“the landing cure” by Sasha at culprit coffee


Saturday August 30, 2014
12:03pm at culprit coffee
5 minutes
Hunter’s Landing menu

the landing cure is the sure footed traveller the landing cure is the mr lazy mug full of mediocre coffee the landing cure is the rain falling on a bike seat that your bum will touch soon soon soon soon the landing cure is erykah badu on the stereo the soothing honey sounds of ba ba ba ba ba ba the landing cure is unknown undetermined unsure the landing cure is a pantry with gogi berries and homemade granola and saffron from bali that’s been brought and packed and shipped four or five different times and never used not once used the landing cure is all lower case and less abrasive than a yawn or too bright toenail polish the landing cure is a good beat and moving feet the landing cure is a phone call from a sister

“Skunk in love” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday August 29, 2014
9:45pm
5 minutes
Nadeem’s version of Beyonce’s “Drunk In Love”

The hero’s journey:
She is born
Bright
She steps
Brave
She falls
Up again! Up again!
She steps
Afraid
She moves
Fearless
She meets
She grows
She forgets
Remember the address remember the phone number remember the birthday party remember the prom
She loves the smell of earth
And the colour red
She loves spaghetti squash
She makes macaroni and cheese from scratch
She gets a letter
An invitation
She takes it
She flies twelve thousand miles
She has her life in her pocket
In her palms
In her ribcage

Total Control by Sasha on the 99 bus


Thursday August 28, 2014
7:32pm
5 minutes
The bottle of curl keeper

I’m not exactly sure how I got here but what I do know is it smells like fish. I woke up next to a little girl, curly hair, sucking her thumb. She kept sleeping. I found the toilet in the corner of the kitchen and peed, trying to keep my legs together. I heard a voice, “You’re home!” I heard a crash. I laughed because I didn’t know what else to do. I felt a tear trickle from one eye, to my upper lip. I licked it. The voice became a person, a woman, and she was wide and moustached. “You’re here! You’re home!” She smiled but it was more like a cat that got the cream. “This… is not my home… I don’t even know where I am…” She took my hand. She was cold. She began opening a can of tuna. She called, “Millicent! Sheldon! Bartholomew!” She tapped a fork against the can. I heard footsteps.