“We need drugs” by Julia on her couch

Wednesday March 27, 2019
8:02pm
5 minutes
A quote by Wendell Berry

Let’s get through the wedding, the heartache, the backseat, the rain.

Give me drugs and I will write you the world’s worst poem, but my heart will be honest. Does anyone want that?

You said earlier the way I see the world is authentic and that’s why you love me.
I said, what do you mean, and you said I don’t filter things to make them better, and I said am I mean? You said no. That was a good answer.

We need some shrooms for the dance party in a couple weeks. That would be smart wouldn’t it? Find the light in the room and float to it?

The third time I did them I wrote the best song I’ve ever felt. It was full of pain and lonely but, hey I went all the way in and came back out again. In retrospect I could have done them with a friend but I was curious about what I would do on my own. I danced with the moon. I don’t know if a companion would have yielded the same results.

By: Julia 11/08/2018 Uncategorizedadvice, bright, daily, five minutes, growing, momentum, moon, movement, pocket sized story, poem, poetry, rap, river, running, stilnnes, trust, unedited, wind, Writing, youth

“for young students who can’t sit still” by Julia at her desk

Thursday November 8, 2018
11:32am
5 minutes
From the Beginning
Chelsey Burnside

I have a couple cures up my sleeve
for those days with the knocking knees
Where you can’t sit still even if you please
cause the mind is a buzz with a billion bees
I know what to do when you can’t cut through
the noise that’s been making you feel annoyed
so listen up here it’s the answer it’s the key
for those bumping hearts that are bursting free
Keep moving then if the calm won’t stay
it’s the right time to run if your legs shaped that way
there’s a river to be imitated
if your hunger got you far from sated
you can roll in and out
till your bones get tired and eventually
your nerves will expire
so run like the wind and kiss like the moon
the silence will be there when you’re
ready to tune in your inner ear to the inner light
and until then just keep growing your bright.

By: Sasha 09/03/201809/10/2018 creative writing, ongoing writing practice, poem, poetry, short poem, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectbirth, herbs, moon, womb

“These are the demons you wanted” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Monday September 3, 2018
5 minutes
7:41am
FtM
Kierst Wade

You asked for this when you were in your mother’s womb
You asked to be wrapped in colts foot and birch bark
You asked to be burned and wrung out and lifted high
You asked for the stars to be in Aries
the moon to full
You asked for twelve trusted women to flank you
when you emerged
naked and screaming and howling at the Gods

You asked to be tested
to be tried
to be true

You asked for all of this by choosing them
and then you asked again when you chose him
and here you are asking this newness
this dawn
and you asked again for the grace to
rise

“everything is ending” by Julia at the studio

Monday June 18, 2018
1:14pm
5 minutes
A Visit from the Goon Squad
Jennifer Egan

Good timing. I was about to flip my shit.
Who do I flip my shit toward, anyway? Is there
someone out there who has the necessary skills to
deal with shit being flipped at them?
Do they specialize in flipping shit back over or something?
It’s a good thing that everything is ending.
because I am not sure how much more beginning I can take.
New life, new friends, new ideas about my eyebrows.
This shit takes time to build and see and I think what is
worse is that it does not take long to flip, just long to
decide to flip it. Flip the shit I mean, If I wasn’t being clear.
Things are ending and the new moon is like, Yo, do your new thing.
We are all new. We are all brand new babies sucking on the nipple of life
hoping there’s enough milk to keep us from crying our heads off.
That’s what the new moon says. I swear to god she is full of shit herself
but like, it’s the moon, and she may be royalty but she’s not an asshole.
She doesn’t think she’s better than us.
I like my moon to have a little bit of attitude anyway.
She’s not pretending to be better than us new babies trying to navigate
this ridiculous existence. She sees it all, so she knows how common
the scrambling around is.
And now that everything is ending I can finally take a shit
instead of piling shit on shit and getting buried in a world
of my own misguided making.
I’m still talking metaphoric shit here, cause I never really let
that whole concept go. I’m working on making some more specific shit.
That’ll be good when it all ends and has to begin again.

By: Julia 06/16/2018 Uncategorizedboss, city, creative writing, daily, dip, food, hungry, important, moon, night, patio, poem, poet, poetry, reflection, these five minutes, watermelon, write

“itching for Presidency” by Julia on S, G,and E’s patio

Saturday June 16, 2018
11:03pm
5 minutes
The Politician
H.L. Mencken

Watch the sky turn from velvet to suede
The city, whatever the opposite of itching, below
It is easier than it was the last time
The last time I wasn’t myself and still they loved me
The last time I was eating scraps of pizza and noodles and
the one most lie me told her aunt that I ate A LOT of food
I didn’t mean to be so hungry
I was worried about dying and leaving them dead
I am worried about their parents and I wonder where they are

The waxing crescent moon is keeping score tonight
Making sure I don’t rely on all my usual charms
The city can look so beautiful when the light hits it right
I only eat the watermelon cut into slices
I only take a blueberry yogurt and a chicken finger
I am the boss and they know it but they do not care
And I do not make them care
I make them feel important
I tell them they are

By: Julia 05/20/2018 Uncategorizedbleeding, blood, creative writing, dip, five minutes, menstruation, moon, naive, pain, pregnancy, ready, scare, short story, unedited, Writing

“with its blood-red brick” by Julia on Salt Spring Island

Sunday May 20, 2018

11:09pm

The Virgin Cure

Ami McKay

Both of us are bleeding and craving steak. You told me twelve years ago that eating it would make my period come after a pregnancy scare. You say you still sort of believe that.

I think maybe I don’t have to worry about that for better or worse, complicatedly.

Upstairs it sounds like the devil is playing back your promise to him in reverse. I don’t move because I don’t need him coming for me next. All that stamping on his grave I did. All that burning chocolate.

It wasn’t possible the last time I was late. I had to rack my brain to make sure I wasn’t forgetting something. Someone. When it came I looked in the blood to see if the start of a living thing was in there, pooling at the bottom of the toilet bowl. It made me feel better to see it disappear even with a thick string painting it jelly fish before it sunk.

By: Julia 05/18/2018 Uncategorizedcreative writing, daily, dead, death, dip, kill, Lord, moon, rebirth, rebuild, self, these five minutes, unedited

“Let me die, dear Lord” by Julia on Salt Spring Island

Friday May 18, 2018
10:22pm
5 minutes
The Birth House
Ami McKay

I am giving up my sad boots and asking for something a little less heavy. I want to tip toe toward you and maybe we can all quiet the floor. I want us to be happy. I don’t know how to make that sound better. No metaphors. No regrets. Happy and whole. You can take the old me and kill it. Ask someone if you need to use a particular tool to save the rest. What knife would the good Lord use? Let that one sing her last song at the moon and go gently into the earth. Only death can make room for new life. Only goodbye to sorrow can rebuild.

“we were exhausted” by Julia at J, W, and A’s house

Thursday, May 10, 2018
11:08pm
5 minutes
To The Beach
Brian Doyle

It was as if time travelled back into the clock and left us there, happy
The only thing we were waiting for was the still frame photograph of our lives once lived

At the end of the day there was a host of us bent over at the hip
hard and fast kiss at the moon, and a thank you brushing the cloud
We have lived here once, echoing like the faint buzz of a ghost pepper bleeding out from the lips
a lasting like this one and we were a donation
a giving of our bodies from one open wound to another
and we did not waver
we did not ask for cotton swabs or for distilled gin
We drank at the quiet like a dream coming home for the first time
We knew aching the way a mother of seven might.

OUR FORMULA

1. Inspiration “dip” (find a phrase, word, image or audio clip arbitrarily in a source of our choosing).

2. Set the timer to five minutes.

3. Write (without editing).

4. Share.

“Invigorate with peppermint” by Julia in Amanda’s bathroom

By: Julia 05/19/2019

Uncategorized5 minutes, creative writing, cure, five minutes, hangover, makeup artist, MuA, peppermint oil, short story, short writes short reads, these five minutes, unedited, Writing

Sunday May 19, 2019
11:42pm
5 minute
Trader Joe ‘s Tea Tree Tingle Shampoo

so I was hungover, right, first day on set, fucking bush league. I didn’t think anyone would notice, right, I wasn’t puking or anything you know, just tired, bags under my eyes. The make-up artist asks how I feel. I say fine. she says she can smell my skin. I’m like, good for you. she tells me, do you need something for your head, and I’m like why do you have something? then she pulls out some peppermint oil, rubs it on my wrists. I feel it tingle inside my arms and i’m okay with it. then she puts some on my head and things start looking up immediately. I don’t know how she knows but she knows. and I’m glad she knows. and i know i’m not the only one she’s seen. she has it in her kit for a reason.

