“We finally took the plunge : )” by Sasha at UBC

Wednesday November 19, 2014
5 minutes
Bagels & Beans
Ronald Bakker

A mosaic of responses to Leanne and Joshua’s mass text that reads:

We finally took the plunge :)


What does that mean? You’re pregnant?

:) :) :)

Call me. Right now. I’m having a panic attack.

You guys are too much!


I LOVE YOU GUYS. SO HAPPY FOR YOU. (what are you talking about?)

Another text message from Leanne and Joshua:

We bought a trailer! On Cortez!


Why would you do that?

But Leanne just got that job in Victoria? Why aren’t you just moving to Victoria?


That’s amazing! Coming to visit ASAP!

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“on which the blues would have sounded” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday November 18, 2014
5 minutes
A write up on the photograph “Interior”
Peter Sakaer

Magda was one of those people that cracks her knuckles. She loves pugs. Or, she used to love pugs. You know when people find out that you love something and then all of a sudden it’s that one thing, all the time, all the places? Pug soap, pug tea-towels, pug T-shirts, pug posters, pug blankets. And then, on her twenty seventh birthday, her mother, bless her heart, shows up with a pug puppy. Eight weeks old, cross eyed, velvet and wheezy. Magda starts to laugh and then, cry. She feels misunderstood. She feels silly for not speaking up sooner. She holds the puppy, falling asleep on her lap. Her mother, bless her heart, does not know what to do, so she pours them both a glass of wine. The puppy pees on Magda.

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“the volcanoes of Central Africa” by Sasha on her couch

Monday November 17, 2014
5 minutes
Sebastiao Salgado

Do not bring a fucking cheese plate, Jerry! Bring, bring… I don’t know bring a bean dip or something. Bring some damn tortilla chips. He can’t eat cheese, for shit’s sake. It’s his goddamn graduation party! Oh, and did you get him a present? JERRY! Are you fucking kidding me?! This is – … No! You can’t hang up on me! I – …

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Jerry. I really don’t appreciate that you hung up on – … Okay. Look. It means a lot to Ken that you and I both be there today and if we can’t be civil then… I’m sorry. I’m sorry about snapping there but, I’m, I’m stressed out and the cleaning lady cancelled and the house is a mess and thirteen people are coming over in forty five minutes and – … Shit, shoot… Ken’s on the other line. Jerry, can I count on you for the damn bean dip? And that you’ll have a gift for him? He’s into poetry. Did you know that? Poetry. Like, Leonard Cohen. He’s reading Leonard Cohen.

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“So sweet and so intense” by Sasha on the walk home

Sunday November 16, 2014
5 minutes
from a text from Bec

You write a decent pop song
But that’s not a mystery
You make a good cup of coffee
But that’s not rocket science
You sound a bit like Bruce Springsteen
But so do a handful of other guys
You have a moustache
It’s November
Big whoop
You burn good incense
I’ll give you that
Innocence and spicy fingers tracing trajectories on the window
You know how to make a fire
Helpful at the end of the world
You know how to make a fire
But I’ve got the matches
So sweet
I’ve got the matches tucked in my bra
Leaving small red stars on my breasts
Leaving imprints like veins
Like leaves have

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“oyster” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Saturday November 15, 2014
5 minutes
from a London Transport card

I can see it in your eyes – the fatigue, the woods, heavy on your lids like shadow. You roll a cigarette. You don’t light it. You just hold it, using it like an orchestral conductor. I catch you watching yourself move, in the mirror. When we go out to the store for eggplant and bread, you wrap a scarf high on your face. “Ready for battle,” you say. I can see it in your eyes – it’s better here, but it’s not the best, you’re still dancing in the clouds, high above me, my feet glued to the sidewalk, but moving.

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“the volcanoes of Central Africa” by Julia at Coffee Company, Amsterdam

Monday November 17, 2014 at Coffee Company
5 minutes
Sebastiao Salgado

The volcanoes of Central Africa,
The skies of a tiny nameless mountain town in Italy,
The hot springs of Iceland,
The pancakes of Amsterdam.
I can’t live long enough to feel all the feels,
See all the views,
Dance all the out of body experiences.
I am pocketing tiny pieces of it all.
I will tie a bow to their tails and wish them off into the wind when I have enough to tell a story.
When I’m content enough with the new shape my heart has taken, the new form my mind now lives in, the new size my compassion has grown to. There is something magical about it here. Here in the new jar of my human understanding.

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“So sweet and so intense” by Julia at Katerina and Ben’s

Sunday November 16, 2014
5 minutes
from a text from Bec

There’s a little love left over in his pocket
He is saving it for later
He is waiting to need it
He told her on the phone, no I’m out of stock; there’s not much left on the shelves, I’m afraid
Because he didn’t want to give it away
He didn’t want to be without it at all
So he keeps it and holds it there
Loosely so it won’t get smushed
But tight enough to make sure it isn’t going anywhere
He is saving it for when he runs out
For when the grey skies are a little too cold and the radiator is broken
He is keeping it close by
A hand swipe away
For when it calls him
And he’s ready enough to answer

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