The goal was that when I’m in Montreal again it’s resumption of arrangements, but now with making the most out of the catharsis and optimism I’ve collected here in Toronto. And since I was in the midst of losing my fuckin mind when I was last there in 2018, I had to show up with my duck-taped-together heart open—not running from what haunts me. This time I went for a wet floor cry fest on the bus ride there, cause I thought it was strategically healthier and would set the path of catharsis for the remainder of the trip. I am grateful.
I’ve found myself anew amongst artistic engagers of like-minded compassion, generosity, and excitement. I maintain belief in the communities we could build from grassroots humility and earnestness.
I don’t know when this film will play again; it’s a price I gladly pay for believing in the positive logical extreme-if-there-is-such-a-thing of lo-fi cinema. But I know from the people who’ve shown up last Sunday—and the equivalent who’ve shown up over the test screenings this summer—that there is something worthwhile to all this.
So regardless what the gatekeepers and juries and decision-makers do, they’ll never get to undo the beauty I felt on Sunday and those few nights in July. Cause right then, right there, amongst the people newly-met and known—that was it. That’s why we do what we do and give what we give.
Thank You Truly, every one of youse who came.
Speech I forgot to bring, written ambidextrously: