A Forstress of Solitude

More and more lately I hear people telling that sometimes men just need to go to a cave and be by themselves, it’s from the book “Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus”, or something. Even Superman had a place he went to when he needed to be alone, a cave made of ice called the Fortress of Solitude.

Recently I think I’ve been looking for that cave or that Fortress and I haven’t been able to find it. First I looked for it inside own my head, the one place where I could truly be free; but that was a wasted effort because when worries and concerns and thoughts and nightmares start to creep up the first place they go and look for you is inside your own head. So I looked in a bottle, well in many bottles, and surprise it wasn’t there either; the liquor that up until that point had always an escape from the everyday became the dagger of memory and the fist of misery. So I looked to my bass strings and my guitar strings to play a sweet lullaby of painless, thoughtless, loveless, worry free times; but to no avail, the songs kept reflecting my need to escape to cave. So I kept looking and kept looking and thought: the Internet! That’s the place where I can be alone and gather my thoughts; but the internet somehow ends up getting crowded with people and things to do, so much so that you need time off the computer just to get away from it all.

In the end folks, I’m still looking for my elusive Fortress of Solitude. My place of worry-free time, the place where life doesn’t creep in and bite you in the ass, the place where I can be whoever I want to be, think whatever I want and just breathe. I’m not sure I’ll ever find it. I’m not sure anybody knows exactly where to find it, but I promise that I will and when I do find it, I’m not sharing it with anyone because inviting people to my Fortress of Solitude would defeat its entire purpose. So find your cave or your Fortress and keep it a secret, never tell a soul where it is and when you're feeling alone and crazy, just remember that all of us are also looking for this mystical place.

What Makes a Hero...

A couple of weeks ago, I had an conversation with a friend of mine about what makes someone a hero. I think that I just figured out exactly what my friend meant...

I have a friend, for the sake of this post let's call him Denis. This is going to sound horribly selfish, but most of the time I try not to think too much about Denis. The reason is that Denis is dying. He's a dying a slow agonizing death and there's nothing I or modern science can do about it.

10 years ago Denis was part biker, part musician, part government employee. Just a normal all around guy and just like everyone else who worked in his particular line of work, he ended up having some back pain. He went to see a doctor who put him off work for a few week to give his back a rest.

3 years later still unable to return to work he visits, very literally, an 8th doctor who finally tells him that his entire spine and the base of his skull is covered in metastatic tumors and that he is going to die, that he only has a few months left to live, to go home and get his affairs in order.

That was about 2 years ago.

Now Denis is still sick, the cancer now being generalized he is looking worse and he is still dying. But Denis hasn't stopped living. In fact he has put himself in an extremely painful experimental drug treatment, not in the hopes of curing himself but in the hopes of helping others in the future. Between treatments he has also starting organizing bi-weekly concerts in centers for troubled teenagers and giving free guitar lessons to these kids.

When I sit down and ask him what his greatest fear is he answers: "Who is going to look after my dog when I die..." There isn't an once of selfishness left in this guy, the physical pain doesn't seem to bother him, the prospect of death only scares him when he wonders what will happen to his best friend and companion after he's gone.

Denis is really and truly, for me and for all those fortunate enough to know him, a hero, in almost every sense of the word. I'm going to miss you man.

Beauty, Don't drink the Kool-Aid!

When I think of fashion I always think of models that look like nothing but skin and bones waring size double-zero of XXXsmall. For years and years we keep hearing that the fashion industry is changing, that they will start promoting healthy living and women who actually look like women instead of anorexia and women that look like 12 year old boys.

Today, I was shopping for my sister-in-laws birthday present and walked by the add displayed in the picture above. The add features a woman (we assume it's a woman) that looks like she's been dead for at least a week, with no eyebrows, staring into the camera with a blank look on her face. The caption below reads "Fashion that is Sexy and Urban". I'm not sure what is sexy about being dead from having made yourself throw up so often just to have your picture taken for an add. Or what is urban about looking like a zombie.

