Ian Truman's Blog

I am writing this in reaction to Ben Lelievre’s comment that I was the only punk he knew. I was moved by his words and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. He mentionned I was one of (or the) only person he knew that managed to grow into a father without changing his ideals and then called me a (loud mouthed) monk.

It’s not the first time I’ve been called a monk. I guess I see it in a way.

As for being punk, I’m still straight edge so that should be credentials enough.

I still listen to punk because I still feel the same power when certain songs start. I know very well that the overwhelming majority of punk is absolute crap, but same can be said for hip-hop or rock or any other type of music.

Go right ahead, put on the songs we used to listen to again. They’re all on Spotify

Listen to Ready to Fall (Rise Against) and realize that song was written fifteen years ago and yet we failed to change our ways of life, how we travel, how we get to work. We have added a grand total of three metro stations in fifteen years and for every new electric car we put on the street, a dozen airplaines take off.

Put on 21st Century Digital Boy (Bad Religion). That was 96. I used to quote those lyrics back in Cegep in PoliSci papers. How many of us are working mind crushing tech jobs today? How many of us are miserable because of it ? How many of us get out of work and back on a skateboard rather than just get a drink to forget about our day.

Put on I wanna be your dog (Iggy pop) and tell me you don’t immediately get that urge to simply scream I EXIST ! and take over the world, let the man know you were here at a time and place. Can’t you heard the despair in the back of it. Aren’t we living in desperate times enough to scream I WANT TO BE MORE!

I became a vegetarian maybe 18 years ago after listening to a song called « Waste » by Good Riddance. Find it on spotify. Find that fucking song and listen to it. Can you feel the anger. I remember why I made that choice 18 years ago and that kind of song re-validates my ideals every time.

Maybe we need to be pissed a little more. Especially these days.

I know I can’t do it anymore. I was too angry for too long and it became a poison to me. I’ll say it. But all the hatred online, all the alt-right, macho militaristic shit we see online and in the world…

Maybe it’s time the left fot the fuck off their yoga mat and remember what it felt like to be in a mosh pita gain, the power of it, the genius of it, the connection I felt to evey fucking punk in the room just for being there and screaming we exist. The energy we got from that and then translated into the world.

Trump and the rest of them got elected because we all lost our guts at a moment when we needed it the most.

I’m not gonna lie,

I’ve been hunkering down in my corner for a few years now. I needed to own my home and raise my kids. Those who’ve never heard of me will toss this as some hypocritial piece of feel good literature to get my ego in check. Those who’ve know me for years know I’m daring to speak of these things with great reluctance because these kinds of articles usually come with a lot of blacklash and I’ve had enough of it in my days.

Maybe the time is now. I don’t know. I’m not saying I’m tossing myself back into the fray, I gave a lot (probably too much).

I’m here to tell you, if you’re feeling like we’re not doing enough.

It’s because we’re not.

If you feel we’re not doing it right.

It’s because we’re not.

I was a vegetarian 15 years ago, refused to do drugs at a time when people did a lot of drugs. I live in the city because I’m not a fan of cars, yet I know cars are useful and necessary to the working class. I am typing this on a recycled computer but I feel lucky enough to know people who could hook me up with that shit. I work at a Coop but that comes with certain priviledges and sacrifces that do not necessarely apply to every industry.

I am part of a union as well and that won’t fix everything but it sure as hell stabilises a lot of things.

The biggest load of shit I usually get from people when I talk about these things is that I am too heavy, I am too radical. « live a little » as if I didn’t have an amazing life to start with.

And the truth is that I have run my carbon footprint, and even something as (suposedly) radical as the way I have decided to live, is not enough to curb ou remissions below where they need to be to keep the earth from scorching us.

I am really far from perfect but the truth is I am trying my damn best with every decision I make.

What’s the link to punk ? Proletarian Urban Nihilistic Kids.

I’m still working class as fuck, I’m still Urbam, Everything I create is still based on The Birth of Tragedy and I’m still very much a Kid, even more so with children of my own.

Being a dad made me feel the urgency of it all even more. The necessity of all the small daily sacrifices I make even more.

I am no fool to think that everything I do is righteous, far from it. I am well aware that my skare shoes are sweatshop made, but all things being sweatshop made, I decided to keep wearing skate shoes because they remind me of a sort of freedom of spirit and resilience of the soul I knew as a teen

And I see no reason to give up on that emotion.

Maybe we did forget how to be free and I am not talking about the kind of false freedom that is tossed about by paper-thin republicans on shitty daily tabloids.

Maybe we forgot how to be free, for ourselves, by ourselves and for each other.

We live in an era when we let anyone and everyone toss us around online, telling us how to be, how to live, what to think. Most of all, I perpetually question my actions because I’d rather make sure I followed my ethics than to « know » I was right all the time.

These days, seems to me like everyone would rather be right than be free.

