It never occurred to me how difficult it must be for Andre to make his vlog. It’s true he does most of the work on his own, but the fact that he has physical disability really slows down the process. Moving from location to location, setting up equipment, getting into position, it all takes a lot more time, effort, energy and planning. I know he wants to expand his vlog and do more frequent postings, so I really hope he can get a solid team of people together to help out.

I think what Andre’s doing is really important. People with disabilities are highly underrepresented in media, TV and film, on camera and behind the scenes. I believe that through Road to Possible we can bring awareness to the challenges and risks that people with all types of disabilities and conditions face and the courage it takes to pursue their ambitions day after day.

I’m still working on the new short, titled, ‘The boy who stole the moon’. If anybody here has been reading and keeping up with my posts on Wattpad.com then you’ll know that it is part of “The chronicle of the naked city’. There have been quite a few delays in the writing of it because I still have trouble staying focused on things. That is of course another thing about me that is work in progress. 

After a really long delay, “Dre Chronicles’ 6 is almost done. All that’s left is some final tweaks on the end credits. It will be the shortest one so far at just under 15 minutes. The very first shot for it was done in February, just after my birthday. It will be available very soon.

On Thursday, March 19, I chose to volunteer for a show called ‘Hammer’. When I looked at the list of upcoming shows at The Theatre Centre I chose that one just based on the name. That is how I choose what to volunteer for.

I thought of my upcoming meet-up with an old friend of mine. We are supposed to have an entire weekend together to work on some project ideas—truth be told I already have the idea, and have for quite some time.

I arrived on time and sat in the office with one of the regular staff. When the time came I took my place at the door, took the tickets and greeted the guests. The performer shook my hand and I then joined the small group inside. The performer was Cathy Gordon. I had no idea that in the next ninety minutes, most of the ideas I’ve ever had about art, expression and performance would be vindicated. It was indeed all possible.

‘Things don’t have to stay linear’, I explained to my friend. 

It was a participatory show. The two with the worst handwriting—one of which was yours truly—were given blue markers and small white cards with quotes which we had to be written down on large brown pages. Before we wrote, Cathy told us she would leave the room and when she returned, everybody must stop doing what they were doing—their tasks—and look at her; she did return, and we all stopped. She stood there and removed all her regular clothes; she wore her naked body like it was another costume, and finally, put on a tight black, comfortable looking PJ thing.

The show begins with all of us standing around a table with a hammer made out of soft clay sitting on top of it. Cathy broke off the first piece then invited all of us to tear off chunks until the hammer was no more. It was now our job to hold our bits of clay for the entire show. The show was, in fact, six ways to sublimate anger. Anybody who has ever read anything I’ve written, and certainly, if you have read these blogs, it’s clear that I talk often about my failures. I do have a lot of anger, but standing there holding my chunk of clay, I knew that a lot of it was well used.

I still have my piece of clay, and when the time comes, I will tear it in half as I sit there with my friend as we create. Again I will say to her, ‘We can do whatever we want, because it is all possible’.

-Each small candle-

I’ve never felt further away from one of my dreams until I stood right on it.

Let me back up a bit here. Early in December 2014, my friend brought me as his guest to a volunteer appreciation party. This pot-luck style party was held in the Cabaret section of this particular theatre. Free food, free booze, I couldn’t believe it. He told me that all these places have these parties for their volunteers. It’s true; you do learn something new everyday. When he told me about being a volunteer here, and at many other places, I told him I wanted in. Why? Because I get to see the shows for free. It was a good deal all around.

In December, I wrote a new poem which will be part of a five or six piece series. The idea for it came from a reccurring dream I’ve been having since the end of May 2014. I wrote other things and worked on other projects, but did always have that dream stuck in my head. When December came around, I decided it was the perfect time to get that down on paper. I really wanted it written down before the year ended.

The second time I ushered for ‘HER2’, I stood at the edge of the floor-levelled stage with a pack of programs, and made sure nobody else walked on it or touched the bags that were placed there. I smiled at guests and let them know the duration of the show including the twenty minute intermission. I knew the show now, of course, and I was happy to see it again. Standing there for an entire thirty minutes, I watched the empty seats being filled and realized, I could be seen by everyone.

There were moments at the end where I closed my eyes as I stood there again. The silence is what I loved. Standing in the empty theatre before I would collect leftover programs is when the thought occurred to me. ‘That poem is a play’. I had felt the actors move the air; I sat so close in my reserved front-row seat. I knew right there what it had to be. It had to be what the dream was. That was the show. Feel my anger, see my real failures, dedicated to all those who have tried and never succeeded. If you asked me now what I thought my chances were of getting this done, I would refer you to the opening line of this blog.

I love the solidarity of the French. I love that they won’t cower in fear and trade away some rights with the hope that, just maybe, another incident may be avoided. Most of all, I love that this has nothing to do with any of that. World leaders marched together, set aside their differences— for how long who knows– and people locked arms, filled the streets and presented the clearest image of what it is to be free.

I was reminded of how much this resembled the days after 9/11 and how those events gave me a little bit of hope for the future of this race. That warm, fuzzy feeling of course did not last long then, and I think this one is fleeting also.

I still fear. I fear the coming erosion of freedoms as much as I fear my own ideas about all of this. I have learned to self-censor and very often speak meekly and hold back. To censor an idea, however, is what scares me most. I haven’t even begun to use my voice, and I have no doubt that that voice will get me into trouble in the coming years.

I wonder if these people will remember, I wonder if the artists will make their stand. I hope in the very near future that I find that voice that few have really heard. I stand with every person who locked arms in cities all around the world and hoped that just maybe, the world will change. I hope I look at this someday and think, Yeah, I know where to begin; I am Charlie Hebdo…

Walk your road..

Andre Lalonde

I sit here writing this in the very early hours of February 26, 2015; and yes, this happens to be my birthday. I spend a lot of time reflecting, and thinking back on choices I’ve made many years ago. On every birthday, of course, I think back even more. I have learned quite a bit about myself the past year. I never do stop learning. I am thirty-eight years old now and hope to keep learning. I can always do more and frequently catch myself trying to do just that. This has been a problem most of my life—the trying anyways. The problem with doing more has been, of course, not finishing anything. Taking things from idea to project to completed work has been a challenge so often; I have a box of stuff sitting in my closet to prove it. I am learning to be confident again, though, and think that that will make all the difference. No matter how many ideas I have, creating, and completing, is possible even if I still have certain doubts and fears.

-Walk your road-

In my last blog I mentioned a new batch of friends. Some recent experiences could have only come from knowing them.

On Christmas Eve—even though I am not religious—my friend bought me a ticket for the annual MCC Christmas eve service at Roy Thompson hall—even though I am not gay. At one point they asked that people in the audience speak out loud the names of those we pray for or those who we’ve lost. I would have normally let others speak and remained silent, but I didn’t. My voice boomed in that place when I said, “My father, Paul.”  I have a few social anxieties which I rarely ever disclose. Speaking is not one of them. This room was packed. Among those present were, Olivia Chow, Bill Blair and Kristyn Wong-Tam.

I begin this new stretch of my journey without my dad here in the physical, but I carry enough in my memory to remember and look back on all the things he taught me; even if none of those things were related to writing, it all can be made to fit.

Walk your road.

Looking back now on the month of May which started out like almost every other month did — That is to say, uneventful and uninteresting — I pushed along. I had not yet started the main location shoot for “Dre chronicles #4” since writing kept me busy. On May 10th, I was recorded reading the first paragraph of one of my new short stories on Yonge Street and at Yonge/Dundas square. It seemed to me that day that something was beginning. On the morning of May 14th, my father passed away. This loss made me look back even further.

The original group of friends I had were never interested in writing or that it was almost all that interested me. Very rarely would I share my ideas with those I called my friends.  I touched on this briefly in “Dre chronicles #1” and it is a subject that will come up again in writing.  

Four days before my dad died, I wrote the eulogy, just in case. The next day was of course the small shoot for the Road to Possible project. I kept that first batch of friends in my head the whole time. One week before my father died, I wrote the intro to my first book, a memoir.

I’ve become friends with a new batch in the months after giving the eulogy. New people, who are interested in writing, interested in videos and are artists of every kind. Even an old acquaintance of mine has recently started writing her first book. According to her, I’m her #1 source for ideas and help even though I have yet to make a dollar with my own writing.

In November, an independent actor from the U.K who has already memorized my words will be turning a monologue I wrote in 2013 into a short film.  That’s pretty exciting. For those interested in seeing me give the eulogy, that clip will be in “Dre chronicles #5”.  More on this later.  

-Walk your road-

Andre