“Eye Candy” By Julia in Brooklyn


Thursday, July 30, 2015
12:33am
5 minutes
From a shop in NYC

I waited at the bus stop for you. I looked up a couple new words on my dictionary app: Ubiquitous, Saurian, Apothegm. You were running late, which was usual, and I was early, which was not. I thought of ways to use my new words on you. I thought maybe you’d think I was smart. But then I realized I didn’t just want you to think I was, but know I was. I wanted you to know that I have two degrees and a killer vocabulary. I work at stuff. I didn’t want there to be any doubt about it. Some guy walked close to me and whistled right in my ear. I pointed up at the “No cat calling” sign right above us and then I formed a gun with my fingers and shot him.

““Ha, ha, we’re all in this together” faces” by Julia in Brooklyn


Wednesday, July 29, 2015
12:59am
5 minutes
from http://www.flare.com/health/monica-heisey-tried-it-sweat-your-ass-off-fitness-class/

-It’s sweltering and sticky and I’m covered in mosquito bites, Paul.
-So you don’t like it here?
-No, I don’t like it here, I’m the worst version of myself here.
-But you love to scratch!
-I like to be scratched, I do not like being kept awake BECAUSE I’m scratching.
-I don’t seem to have any…
-Well why don’t you brag about it, Paul, because they seem to have forgotten the code. I even have them on my fucking face.
-What’s the code?
-I don’t know, the one that states they can’t violate me completely by biting me everywhere on my body and also my face.
-I don’t get it.
-I wouldn’t expect you to.
-Are you going to be able to handle another night?
-Well we’re here aren’t we?
-Yeah, we’re all in this together, huh?
-Mhm. You, me, and the mosquitoes.

““Ha, ha, we’re all in this together” faces” by Sasha on the porch at Joe Creek


Wednesday, July 29, 2015
10:37am
5 minutes
from http://www.flare.com/health/monica-heisey-tried-it-sweat-your-ass-off-fitness-class/

The butter isn’t cold enough. Your Mom is reading Oprah’s magazine (a Christmas issue from 2011) on the couch and I call to her, “This’ll only take about ten minutes!” There’s no way I’ve fooled her. No way. I’ve got all the ingredients lined up on the counter. You and your father will return in approximately forty five minutes from fishing and expect lunch. I made it sound like baking a pie was no biggie but, truth be told, it’s a huge biggie, the biggest biggie. I’ve never made a pie. That’s a lie. I’ve made a pie, what idiot hasn’t made a pie? I’ve never made a crust.

Why must the butter be cold, you ask? While I’m not a profesh baker, I am a profesh scientist. Not really. We use cold butter because butter is made of yummy fats and water. When the pie goes into that sexy preheated oven the water evaporates quickly and creates that sweet-dreams-are-made-of-this flaky pie crust.

“What is “beginner’s mind”?” By Sasha at the desk at Joe Creek


Tuesday, July 28, 2015
12:03pm
5 minutes
From a tweet by Shambhala Sun

I read a short memoir about a woman with stage four breast cancer and my throat swells with fear. I resent her for reminding me of my mortality. I wonder about where I carry extra weight, if I eat too much cheese, is it dangerous to live in a city? Where does my unexpressed rage live? Is it in my breasts? My liver? I’m destined for the same fate. Sickness lies dormant inside of me and will strike when I least expect. The summer of my wedding. When I am pregnant with my first child. During the premiere of my most successful play.

A hummingbird feasts from a hydrangea, slurping up her fill until she’s drunk, flying into the morning before I can reach for my camera. I drink coffee, now cool, the bitterness sour long after the swallow.

I weave a whole narrative before I’ve finished my fried egg on toast. I hate her, this beautiful bald writer, I love her, I wish she were closer and that I might know her phone number so that I can call and thank her for this late July, early morning meditation on death.

“What is “beginner’s mind”?” By Julia in Brooklyn


Tuesday, July 28, 2015
11:11pm
5 minutes
from a tweet by Shambhala Sun

Set out on that journey with the wind whispering a farewell to your back
Let it make its way into your hair and dance there for a minute
Maybe two
Maybe three
She doesn’t want to hold you back or make you think you’re not ready
Only you know that
She just thinks goodbyes are important
You have your pencil sharpened and your pages born fresh and clean
Your long trek’s sword; your protector; your companion
Set out on that journey with the wind catching up to your skin
Let it make its way onto your face and caress you there for a minute
Maybe two
Maybe three
She doesn’t want to interfere or keep you from moving forward
You will do it anyway
She just thinks hello-agains are worth it

“supremely a task of communication” by Sasha at Joe Creek Artist Residency


Monday, July 27, 2015
10:24pm
5 minutes
Audition
Michael Shurtleff


He’s shirtless and we’re brushing our teeth. He sucks in his belly and hobbles around, scrunching up his face. I grab him by the shoulder and say, “Stop! Please stop!” He stands tall. “What’s the matter with you?”

I’m reading about the Holocaust and all I can think about is children being starved. When I see his ribs like that I think about him, miles away, unsure when and if we’ll see each other again. I think about him starving. Nothing gives me more pleasure than feeding him. I think about our future children, plump belly receding. I think about a great aunt’s child being starved, the weight of it a paperweight on my chest.