“The emotional sensory radar of the infant” by Julia on Amanda’s couch

Saturday May 18, 2019
10:01am
5 minutes
Scattered Minds
Gabor Maté M. D

smiling at him I am smiling
at him and he is smiling
at me and we are seeing now

I am sad on the inside I
put him down for a minute
I don’t want him to see my sad from the inside out
I want him to feel alive love, the process of reacting and being present

I respond to his tiny face and his tiny laugh and his
squeals

I try to heal my insides before I pick him up again It is lifelong

I want to love him but I am
diatracted by stress
I want to see him but I am looking somewhere else.
He knows
He knows me by my smell
by the impetous behind authentic smile
He knows when I am simply using the same mouth muscles to mimic a feeling and he is sad if I am sad and he is sad if I am there but not fully
This small heart
he is smarter than me
He is not yet scrambled
naive, easily fooled into a love that isn’t.

“me as an individual” by Julia on the GO bus

Friday May 17, 2019
10:46am
5 minutes
Overheard on the GO

see i’m going in, right
diving deep, losing sleep,
dreaming more, right
when i go in, i go all the
way in, trust my heart can
swim even if my legs never
learned how
see i’m on the hunt now,
gentle lion seeking shade now, tired tail and pink pawed, finding it within now
i want more pathways, more
sideways, more what ifs, more expansion, and i do this: little tongue kiss, inside out fist, i’m going all the way
if i can land myself at the bottom of the well then
i might come up with new eyes and
see you deeply too
cause i am myself an not individual, i am everything and you

“Alabama” by Julia at J and R’s kitchen table

By: Julia 05/16/2019

Uncategorized2019, abortion, abortion laws, ache, Alabama, America, backward, blood, children, fear, felony, five minutes, girls, honesty, law, little, menstruation, protector, rape, scared, unedited, wolverine, worry, Writing, young

Thursday May 16, 2019
7:17pm
5 minutes
http://www.thecut.com

I don’t know what to say. I screamed already. In the presence of my 7-month
old nephew. I didn’t realize until it was too late. I think I scared him.
We’re all scared. To think of a child having to go through more than she
already had forced upon her. This world. Why are we sliding backward? Why
is science and medicine and knowledge progressing and the only thing staying
the same, stubborn, stuck in the mud, is the law.
Alabama. Goddamn.
Heaven forbid our girls get their periods young. Heaven forbid our girls
find an adult worth trusting and who won’t expose their tiny human hearts
to a pack of wolverines, hungry from tasting all the blood they’ve already bled.
We are not moving toward the future with expansion. We are not moving at all.

I don’t know what to say.

“half-way dressed” by Julia in R’s studio

By: Julia 05/15/2019

Uncategorized5 minutes, clothing, daily, dip, everything, heartbeat, heat, Inspiration, intimate, james bay, Julia Pileggi Poetry, lyrics, moment, music, peer pressure, poet, poetry, relationsship, romance, sensual, sex, sexual, shirts, Song, undressed, unedited, writer

Wednesday May 15, 2019
7:20am
5 minutes
Peer Pressure
James Bay Ft. Julia Michaels

There’s a sugar cube in your voice
All the words you don’t say
you’re humming to me, baby, I can feel it
and I want you to want me this way forever

There’s nothing I’d rather do, skin on skin
with our built in heating system
want to keep our sweat kissing forever, babe

This shirt is leaving after this sentence
yours on the floor like they’re keeping each other company
I want to hear your heartbeat in my sleep
clock strikes another minute spent in
this moment wanting only you

Take my mouth and fill it with your favourite
song, sing into my tongue with the slow
burn you’re famous for
If I could find this in the afterlife
I would take you with me and leave everything
else behind, babe

Take my smooth and find your place in it
I’ll be waiting
I’ll be right here in it

“pretty sure I came that way” by Julia on the Megabus

By: Julia 05/14/2019

Uncategorized5 minutes, creative writing, death, fiction, five minutes, memory, mother, mother's day, remembering, short story, short writes short reads, these five minutes, unedited, visit, Writing, years

Tuesday May 15, 2019
10:37am
5 minutes
Overheard on the Megabus

I didn’t think of her on Sunday, Mother’s day, which would have been the day.
She was here and there but I didn’t light the candle.
She enters the dining room on any given day. She doesn’t reserve her visits for media recognized calendar celebrations.
She’s been gone for 22 years and the missing doesn’t go away. It’s not always at full volume but I feel her without trying that it sometimes helps she’s so quiet.
She tells me things I need to remember:take the pills, leave the house, ask for help, ask for belp.
She would stock my fridge cause she knew I would starve if it were ip to me.
I taste her in evey linguni noodle. In every spoon of sauce.

“conducted his own laboratory experiments” by Julia at her mom’s dining table

By: Julia 05/13/2019

Uncategorizedanimals, connections, daughter, espresso, essence, experiments, five minutes, heritage, Italian, Italy, joournalist, Julia Pileggi Poetry, kitchen, lineage, medicine, mother, nonna, offering, pack, poem, poet, poetry, questions, record, research, roots, study, tribe, unedited, Writing, zia

Monday May 13, 2019
2:51pm
5 minutes
The Flouride Deception
Christopher Bryson

In the laboratory (kitchen) my mother is filling
the espresso machine with more beans.
She is on the phone with her sister in Italy,
speaking in dialetto and switching to English
when it’s easier to explain. I am conducting my
own experiment about which Animal is aligned
with my authentic essence and which medicine
I should take care to recognize as an offering
to the world who needs it. I am asking which
animals do I reject? I asked her earlier, and she
said snakes. In Italy there are snakes all over
the place. I saw my first one in the mountain town
where my mother grew up and where my nonna lived.
There are a few more experiments to participate in,
the animal of my family, the tribe that I belong to.
I’ll have to ask more questions, write down more
findings and one day draw a map with all the right
tree roots connecting. We all have a specimen to
study. Some inner worlds become one and when they
do I want to be able to notice them. I want to
vibrate buzz with the truth reflected around me. I want

to arrive and stay arriving with my heart out, collecting.

“They indicated a void” by Julia at Amanda’s island

By: Julia 05/12/2019

Uncategorizedbelief, daily, dip, feeling, heart, inside, Julia Pileggi Poetry, knowing, nothing, open mind, opinion, others, poem, poet, poetry, results, something, spirit, tests, unedited, unsolicited, void

Sunday May 12, 2019
10:28am
5 minutes
Become What You Are
Alan Watts

They indicated a void inside me
I told them they were wrong
I said this feels more like a burial
than a nothing and they told me
that couldn’t be
They’ve run the tests, they’ve conducted
the study and the findings are here
There Is A Nothing
Here I am wondering now about the nothing
It does not feel like nothing
It feels like more
More than nothing is something, isn’t it?
They said the results are accurate
What could be missing then?
Inside me, where I know I feel everything
and not nothing
not nothing even though they say that’s what this is
A void, then, a real negative space
What Is This Lack You See, I ask them and
they shake their heads, there this nothing
A void is where the something should be
a hole in the spirit or heart or
whatever it is inside that communicates the feeling
I say it again, There Is A Something
A Feeling
A Knowing
A Something
How can they say they do not see
when I am sure
I have never been more sure
Who is the they?
Did I ask for this test, for this opinion?
Can I refuse the offering of a Nothing
A void
When inside I hear it
building and thumping

“You know you got the wrong ticket” by Julia on the Megabus

Saturday May 11, 2019
10:47am
5 minutes
Said to me by the bus driver

When mistakes are made it is often a result of lack of sleep, fury, or living in a dream.
I know this because I have made choices in all of these a scenarios and mistakes occurred.
I have been lucky to have kind people make room for my mistakes. They understand humans do this because likely they’ve done this.
Mistakes can be made and the outcome can stay the same.
That is when gratitude comes in. That is when I practice my thank you on the ride so the driver knows how much good he did by making room for my mistake.
In this instance, making the mistake did not hurt anybody.
It did not change the outcome.
It did, however offer perspective in the form of mild surprise and embarrassment.
It reminded me to be awake before making choices.

