“She hasn’t been back since” by Julia at her desk

Thursday November 27, 2014
5 minutes
Summer Dress
July Talk

The city’s all lit up at night now
There are lights hung from the tree tips
There’s that feeling in the air
It was her favourite and everyone knows that still
It’s probably the hardest part of everything
Seeing her face in the snow
In the ice rinks
In the candy canes
So what do we do now?
Drink tea?
She’s not coming back so we have to make a choice
Keep living
Keep smiling
When it’s hard that’s when she’s closest
So with that we can make a fresh attempt
When it’s hard
When it’s hard and beautiful out
When people look happy

“Share with a friend!” by Julia at her desk

Wednesday November 26, 2014
5 minutes
from a thank you card

She stole my baby name and that’s why we’re not friends. I told her, I said, I’m really excited about this name, it means a lot to Philip and I, and I can’t think of a single better name for our future child. So I laid it all out. I was honest, I was candid. I made sure she knew the stakes were high for me. There has to be some sort of unwritten, or even written, fully and explicitly written rule about baby name theft. And how if it’s not illegal, should be. Even if someone isn’t pregnant, it doesn’t mean their baby name is not still something incredibly important. And Sheila was pregnant, sure, and fine, but, but, she took something from me. A million other names in the free world, and my best friend, takes my best name, and then acts like we never had that really clear conversation about what we would name our kids that rainy march saturday afternoon. The nerve. So obviously when I found out that I was unable to conceive, I withheld that information from Sheila because I learned to only share important things with real friends.

“you either get it down on paper, or jump off a bridge.” by Sasha on her couch

Monday November 24, 2014
5 minutes
from a quote by Charles Bukowski

In the darkness, it’s quiet. He takes off his blue suit, piece by piece, and if anyone were watching they might’ve thought it looked like a dance. Choreographed. The pants, draped over a wood hanger. The belt removed and hung on the hook in the closet. The vest, left on the back of the chair, a small white mark on the pocket to be dealt with later. The shirt, unbuttoned, slowly, and hung beside it’s brothers and sisters, all in a row. The sound of the bus going by. Undershirt. He looks at himself in the mirror. He think’s he looks younger with the new haircut, better with the bit of stubble. He smiles at himself. It’s the first time he’s done that.

“rather than something crafted from odds and ends” by Sasha at 49th Parallel

Sunday November 23, 2014
5 minutes
from a quote by Mary Catherine Bateson

found our way back to his place
his place
i usually prefer to go to my place
but the cat barfed on the carpet and so it smelled like
egg salad
i wasn’t sure how to do it
breach it
did i just grab his hand and put it on my crotch?
why would i do that
too abrupt
too out there
too in your face
i’d caught him staring at my adam’s apple
a small one
but still there
still not the woman i want to be
i caught him peeking down my shirt too though
found our way back to his place and we’re on his couch
and we’re kissing
soft lips
soft lips he says
and i’m saying
hold on
hold up
i’m i’m i’m i’m i’m

“All of it, kid.” by Sasha on her couch

Saturday November 22, 2014
5 minutes
From a first draft of a screen play

Clementines are out again, see that! Those big ones that fill your hand right up like a baseball! And those tiny ones that you just so easily putt with a golf club! Clementines are out again kid, and you know what that means? SNOW. The snow’s coming soon. When I get a crate of those clementines at the IGA, I save it and I use it as kindling. Best kindling you can find. Better than brush, or whatever they teach you to use at Cubs. I prefer my clementines right out of the fridge. Cold. Better than a beer in a chilled glass! Better than a popsicle!