I can’t sleep. I toss the duvet off, then pull it on. I burrow into his armpit. I turn away.

“supremely a task of communication” By Julia in Brooklyn


Monday, July 27, 2015
11:24pm
5 minutes
Audition
Michael Shurtleff


You say I miss you
I say I miss you back
But we’re throwing daggers baby
avoiding all of our feelings
I can’t stand the silence
So I lie to you instead
You can’t keep score
So neither of us will win
You say
You say I miss you baby
You say
You say I miss you baby
I wait for you to come home
And you rush to me from work
You sit in your car a little longer
So we’re stealing each other’s time baby
Avoiding what is true
You can’t stand the sound of my voice
So you make love to me instead
I can’t play pretend
So it hurts us both the same
I say
I say I miss you back baby
I say
I say I miss you back

“it didn’t work all that well.” By Julia in Brooklyn


Sunday, July 26, 2015
12:01am
5 minutes
From an email

Leaving myself behind
Yeah
Thought it would be easy
Yeah
Thought it would be a walk in the park
Now I’m laughing
Yeah
Cause I know it’s a joke
Yeah
But before I didn’t
Wouldn’t have wanted to take it wrong
I’m stuck with this lot
Half wit
Quarter wit
I’m not going anywhere
No
Not anywhere but where I am
Didn’t work out so well
Had other plans without knowing it
Yeah
Stuck with this face and this body too
Can’t forget a truth once you learn it
Can’t un-hear a bell once you’ve rung it
Can’t pretend
No
Can’t keep all the lies close
No

“it didn’t work all that well.” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday, July 26, 2015
10:42am
5 minutes
From an email

When we go to sleep, I will whisper ten things I’m grateful for in your ear.
You will do the same to me, if you make it past seven.
I’ll know you’re asleep from the sound of your breath.
I’ll lie awake for awhile, thinking about when we’ll have kids, wondering if we’ll need a car, considering the carbon footprint of a child, or two.
I’ll lie awake for awhile and consider all the stuff we have, here, and all the stuff we have there.
Is where more of your stuff is home?
Or, is home where no stuff is and just where you are?
Where you and I are?
You will turn over and I’ll be the Big Spoon.
I’ll kiss you back and practise meditating on the in breath and the out breath.
It turns into –
I love you I love you I love you

“You were the scene of the crime” by Sasha on the 99 going West


Saturday, July 25, 2015
10:47pm
5 minutes
Trailer Park
Jenn Grant


I need a new bra. The one I mostly wear has a broken hook that scratches my back and the underwire is popping out. I think to myself, “This is a good opportunity to do some ethical purchasing!” and I get online and research “ethical bras”. Two hundred dollars plus shipping from California? I just… I can’t. My tail between my legs, I drag myself to a mall. I haven’t been to a mall in over a year and the lights immediately make me feel nauseas. The people are walking to slowly, or too fast, and they all look the same. I look the same as them. It’s a crisis. I go into La Senza. Seven panties for twenty eight dollars! Push up bras! Negligees! Boy shorts! Sassy sexy overload of pink and black. I am ashamed. I just want a fucking bra, maybe two, so that I don’t have to go through this again anytime soon! I grab a few, nothing crazy, one flesh-toned, one pink, and a handful of thongs. I peel off my tank top and wonder who made these, whose fingers touched where my nipple will be, where my shoulder supports the weight of my breasts.

“You can live in Heaven” by Sasha on her couch


Friday, July 24, 2015
11:14pm
5 minutes
The Four Agreements
Don Miguel Ruiz


I first met Will from an audience. His band was playing at the Horseshoe Tavern and I stared at him the whole set. At the end of the show he smiled at me and my stomach flipped and flopped like a fish out of water. A few months later I saw him at a friends birthday party and I approached him. Someone was singing karaoke, loud, and I had to shout. I played dumb when he told me that he was in a band and acted like I only maybe had heard of them. At the end of our conversation he asked for my phone number and we texted the next few days. We met up for coffee and he was distracted but I didn’t care. I liked him. He kissed me on my porch and told me he was going on tour for three months in a week. We didn’t have a lot of time.

“You were the scene of the crime” by Julia in Brooklyn


Saturday, July 25, 2015
1:51am
5 minutes
Trailer Park
Jenn Grant


I’m starting to wonder what world this is. I thought I knew but the colours keep changing and I’m no longer sure of where I am. It’s hard to keep tabs on your existence when Consistency laughs in your face while she sunbathes on her vacation at Coney Island. Nothing really matters. You hear her hum this, chuckle this to the sand, and to the mango flowers ready for purchase on the boardwalk. She sees the truth. It’s not easy and you should know it. So I’m starting to wonder what world this is. Is this the one where blood can be shed for no reason at all? Where my things are your things solely on account of you wanting them to be?