“Exactly how they want you to be” by Julia in J’s Attic

By: Julia 05/10/2019

Uncategorizedadults, afraid, allowed, apperances, children, daily, dip, dolls, father, fictionalized, girls, mother, nightmare, permission, quiet, short story, silence, speaking, still, story, talks, unedited, white, words

Friday May 10, 2019
9:49pm
5 minutes
Martin John
Anakana Schofield

She sits, pretty, mouth closed, because pretty
She is 7, going on 8, she is the middle child
Her younger sister is wearing white beside her
She is wearing white
Her sister youngest is beside her wearing white
They are all to be seen, not heard, no peeps, no sound
Mother does the talking
Mother always does the talking
Mother talks circles around Father
Father says little but is feared most
She is sitting, not speaking, no peeps, wondering
Am I Allowed To Go To The Bathroom?
Am I Allowed To Ask If I Can Go To The Bathroom?
Am I Allowed To Need To Use The Bathroom?
The clock ticks a slow death, a burn, a punishment
She is counting everything she knows how to count:
chickens, lashings, siblings, six of each
times she woke up from being unconscious:
three, and one she is not remembering
The adults are eating, maybe laughing, but none of them see
They don’t see three pretty little dolls sitting on the couch
Three pretty little dolls, dolled up for the sake of looking at
Three pretty dolls too afraid to move or be heard
She sits still with her hands clasped in her lap, knuckles itching
The way a nightmare might

“Best Western Plus” by Julia on the GO bus

Thursday May 9, 2019
7:54pm
5 minutes
Best Western

Best Western
Plus good sex in a gross room
Plus funny story
Plus memories
Plus strange mattress stain
Plus cute bathroom spiders

Best Western
Plus affordable trip
Plus more weird walls
Plus a bible missing the book of Genesis
Plus chatty front desk
Plus ratty pillow cases

Best Western
Plus lucid dream
Plus the first time someone says I Love You
Plus the first time someone needs to go get ice
Plus the chair no one has a purpose for
Plus the pens they use to tattoo a heart on their ring fingers

“those of us who are willing to fall” by Julia in R’s Studio

By: Julia 05/08/2019

Uncategorizedbrene brown, calendar, daily, day, difficult, dip, dream, earth, fall, grace, grass, Julia Pileggi Poetry, motivation, new day, poem, poet, poetry, rise, structure, sun, sunshine, these five minutes, vulnerability, wednesday, wondering

Wednesday May 8, 2019
9:35am
Rising Strong
Brené Brown

I have felt the ground under my two feet without shoes on
and I go bumbling around some days with shoes on
but on days where the sun pokes his tired head out of the clouds
and bathes the room in a light that I did not know I needed until it returned,
the earth feels harder to land on
I do not know how this works or if some dreams hold tighter to the
sleep left in my bones, keeping me locked in a bed that isn’t
moving me forward
I do not know if the sun is in cahoots with my calendar or the
internal clock that has been set to Someday Soon but Not Today
I have intertwined my toes in grass blades so thick I could
swear the whole field was trying to keep me forever
Why is this day, dressed in all the right orange, sounding worse
in my mind, a suggestion I could very well do without?
Is it the dream then, likely accomplice, that wants me more
than a Wednesday ever could?
Is it the fall from structure or schedule or grace?
Is it all in the moments before I rise again, where I must
decide to keep getting up?

“to inspire his team” by Julia in J’s attic

Tuesday May 7, 2019
9:41pm
5 minutes
From a text

well the first thing would be to see his team
see his team, learn their names
names learned? check
seeing team, know each one, can have conversation with any of them
about their families?
know enough about their home life?
uncheck, box currently empty
can smile?
yes, check
don’t need a family tree to smile at someone
smiling leads to inspiration
smiling leads to conversations about family
ah, okay, inspiration comea before family
see team, check, know names, check, smile, check, inspiration?
leads to
leads
okay lead by smile
no?
lead by example
be the leader
smile

“Dice Sums” by Julia in the Writer’s Craft class at EDSS

By: Julia 05/06/2019

Uncategorizedaddition, beyonce, daily, dice, dip, gamble, grade 12, high school, life, math, me, miracles, numbers, parts, sums, tree, unedited, which me, whole, writer's craft, Writing, you

Monday May 6, 2019
9:18am
5 minutes
from a math text book

I roll the dice and you are the answer
1+1= 2 and Beyonce said that so I think it’s good
I think she was right although she didn’t write that
She has a lot of people adding words here and there and
I believe in this gift. She employs 1+1+1+1+1 billion people
Thank You Beyonce. The sum of our rolling is you.

I roll the dice and the sum is you
Is me
I am the thing I want to roll the dice for-
I gamble on myself
I show up, I believe in miracles-and what if I’m the answer?
I might not wake up at 4am but I am still singing in my sleep
Last night I was swept up in the arms of a tree vine and I felt
like my whole life was added up in that
First breath+ last.

I am 1 part language
1 part body
1 part swear word
1 part teddy bear
Add me up
Roll the dice
See which me you get.

“it is like a stage fight” by Julia on Amanda’s couch

Sunday May 5, 2019
9:09pm
5 minutes
The Book
Alan Watts

I do not like this. Stage fighting shouldn’t scare me to the point of distraction, nor remove me for being too fake. Who is in charge of the execution? Is it lack of fear, is it abundance of trust?
That’s what I don’t like about it. The absence of trust in front of all of us like it wasn’t wholly necessary. Good lighting sneaks up on you as the container for the room and if it’s good you won’t notice and if you don’t notice, then you’re in the moment, on the ride, following the thread, chasing the sequence because it becomes your only desire. Good stage fighting is the same. It is part of the story, it aids, it allows. If you do not trust and you show me this I will lose my light. I will watch as the part of me that wanted to join you, withers, pulling me out. It’s not my job to keep the thing together, only to follow it, to go with you, to be where you are. And where are you? What is the thing holding you away from this bravery? Why are you on stage in front of me if you left it at home this time? I want so many things but I want this now because I know the feeling. I know it so deep. I want to be where you are.

“Disturbing a primordial silence” by Julia at Amanda’s table

Saturday May 4, 2019
5:14pm
5 minutes
The Secret Language of Symbols
David Fontana

Note: It was earlier than the first day, a lingering at the base of my spine.
There was little before, and then there was this.

I sit with nothing on, the wind blowing my tits to the side,
and somewhere beneath the noise lives the rumble.
There is proof of existing here. It feels berry ripe,
rasp or straw. The inclusion of blue feels appropriate.
Sky, ocean, baby.
With this skin, I thee wed. And the moment of quiet erupted.
It burst with red and tiny seeds, it turned the inside of
the dream a shade of fallen pink, leftover from the spill.
I sit with nothing on so nothing gets in the way of my heart beat.
This metronome paces itself against the under currant.
It joins me in the swell of chaos like a passion united.

“calls forth one’s muse.” By Julia on the pullout couch

Friday May 3, 2019
6:19am
5 minutes
deepstorydesign.com

hello I am calling you!
from the depths of my soul
from the heart of my experience
from the flesh of my centre
where did you sleep last night?
in my wrist
in my mouth
in my womb?
I felt a pulsing in my dream
and all of my living
did you need more rest last night?
did you have an idea you wanted to share?
if you are waiting for me I am sorry I am late
I haven’t been myself
I’ve been lingering in the kitchen next to tired bodies
aching and i’ve been wearing them around
you may not recognize me with all this heavy in my bones

“it’s a space for lively discussion” by Julia in Rick’s studio

By: Julia 05/02/2019

Uncategorizedaddress, circle, daily, every day, five minutes, issue, juliapileggipoetry, practice, prepared, public speaking, ready, reheare, speak, truth, unedited, Writing

Thursday May 2, 2019
10:08pm
5 minutes
from a CBC e-mail

We’re in the circle and we’re all waiting
our turns to speak and I for one am happy
and I for one am excited to tell them

Yesterday something came up for me that
I will address and if I wait my turn I
will have the floor and when you have
the floor you have the room

Some of us aren’t speakers but some of
us have been practicing in the mirror
and all of this rehearsing is useful

If you are not prepared it’s best to
leave the circle speaking to those who
have taken the time to get ready

Yesterday something came up for me that
I will point out so that others can be
aware of it and so it doesn’t happen again

Yesterday something came up for me

The circle is where we get to share our
truths but if it’s not honest what’s the
point of opening your mouth to speak

It must improve the silence otherwise it
can not serve a purpose among others who
are listening with their ears wide open

Yesterday something came up for me
and now I am ready to speak about it

“ballet was fucking therapy” by Julia on the GO bus

By: Julia 05/01/201905/02/2019

Uncategorizedcouple, dance, dying, he, juliapileggipoetry, love, music, poem, poet, poetry, radio, She, slipping, Song, these five minutes

Wednesday May 1, 2019
5:54pm
5 minutes
from a text

She dances, He dances, it’s beautiful
It’s the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom on Sundays
He scoops her up and he dips her low
He sways her, she opens him, they let the music butter them smooth
She is slipping
He is slipping
This was never meant to happen
This was never meant to happen
This was never meant to happen
The song is low, or it’s stopped now
The radio is playing static fuzz and calling it sweet
The attic is no longer haunted
The floorboards are no longer empty
The tulips all died with their mouths wide open
screaming, begging
The corners are dusty
another couple moves in and buries the noise
The static fuzz is lingering in the attic
The attic is no longer haunted
she danced
he danced

“a wish for happiness” by Julia in Jessica’s attic

Tuesday April 29, 2019
10:22pm
5 minutes
A quote by the Dalai Lama

I wish for happiness the way I wish for
a seat sale to fly me back into the swell
of my mother’s longing. I wish for her
linguini and clam sauce above all other
things, and dad’s Shrimp With a Vengeance.
He does not make them the same way twice
and for the first time in my life I am happy
that I inherited that from him. Earlier I
told J that I didn’t know how I was going
to cut the potatoes until I put the knife
to one. She thought I was being self-
deprecating again, a trait I did not get
from him. If I have to trace it back, I’d
say I got it from my mother but hers has
gone away now since she started swearing.
I think I’m the one she got that from.
The first time I came home from theatre
school she was shocked at how easily
my tongue had turned to fucking mud.