“too damn cool” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday November 21, 2014
5 minutes
from an e-mail

Cool is the currency
Cool is liking that pink hat
Or… Is it?
Cool is
Cool is
Cool isn’t Celine Dion, he says
But when I was there
On the other side
The blonde haired dark skinned one
Low slung jeans
And sad eyes
Played My Heart Will Go On
With utter sincerity
Cool isn’t the painting above the toilet
Cool isn’t scrolling through your phone looking at picture of women in lingerie on Instagram
Cool is a judgement call
Cool is traded
Cool is coded
Cool is switched
Cool is that tree
Trees are cool
Attachement (Roots)
Unattachment (Leaves)

“Welcome to Amsterdam” by Sasha at Vancouver General Hospital

Thursday November 20, 2014
5 minutes
A sign at the Amsterdam Airport Schiphol

Welcome to Amsterdam
And Lethbridge
And Honolulu
Welcome to your grandmother’s basement
And the siren songs
And the back of the Chevy pick-up
Welcome to NeverNeverLand
And the rainforest
And my kitchen table
Welcome to yesterday
and under your covers
And the black sand beach
Welcome to the bus
And the clover field
And the lavender farm
Welcome to Athens
And Venezuela
And Whitehorse

“to listen to when feeling nostalgic” by Julia at her desk

Tuesday November 25, 2014
5 minutes
from a YouTube comment

No, no, I’ve learned by now that I shouldn’t be allowed to be left alone..Not with chocolate. Ok, fine, Deena, not with THE salted caramel chocolate. In the BARS, alright? Because, Deena, don’t. No, cause I don’t want to be forced to admit something. I know who I am, obviously. What am I supposed to say that it’s better than sex? WHO WOULDN’T SAY IT IS? You even would say that it is. And I know this because I see the way your face narrows when you hear me describing it. You’d like to think very much that I believe you’re jotting down notes and observations and judgments about my dependency but I know you’re just drawing one big O and tracing it over and over again. You’re a little hypocrite. There’s no such thing as just one piece, everyone KNOWS THAT, DEENA.

“you either get it down on paper, or jump off a bridge.” by Julia at Camera a Sud in Bologna

Monday November 24, 2014 at Camera a Sud
5 minutes
from a quote by Charles Bukowski

Ahh I’m falling. I’m falling. It’s a good feeling. You replace the A, the L, with two Es. You want to know where I’m going? To the place were my brow furrows…concentration and magic and old habits. You want to touch that spot on my face. Remind me not to clench my jaw, hold tension in my forehead. “Don’t get old before you have to.” And I have that falling feeling. It’s a good one. It’s when the inspiration breathes and lives and stays awake next to a roaring fire.
You steal the wood off the side of the road for me.
Stoking my pilot light with a little consideration, saying, “yeah, you need five minutes to get that beauty down on paper, I give you ten. Take a hundred of them if you want. A million minutes, even, and I’ll be here watching you and making sure you don’t loose that spark. And that you don’t get wrinkly from the thinking and the trying hard to focus right.”
I remember you like that, rocking in your reading chair and sitting content in the million moments reserved for being apart but together in the same room.
I tell you after this “I want to drink a bubbly white wine and I want to eat an oven-baked fish with the head and tail still attached.”
You say you have the perfect one and it’s in the fridge when we’re ready.
“How do you already have what I want?” And you smile into your book and say, “Cause we’ve been here before. We’ve done Sunday like this a thousand times already.”
“Ahh,” I say, “You’re right. I guess it’s good this spot, this falling feeling place.”
You chuckle quietly, reminding me, “You’ve said that before too…”

“rather than something crafted from odds and ends” by Julia at her desk

Sunday November 23, 2014
5 minutes
from a quote by Mary Catherine Bateson

She leaves a note on the kitchen table
Says there’s pizza in the oven and yogurt in the fridge if you’re hungry
I observe her life without her there
Taking it in, seeing how big of a fan she is of Bob Dylan
The sink is filled with a paste of flour and water
Pancakes, she says, taste better at midnight
I wander through her closet, see her obsession with shoes
Shoes and shoes and belts and shoes
I leave her drawers
I don’t go in them even though I want to
Even though I want to know everything
I can’t stop thinking about the kiss she didn’t give my mouth
But the kiss she wrote on paper
I can keep the one she left there
On the table top with a small bowl
A spoon
And a coffee pot on a cutting board
She wants to care for me in her way
And I could stay all day in her dirty kitchen
Scrubbing the stove free of pancake paste
And smiling to myself

