Wednesday, July 27, 2011

July 27th

Aborted of all indiscretions, I will say this,"Not all that is lost is found, but all who are found, where once lost." You can quote me.

I think every one of us, at one time, wonders. Should I have taken that yellow light, that last drink, tied in, took a left turn instead of a right. Well, the great thing about everything, is that it is all your fault. And yes, thats a good thing, because if you turned the key, then you can un-turn it whenever you want.

Lets dig deep into the past 24 hours.

I jumped onto my longboard just as the sun set across the river of Montreal. It shone bright, dark orange and the humidity was still very invasive. I kicked down slope towards a friends' house. Chat chat and a few laughs and I was off back home. But back home, is actually, uphill for 2 miles. I opted instead, for the 3 rd time in one year, to take the subway. Swerving in and out of foot traffic I was accosted by the men in blue and given a 100$ ticket, and banished from the tram for 24h. I kicked my little board down main street, where, now covered in darkness my city was, a truck hits me full on on my board. I escaped without a hint of a scratch, just a few lousy words exchanged and I carried on with Temper Trap in the headphones.

I arrived to a blinking cell with a few msgs, one that my passport, which i have been waiting for for weeks because of security checks( ??? ) was now ready and that a great artist and star showing qualities was passed. I was behind the news it seemed, but Amy Winehouse had passed.

This is all to say that tonight is my last night in the city. I will buck my heels and pack the truck for an unknown destination, maybe a flight, but at least, it will be freedom and smiles, not tickets and crashes.

speak soon.


Sunday, July 24, 2011

Photo Shoot 2009

Pat Bagley shot me on this .14a 3 years ago. Some of the highlights.

The end of the affair

Thursday was a very troubling day. Opening a fed-ex package. Sent overnight from Squamish. After its long journey from Columbia. Sent from my good friend Alain Denis. Finding Mike's chalk-bag inside a pale white, ruffed up envelope.

Over the past few weeks, I have been cleaning up. Making space in my life, and selling off all useless things. My apt will be vacated in a few days, and I will go. Where, its not quite clear yet. Rifle, Aussie, Morocco. Who knows. Least of all me.

Mike's chalk-bag was a godsend. I will climb with it from now on. Clark at Pusher had given it to him after the OR in 2009, and he picked it out himself. It somehow ties me to this web of family, history and resource of life that is undisturbed, even after his passing.

The past few weeks have been very hard. History of life keeps haunting me, and although I know that driving a distance will never put any actual space between my issues and the solutions, it will give me a buffering space to be able to think, climb and reflect on the past few years decisions.

And Mike's chalk-bag, although metaphorical, will likely serve as a grail on my journey.

Let it be said, let it be done. Actions speak louder than words, even when they are the wrong ones.


Sunday, July 17, 2011