“we are called to act” by Julia at YVR airport

By: Julia 04/29/2019

Uncategorized5 minutes, action, creative writing, faith, five minutes, leap, lecture, readiness, short story, short writes short reads, state of mind, talk, theory, these five minutes, unedited, Writing

Monday April 28, 2019
9:11pm
5 minutes
A quote by Starhawk

we made the plan before we were in the system of things
sometimes you have to jump off the ledge you’re on without knowing what’s next. we say sometimes, but it’s always this way. you can what if yourself into a dark
cloud, should have, wished you’d, but still, you’re not where you started. You’re here, wherever this is.
one might argue that it’s
closer to the future, closer to the dream, the light, yhe answer.
we are called to act often before we are ready. but since readiness is a state of mind we are either always or never ready. when we put it that way, choosing to be always ready feels like the more fruitful option.

“Mom had written bad checks” by Julia at her desk

By: Julia 04/28/2019

Uncategorizeddaily, dip, fiction, five minutes, Inspiration, judgement, mother, phone call, relationships, short reads, short writes, sisters, unedited, Writing, yelling

Sunday April 27, 2019
9:20pm
5 minutes
What Little She Had
Doug Crandell

“Okay so we’re back together but don’t tell Mom. She’ll flip her shit and I don’t need to see that women’s shit anywhere, do you?”
Lise was screaming on the phone to her sister, walking with pace.
“Why would I tell her when she doesn’t deserve to know? Because someone who can’t keep their hands to themselves and their opinions on a need to know basis doesn’t deserve to know.”
She was making giant circles in the lobby way, not stopping to see how her yelling was being received. Why would she? She had every right to be there, pacing, having a dramatic conversation about something important to her. So what if Lionel wasn’t the most successful car salesman. So what if he didn’t see himself working up the ladder to challenge his skills. Her mother wouldn’t know love if it slapped her upside the head. Who was she to even dare open her mouth about it.

“the moon hung full” by Julia at her desk

By: Julia 04/27/201904/28/2019

Uncategorizedanger, bias, brag, daily, dip, fiction, hide, history, judgement, loud, mother, poem, poetry, steal, thief

Saturday April 27, 2019
3:31pm
5 minutes
The Wandering Jew
David Slabotsky

she was bragging as she often does
her belly drooping over her jeans
as if she had stuffed something
down there, something she was
trying to hide
her anger was hard to ignore
since she liked making it other
people’s business
it was loud
and everywhere and fascinating
and severe
this time saying what she’d
managed to swipe from the
counter when that idiot
wasn’t looking
she got a box of Oreos and a bra
that didn’t even fit her
that seemed to make her the proudest
of all things, a thing that wouldn’t
even be useful
taking things just because she could
and because it would make more of a
story
A few of them were watching from nearby
making an assessment but they didn’t
see her life story so it felt natural
to be repulsed
they didn’t know the kind of home she
grew up in or that her first mother
didn’t want her very much

“becomes a junkyard beast” by Julia at her desk

Friday April 26, 2019
6:30am
5 minutes
Loving You Burns Like Shingles
Terri Kirby Erickson

In the swelter of August’s last days, Reid and Elliot bike their two speeds down to the lake.
Sirra and Jamie are already there, waiting.
Sirra is holding a blue bandanna, smudged with grease and soot.
Jamie isn’t looking up, and Reid starts to panic.
Elliot approaches slowly, worried about Reid who doesn’t usually show signs of fear.
Sirra passes the bandanna to Elliot, and there is a collective knowing.
Lusechee is gone.
Jamie start to sob, shoulders heaving, crumbling, heaving.
Sirra puts a hand out but nobody takes it.

“I still can’t see” by Julia on her bathroom floor

Thursday April 25, 2019
9:13pm
5 minutes
The Black Man Speaks
Langston Hughes

We got a professional to come in and I still can’t see my face in the mirror. It’s speculated to be a ghost situation. These are not my words but the professional’s. She thinks because I used to be able to see a reflection that there’s a ghost living in the mirror now. I’m telling her, maybe there’s something in me. And she says, yes like a ghost. And I’m thinking, no, more like a brick. Not a brick growing roses in the pit of my stomach. But a brick blocking everything in there from getting enough sun. Light is needed for a reflection. The professional doesn’t answer cause she’s tapping the pencil to her teeth and it looks like she’s busy making a clink sound. Clink clink. I think, she pulls it away slowly, you might be haunted by a ghost of your past self and you can’t see yourself because you don’t recognize someone so different.

We let other people fight their own battles.” By Julia at her desk

By: Julia 04/24/2019

Uncategorizedbirds, crow, daily, dip, ease, fictional, five minutes, good words, gratitude, juliapileggipoetry, morning, poetry, spring, squak, sunrise, unedited, warning, write, writer

Wednesday April 24, 2019
6:24am
5 minutes
A quote by Roxanne Gay

Bless! The return of the original format! OF EASE.
Before we curse them, let’s thank those birds, they know who they are, for being so protective of their babies. Maybe they don’t know none of us are after crow eggs,
because we can’t really do anything with them, but they perch stalkingly.
Surely other animals are a risk, need a warning, but outside our window, we hear them forming the chorus of summer mornings. We cannot be angry, although, believe me, we’ve tried.
It’s lighter now than it’s been. We’re up too so this day is not only for them. The crows. Thank you. I should say that again before I forget.
I wonder if they’re trying to tell us something important that we don’t already know:
Spring is a lie!
Hurry up!
Come check out this sunrise!
Okay, SPEAK. You have my full attention, I say, lighting another cigarette.
My mother would be proud of how much I am like her
even after she cautioned me not to be.

“a moment of time” by Julia at her desk

By: Julia 04/23/201904/24/2019

Uncategorizedage growing, birthday, celebration, dedication, five minutes, friendship, gift, greeting, juliapileggipoetry, long-distance, love, love letter, perfect, time, tribute

Tuesday April 23, 2019
9:00pm
5 minutes
Stepbrothers
Don Shewey

This, my love, is for you: I want to acknowledge your life. What a great gift. Isn’t that funny, that even on your birthday, you are still the one giving? I love you. I want to say that first in case I run out of time. I LOVE YOU! I wanted to yell that once so you could hear it all the way where you are. Where are you now? Taking a moment out of time and stringing it on a long chain to wear around your neck? You could do that. I think you could do anything. If I were there I’d say this to you, but hearing it so many times would get old. Here’s a good place to make a joke about age but I actually don’t find that funny at all. I find it inspiring. I’m so glad you are growing and knowing and finding yourself inside. What’s to laugh at about that? I’m not saying no laughter, cause let’s be real, your perspective is never boring. It’s perfectly dark. Perfectly edgy. Perfectly you. Happy birthday! I love you. Ah see, I would never run out.

“her notebook is reserved for” by Julia at her desk

By: Julia 04/22/201904/24/2019

Uncategorizeddreams, everything, exploration, freedom, juliapileggipoetry, letters, list poem, love, napowrimo, notebooks, poetry napowrimo, these five minutes, truth, unedited, writer, Writing

Monday April 22, 2019
8:44pm
5 minutes
You Are Our Witness
Debbie Urbanski

jotting down ideas
making lists:
grocery
to pack
to do
etcetera
recipes
things in point form, bullets, pew pew
asking questions
reminders
love notes
money coming in
ideas to revisit
songs
letters to self, also love
interviews
memorizing
story shaping
deep investigations of the heart
deep investigations of the mind
deep investigations of the body
reasons why
reasons why not
sketches made from spelling errors
secrets
swear words
memories
reliving dreams
letters never meant to send
penmanship practice
workshop plans
titles
the date
the time
Accountant information
poetry
timed writing
free writing
bad writing
good writing
new writing
risky writing
flow charts
calendars
gratitude

“no one can remember” by Julia at her desk

Sunday April 21, 2019
8:03pm
5 minutes
Anthem
Terese Svoboda

We reach back into our skulls for candy or god or something that smiles at the past of us. There are no guarantees for this existence and no one can remember every single warning sign. I don’t think that’s how it works. If we could then hindsight would be out of a job. It would be sad to see something imperative for lesson learning rendered useless.
It, is, after all, everyone’s biggest fear. We want our lives to have purpose, to affect change, to be worth writing down.

We want our children to need us, our parents to see us, and our friends to rely on us. And in turn we rely on them. It’s a cycle of life we would be silly to ignore. We need each other. We keep one another useful by our belief that we cannot navigate this realm alone. We were never designed to in the first place.

“no one can remember” by Sasha at her kitchen table

By: Sasha 04/21/2019

5 minutes, creative writing, five, five minute story, five minutes, ongoing writing practice, short writes short reads, these five minutes, Uncategorized, writer's block, writers, writing, writing practise, writing projectfive minutes

Sunday April 21, 2019
4:41pm
5 minutes
Anthem
Terese Svoboda

The worst of it has come and gone, or at least that’s what Norma says. When the virus spread across the state we knew that the world would never be the same. I was young then, twelve, barely a woman. Some can’t remember before the virus, before we counted our fingers and toes every morning, checked our bodies for marks and scabs. Who would be next? The government went down soon after, the virus reigning supreme. Norma says that God is still the highest power and that he has a plan for us, but I’m not so sure.

“because they don’t realize” by Julia at W and B’s table

Saturday April 20, 2019
8:57pm
5 minutes
Real Roger
Harold Ober

They’ll come home
Late
Shuffle the key in the door
and shush the boots crashing into each other

Shhh shhh
Go to sleep boots

They’ll fumble with the key house and the key ring and the key to the universe
At this hour, the key is water
They’ll fumble with the water
Pour it into a cup with the lights off

Shhh shhh this is gentle

And spill most of it onto the floor
They’ll sop up the accident
the almost
the not quite
Let the fridge door slam by mistake
They’ll tiptoe into the living room
remove their coat, floor,
bag, couch,
scarf, couch,
pants, floor

They’ll creak along the dead spots of hardwood and shift their bones around

Shhh shhhh almost

“because they don’t realize” by Sasha on her balcony

Saturday April 20, 2019
4:53pm
5 minutes
Real Roger
Harold Ober

How will I teach you how to love your body
in a world where a choir of voices sing
BE SMALL
HOLD IT IN
DON’T
STOP
YOU ARE TOO MUCH

deafening crescendo
coming from all sides
every time you leave home

at least that’s how it felt to me
often
sometimes
mostly

How will I teach you how to love your body
when the lineage of women hating themselves
runs as deep as the lineage
of love and water

That is my work
my task from the very first day

Strength and wisdom
in your muscles and bones
blood like fire
burning up towards a sky
that forgives all the hurt
carried in cells
all the shrinking

We will not shrink

You will hear me praise
how my body carried you
and made you who you are
and fed you and carried you

You will hear me celebrate
the stretch marks and dimples
and you will believe me
because I will be telling the truth

You will hear me speak of the beauty
of all bodies
ones like yours and ones like hers
and ones like mine and ones unlike many
and you will hear me
sing louder than the choir

A lone voice
a mother’s voice
swallowing the many
with the power of the matriarchy
that only knew what they knew
and now we know more

“And you arrive light” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday April 19, 2019
9:08pm
5 minutes
Summer Lines
Judy McGillivary

you arrive by light
a kiss on your lips
from the other realm
a story in your veins
that i know and
i don’t know

you arrive bright

you arrive by light
full pink moon asks
to expect the unexpected
line up the crystals
on the window ledge
throw my head back
and laugh at all the
ways I thought I knew

you arrive bright

riding on the tail
of a shooting star
teaching me about
surrender and chaos
and letting go
ripening me to the truth
a sliver of mango
sprinkled with chilli and lime
holding my hand as i

arrive too

“And you arrive light” by Julia at her desk

Friday April 19, 2019
7:28PM
5 minutes
Sumer Lines
Judy McGillivary

It’s just like I imagined you would. You arrive by an orb of light, tiptoes off the ground, stardust encircling you.
I think I dreamed this in that liminal space where I could hear the voice of my own inner child laughing.
I am not trying to convince you, there would be no point. I know what i saw after I drifted out of this world and into the lucky one that let me see. It was lucky. It was beautiful. I would recognize you anywhere, rainbow milk sweet, the twinkling sound that shimmer makes when it hangs suspended over the top of the trees.
You arrive now and in this readiness sits a basket of more open.
More open cause that’s the only way to more of you.
I keep my arms wide like bird song and I let the night glide alongside me.

“silence flourishes sea-green.” by Julia on the 9

Thursday April 18, 2019
3:32pm
5 minutes
Overdose
Seamus Dune

It’s a flash of light and boom I’m in front of a bunch of humans and boom none of them are laughing and boom wasn’t I funny before this?

They say be a teacher, you’d be a great teacher, but I am too much like the dark side of my mother when teenagers are making me yell over them. I said a few times boom and again boom but nothing, they weren’t interested because, and I know, they were uncomfortable.

Teach! They say, as if boom it’s so damn easy.
The silence though, after a dreamy patch of vulnerability, is enough to
stitch my chest up ugly, leave a mark the size of my old me and keep me jagged, string hanging. My head is the only place silence won’t inhabit and the rest of me can’t handle it. I guess I have some core strengthening to do.

One kid did make me laugh today and that part was very good.

“silence flourishes sea-green.” By Sasha at her desk

Thursday April 18, 2019
3:33pm
5 minutes
Overdose
Seamus Dune

In the stillness
of the early morning hours
silent and ripe

This is the first time
in my life that
I’ve had this kind of
t
i
m
e
to rest and
be and
centre and
prepare
and rest

and meet
whatever guests
arrive at the door

“Every morning a new arrival”
Rumi says and it’s true
now more than ever before
it’s true

In the sea-green quiet
of three in the morning
I touch ecstasy in the
low down hiccups between
my hipbones
I touch fatigue in the
never-quite comfortable
I touch anger that my
mother won’t get watch
her love hold our girl
I touch the petty jealousy
that lives in clenched jaw
that smacks me around
when I’m least expecting

“Why are you still here?”

“the best part of her life” by Sasha in her bed

Wednesday April 17, 2019
9:02pm
5 minutes
The Politician
Patrick White

The best part of Syd’s life was the three weeks in the summer she spent at the lake. She’d overlap with her brother and his family for the first few days and then they’d head back to the city. Richard, her old mutt rescue, loved their time at the lake, too. They’d fall into an easy rhythm – rising with the birds and sun, going for a short walk with a mug of coffee in hand, a swim, some food, another walk, reading on the deck, another swim, some food… The summer after the divorce, the first time she came to the lake without Henry, she thought she might get lonely so invited different friends up on weekends, but now she cherishes these slow easy days, following her nose, drinking in the sunshine.

“the best part of her life” by Julia

Wednesday April 17, 2019
8:53pm
5 minutes
The Politician
Patrick White

It smelled like discount brisket mushrooms and the spinach on its last legs
the crust of good intentions on the insides of some bowls
We ate enough to see feelingly
It felt of seeing enough
Seeing feelings as enough

Before hands met skin
Before the playful spin ritual
There in the The Too Salty Not Enough Flavour Will You Still Love Me
I had a moment of doubt then it left again
I’d take crust anyway

“pulling its guts out” by Sasha at her desk

Tuesday April 16, 2019
12:19pm
5 minutes
Identify Hunt
Elaine Bougie

“I need fries. Right now. And mayo. Fries and mayo. Right now.” The server (tall, tattooed, thin-lipped), nods and walks away. “And a gin martini. Dirty,” she calls after him.

Jane slumps on her bar stool. It’s only Tuesday. Jesus Christ. Her feet hurt. Her skirt is too tight around the waist. Rebecca was going to meet her here but texted to say that she has a migraine and needs to go straight home. Lies. Jane knows that Rebecca uses her migraines as an excuse when she’s sleeping with someone knew. Migraine, my ass. Since Marnie had the twins five months ago she’s never able to meet, so Jane doesn’t even bother to text her anymore. It used to be the three of them, Tuesdays and Thursdays, drinking their stress away, laughing into the wee hours.

“pulling its guts out” by Julia at her desk

Tuesday April 16, 2019
7:32am
5 minutes
Identify Hunt
Elaine Bougie

It’s no secret I like poppingsquishing pulling the guts out of my woundsand forcing myself to take a lookI always take a look and that’s problemonumero uno. Here’s me, I am me here in the bathroomand all I have to do is brush my teethand wash my face to get out of here aliveBut the first thing…It’s no secret.The first thing is I take a look.And as I’m looking, a thing I could have savedby not looking finds a moment to show itself.Little forest of peaking heads, white,sore, clustering together to ensure the increaseof attention on them.They, if I’m being honest, are usually molehillsuntil I take a pincer claw and blast theminto mountains. I have done this before,cast this unnecessary spell as if the biggerthe better. I do believe in being big as beinggood but this is not the softest of transitions.Look! Quick! She’s defenseless! And for her next trick, she will destroy a perfectlyinnocent face…

“Like the blueprint of a lake.” By Sasha on her couch

Monday April 15, 2019
10:53am
5 minutes
Weatherman
Norman MacKenzie

The wind is blowing south
and I send incantations into the
open mouth of the yellow tulip

When will you come?