But it seems to work.

Despite promising to promote healthy living the fashion industry continues to throw these ridiculous images at us. Despite the fact that a model clearly trying to look dead in no way, shape or form actually promotes healthy living. Our young women andn girls keep drinking this kool-aid. The keep making themselves sick to achieve what the industry tells them is the international standard for beauty.

Well... screw that. I never drank the kool-aid. I'm not going to be convinced that I should be attracted to women who look like this and I'm certainly not going to buy into this whole "the industry cares about young women" attitude that they've been trying so hard to make us swallow.

Secret Confessions in the World of Big Brother

The need confess random stuff to complete strangers absolutely baffles me. But seeing people do it on Twitter on channels like "People Really Don't" somehow makes me wish I had stuff to confess. I wonder what the release is like when people actually take the time and send their postcards to sites like "Post Secret". Is it a weight off their shoulders or is it something that will continue to haunt them.

Post Secret by far the one that I find the most shocking... I'll put up a few here so you can see what I'm talking about.





I'm not sure who is worse off... Those who have no one to turn to except the anonymity of internet or the netizens who seem to be voracious voyeurs. Either way reading these or submitting these is an exercise in introspection. Those submitting have to dig deep within themselves to find their deepest darkest secret and actually put it to paper thus facing their pain head on. And those reading it have to be ready to be shocked, saddened, hurt or somehow feel a connection to the pain of the poster.

Thoughts anyone?



(All images are used without the consent of Post Secret and are not the property of this blog, except for the Muchacho Enfermo logo that appears directly below this bullshit disclaimer)

A Falling Society

Tonight I watched a movie I hadn't seen since 1995, the movie is a French movie called La Haine (Hate). Without going into a long drawn out review of a 14 year old movie; suffice it to say that the images, the message and the movie as a whole have stuck with me through the years. Particularly the opening and closing monologues. Above you see the the closing monologue in the film and I think it's as good a place as any to start today's post.

-It's been 40 years since man first walked on the moon.
-It's been 41 years since Martin Luther King Jr was killed.
-It's been 44 year since Malcolm X was murdered.
-It's been 46 years since JFK was shot.
-It's been 61 years since Gandhi was assassinated.
-It's been 64 years since the creation of the United Nations.
-It's been 64 years since the end of World War II.

Today:
-In 2007 923,000,000 were considered to be starving. (an increase of 81,000,000 since 1990)
-Countless people live under ruthless governments.
-We still purchase clothing made in sweatshops.
-We spend more money on movies than on charity.
-Thousands of political prisoners are being held for their views.
-Women are being raped.
-Children are forced to serve as soldiers.
-Ethnic cleansing is a daily reality for certain people.

Sure, we conquered the moon, we have the internet, we have cars that go really fast and big screen TVs. We all fall asleep at night in our safe little bed in our safe little neighborhoods knowing that we're going to be okay. What about the 923,000,000 victims of hunger? What about the thousands of prisoners of conscience? What about the women being raped and the children that are forced to kill? Do they ever haunt your dreams?

Recently, I have to admit that they have been haunting mine. It's the worst feeling in the world waking up feeling powerless to change things, powerless to help or to reach out and take someone's hand and tell them it'll be alright.

So despite mankind's advances, all or our technical marvels and our scientific wonders; because of man's indifference we are still and always have been a falling society and our way down we keep saying so far so good... so far so good... so far so good...

But where will we land? The choice is ours.

Personal Jesus

I remember the first time I heard Johnny Cash's version of Personal Jesus... It was quite a few years ago, when he was still recording his famous American Recordings series of CDs.

I remember sitting down at home and listening to it on my old RCA mini stereo that didn't work properly; but for Johnny Cash the CD player stopped skipping, the speakers stopped sounding ripped and the world outside of my room stopped turning for 3:23 seconds. Hearing the Man in Black's voice, one that I'd heard since my early childhood, singing those words just struck a chord with me.

