“The flavours are so simple but they’re so good” by Julia on her bed at oZu


Friday September 19, 2014
11:38pm
5 minutes
from Jess’ phone conversation

Sometimes it’s tricky, you know, because you’re staring at an entire counter covered in makeup. You’re following? It’s a metaphor but it doesn’t have to be so keep that in mind. And you’re looking at it, right, this whole table top lined with lipsticks and mascaras and eyeshadows, and you’re thinking, but how am I supposed to choose which colour I use? You ask that to yourself because you’re going out for a special night or something and it’s totally acceptable
if you dress up more than usual and get creative. So you’re with me? You can’t help yourself but you don’t want to help yourself. You just want to indulge. You don’t even choose a couple colours to narrow down. You instead, now stay close, put them all on. You layer the greens and the purples and you mix the turquoise with the gold. Your face is a blank canvas and you’re in love all of a sudden with how you look in excess. You know? You+you=worried that you’ll never have that chance again.

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“Questions about living” by Julia in the oZu Theatre


Thursday September 18, 2014
12:49pm
5 minutes
a Word document

Oh those are the big ones and the best ones and the hard ones and the important ones. Those ones that keep you up at night… “When will my mind grow an extra pair of hands?” “When will my soul sprout wings and soar?” “When will true silence stop breaking my heart?” “When will the truth stop stirring my spirit?”
Those ones with the capital W and the agonizing honesty. Those ones with the empty lined paper begging to be filled. Those ones with the armour melting at the seams.

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“Questions about living” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday September 18, 2014
11:15am
5 minutes
a Word document

Sometimes I have pretty serious questions about living. Often, they concern Instagram. Okay. I apologize in advance if this turns “rant-y” cuz that’s not usually my style but sometimes girl’s gotta preach… AMIRIGHT?

Okay. So. I’m considering taking a ‘Gram break. (That sounds like a drug break. No way that’s happening! Haha! Just kidding! I’ve been clean since May, bitches!) I’m sick and Rick (I don’t know what that means but it’s strangely humorous to me) and tired of all you fakers posting picture of your fucking SALAD. Like, I know you be eating all the Smartfood! And your slices of cucumber?! And your half an orange?!!! LIKE, REALLY?!? And then, as if that fruit and vegetable isn’t annoying enough, what you write underneath really puts me over the GD edge. “#healthy” “#myskinisglowing” “#LIVECLEAN” GAG ME. GAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGG ME.

Not to be like, negative, cuz that’s not what this Tumblr is about, yo. Also, not to be gangsta, but that’s just, like, how this is coming out today. Funny, right? I don’t want my words to be empty so I’m gonna take a break from it. From the scrolling and the trolling (basically I’m Shakespeare) and the, like, liking shit I actually think is dumb! I’m gonna stop getting stuck in a vortex of all the photos by ex-boyfriends step-sister liked! I can’t get that time back, bitches!

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“Stufo (agg) fed up (with)sick (of) ” by Sasha at Great Dane Coffee


Wednesday September 17, 2014 at Great Dane Coffee
1:32pm
5 minutes
Availiardi Dizionario Italiano-Inglese

You keep asking me what I wanna be for Halloween and I’m all, “It’s more than a month away! I have no idea!” And you’re all, “You should be a sexy lumberjack!” And I’m all, “What the fuck?”

Sometimes there’s nothing to say and we’re eating cereal and staring into our bowls like they are Crystal balls with all the answers.

“You should be a witch!”

Should I be offended by that, you guys??!

I’m sitting on the toilet, trying to dig my Diva Cup out of my cooch and it’s like a fucking terrible birdsong – “What do you want to be for Halloween?” Sung, by you, tone-deaf, to the tune of Nobody Solves A Problem Like Maria. I’m all, “What?!” And you’re all, “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens! Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens! Brown paper packages tied up with strings!” And I’m all, “Are these… costume ideas?! WTF!”

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“You steal the water from the valley” by Sasha at her desk


Tuesday September 16 2014
11:35am
5 minutes
Screenplay
Sid Field


I would pickle you if it didn’t mean you’d have to be dead. I would pickle you, just as you are, and you’d keep your shape like the best cucumber does. I’d leave out the garlic and the dill. I’d want you just as you are. I would pickle you if it didn’t mean I’d have to stop hearing your songs. See, those songs are the key to my unfolding. When you play that banjo my heart breaks and is whole and breaks and is the most whole she has ever been. I’d pickle you with your hat on, because I love that hat, I bought you that hat at that stand in Brooklyn.

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“The professional sailors” by Sasha on her couch


Monday September 15, 2014 at Ozu
9:42pm
5 minutes
from http://www.capri.net

I’m trying to be honest about the things that I’m not good at. I want to get better. I want to be better, I’m trying. I’m trying to be honest and I’m trying to be better, and I’m trying to stop repeating myself so much.
I’m not good at having forty dollars of gelato in the freezer. I just want to eat it. But, like, I love it, so I don’t want to tell you not to bring it home because that means no one wins…
I’m not good at math.
I’m not good at actually reading the “Classics”.
I’m not good at jealousy.
I’m not good at being sick. I’m a huge baby. I whine. I degrade myself by reading People magazine online and watching romantic comedies on Netflix.
I’m not good at communicating when my heart is in my throat and you’re there, with your eyes like deep pools of knowing, with your direct way, with your face, that face.
I’m not good in boats. I’ll puke or cry or both.

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“For the Canadian Girl!” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday September 14, 2014
10:02pm
5 minutes
From a note from a new friend

He hands me a glass of wine and says, “for the Canadian girl!”
I smile because this kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.
I smile because he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and the subway doors aren’t closing between us.
I smile because he looks at me like I am his secret.
We cheers.
He says, “How long have you been here?”
I forget, but say, “Two weeks.”
He says, “You like?”
I do, and I say, “Yes!”
He smiles because he’s never seen someone with darker skin than his in the flesh.
He smiles because he’s been waiting for the moment since the day Lucia Marzano refused to kiss him.
He smiles because I am here, now and we are both ready.
There’s a silence, but it’s not heavy, it’s buoyant like a red helium balloon.

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