The blueprint of my favourite lake
traced on my insides by your unborn fingers
We’ll spend hours on that dock
dipping toes into glass
fishes grazing the summer heat
spitting watermelon seeds
dragonflies flirting with newly
appointed freckles

When will you come?

I make another batch of granola
stock the chest freezer with soup
clean the dust bunnies from under the couch
read about the miracle of how my body
will open

the tulip

and you
in all your divinity
in all your grace
in all your knowing
will arrive

“Like the blueprint of a lake.” by Julia at her desk

By: Julia 04/15/2019

Uncategorizedbeauty, blueprint, design, five minutes, follow, grace, history, lake, map, path, places, pocket sized story, poem, poetry, seeing, short story, traveller, true north, unedited

Monday April 15, 2019
6:36am
5 minutes
Weatherman
Norman MacKenzie

It’s been a game studying you
wondering where your true north is
and if you’re following it.
I like knowing that somewhere out there
you hold a map of you the size of your history
and on it is marked all the places
you’ve walked instead of taking the car
I know where your feet have been but
where was your heart? There are stretches
of cartography dipped in blue and I know
that’s when you found the water, believed
yourself lake, swam in the light.
When travelling you don’t bring a camera with
you when you leave. You don’t have any need to prove
you saw anything or to show the world how
you’ve seen it. You take it in, mix it around with
whatever you already have in there (blood, life, decisions)
and you tell yourself what you have seen.
and you remember it better that way.
I don’t often write about you in the positive
because sometimes I think it would be less
graceful of me to prove how I see you to
the rest of the world. The only one who
knows how good you are to me is me. And you.
You know because you designed it.
And I follow you because you have built
such a beautiful blueprint

“a stretch of road, a write, and birch trees” by Julia at her desk

By: Julia 04/14/201904/17/2019

Uncategorizedbad, beginning, driving, excitment, love, new, open road, relationship, road trip, songs, together, unedited, writer, Writing

Sunday April 14, 2019
5 minutes
The Death Of The Partisan Girl
Tom Wayman

It’s that open road song that you’ve been singing
Got that twitch in the eye again, that ache in the toe
Standing too long in front of miniature motor homes again
A look you get caught in the lip when you’re planning our next steps

I’ve been singing louder these days too, and maybe this time we could
make more space for writing a few lines with each other in mind
It’s that open road song that you’ve been singing
Stretch of highway and the yellow lines prove themselves without pushing

We’ve finally found excitement here and to be honest I don’t
want to leave but if you go, I go, and then we’re promising
we’ll put our hearts out there to build from scratch again
All I know for certain is that if we see a new view from behind
the windshield then I’ll start a new notebook and I’ll bring a fresh pen

“a stretch of road, a write, and birch trees” by Sasha in her bed

Sunday April 14, 2019
3:04pm
5 minutes
The Death Of The Partisan Girl
Tom Wayman

Grief has a way of tossing around the heart
a big ginger cat pawing
the beating thing
back and forth and down
by the curb
a stretch of road ahead
that’s sketched in the colours
of a face you’ll never stop missing

You’re not the only one
who wakes up with tears on her pillow
the words to a song you haven’t thought of in years
swinging from the branches of the
dawn mind

You see other people rushing and hustling
and calling and tripping
and a friend tells you that you’ve changed

I have changed
you say and your voice catches
because isn’t change the only thing
that we can count on?

“I was supposed to have the afternoon off” by Julia at her desk

Saturday April 13, 2019
8:02pm
5 minutes
Truckin’
Ken Mitchell

We’ve been burning the midnight oil! It is the right kind of burning.
The burning out part is coming, surely, and if it comes in the afternoon, we will take it off, let the smoke rise, and take a nap.

This is trying to be something with too many metaphors. What do you call that anyway, a poem?

We’ve been working on our RELATIONSHIP. We’re not up watching TV, I’ll tell you what. Since B has come back from his work trip in Nevada, he’s been saying, no one is safe, not even us. Between you and I, I think he caught a bug, but I love the man, I’ll tell you, so I’m willing to put the long hours in if that’s what he needs! Even if it’s a bit strange. I mean, what’s he worried about? Me leaving in the middle of the night if we’re not up the whole time discussing our needs?
B never needed anything before. I find it refreshing!

“I was supposed to have the afternoon off” by Sasha at her desk

Saturday April 13, 2019
8:02am
5 minutes
Truckin’
Ken Mitchell

Bill is rolling a cigarette out behind the dumpster and I’m pissed because I’m trying to quit but he’s there tempting me every time I want to take a break.

“WTF Bill!” I say, and he doesn’t look up. He licks his lips. “You know I’m tryin’ to quit! Least you could do is pull that milk cart outta sight, or somethin’!”

I go for a walk around the block. This guy is not going to get to me. This guy is not going to get to me. I’ve smoked for six years and I don’t even want to think about how many days this has chopped off my life. How Bill’s heart is still beating is a question that remains unanswered. The guy must be at least sixty now, but he has that ageless wrinkle thing goin’. Hard life, I guess.

“You would hide your bitten nails under the table” by Julia on the walk home

Friday April 12, 2019
9:45pm
5 minutes
The Intellectual
Benny Anderson

Well the jealousy found me. Always does. In the shape of a voice I would never expect. It sounded like sorry but stung like theft. And where does that tiny piece live now? In the back pocket of weak jeans? Clinging to a bit that solves my puzzle, otherwise used instead as coaster under tepid glass?

Why couldn’t I be loved like sister instead….lifted, whole.
It pangs at my hip.
Gnaws at the cut of my eye.

“You would hide your bitten nails under the table” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday April 12, 2019
8:46pm
5 minutes
The Intellectual
Benny Anderson

You would hide your bitten nails under the table. That’s what you’d do. You should’ve sprung for a manicure. Can’t remember the last time you did that. One of those places called “Chic Nails” or something, with TVs on the wall and so many tiny bottles to choose from. Flushing forty bucks into the toilet, but whatever. Lots of guys like that. Groomed nails. Whatever. You look at your hands and you see your childhood, your bad haircut and your ill-fitting jeans, cuffs rolled up. You have child hands. Drove your mother crazy, how you bit your nails. She tried everything. Told you she’d give you a dollar for every week you went without biting. “It’s nasty, Viv,” she’d say. You’re nasty, Viv. Why’d you say yes to this date anyway? He probably likes fishing. He probably has a hairy neck. He probably has pepperoni nipples.

“under his dark eye-lids” by Julia at her desk

Thursday April 11, 2019
10:23pm
5 minutes
Faces Of The Sun-Man
Rienzi Crusz

He’s staying up late again eating stale Cheetos cause somehow that makes him feel better. He is bothering himself and it’s punishment, maybe for letting himself get this alone. Loneliness is worse when you hate yourself on top of it.

The Cheetos in the bag turn his fingers fuzzy. He is careful not to smear them on any of the furniture. She wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. Too bad she’ll never know one way or the other what he’s up to since she broke his heart into a shape that no longer fits inside his chest.

He thinks about wiping them underneath him, just to see. And maybe to spite her. Who buys a white couch anyway? Stupid fucking white couch. This is a place where liars sit, he thinks to himself. This is where liars pretend they’re going to be just fine.

“under his dark eye-lids” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday April 11, 2019
8:09pm
5 minutes
Faces Of The Sun-Man
Rienzi Crusz

Didn’t trust him the moment I met him, something about those deep sunken eyes. He’d seen things, you know? But, we had to work together so I did what I had to do. You spend enough hours in a car with someone and you find a redeeming quality or two… Didn’t like him smoking all the time. Didn’t like how he liked to make rude jokes about women, about how needy they are, or stupid… “Cut it out, Smithers,” I’d always say. Every single time.

“Shoot, right, you got daughters,” he’d roll his eyes, light up a cigarette.

“It’s not about that. You can’t talk like that.”

Smoke rings.

“imbalance and improperly-tuned segments” by Julia on her bed

By: Julia 04/10/201904/11/2019

Uncategorizedfive minutes, medicine, momentum, motivation, needs, persistence, sea saw, self worth, self-love, short story, short writes short reads, these five minutes, unedited, words

Wednesday April 10, 2019
9:31pm
5 minutes
Later, When I Am Carried Forward This Far
Parm Mayer

You wouldn’t want to blame the word now would you? Unless it was the wrong one, I guess.

Equality is not the same as equilibrium. Balance is stronger. Why else would they teach that? They being the universe, obviously. On the sea saw of life (metaphor, check), there is up and down but there is always both. You could count on it. Or you could trust it. Think about why your hear about trust. Yes, about the universe. Because it works. Because believing in yourself is a medicine you don’t need a prescription for, and hey i’m a Doctor! Give yourself whatever you need. Cause limit is only a five letter word. You could crush it —if you wanted to.

