The Ideal Of North

Montreal.
Where The Sun Sets In The North. Arcade Fire are everywhere, in your brain, fire. Fire everywhere. The DJ on the radio tells us that George Bush doesn't care about black people, sings over some calypso and thanks his dentist. We hit bars within an hour of landing, humans dancing to You Rock My World and Eminem, damn, Em sounds good in a club environment. Le Petit Chevalier hits Le Cheval Blanc and its uptown sister, pie and mash shops cum bars, with ostrich head adornment. Breakfast is great, clean sausages. They close the streets to cars so people can have markets, we've arrived for Labour Day weekend. You cannot regulate the nature of things. Rene Blouin Gallery, Pascal Grandmaison, Patrick Coutu, Nicolas Baier and Rober Racine, who, off the record, is a bit of a genius. Barbara Steinman and Marc Audette @ Pierre Francois Oullette, then Euan Macdonald, Jean-Marc Mathieu-Lajoie and delight Jerome Fortin, who wins. Julie Douchet at Clark, which is all Kafka architecture, gallery set in the haberdashery district, huge warehouse, industrial corridors. I'm on a balcony on someone's wireless connection, and we're just off to look at insects