Well I would rather be free.

So there,

I’m still punk.

There are very good reasons to still be punk.

Go ahead, put on the world’s very first punk song.

Iggy pop, 1969…

It’s on spotify. Put it on, really loud.

And tell me you don’t feel it.

I dare you.

I fucking dare you.

Ian.

Writing another one of these. I usually write them and then delete them an hour later. It clears my head, like tossing things to the wind, I guess.

Maybe I’ll leave this one up, maybe not…I’ve written this phrase maybe a dozen times now.

I think the fire in me is gone. Not that I’m depressed or unhappy…but that rage is definitely not there anymore. I think it’s a good thing but I also don’t feel as driven anymore.

Life has thrown one too many curveball at my head lately and I’m on my guard for a minute or five.

I don’t know.

I don’t think I have another crime novel in me right now. I’ve been writing comedy. For real. I’d like the idea of making people laugh. I’ve talked about shit and “hard” and crime for too long. The puss has been out for a while now. Laughing people are happy people. I could see myself as a part of that.

Daily is good. I came into a few hundred bucks I didn’t expect at all today.

Decided to put my money where my mouth (and mind) was. Opened a trading account today. Fees are risky but I’ve been saying this shit was about to crash for months now…would be an asshole not to do something about it now that I could squeeze in something in the very last moment of this “bull market.” we’re gonna know in 3 to 6 weeks or we’re gonna know in a year but my guts says 2018!

I ran the math and its good. If I’m right its good (really good) money for my future…if I’m wrong…itll be a few hundred bucks I didn’t have in my budget to start with so I’m going in.

Had a date this week. I don’t think well be dating or maybe even not see each othet agaib…I don’t know. She was tall and cute and smart and we did pick at each other’s brains in rare and interesting ways. But former hippie and former hardcore kid….yeah…we connected on smarts, the environment and our unconventional way of thinking. I don’t know. Spark was missing? One way or another it’s always nice to find yourself in the company of such a woman and I’ve learned to appreciate these moments.

Home life is still not what I hoped. I’m super confident in my role as a father and my girls bring me instant joy…that makes my week off (alone) that much harder.

Randomly ran into my ex-wife (in traffic?!?) and while I have no feeling towards her anymore, I did get a flash of family life I had for 10 years. I miss the “whole” the “unit”. I think that makes sense.

I think I had a moment with a cute girl at the climbing gym. We had that half second stare at each other before quickly looking away. Maybe it was nothing, maybe I’ve started to notice these things again. I think I could get used to that.

(Sidebar, I had my best climb ever yesterday did a real v5 for the first time and a v4 plus all the rest!)

Still hearbroken about someone else. Not gonna hide that. So far so good. No panic texting or email, minimal instagram creeping but I still can’t help but wonder. Will need more time to figure my own self out on this one

Art is still good. Im a cliché, always thinking my work is not good enough. Did two really good pieces, one massive canvas I still have to finish. Emotionally, this is some of the most satisfying stuff I ever did.

Right now I just wish I had someone yo share a phrase like that with.

Girls are back tomorrow. I’ll feel fulfilled and overwhelmed and happy. Next friday is climbing and then yardworks with the parents.

Don’t expect to feel this down again for two weeks. But I know I will.

My life is good. I’m just lonely.

This one feels good writing. I think I’ll leave it up.

Take care. Ian

I haven’t been writing. Not really. I guess people used to journal and then we bloged and then people stopped reading the blogs so I feel safe writing this to myself here.

Tonight I feel it. The empty home. My daughters are not there. Usually this feeling catches up to me on Thursdays, Wednesdays maybe.

I am usually exhausted when friday morning comes and it is time to say goodbye. I usually welcome the weekend off and look to fill it with sports and art and writing but the truth is I have fewer and lesser need for these and am increasingly just holding the fort and keep busy until the girls come back.

This week I felt it right away.

It is hard to find reasons to go to sleep in an empty home. I have long since learned that the simple joys of family life are fare more necessary to my happiness that the “free” time of a “single’s” existence.

I went up and down Saint-Laurent boulevard and laughed at myself as I laughed at it all, the clothes, the stores, the bars, the restaurants and cafés… I knew in my heart I would rather be in a sandbox with the kids.

There is no conclusion here. There is no purpose to this except than to make myself believe I did something while they were away.

The climbing is fun and good and gives an hour of much needed relief from the stresses of life.

But when it isin’t met with the warm embrace of a loved one back at home…it feels exactly like what it really is.

Killing time till the family’s back together.

It’s midnight now. I am not even tired.

I don’t know.

Tomorrow is Pub Day for Down with the Underdogs.

I ain’t one to beg for you to buy my book. I will say this is my best work so far. Straight up noir, true working class.