“imbalance and improperly-tuned segments” by Sasha in her bed

By: Sasha 04/10/2019

5 minutes, creative writing, fiction, five, five minute story, five minutes, ongoing writing practice, short fiction, these five minutes, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing project

Wednesday April 10, 2019
8:18pm
5 minutes
Later, When I Am Carried Forward This Far
Parm Mayer

Gladys segments the grapefruit for Penny. She likes Wednesdays, but it hasn’t always been that way. She likes Wednesdays now that Hank drops Penny off on his way to work and she gets to spend the day with her granddaughter. A first grandchild is always something extra special, Doreen said. Gladys scoffed. But it’s true. Penny is the cutest kid Gladys has ever seen. She patiently waits in her highchair, watching as Gladys adds small pieces of apple and a few almonds to the plate. “You’re being very patient, Pen,” Gladys says and Penny smiles.

“I have entered you quietly” by Julia on her bed

Tuesday April 9, 2019
8:21pm
5 minutes
Your Room
Robert Sherrie

I saw you seeing the ships the way I would and it made me feel alive
I like knowing parts of me can be transferred on to you like a patch or a scarf
I wear you gently
That is to say with care
I walk you around outside
I keep you facing the ocean, the silky lavender dress streaming
This is how I share you
I dance you on the inside
I slide on dead wood
splash around bit, whoop a knot out of my hair
I want to know how I have entered you
How you might wear me inside and out

“I have entered you quietly” by Sasha on her couch

By: Sasha 04/09/201904/10/2019

Uncategorized

Tuesday April 9, 2019
7:10pm
5 minutes
Your Room
Robert Sherrie

I saw you watching the sunset
on the beach at the end of Cherry
Alone with your red toque as a friend
and as she slung down low
almost eclipsing the horizon
I heard you sing a line
of what might be my favourite song

Music is the language you speak
when you aren’t sure of your surroundings
or you are the most sure
and I do too
this is what connects us
by a multi-coloured embroidery thread
of energy and grace notes

We’ve never spoken but we know one another
like we know the dew on the blades of grass
or the squint of dawn and dusk

“good-luck puppet” by Sasha at her desk

Monday April 8, 2019
6:41pm
5 minutes
Fetish
Pierre Reverdy

“Good luck,” you say, brushing my hair out of my eyes.

“Thanks,” I pull back a little. You grimace. “Thanks,” I say again, and I mean it this time. I really do.

“Are you nervous?” I want you to go and find your place in the stands. I don’t have time for this. I need to warm up.

“A little. Not really… I need to – ” I see Alisha already on the field doing drills. “I need to start – ”

“I know. I’ll go. I’m sorry.” You put your hands in your pockets. “Have a good game.”

You lean in to kiss me and I lean in to hug you and you end up kissing above my head.

“good-luck puppet” by Julia on L’s couch

Monday April 8, 2019
2:21pm
5 minutes
Fetish
Pierre Reverdy

Meda says I’m not allowed to carry her around anymore. Says the face is chewed off too rough and it’s scaring the cat. I tell Meda that the cat does not get a say in this.
“You’ll give her nightmares,” She tells me, “don’t you care about that?”

“Oh I’m sorry does the cat find herself screaming in the middle of the night, unable to get a single thing done the next day, Meda? Does she get behind on all of her chores, Meda, all of her living?”

I realize I am yelling now and the good-luck puppet appears to disintegrate further with each decibel. Meda isn’t looking at me.

“I am not trying to be cruel about the cat, Meda, I’m really not. I don’t want her to suffer. Much. “

“The room is dingy” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday April 7, 2019
9:35pm
5 minutes
When She Leaves Me
James Wyatt, JR.

The room isn’t exactly dingy, but it’s nothing fancy. You starfish on the bed and sigh. I check out the bathroom. I start running a bath. I don’t have tub in my studio apartment. It almost deterred me but then I remembered my budget and how I promised myself I’d finish my novel this year and the more I paid in rent the less I could write because I’d have to work at the bar and good grief am I really forty two years old and pouring pitchers of beer…

“Shall I join you?” You call from the bed.

“If you’d like!” I call back.

“What would you like?” You say, appearing in the doorway.

“The room is dingy” by Julia on her couch

Sunday April 7, 2019
8:49pm
5 minutes
When She Leaves Me
James Wyatt, JR.

They sat there on the curb
him, in his own piss, her holding blood. Where could they go at this desperate in the morning. He shivers.

“If we go back now, we’re fucked”

“Nobody is going back. Nobody is even talking about it, do you hear me? “

“I said ‘if.’ To remind us that we could go back and we’re not.”

“I can’t do this by myself.”

“I’m not going. “

She pushes open the door to the room. It stays open, falls off the track.

“Nice”

“Throw your bag over to keep it shut.”
She coughs.
“We’re fucked.”

“Does not oblige you” by Julia on the bathtub

Saturday April 6, 2019
11:44pm
5 minutes
From an email

Not owed to yesterday
I am today’s collaborator
Fierce
Funny
We make choices as a team
The breath of fresh air on skin
The light rain nesting in puddles
Today the silver fish do not get murdered
Today the silver fish contributes something
Anything
Not sure yet
Today is for second chances
For walking straight into love
For breathing into things
For picking a good movie to only watch a third of
Today I give everything and then more when I think I have none left
I smile
I look up
I see the face in front of me
I make a laugh come out of an impossible woman
Today is what tomorrow will never be
And what I will carry on my tongue

“Does not oblige you” by Sasha on her couch

By: Sasha 04/06/201904/07/2019

5 minutes, creative writing, five, five minute story, five minutes, ongoing writing practice, these five minutes, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing project

Saturday April 6, 2019
11:00pm
5 minutes
From an email

Gus does not oblige you and it pisses you off. He used to follow you around, when you were kids, when you were ten and he was eight, when the grass grew tall around you cuz Daddy was too busy with the calves. Gus thinks he is becoming his own man and maybe he is and maybe he isn’t, but what he is is a dick most of the time. Good thing that Marla and Bernadette get along as well as they do, keeps things running, keeps things together. Meals are a bit tense, a bit strange, but all the kids screaming and laughing and Bernadette cutting up everyone’s meatloaf and Gus giving you side-eye from the other head of the table.

“Maria’s self-view was that she was inadequate” by Sasha at her desk

Friday April 5, 2019
10:02pm
5 minutes
Spirituality in Clinical Practice
Len Sperry

Maria secretly smokes menthol cigarettes. She doesn’t eat after seven o’clock. She starts the day with a jog around the block (“Good morning, Ron!” “Good morning, Mrs. Feldman…”) and makes sure the roses don’t need trimming. Maria eats cottage cheese and cantaloupe for breakfast, and a cup of black coffee in her travel mug to go. She’s got to drive to the other side of town today to prep an open house. Maria worked at a daycare before she started in real estate. Dwayne is on night shifts so he’ll sleep until two or so. She gives him a kiss when the alarm goes off at six thirty and then there’s no looking back. She used to go in to say goodbye before she left but that often resulted in him trying to pull her back into bed and she doesn’t have time for that.

“Maria’s self-view was that she was inadequate” by Julia in the bathroom

Friday April 5, 2019

8:17pm

5 minutes

Spirituality in Clinical Practice

Len Sperry

Can only write with one hand

Cannot read maps

Cannot read lips

Can only chew one one side of mouth (cavity)

Can hold grudges

Cannot decide quickly

Can lose track of time

Cannot multitask

Can underestimate task load/length

Can fall asleep sitting upright

Can dream scream

Cannot remember which books have money inside

Can stare blankly

Can want to help even if it complicates

Cannot drink a lot

Can blame others

Can check likes too often

Can only tie laces using bunny ears

“The relevance to actual practice has been questioned” by Julia on M and N’s couch

Thursday April 4, 2019
9:06pm
5 minutes
Evidence-Based Psychotherapy Practice in College Mental Health
Stewart E. Cooper

I mean they say practice makes perfect right? Hi! I’m here to tell you that the only thing practice makes is you better at making messes. What’s the perfect thing? What’s the perfect thing I’m supposed to need anyway?

I practice not hating myself
I practice not destroying my face
I practice not jumping to conclusions
I practice deciding
I practice the ukulele
I practice patience
I practice anger
I practice not giving a fuck
I practice not stealing.
And yet.
I am still a pile of shit most days.
I am still regretting my pop and pinch and pick and pull.
I am a full blown mess and some days I know how to clean it up and some days I wish I could evaporate into thin air and live somewhere that doesn’t require a face.
I practice these five and this five and those five.
I practice telling the truth and still find myself lying.
I practice words lit by a nightlight in my bathroom.

“The relevance to actual practice has been questioned” by Sasha in her living room

Thursday April 4, 2019
10:30am
5 minutes
Evidence-Based Psychotherapy Practice in College Mental Health
Stewart E. Cooper

Practise doesn’t make perfect. Nothing makes perfect. Perfect doesn’t exist. Nothing is something spun from gold. Something is nothing spun from imagination. Sun’s peaking out and it’s okay now, baby, rest now, baby, shhhhh now, baby.