Before then and since then, Cash has been a huge part of my everyday life. As any Cash fan will tell you when you listen to his music it's not like being a fan or liking it: it's more like a personal relationship with the Man in Black.

At parties we still hear his music, in our cars we play his songs, when I'm sad or angry I listen to his voice. It's like there's something inside that deep voice and those chords that understands exactly how I feel at that specific moment, that puts a hand on my shoulder and says "Muchacho... I've been there man, I feel your pain/sadness/loss." I don't think that there has been another musician who's encompassed so many of the world's hurt and problems into his songs or his words.

Granted, Cash's music isn't for everyone. Not everyone will walk away from it feeling like they've been touched or understood; so it's hard for me to explain exactly what it's like to have constant companion and friend that I'll never know, so I'm not even going to try. The best way I can think of is to tell you to just take some time and listen, really listen... close your eyes, pour yourself a glass of something strong and listen; hopefully you'll understand.

Reflecting on my Blog

Reflecting upon the short lifespan of my blog I've come realize that it really hasn't done for me what I've wanted it to...

At first I was looking for a place to vent my frustration and anger towards things that I found unfair in the world; which I've done. But I also wanted a place where I could talk about other things that would constantly inspire me to keep writing.

The more this blog goes and the more I realize that I don't wake up with an idea of what to post, I don't walk around going "that's a great idea for something to write on my blog". The exercise of writing this blog was primarily a way to exorcise my demons and it seems to have worked, because now to write this blog I have go through a million news articles in the morning to find something that shocks me enough or makes me angry enough to write about.

I'm not exactly sure what the goal of this particular post is, but I just thought I'd put it out there anyways. Maybe this is the end of this blog, or just the end of this blog as we know it. But either way, for me, it's time to rethink and retool the purpose of my little corner of cyberspace.

Moving Day!

While the rest of Canada is busy celebrating Canada Day on July 1st, we Montrealers have a tradition of our own that we "celebrate" every July 1st: Moving Day (yes with the capital M and capital D).

Before 1974 there was no law saying when the yearly leases on apartments in Montreal should end, but unofficially many of them ended on April 30th, hence many families had to move before the school year ended and it was a headache for all those with children. So, in January 1974 a court ruled that all leases ending April 30th would now be valid until the end of school year (June 30th). This ladies and gentlemen was the birth of Moving Day.

About 10 years ago, I had the best apartment in the city, it was falling apart, the gas leaked frequently, I lived on top of a Shish Taouk restaurant, the floors were caving in and my neighbors were coke dealers, but it was the best apartment in the damned city! I remember moving into to that place: 5 flights of crooked stairs. I also remember that I didn't check what time it was when we showed up with the truck... We arrived on the corner of my streets (St-Catherine and St-Mathieu) only to find out that the Canada Day Parade wasn't over yet... So here we are carrying my couch in the rain THROUGH the parade and up five floors to my rickety apartment. The whole move took about 3 hours... it was bad. But I loved that apartment, right in the heart of the city I love...

Moving day is also a day where friends that you haven't heard from in years, all of a sudden call you out of the blue and invite you over for "beer and pizza" on July 1st(that is the code name for "help-me-move-my-gigantic-fridge-down-my-spiral-staircase-because-none-of-my-real-friends-want-to-help". It is typical if you're a push over, or a sucker, or have too many friends, or if you're just a nice guy to have 2 or 3 major moves including your own starting June 3th at like 9pm and ending July 1st at 10pm.

So happy moving day everyone! Happy Canada Day! and to all those who called me yesterday and didn't get answer because I'd turned my phone off, I hope all your moves went great! And remember, if you want my help try calling me before July 1st...

Muchacho Enfermo

I miss my pen and paper

When I was a kid I used to sit outside with a pad a paper. I used to make these wonderful drawings and write all sorts of stuff, my thoughts about life, about death, about love, about pain, about the world... The list goes on and on and on.

I used to write about everything, much like I wish I could do now.
I was thinking about why I can't do that anymore, write little thoughts or crappy little poems. I can only think of a few reasons...

