My industrial age

Between walking through the tunnels between subway tracks and what is shaping up to be a year of (new) post-punk, I declare 2018 my industrial age. Lovin ma life for a moment, WTF.

My newfound affection for my super cool (yet comfy and cute) steel-toed work boots coupled with my contract at the TTC is reviving (or at least reminding me of) my (long dormant, like so many things within me) love of industrial things. So many doors I want to go through! So many mucky things I want to check out. So many rusty things I’d love to take pictures of. I referred to it recently as getting my first industrial-photography hard-on in a very long time.

I didn’t want to leave the tunnels, coated in soot, the dearly departed squirrel (from who knows how many years ago) was no deterrence. After two days of being traumatized by stories of injury and death due to subway unsafety, either from not following rules, or due to those yet to be developed, had put me off some. But once I was down there, it was a blast.

I don’t mind how dirty my hood got. I struggled for a moment with not clearing off my nifty new clean boots after they were intentionally stepped on by a coworker. A rite of passage, another told me! He looks like Bowie’s long-lost cousin, so I actually couldn’t possibly be more touched. The name of his retro-punk band is fantastic too. Suicide pact survivors. I bow to him with respect. My respect isn’t the easiest thing to earn (or maybe it’s too easy, I’m not exactly sure, though I do know I’m picky and particular when it comes to deciding if someone is seriously cool).

Having a train go by less than a foot in front of your face is pretty invigorating. Only slightly terrifying, though if it was going faster I could see it being far moreso. Even at the 15 km/hr it got my heart rate up.

From other technical writers, to trainers, to the super green co-op students in my class, I have  enjoyed the many people I’ve already met. I like hearing their stories, how they got to where they are, their hopes and dreams (or what they once were) in addition to getting a sense of them personally. They all have unique personalities and it’s nothing like starting at a typical new office so far. The real work has yet to begin, and my real team yet to be met in the context of work (I’ve met a few of them already, me and my groundwork, anxiety’s best friend), but I’m hoping things keep rolling the way they are. Slick and smooth, or grimy and clunky, as they should be in a train-in-a-tunnel context, I suppose.

The Soft Moon has a new album out in February and a show in March.

Preoccupations have a new album in March and a show in April.

Cold Cave and Trust may also have new releases too.

And I’m doing my first review in well over half a year for these newcomers to the art-of-old-made-new game. They may not look the part at all, bunch of super-young super-hipsters, but they’ve got the sound down pat. Smack dab.

So there is no shortage of new atmopsheric, dark and gothy post-punk! Let’s just hope it doesn’t suck. A lot of these artists are on their third or fourth album, and they’ve managed to continue to hold a place in this difficult listener’s black heart thus far. All this coupled with my industrial looking wedge rubber boots is making this really feel like my industrial year.

Who says you need people to have fun? (Me, usually, actually).

Thankfully I’m well equipped for this industrial age, drenched in perpetual lonliness and cloaked in black and grey. And it’s a true Canadian winter, so painful cold and all-around dreary days abound. Dark tends to be my light, so I’m hoping for a bright (figuratively!) year ahead. Of course, this may not last, so I thought I should commemorate the sentiment while the surge of joy and optimism coarse through me, like that poor squirrel before the 600 V power traction rail got to him. Yeah I know what it’s called. It’s not always the third rail, so that term is inaccurate apparently. It’s cool knowing such things. I really look forward to learning more and hope I manage to crush my job and win my boss’s heart over with my wit, charm, and stellar work ethic. Just need to find my way around that nastiest of nasty softwares.

In a lot of ways, I’m more alone than I’ve ever been, and longer than I’ve ever been as such. Yet things seem to be turning around. Ramping up. Dare I say, soaring?

Here’s to hope (and dread and gloom too). The higher the heights, the harder the crash, bang, (ka)boom. But for now, I’ll coast along up here, trying to battle my usual theme song. Doing a decent job, but I’m old (and wise enough?) to recognize that it’s early. Yet.

 

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