“All of it, kid.” by Julia on her bed

Saturday November 22, 2014
5 minutes
From a first draft of a screen play

-You like Ray Charles? You like that song he pours his guts into?
-Yeah, beautiful right?
-Yeah, the best.
-Everything is the best.
-Right now, yes. Let’s die like this.
-Dance for me first. Before we die happy and perfect, dance as if Ray Charles put music in your veins
-Like this?
-Mmm, yeah, like a little bird, flying high and from the inside out.
-I’m your little bird.
-I’m your biggest fan.
-Let me lick you. You have no lines on your face. The smoothest skin, no lines at all.
-I’m young and I’m yours and I’m a little bird with Ray Charles blood.
-Mmm, yeah. We can die now.
-Some water first?
-Yeah, you drink then let me taste it from your lips.
-Feed you life…like little birds do…
-Yeah, you dance and feed me, little bird, little bird.

“too damn cool” by Julia at her desk

Friday November 21, 2014
5 minutes
from an e-mail

Walking down the busy cobblestone street
Strutting something fierce
Oozing confidence and poise
Leaking soul music
And a je ne sais quois
Dropping bits and pieces of perfect balance
Power and magnetism in eyes of jade
(Thanks to that scarf: a perfect colour match to those open windows leading to the soul)
Stepping to the steady beat of
Qui se ne frega?
And the
don’t need anything but this moment

“Welcome to Amsterdam” by Julia at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol

Thursday November 20, 2014
5 minutes
from a sign at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol

Because we couldn’t swim and we knew that we would have to. We knew that life wasn’t only on this side and to see any of the rest of it, we would have had to leave. To swim somewhere to get somewhere better than here. So we taught ourselves that summer. We took our turns failing and struggling. We never gave up. Because they were trying to keep us from trying. And they wanted us to have something less than they did. But we weren’t going to let them stop us. We wanted to be ready for when the time came to prove we could stay afloat.

“We finally took the plunge ;)”by Julia at Bagels and Beans

Wednesday November 19, 2014 at Bagels and Beans
5 minutes
From the Bagels and Beans write up by Ronald Bakker

After pounding back at least one hundred tiny chocolate covered coffee beans, I feel the urge to finally do it–finally just look into his eyes, tell him I’m sorry for making him wait so long but I am sure now, I am excited now, I am positively secure in us now.
He keeps his eyes down on his Japanese style wild salmon and puts calculated bagel bites into his mouth without really looking up at all. I like his eating habits. That was something I could never say before-among a million other things. They don’t bother me anymore. That’s how you know it’s really real. I wanted to do it right then, reward his patience, achieve that perfect moment you spend your whole life constructing.
And he doesn’t respond to my throat clearing, my quirky sighs that signal I’m ready for his attention. I am filled with dread suddenly.

“on which the blues would have sounded” by Julia outside the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam

Tuesday November 18, 2014
5 minutes
from a write up on the photograph Interior by Peter Sakaer

My lungs for you, Amelia, are filled with an intoxicating breath. I inhale you once and I am addicted. I must have you again. I must feel you…
Your nonchalance about this awakens something inside me that I had thought I’d put to sleep. It roars within me. It’s suddenly hungry and ready. I’d happily upset my chest stitches for the chance to please you. Against doctor’s orders to remain still and to avoid heavy instances of “sport”, I will pursue you with my fullest self–mind, body, spirit. And it will require all my dedication but you are worth it. 2 extra weeks in the hospital with despicable food? I can stand it–Nay! I embrace it!

“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!

“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.

“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.

“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

“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.

“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.

“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

“oyster” by Julia at Katerina and Ben’s

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

I hate that I care about it. What he’s doing. Wearing. Thinking. Wanting. That if it changed from one to another that I would be deeply interested in hearing what that was. What that would be. Should be. Must be. It sort of just exists in a way that tugs on my mind and keeps me actively asking questions and actively forgetting to think of something else to think of. I hate that I care more about this. About him. About the way his dark eyes make me feel. The way nothing about it is safe.