First and foremost: the internet. That's right, I am blaming the internet for my loss of innocence and my shortcomings as a writer. When I really discovered the internet, it opened my eyes to the world; this mystical place that up until then had only existed in books and in my imagination. It made me see that the world is a huge and beautiful and terrifying and cruel and tragic place. Which leads me to the second reason.

That's the moment I lost my innocence. I'm not going to pretend I've lead a sheltered life in any sort of way. Like everyone else, I've seen things that most human beings should never see (that's what makes us human). But the internet made me realize that my little problems (the loss of a friend, love lost, frustration at the little things) didn't matter as such. These problems were minuscule and the world was gigantic.

So from that day forth:
I dropped my pen and paper on my desk and traded them for a keyboard and a screen.
I stopped writing prose about undying love and started typing about dying people.
I stopped write verses about women and started typing about Women's Rights.
I stopped writing about the meaning of life and starting typing about what it means to live.
I stopped writing about being punished in school for not speaking enough and started typing about being imprisoned for speaking too much.

In short, once my eyes opened there was no turning back, no pretending the world wasn't there, no more thinking that the world revolved around me, no more localized anger. No, that would be too easy... Now my world has no limits and my frustration is global; I am still writing but it no longer rhymes; it's not pretty and it's far from perfect but it's what I do.

But I must admit that sometimes, on a rainy Thursday when I'm lacking sleep I really miss the simplicity of a pen and paper.

Muchacho Enfermo

Writer's block

So I’m back after a two weeks absence, I thought I’d have a bunch of things to say and a million things to write. Turns out I really don’t. I had planned on making some kickass post with a whimsical rant but I just can’t bring myself to do it. There’s just so many things that are wrong with the world today that I’m having a hard time putting my finger on something specific I want to talk about.

I’m still trying to catch up on what’s happened in Canadian politics while I was gone and what happened to GM even though they got all that bailout money. I’m trying to read as much as I can about what happened in Burma and how the civil war ended in Sri Lanka and about what’s been going on with North Korea. I’m also trying to get a handle on everything else in the real world, such as grocery stores with food in them, and restaurants with toilet paper and just regular everyday normal things.

So today I don’t have a rant, or a complaint, or something silly to write about. All I have is what is in my mind: I feel that the world’s problems are much bigger than me and are much too big for me to write about today. So I’m at an impasse, I have writer’s block.

I apologize to the few people who were waiting for me to post again with my regular brand of idiocy and simplistic explanations for the complex problems we all face. It seems we might have to wait until tomorrow… or maybe later this afternoon after my 8th coffee, for me to come up with something worth reading.

Muchacho Enfermo

I am a Man Now

This morning I went, for the first time ever, to the barber.
It's not that I've never cared about my hair, it's that I've cared about it so much that I had perfected over the years the art of cutting it myself or having a stylist do it for like 70$.

This morning I was walking outside, it was sunny, I was drinking my "fair trade" coffee and saw a barber shop. I told myself: "Why not? You need a haircut anyways..." I walked in and a surly old man that smelled like Aqua Velva and Cigarettes motioned me to one of the 8 empty chairs. I started telling him what I wanted, he nodded, looked at me and said "So medium, right son?" I told him I guessed that medium sounded about right but no to touch the top, I only wanted the sides cut.

The surly old barber takes out an ancient clipper and a comb and proceeds to "style" my hair cutting most of the sides off, then he takes out a straight razor and cuts the hair from around my ear and the back of neck. All this is done in silence. He then takes the clipper and the comb out and cuts the top.

He then quickly brushes the hair out of my face, tells me it's 15$ and that I look good now.

I turn and leave, a little mystified at the whole experience, but it somehow felt as though I'd gone through some age old coming of age ritual, one that includes having your wishes ignored by a surly and bitter person who, of course, knows better than you. I am now a part of that illustrious group where old men all have the same haircut and young men seeking a hairstyle come out of the barbershop looking like they've just joined the army.

Today I am finally a man...

Muchacho Enfermo

More Crack Reporting From the Gazette

The Montreal Gazette, Canada's oldest English daily paper, has been going down the tubes since it was bought out a few years back. Instead of having editorials about issues relevant to Montrealers we had them about "Infrastructure Problems in Winnipeg" and the "The Price of Cattle in Alberta Since Mad Cow".

Now to be fair, there's quite a few talented reporters who write for the Gazette and I'm not bashing them by any stretch. What I am saying, however, is that the editors have got to step it up... I logged on to their website today and saw this article about a bank robbery that occurred this morning in the heart of downtown Montreal. It's so short I don't even have to link to it... I'll copy and paste it for you...

"Robbers Hit Up Downtown Bank for Cash

Robbers held up the Royal Bank branch at the corner of Ste. Catherine and Stanley Sts. Thursday morning, and escaped wth an undisclosed amount of cash, Montreal police say.

Witnesses said one robber was carrying something that looked like a gun, Constable Anie Lemieux said.

There were no reports of injuries.

More details to follow."

And this was on the front page of their website, like a tantalizing tale that said "read me I'm interesting" and when you clicked on the link all you got was a few vague lines about this crap.

It was like getting socks for your birthday.

Muchacho Enfermo

Court Rules on infamous "Squirrel Feeder"

In my WTF moment of the day as I was reading the Gazette
and I saw that a Westmount (rich borough of Montreal) had issued a man a ticket for feeding a squirrel.

As was his right he fought the ticket in court. He's a musician so of course he wrote a song about it called "SquirrelGate"...

The man was feeding a squirrel.
He got a ticket for feeding said squirrel.
Two years of trial.
The courts upheld the fine.

This is two and half years of taxpayer dollars that went to waste because Westmount security couldn't just give him a warning and let it go. In an attempt to stop this ludicrous trial the city of Westmount offered to drop the charges if the man agreed to be the city's "Don't Feed the Squirrels" spokesperson.

I don't really have a funny or witty conclusion... I think this just speaks for itself. Once again... my tax dollars at work.

Muchacho Enfermo

Of Dogs and Self-preservation

Dogs,loyal companions, vicious territorial protectors and hunters of all stuffed animals. You've seen dogs guarding junk yards or being used by the police, I've been stopped by sniffer dogs at airports, I've been bitten by a chihuahua and chased by rottweilers. You've also seen dogs being loyal family pets, playing with kids, keeping he elderly company and cheering you up when you're sad.

Recently I've had two completely separate conversations with 2 unrelated people that have both said the same thing: "There is a reason dogs were made to be cute, and that reason is self-preservation".

Think about it seriously for a second: my oldest dog, as puppy, completely ruined my antique hardwood floor by constantly missing the newspaper, ruined two brand new leather sofas by chewing them while we were at work and gnawed the legs off a chair so that when I sat on said chair, it broke and I really hurt myself... While on the floor crying out in pain and swearing like a longshoreman I opened my eyes and there she was, this cute little puppy staring at me with her big brown eyes, she tilts her head and licks my nose. Hence preventing me from launching her onto the street from my fifth floor window. She's still alive today, 8 years later. Self-preservation.

I was giving this some thought and I've concluded this is common in every species I can think of today. Human babies, for example, have to be cute because all they do is cry, eat and poop, so that you're constantly changing them and wiping their asses and feeding them, only to start all over again in a perpetual cycle of stinkyness. So they need to be made cute or we'd just stop feeding them altogether. Same with say... kittens... They scratch up your walls and miss the litter box and cough up hairballs but then you see them chasing a fly and bumping into walls and you just can't get mad.

This is nature's way of ensuring the survival of all species: make the offspring cute as hell so that the parents don't abandon them. It's absolutely brilliant and it actually makes me think that there just may be a higher power at work behind all this cuteness.

Now all I need to do is find a way to be awesomely cute and if I do... I will become invincible, unconvictable and irresistible, thus ensuring my survival.

Muchacho Enfermo