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I am at expozine—in the “bar” area, eating samosas and having earl grey. Because, so festooned with books, I need a break. I am getting less exposure than I expected and I am making no money, but I am indeed glad to be here and share in this energy. See old friends. Etc. Exist; participate. Remember it later. …and, hopefully, people will read my stuff. (Hey, it is in fact for sale—just not by me. The publisher is here. I’ve just been informed—I’ll be back to the table later.)

 

Woke up early to try to fight off jetlag, although (this is also part of jet lag) I couldn’t get to sleep well last night. I watched a short film about an interracial couple in Tel Aviv and then tried again. Eventually fell asleep.

 

And in the morning I laid in, listened to the traffic blaring on St-Laurent through my earplugs, then forced myself up. I made me a pot of coffee in the provided coffee maker, with the provided grounds. I made breakfast, with my groceries from Segal’s, figuring out the stuff they provide for me to do so as I went—they have a dishwasher! I just noticed. I’ve never had a dishwasher before, how exciting! And then I sat down to pound out the half-drunk notes from the other night, put them into a post-able, at least semi-coherent form. Then, after so many endless cups of coffee, I went out into the light snow.

 

The zine fest is up around Belanger and Cristoph-Colomb, the upper edge of Le Petite Patrie that I always liked but never spent a lot of time in, in a church. There’s also a jewelry fair set up in another room, which is mostly empty. The zine fest is hopping.

 

Walked around, bought (or traded for) a lot of books, bought a bag to hold the books. Now I’m taking a break. I’ll walk back to the Cactus Press table, wait a bit in case Ian shows up, then move on. Rest.

 

 

Addition--because, as someone pointed out, I don’t describe where I am at all--

 

Expozine is a massive zine and small press fair held in Montreal every year. I went to one once nearly ten years ago, in 2014, when it was held in the basement of the church at Laurier and St-Laurent—I forget the name. They seem to like holding it in churches, because it’s in a church again this year. St-Arsene. The name reminds me of Arsene Lupin.

 

Vast space, billowing around us all: you come in from the snow (by Sunday, there was snow), shake yourself dry as you can in a sort of vestibule, and then pass the “bar” into that main space. Rows and rows of tables, lined with books and indie artwork. It has quite an energy. So much creation, all together in one place.

 

I was shameless, and handed cards out everywhere. I handed out books. I made

 

One of the organizers, when I talked to him, complained that it wasn't enough space. They had to fight to even use the stage.

I can see that. So smushed in such a small area, it could've expanded almost to an infinity.