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Links are on Down and Out’s website (or get it direct from your indie publisher)

https://downandoutbooks.com/bookstore/truman-down-underdogs/

Take care,

Ian

I take my spot at the edge of the belvedere.

Hallelujah in the ipod, live at london, of course.

I pop open a can of perrier and look at the distance as the music takes over me.

There is no end to the love I feel for this city.

I simply stand in awe of it. The canyon of Peel ahead of me, the flags of McGill and then at Leonard himself , standing tall on that building.

I salute him, one Montreal writer to another, then praise yhwh for such a moment worth living for.

I look at Concordia next to the mural, hall bulding right in front of me and I feel it: The underdog frenchie from the east end just penned his 10th book in seven years.

I watch to the west, where the green of trees mark the beggining of the south-west.

Beyond downtown, down from the hill. Two books about that place.

I look at the river below it.

Sip of perrier.

I look to the east. Theres a tall new building there with an edge of the colour red.

It stands at the corner of Saint-Laurent and Maisonneuve.

My playground for almost 20 years. Too many pages to keep count.

I look the the river beyond it, those islands in front of hochelaga and I think of every place I love that I can’t see from here.

“It’s a very lonely hallelujah!” leonard sings. It hits me to the heart..

I take a sip and give a moment of thought for someone in particular then look at the city again. The wind is good and the sun began its descent on the other side of Mont-Royal.

Can is near empty. Song goes to its final stretch.

I look at Leonard again and thank him.

The city, the trees, the people. I look at dorm rooms and write the life of a student there. I look at the south west and see Sean Cullens’ next move.

I look at centre-sud and see Balkon fucking around the way he does.

I am this city, I live this city, I write this city tenth book about it and I am only getting started.

The song ends to applause.

I tank the perrier.

Tourists left and right, smiling and taking selfies and I stand alone in a crowd living my seven minutes of bliss.

Time for your final thanks, so thank you Montreal.

Grab my bag and one last glance. Then simply walk away.

Leonard will still be there for the next one.

I just finished writing book no.10

The Factory Line

Lowdown

Northern Gothic

A Teenage Suicide

Crass

Grand Trunk and Shearer

Dancing with a Switchblade

Down with the Underdogs

Montréal (the novel, not the short story)

Fatherhood – 100 moments.

I’m at the climbing gym having coffee and I would describe the emotion as quiet equanimity.

Book 11 is already well under way (D’Arcy Kennedy vol.3 – Year of the Scabs)

It’s all love!

Ian.

Let me say it straight.

I was pissed for a good fifteen years. I was straight pissed. Not just angry. I was as pissed off as could get. More than a few people, even in the hardcore scene, would say they had never seen rage like mine.

I was pissed. I was the guy who’d tell you Slipknot was for pussies. I listened to bands like Death Threat, One Life Crew, Blood for Blood and worse…shit I can’t even remember it was so obscure. (Pitboss 2000?!? 25 ta Life?!?!?!)

The kind of shows people got injured and others went to jail.

And I’m serious.

Im fucking glad I ain’t that guy anymore. Even Rollins and Iggy Pop ain’t that pissed.

There are still a million valid reasons to be angry at the world (Trump and the 1,2 trillion he shoveld into 2019 we’ll all pay for soon!).

Daily anger is not going to change any of that.

So I discovered pop. It’s cheezy, it’s easy, I think it’s hilarious and it makes me feel good.

I don’t give a shit. Give me Timbetlake, give me Ariana or Calvin Harris.

I don’t care. There is as much terrible punk out there as there is terrible pop. I just looking for love these days. I can’t do pissed anymore.

I mean, let’s get real…I’m no fool. I know theres still anger in me. It comes up sometimes and I still get surprised at the amount of pain I carry. But those of you who’ve known me for years will vouch for how far I’ve come.

Day to day…I wouldn’t trade my 30s for my 20s…never.

It’s all love, people.

Ian.

Il m’est apparu à l’esprit ce soir, qu’est peut-être revenue à nous l’époque des grandes lettres.

Il y a en effet longtemps que je n’avais ressenti une telle nécessité envers les mots. Il y a longtemps que je n’ai senti quelque chose dans l’air d’aussi intense que terrifiant et la nécessité de lui rendre la pareille sur papier. Chaque semaine, le fruit amer d’une accumulation de grands titres les plus invraisemblables les uns que les autres, me pousse au clavier comme jamais auparavant.

Je suis le fruit d’une génération qui voulait faire les choses autrement pour nous retrouver bien en selle à l’âge adulte, au sein d’un monde qui s’efface sous nos pieds à une vitesse déconcertante. Il est de cette souffrance que je sens de plus en plus partagée par les miens, mes amis, ma famille et collègues…de ce mal de vivre qui ne semble plus savoir se faire oublier.

Il s’agit d’un mode absurde. Un monde ou le simple fait d’aimer est disparu au profit d’une temporalité éphémère toujours des plus identiques, des plus vides de sens et le malaise s’enlise.