“chocolate, almond chili cake” by Julia at Little Collins

Friday November 14, 2014 at Little Collins
5 minutes
The specials board at Little Collins

My mother’s secret recipe
She kept the special plate in the high cupboard
Only made it for special occasions
It was my favourite
And hers
She let me taste the batter once or twice
I often think of the combination
Spicy and sweet
Never angry
But fair
As if you could catch a perfect character blend
Like a cold
Or a bought of chicken pox
I wanted some of her for me
I wanted to be spicy and sweet
Never angry
But fair
I got close to her and stayed
As still as I could
It was her favourite
And it was mine

“chocolate, almond & chili cake” by Sasha at Culprit Coffee Co.

Friday November 14, 2014 at Culprit Coffee Co.
5 minutes
The specials board at Little Collins

M: Are you eating your greens?
B: Are you actually asking me that?
M: Is there a problem?
B: Did you even hear what I just said?
M: Of course I did.
B: And?
M: Look. I, I’m not sure that – …
B: I knew it.
M: Knew what?
B: That you would just breeze over my feelings and be totally removed and totally passive aggressive and -…
M: Those are some steep accusations –
B: Steep?
M: I don’t know! I’m being attacked!
B: I’m Obsessive Compulsive, Mom.
M: Says who?
B: My doctor. I finally feel like I understand myself in a new way and you’re completely ignoring –
M: When’s the blame going to come, Bobby? When’s the tracing it back to your troubled childhood going to come?!
B: What? This has nothing to do with anything between you and Dad. This is chemical. This is my mind. This is –
M: Bobby, I need to go to the bathroom.

“check into luxury” by Sasha at Higher Grounds

Thursday November 13, 2014 at Higher Grounds
5 minutes
from a Palazzo Di Varignana ad

I’ll give you the key to the luxury
Guard it with your life
Take it to bed
Hide it at night
Under your pillow where your hands stay warm
I’ll give you the kisses and the questions
The moon doesn’t judge
I’m not the one you’re after
It makes me think about mud
There’s a trap under the slick
There’s a leak under the sink
I’m not sure what to tell you
Except the sky is blue and the snow isn’t here yet so
I’m trying to find the right words but it’s hard
It’s hard
You compare success to success but it’s not like that
It’s rounder
It’s more cyclical
The things I can count on are a handful of beans
A handful of promises and wishes and the ocean
It’s still colourful
It’s still water
It’s still morning
It’s still changing and concrete and sand
Take it to bed
Hide it at night
Under your pillow where your dreams stay warm

“party town ballon time!” by Sasha in the bath

Wednesday November 12, 2014
5 minutes
From a text from Bec

Hey babe,
How’s it going? How was Jenny’s birthday? Party town balloon time?! I wish I could’ve been there. I miss you sooooooooo much. Like, you don’t even know. It sucks being here. My Dad is cool and my Mom is trying her best not to be a bitch but my brother? Oh my god. I honestly think that he’s an undiagnosed sociopath. Like, fully. He’s collecting dead bugs and archiving them on his wall. The wall of his room. My Mom says, “Leave him be…” as though there’s nothing weird going on at all. And he is totally obsessed with video games. He has a TV in his room now and sometimes he doesn’t even come out for meals. Mom leaves food outside his door like he’s in prison. It’s so weird. If I didn’t have Denny’s I would shoot myself in the head. But, I’m saving money, so that’s good. I guess. Ever since that DUI my parents aren’t helping with tuition so… I have to do what I have to do. I don’t want to be a bum my whole life so I have to finish this stupid degree.

“this folder is empty” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday November 11, 2014
5 minutes
from the library tab on a computer

Josie browns her butter and smokes a cigarette. She regrets not going for a run that morning but doesn’t regret the butter. How can we ever regret butter? She stirs and listens to the bubbles. Nothing better. She ashes her cigarette in the earth of the cactus on the window ledge and then feels guilty. She gets a spoon from the drawer and removes the ash. She puts in the compost and then feels guilty. When she goes to remove it, it’s already mixed in with the coffee grinds, the grapefruit peel, the chicken bones. She smiles at herself. She thinks about quitting smoking. She turns off the stove and pours the butter into the eggs and brown sugar. She mixes with a wooden spoon.