You’re sure of yourself and you’re sure of God and what more do you need, hm? What more do you really need. Fry an egg in good butter, make some toast, salt and pepper and you’re good to go. Out the door, on your way to shine bright, baby, I’ll be okay here, me and the piano music. I’ll be okay.

“‘small healings’ take place every day” by Sasha on her couch

Wednesday April 3, 2019
9:36pm
5 minutes
The Human Elements of Psychotherapy
David N. Elkins

Healing found in the gummy smile of a three-month-old
lentils stewed by her mother in my belly
full and empty
both and.

Letting the light in
embracing the magnolias
carpeting the sidewalks
cool air on my toes.

There is no treasure map
for this
and we are not lost
both

a break in the clouds
for a beam of sun
massaging tired eyes
reaching achey heart.

This morning a hundred and fifty
voices sang Let It Be
four thousand kilometres
away we joined in
You could hear us

and my mother spoke
elegance and beauty

her articulation
clear and practised
all the years of
reading poems aloud.

I’ve been praying
to ancestors
to unborn ones

to the hummingbird
drinking sweetness
on the balcony
all hours of the day.

“‘small healings’ take place every day” by Julia in her couch

Wednesday April 3, 2019
8:29pm
5 minutes
The Human Elements of Psychotherapy
David N. Elkins

Earlier there was a chance to take the regular route home (a shortcut I had found a few years earlier to maximize the usage of my time), and a fork in the rode that would lead me to the water. I almost went the usual route, the reliable path, the pace I had already established. But something (water) caught my attention. It had “been a minute” since I had visited (a phrase my students taught me. ‘A minute’ could mean a week, a year, a while. All very fascinating) and I was more drawn then decided. I saw all of the neon shorts running and it seemed like a good idea even though it would add 4-6 minutes to my commute home, depending on the abundance of runners, and other stoppable fixtures in nature. Immediately I was drawn into a labyrinth. Upon my exit I saw a seal up close. Wild!

“My brother finds out this Friday” by Julia on her bed

Tuesday April 2, 2019
9:11pm
5 minutes
From an email

Is it better to assume than to make an ass out of myself? Don’t answer that. I’m nervous. I get chatty when I’m nervous. I mean, common problem. Are you writing this down? I just said I was nervous. Really know how to make a speaker feel listened to. Please don’t write this. I don’t represent myself well on paper. I’m often misunderstood. Not in a whiny way. Out of context. People can’t formulate their own opinions anymore because there’s not enough data. Things are being hidden away, we’re getting tricked, we’re falling…falling for all of it…

…

You know people will believe what is being fed to them especially when it’s not shoved down their throats. I don’t blame them. It’s quite logical. More efficient if you think about it.

“My brother finds out this Friday” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday April 2, 2019
7:43am
5 minutes
From an email

The morning is quiet.
Your candle is burning.
It was hard to light because it’s burned down low, but I did it.
Got soot on my fingers.
Rubbed it on my robe.
The lilies are opening in slow motion.
The whole apartment smells like flowers.
Bloom after bloom, one by one.
You are close by, I think.
You can be in more than one place now, I think.
“I can’t believe I still have tears,” I say.

Traffic on Oak street hums while I try to meditate.
Seeing you in photograph form and my breath catches in my throat.
I want you close but it needles the sore spots.

I’ll call my mother.
I’ll wash some dishes.
It’s hard now, belly so big with babe.
I’ll take my vitamins.
I’ll think about my mother,
washing dishes,
taking vitamins,
finally resting.

“to stockings in the wash” by Julia on her couch

By: Julia 04/01/2019

Uncategorized

Monday April 1, 2019

9:24pm

5 minutes

Second Ultrasound

Stephanie Yorke

Mind wanders from you to them to this and I’m still pissed about the dirty lunch container left mocking me on the coffee table. Could have brought it to the kitchen when I was done. Then I would have washed it with the rest of things.

Mind wanders from here to that to all my stupid choices. Like that time I volunteered myself to film a commercial without getting paid and now every single person I know tells me they keep seeing it. Stupid like the time I didn’t drink enough water, felt the effects, and promised never to let that happen again until it happened again. And again. And again.

Mind wanders from that to this to

now to later to the way it could have been. To the almost.

I’m sorry what is there to say? I’m over here angry. I’m angry for you. I’m angry at all my shit but it’s nothing in comparison. It’s just shit.

“to stockings in the wash” by Sasha in her bed

By: Sasha 04/01/201904/04/2019

Uncategorized

Monday April 1, 2019
8:14pm
5 minutes
Second Ultrasound
Stephanie Yorke

I’m glad that the last thing I said to you
was “I love you”
those three words that
rock on the still water
held in perfect tired hands

you left
this life last night after
all these months of becoming
the truest pearl of yourself
the gruff softer
the truth closer the music soaring
above us in smoky curls

a sob is so close
the only language I know is water
connecting across provinces
across blood helping me to hold
my mother my sisters

these little lights

“hair slicked in waves” by Julia at her desk

Sunday March 31, 2019
8:20pm
5 minutes
Push
Adrienne Gruber

When the party’s done, over, you name it, do you go, we go, are we going back to your place, the bar, the next stage in our relationship?

Got questions for all the sweeties out there with hair-slicked-waves, with promises to burn, with ideas of how why how why, with roadmaps marked, checked, ripped from all the momentum.

If I told you I wanted to lay quietly with my legs between yours, no talking, no quipping, no music, no mustering, no interpreting, would you tell me it was too easy to do, too hard, too dumb, too beneath us, too much of a waste of time, too good?

When the moment’s over where do we go, you go, I go, have to see, need to see, want to see, dream of seeing, see in dreams, see in dreams? Where, why, how, are you, me, are we good at answering these questions or just good at asking them.

“hair slicked in waves” by Sasha at her kitchen table

By: Sasha 03/31/201904/04/2019

Uncategorized

Sunday March 31, 2019
7:50am
5 minutes
Push
Adrienne Gruber

Hair slicked back in waves the men lunge forward as we walk back, heels clicking the cobblestone streets, tempting and sweating and breathing and hoping, and are we lost now? It doesn’t really matter. Names we don’t know and names we do and beer by the pitcher even though we don’t really like it. Tapas served with everything, maybe that’s why we order more beer. I’m dizzy and you’re kissing a very tall Jorge in the corner and now I’m not sure about getting back to the hostel or getting back home or my boyfriend a million miles away or if we’re going to make it, you and me, me and him, this and us.

“Eat bread and understand comfort.” By Julia on W and B’s couch

Saturday March 30, 2019
9:21pm
5 minutes
To Begin With, the Sweet Grass
Mary Oliver

Some days are so low
So low the ground feels high
So low the stars aren’t shining

No reason
Except everything

The grass aches
The leaves lie
The world keeps spinning and something else that doesn’t feel true

Why when some days are the opposite
The singing
the squeezing
the good
The feeling
The family
The forever

I am not asking for this

Maybe I’m asking for this

And I know that I could be
the one to trade with
So I try to write down
all the very good that I know
The blessings, counted
The love
The roof
The everything
Even this low
Because I only know it
if I know the opposite
and if
I didn’t this would
feel normal

“Eat bread and understand comfort.” By Sasha at her desk

By: Sasha 03/30/201904/04/2019

5 minutes, creative writing, fiction, five, five minute story, five minutes, ongoing writing practice, short fiction, these five minutes, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing project

Saturday March 30, 2019
6:21pm
5 minutes
To Begin With, the Sweet Grass
Mary Oliver

She isn’t sure what to make of the fact that Jed is making bread again. It’s been three years since there was yeast germinating on the counter. She forgot what it was like to wake up to the smell of a fresh loaf of sourdough on the counter. She forgot about cutting into the crusty exterior and dripping pieces into olive oil and balsamic vinegar. She doesn’t ask Jed what’s changed, or why he decided to start up again. She doesn’t want to disturb the stillness of the flour, the bubble of the fermentation.

“concern also has been expressed” by Sasha at her desk

Friday March 29, 2019
9:48pm
5 minutes
Gentle Birth, Gentle Mothering
Sarah J. Buckley

You scrub the walls and dust the
hard-to-reach corners way up
way up beyond
where I can reach

I watched you ironing your shirt
this morning and talked and talked
and then I said

“I guess I’m feeling a bit chatty”
and you smiled
and it was all there
the waiting and the mystery
the stillness and the movement
the arrivals and the departure

The great letting go
required
on both sides

We are living in more
love than ever before and
I know it’s because
we have scrubbed the foundation
we have eaten handfuls of
clay in the face of doubt

We have come through the tunnel
and now we shield our eyes from
the exquisite brightness
of this living

May 2019
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