C’est ce malaise de la dépersonnification massive de tous et chacun au profit d’une imagine aussi unique qu’unifiée et inatteignable, ou l’individu disparaît au profit d’une abstraction toujours plus remplaçable que jamais et nous en sommes tous les victimes.

C’est cette manie constante vers l’objectification qui nous pourris tous l’intérieur et nous nie cette compassion tant nécessaire à une époque ou « tout » et « rien » valent maintenant  la même chose.

Voilà que nous nous retrouvons malgré nous, aujourd’hui, au sein d’une société qui fait preuve d’une haine resplendissante au cœur même d’une économie florissante. Une haine envers soi-même et une haine envers les autres qui ne laisse augurer rien de bon dans quant à la bienséance des hommes lorsque tout ce fiasco viendra à s’écrouler.

La fatigue est déjà trop grande, le mal, trop profond. Nous sommes guidés par une technocratie effroyable d’une efficacité sans équivoque qui ne laisse aucune place à l’émotion. Que dire de cette légion de jeunes brillants, dévoués, mais tous épuisé et déjà mis à mal par les requêtes incessantes d’industries toujours plus exigeantes pour finalement en arriver à rien.

Rien que du vent, rien que du vide, rien que du mal.

Ce rien qui nous tiraille de l’intérieur et qui ne saurait guérir au sein d’une structure sociale malsaine et pourrissante, ou le suicide refait soudainement surface malgré une médication omniprésente. Car nous en sommes la et le pire reste à venir.

Le risque qui nous guette est le déraillement d’une société épuisée lors d’un catalyseur social encore inconnu d’une force qui nous surprendre tous par la profondeur de sa douleur. Cette douleur tirée d’un retour de balancier qui se fait attendre trop longtemps au moment même ou la nature ne saurait plus retenir sa propre furie envers l’homme.

Je suis aujourd’hui forcé d’admettre que cette synergie destructrice n’est plus, désormais dans le règne de la science fictions mais se trouve depuis peu, dans le domaine du possible. Les épreuves qui nous guettent n’auraient étés que chimères il y a à peine deux ans. Force est de croire qu’ils seront réels bien plus tôt que nous n’aurions voulu l’admettre.

La haine a su s’incruster, se normaliser. Les murs et les camps apparaissent au moment même où nous avons tous oubliés, en tant qu’individu, comment simplement « être » avec nous mêmes et vivre avec autrui.

C’est lorsqu’une société s’efface ce sont les émotions les plus simples prennent le dessus

Ma seule réponse est que face â cette haine, chacun de nous devra retrouver la force de répondre par quelque chose aussi simple que l’amour.

C’est vrai.

À une époque ou l’éthique est dévouée de sens, la vérité est que notre humanité ne saura transparaitre qu’au travers des actes d’amour qui sauront trouver racine au sein de cette noirceur qui nous regarde maintenant droit dans les yeux.

Notre humanité ne saura survivre que dans ces moments ou l’individu seul, et seul face à l’histoire, fera le choix de se refuser à la haine et y substituera la bonté de gestes simple mais plein de sens qui sauront redonner à autrui la pleine dignité qui lui est du.

Peut-être que les générations futures y trouverons, j’ai espoir, les moments qui sauront excuser ce chemin sur lequel nous nous trouvons désormais.

D’ici là, j’espère de tout mon cœur avoir tors sur l’avenir.

Seuls les mois qui viennent nous le dirons.

Ian Truman

Fatherhood moment – The loneliness.

It’s often the same thing. By friday morning I am exhausted because taking care of two kids is a lot of work. Then they head out to their mom.

The weekend to catch up with friends and sports and activities but frankly I’m done with the single life. Can’t get behind it after 10 years of family life. Can’t do the bistros and foodie shit and the spartan races or the 600 sit ups just to stay busy.

It’s for someone else. I can’t do it anymore. Something’s missing.

It’s not for me. Even part time.

It’s just not as rich as the way your kids look at you when they discover anything and everything. It’s not in the same league.

Just need to be home right now. Build on things, see a future, be comfortable. Pet a cat and clean the house.

I want to have passionate arguments about floorboards and counter tops and then have sex on the new counter tops…Have a reason to go to bed that is known as love.

Those are things worth living for.

It’s tuesday now. No kids till friday night. No lover in my bed and I’ve stopped looking.

Netflix alone is sad. Food that isn’t shared at a full table of you own kin is worst.

Wind just sifting through the leaves ahead of my front porch. Night is here but I have no reason to go to sleep.

Waiting.

Some Music to Match the Rain (Poem)

The evening

Comes to an end

As I lay in bed

Waiting

For the word,

The line

And the scent

Of one

Particular woman

Add some music

To match

The rain

The night

Is

Still

Very

Young.