“but it’s not very elegant” by Sasha at the UBC library

Monday November 10, 2014
5 minutes
overheard on Strada Maggiore

My mama’s got red hair. She’s the luckiest you know. Red hair makes her lucky. She’s the one that always wins those draws, you know those draws that they give ya at the grocery store and stuff? She wins every single one she enters! In fact, she had to stop entering because she felt bad for everyone else! We got to go on a cruise in the Caribbean because of her red-headed luck! She doesn’t play the lottery, because it’s against the religion, right, but, like I think, why not just do it! Give some of the winnings to charity and then buy us a bigger house and some nice ham! For Easter! OR, not just for Easter – for regular Sunday lunch! My lucky mama. She wears those shell barrettes, you know?

“TERRYBELL VIDEOLOTTERY” by Sasha on the bus

Sunday November 9, 2014
5 minutes
from a bar sign near Bologna Centrale

Thankful for the coffee you buy from the tiny shop at the bottom of the hill
Thankful for the DVD’s you rent from the library about New Orleans
Thankful for your squishy face
Thankful for blue sky and sun
Thankful for bravery and leaps
Thankful for the fireplace
Thankful for the best omelettes
Thankful for repetition
Thankful for evolution
Thankful for what I don’t understand (TERRYBELL VIDEOLOTTERY) and that that leads me to gratitude
Thankful for public transportation
Thankful for golden beets
Thankful for fluidity of self (what we choose is who we are?)
Thankful for the internet
Thankful for the ability for mass consciousness to shift
Thankful for books
Thankful for lentils
Thankful for those that make us laugh
Thankful for those that tell the truth

“not long before you get there with us.” By Sasha at The Arts Club

Saturday November 8, 2014 at The Arts Club
5 minutes
From serialpodcast.org

His eyes are sand
Swirling golden turmeric honey
His eyes are searching
Sky reach twisting to cloud
His eyes tell me how
Why and when and where
His eyes are the reason I come back
Come back and come back and come back
“I want to write a book” he says
I don’t believe it
I shudder and I bite my nail
“I want to write a book about my mother” he says
I stand up and open the window
Even though it’s below zero

“pitched as writing like a man” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday November 7, 2014
5 minutes
from Howlround.com

Margot: Tell them what happened. Tell them every thing that you have on that scumbag. I don’t give a fuck about the backlash, it’s what you need to do. I’ve seen too many of these cases and the women get screwed over. He was your Captain, right? Yeah. Typical. Okay… Walk me through it. I’m recording. November seventh. Kendra Foundry. This is our fifth meeting.
Kendra shifts in her seat. She starts to speak, but looks at the floor.
Kendra: It was late. I’d just gotten off shift. It was so hot and we had to wear this canvas… I was sweating so much I couldn’t stay hydrated so I took off my jacket. I was just in a T-shirt, but nothing low cut, you know, nothing revealing. He came up behind me and cupped my breasts. He’d never done anything that out-right before, it had all been more passive. There were people around! I was shocked… I told him to fuck off.

“check into luxury” by Julia at BLQ airport

Thursday November 13, 2014
5 minutes
from a Palazzo Di Varignana ad

I am checking into luxury
I’ve got my bundled money next to me
I pay for things that I don’t need
I wait for the bills that I don’t read
I have my leather, diamonds, fur, and gold
Gonna take them all with me when I get old
They say you can’t bring em’ with you when you go
But I’m better then them so I do what I know
Got my private jet and my matching luggage set
I’m traveling magic with my tiny pet

“party town ballon time!” by Julia on her bed

Wednesday November 12, 2014
5 minutes
From a text from Bec

Oh baby baby when I see you again
It’ll be snowing outside but pouring love in
There will be a joyous woman taking a running leap straight to your heart
And a stream of flying happy tears landing on your cheek
Oh baby baby when I see you again
It’ll be freezing outside but hot and heavy in
There will be a hundred perfect kisses, liberated from their shells
And a thousand ancient romances awakened from their tombs

“this folder is empty” by Julia at her kitchen table

Tuesday November 11, 2014
5 minutes
from the library tab on a computer

I didn’t think he’d put the photos of me naked on the toilet on his computer. But he was crazy about the series and so he not only uploaded them to his desktop, but he got some of them printed and then put them on his wall. Thankfully my face was covered…and to be honest, they were really funny and artsy. In one I held a newspaper in front of my head, in another I was wearing a horse head. It was an absurd and interesting idea but I thought they’d just be a little project for us.. Now I’m convinced when he has friends over they’ll all know it’s me. I shouldn’t have told any of them that my boobs were two different sizes. That’s not something a group of people looking at a naked woman forgets.

“but it’s not very elegant” by Julia at Cultura Italiana

Monday November 10, 2014
5 minutes
overheard on Strada Maggiore

It’s hard to think of her without crying. I try to do this but I never learned how to build a damn. I never figured out how to stop the flood. I’m missing her daily. I am. Mi manca. To me, she is missing. That’s how I feel that a piece of me is missing and it’s her. And it’s her olive oil arms and her vanilla bean hands. It’s her Violetta Di Parma heart. It’s her instant coffee laugh. I’m trying so hard to be strong for everyone and the fight is real. The water is coming and I’ll have to learn to drown gracefully. I don’t want to swim in it. I don’t want to survive it. I want to go with her. Because I wasn’t done with her here. Because I wasn’t through with showing her how much she means to me. I wasn’t ready to miss her at all.

“TERRYBELL VIDEOLOTTERY” by Julia on the 11b going south

Sunday November 9, 2014
5 minutes
from a bar sign near Bologna Centrale


“not long before you get there with us.” by Julia on the 27 going south

Saturday November 8, 2014
5 minutes
From serialpodcast.org

Tiny little woman with tiny little hands
Held her palm out to test the weather
See if it was raining hard enough for an umbrella
Felt a light mist and decided it wasn’t necessary
Walked under the awning and waited there for a minute
Tiny little woman with a tiny little mustache
Itched her nose and sniffled twice
Held her palm out from under the awning
To check again if the mist had stopped
Remembering her snack she took a crumpled paper towel out of her bag
Unwrapped it tree under the awning
Tiny little woman with a tiny block of pecorino
Began to nibble like a mouse on vacation
Cheese bits crumbling all over her tiny little kerchief

“pitched as writing like a man” by Julia at her desk

Friday November 7, 2014
5 minutes
from Howlround.com

Hi Randy! Good, how are yo–yeah? Get the fuck out of here. No. She–Oh my god I’m flipping my shit right now. You’re sure sh–get the FUCK out!! That is good news. No, you’re right, you’re right, it’s amazing. So who do we bring it to now? Like they want to see us in person or they’re– yeah. Obviously. No obviously I’ll be ready. Umm, the black ones. Randy, what the fuck else do I have? Because I gave them away remember? Remem–yeah. Remem–I–yes because she had just had a fucking baby and I didn’t make a casserole. I know but I didn’t have–oh my god I’m sorry. It’s not sarcasm. I’m sorry I should have checked with you before I gave away my fat pants to a lady who needed them.

“Can you go away?” by Julia on her bed

Wednesday November 5, 2014
5 minutes
Overheard on via Zamboni

He stood there while I cried
While I poured my uneven heart out
While I begged him to come see me
While I made him feel bad for not being able to
He stood there waiting for me
Wanting to bum a smoke
Or to take me home
I got the feeling that he did
But he didn’t say a single thing
He stood there while I yelled
While I felt far away from my home
While I couldn’t help but be irrational
He didn’t get the hint
He didn’t think I could have used some space
He wanted something from me
I thought he’d leave on his own
In between sobs I glared at him
In between moments of weakness I snarled
Finally I yelled at him
I made him leave with the guts I’d been heating
I made him wish he had a tail so he could shove it between his legs and limp away
Maybe he wanted to ask for help
Maybe he wanted to be there for me
Maybe he worried
But he stood there while I cried
And I hated him for that.

“There is NOT a carrot cookie”by Julia at her desk

Tuesday November 4, 2014
5 minutes
overheard in Higher Grounds Coffee

I like carrots in things and I really like when you can’t tell it’s carrot. I don’t know why but it makes me think of Narnia and going through a secret passage way to find an amazingly good time on the other side of a closet. When you eat a delicious dessert and you don’t know you’ve eaten vegetables, you’re practically being transported to an alternate reality. We had to do that once for Nicolas. Not with carrots and NOT with a carrot cookie, but with mushrooms and with pizza. He wouldn’t eat them because he hated them, only he never even tried them because he was afraid they would be as bad as he invented or possibly even worse. We when he came over we hid the mushrooms under the mozzarella. It was a pretty basic approach but Nicolas wasn’t so interested in research so it worked out. He ate it, he loved it, then my brother made the stupid mistake of telling Nicolas that haha! There were in fact mushrooms, the very thing you hate in there! Then he really hated mushrooms because Nicolas also did not like being tricked.

“you have to take your hat off to the French” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday November 6, 2014
5 minutes
Vedge by Rich Landau and Kate Jacoby

You have to take your hat off to the French. You really do. Those women manage to remain thin as a pussy-willow whilst eating all that butter and cheese! And those men? So fashionable. When I was in Paris for my year abroad in college, I was just struck by the beautiful nature of that entire people! You really have to hand it to them. And so stylish! Sipping their Cafe Au Lait and eating their Crepes! Good grief. If only we took a page out of their book, you know? Here we are, nasty Americans, drinking Coors Lite and eating Big Macs, while the French roll cigarettes and wear capris! I should’ve been born there. I’m really a black sheep here, I always have been. I should go back. Would you like to go?! We could go together! Let’s see if there’s a seat sale! There’s a seat sale! Okay. When are you free? January? Paris in January is probably absolutely breathtaking. I can’t imagine that they get very much snow… More of a dusting, a sprinkling…

“Can you go away?” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday November 5, 2014
5 minutes
Overheard on Via Zamboni

I’m making small talk with a fucking Doberman, right, and like, I’m trying to look cool, but, like, probably failing. He just keeps wiggling his nose! And, like, licking his nuts! I’m like, “HELLO?! Could you just restrain yourself for two whole minutes!” I finally look up and talk to his dumb owner, this real dumb looking guy in a Blue Jays baseball hat. “How old his he?” I don’t even know why I asked that! I mean, why do I care how old this dog is? Baseball Hat looks, like, touched or something. He’s like, “Vernon is twelve.” VERNON?! Who the fuck names their dog Vernon?! I’m partial to Bud or Max or Larry. Vernon. Ha!

“There is NOT a carrot cookie” by Sasha on her couch

Tuesday November 4, 2014
5 minutes
Overheard at Higher Grounds Coffee

Allison: I’ll have the carrot cookie.
Bill: The carrot cake?
Allison: No. The carrot cookie…
She points to a cookie in the display case that does indeed look like it has carrot in it.
Bill: There is NOT a carrot cookie.
Allison: But –
Bill: I don’t know why everyone always does this! That is a Morning Glory cookie.
Allison: There isn’t a sign.
Bill: It, it fell down.
Bill reaches into the case and picks up the little “Morning Glory Cookie” sign. He looks at Allison like, “Happy?”
Allison: Banana Chocolate Chip muffin then.
Bill: Okay. Anything to drink?
Allison: No thanks.
Bill puts a Banana Chocolate Chip muffin in a paper bag. He hands it to Allison.
Bill: Three twenty five please.
Allison digs around in her change purse. She hands Bill a five dollar note. Bill looks exceedingly annoyed.
Allison: I just, I – … I don’t have exact change…
Bill: You’re really not winning at life today are you?
Allison takes her change, and her muffin, furrows her eyebrows and leaves.
Bill (smiling) Thanks so much! Have a nice day!
The next customer approaches the cash.

“clearly in the context of the show” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Monday November 3, 2014
5 minutes
from an e-mail

He’s there. He’s there. I run up the stairs of the porch and I remember that my Mom has writing group tonight, she’s across the city in High Park. Shit shit shit shit shit. I get my key into the lock and I slam the door and he’s there, on the porch. Heart pounding, tears real, breath high. I call the police. “Um, hi, I just, I just was followed and the man came onto the porch and I’m not sure what to do because I’m home alone and…” This man is going to kill me. I know you’re there. I see you. Two officers come, ring the doorbell. I creep towards the door, wiping tears. “You called?” They circle the house with flashlight and report back that they didn’t find anyone. No one’s there. I say “thank you”. No one’s there.

“How many yaks could a yak pack pack” by Sasha sitting in front of the fire

Sunday November 2, 2014
5 minutes
Tongue Twisters at Americanfolklore.net

How many yaks could a yak pack pack
If the yak did attack with a whack
How many Macks could a Mack Smack smack
If a Mack was a rack of a crack
How many tacks could a lack hack hack
If a tack made a vack and the vack was sack
Would the tack know a sack sack vack
If a Zack was a quack and the kack was a kack
Well then let’s all smack the pack

“Power protects power” by Sasha at Higher Grounds

Saturday November 1, 2014 at Higher Grounds
5 minutes
From the program notes for Saint Joan at the Arts Club

I have a huge crush on Jay. Like, huge. I realize that I act like an idiot around him, laughing and blushing and pretending I don’t know things that I do know. I know a lot of things. My voice gets high and my cheeks get red and I almost can’t feel my toes when I’m around him. I can see myself, floating above, the real me, the one that has read the whole Young Adult section at the library, acting like a fucking bimbo idiot. I am ashamed of myself.

“Pumpkins are awesome,” by Sasha on her couch

Friday October 31, 2014
5 minutes
from an e-mail

I was dancing. I was doing my own thing. My friends were somewhere else and I was owning the dance floor. Solo. A guy came up behind me and pulled my hips to his groin. I turned around and said, “No thank you!” and danced away. A guy came up behind me and pulled my hips to his groin. I turned around and said, “Please fuck off!” A different face. Same hands. Same aggression. I left the dance floor and on the way to the bathroom I felt a sob choke in my throat. I wasn’t entirely sure why but I knew it had something to do with me feeling like I couldn’t just dance, alone, without being grabbed. Outside the bathroom door and guy said to me, “You’re fucking hot. How many drinks would I need to buy you to suck my dick?” I burst into tears. Right there. Big ones, not little, sweet, cute ones. He made a few grunts and walked away. I went into a bathroom stall, sat on the floor, and kept crying. A woman in the stall beside me, “Are you okay? You’re probably just too drunk, babe!” I wasn’t. I wasn’t drunk at all.

“Then we’d better be jolly, jolly sure” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday October 30, 2014
5 minutes
On Directing Film
David Mamet

You’re gonna ask him to marry you? Well, you better be jolly, jolly sure that he’s the one. You better not just know in your nuts, but in your heart, too. Hahahahaha! Sorry. Was that inappropriate? Do you even have a ring? Oh my word! Of course you do. It’s beautiful, honey. It’s really beautiful. He’s gonna look so handsome in that. When your father proposed to me it was the coldest day of the year. Power was out and we were under seventeen blankets, sucking on one another’s noses to keep them from freezing off! He didn’t have a ring or anything but he had his word and I took that for gold.

“clearly in the context of the show” by Julia at her desk

Monday November 3, 2014
5 minutes
from an e-mail

I find myself penciling in ideas and then crossing them out before they’ve been fully developed. I don’t use the eraser because I like the way it looks when I’ve had a thought and there’s a line through it indicating that I knew I was wrong and I moved forward anyway. That’s real bravery, isn’t it? I don’t rub out my mistakes, I let them fester there on the page and the challenge is not to let them infect the words not yet written just by being there. The trick is to avoid thinking about it at all, not in a dismissive way pretending that it doesn’t exist, but to accept that it’s a part of the process and to carry on without being discouraged. The same can be done with a pen although it is, for some strange reason, a million times more distracting. In pen it looks like I was one hundred percent certain about what I was writing, only to find out later that it was wrong. That the ideas were not formed fully, that there was thoughtlessness involved. I don’t like thinking I’m thoughtless because the opposite is true. I am careful for the most part, but even being careful won’t dismiss the fact that I am human and I must always move forward.