number of things I hope to, long to, don’t-even-know-yet-that-I-want-to do, and a finite amount of resources — time being the slipperiest — with which to do it all, so I see how a list could help the To-Do types stay focused and feel accomplished along this strange meandering trip.
“Don’t stand in front of my amps if you want to have children one day.” – Steve Vai “I think it’s more than awesome when you still have that buzzing in your ears.” – post show thoughts from a first time concert goer It’s not that I’ve ever had a conscious affinity for guitarists; I’ve […]
M312, the innocuously named motion to appoint a committee to determine the moment life begins, en route to subversively reassess abortion access never actually stood a chance.
The Altered Consciousness of Maxwell Silverhammer is an ambitious novelette (Is that a new term, or a smaller novella? Can we just call this a short story? 20 pages is actually a short story). It introduces characters that could have such depth but never get there, too many unfulfilled plot possibilities, and some decidedly-poor word choices.
I bet the thick silence that comes after each song must be a shock to those attending their first kirtan (devotional call and response) singing circle. It’s been too long since I’ve taken part in one, and at the First Annual Montreal Yoga Music Festival I have to remind myself to resist the urge to clap and whoop in appreciation…
Bhakta = One who practices the yoga of devotion Break out your ankle bells and meditation pillow, the 1st Annual Montreal Yoga Music Festival gets grooving this weekend at Loyola campus. With 2 solid days of scheduled kirtan (devotional call and response singing), talks from such infamous locals as Dr. Bali, and even Kids’ Yoga […]
We’re a sensuous city left without a touchstone; a void where our collective weeks once coalesced. We have no physical literary souvenirs that can’t just as easily be printed from a computer in Denver…
I thought of Cabot Square. Oh, you may know it as Crack Park — the one across from the old Forum, the small oasis of green goodness that the strip desperately needs, the one that’s currently owned and operated by some of the crudest forms of humanity. I can think of no other spot in town that doesn’t even try to conceal its seedy side in the sun; it doesn’t pretend to have dignity or shame. Are you really drunk, smoking, pregnant, and fist-fighting on the sidewalk in the afternoon? Really?…