“OH MY GOD I GOTTA GO!” by Sasha on the 99 going East


Thursday, July 23, 2015
11:22am
5 minutes
Overheard on the Street

Effin’ Dustin, man. When Dustin steps, it sounds like a rhino, it sounds like the ceiling’s gonna come down an some shit. Effin’ guy. An I even hear ’em talkin’, right? Like, “OH MY GOD I GOTTA GO!” an’ shiz… Makes me crazy.

Yes, I know him. Kunch. I think that’s how you say it. I’ve met him once or twice. I don’t know know him. I see his mail piling up. I hear his bass blaring. I get wafts of smoke up my grate. Nothing better than waking up to smoke coming up out of the floor. Note the sarcasm. There’s always about twenty three men in that apartment. Travels in a pack. Kunch. I sincerely wonder what that name means.

“submitting this entry” by Sasha in the bath


Wednesday, July 22, 2015
11:24pm
5 minutes
From the Standardized Patient website

it takes time
oh it takes time
to decide
to come back
to look up up up
it takes time
oh it takes time
to unlearn the taste
to shake it loose
to smile at cracks
and
it takes time
oh it takes time
to learn something new
to learn something blue
to let the dust settle
oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh
it takes time
oh it takes time
to see all the colours there
all the blues there
all the truth there
all the brightness
it takes time
oh it takes time
to find the clearest water
to chase away the monsters
to listen to the wind
oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh
it takes time

“grabbed by the notion” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday, July 21, 2015
12:10pm
5 minutes
From a letter to a celebrity

I love the expansive sky across the back
Shoulder to shoulder
I love the gentle down coat
The hand that fits on waist and hip and bum cheek
Men though
Man though
A man can’t be a sister like a woman
Obvious
Perhaps
But sometimes I forget
When I look across the table and see a gaze that doesn’t understand
Humans are humans
Gender is
I don’t know
I reach out my finger and you touch it with yours
This is our understanding
A quiet moment
Your back to me
Expansive sky
My eyes searching for clouds
In bed
Your chest is my pillow
Legs and arms intwined
Enough

“You can live in Heaven” by Julia in Brooklyn


Friday, July 24, 2015
11:05pm
5 minutes
The Four Agreements
Don Miguel Ruiz


I hear Bryan Adams in my head, playing a song I know I should love. Makes me wonder if I’m checked out or something. Makes me wonder if you’re the one. Makes me wonder if you’re not. I think because there aren’t angels in my version, or glitter bugs, or trumpets or whatever. There’s a couple things I do like a lot, but none of that Hallmark clownshit on your deathbed stuff. I guess I’m going to get a lot of flack for saying that. Don’t care. Not enough to retract it. It’s just been something on my mind for a while is all. You, me, what is perfect, if there’s a perfect, what’s forever, if there’s a forever, if Heaven is where we’re going, if it’s where we already are, if it doesn’t exist at all, thereby ruining everyone’s standards without fully knowing it. I don’t know. Bryan Adams or something.

“a boy like me calls his mother.” By Sasha on her porch


Monday, July 20, 2015
9:11am
5 minutes
from http://www.howlround.com

We make a plan to go to the diner for milkshakes.
“No dinner. Just milkshakes!” You text.
“Milkshakes ARE DINNER.” I respond.
I’m already there, picking off my chipping nail polish.
My phone beeps.
It’s you.
“I’m in a crisis.” You text.
“And when in crisis?” I respond.
“A boy like me calls his mother. I’m gonna be an hour late.”
It’s not the first time.
It won’t be the final time.
I order onion rings.
I order a root beer.
You finally roll up in a purple velour tracksuit and red Doc Martin’s.
“Where’s your milkshake?” You say.
“I’m full…” I respond.
“Fuck you.”
“Meanie.”
“I WANT A STRABERRY SHAKE! HEAVY ON THE CREAM!”
“Shhh – ”
“MY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD!”
You’re high.

“There’s something I need to explain to you.” By Sasha on her couch


Sunday, July 19, 2015
10:14pm
5 minutes
Sputnik Sweetheart
Haruki Murakami


Made it back just in time for tea. Mama made those blueberry muffins with the crumble top and we gobbled up more than we shoulda but whatchu gonna do! They are yummy! No one asked about the train trip but that’s okay… Not like I had anything great to say bout it anyway.

The next day was Church and Mama told me I should tie my hair back. “No one wants that hair flying around in their laps, Darlene!” Daniella and I wore matching pink sweaters and someone asked who was older and I hate it when that happens. Daniella loves it. She was grinnin’ ear to ear. Mama had a look sweep over her when she say Paster Earl. I hate it when that happens. I elbowed Danielle when she was singin’ too loud. Everyone was staring!

“OH MY GOD I GOTTA GO!” by Julia at Propeller Coffee


Thursday, July 23, 2015 at Propeller Coffee
2:20pm
5 minutes
Overheard on the Street

I’m the person on the street that annoys you with my heavy walk That spits on the sidewalk
That answers my phone too loudly on public transportation
That lets my phone ring too loudly before I answer it on public transportation
That drops an earring in the parking lot and then is too shocked to offer sincere gratitude when it’s returned
That is obnoxious on a bicycle because nothing is oiled and it sounds like a David Lynch movie
That tries to make other people feel good about their bad choices
That would rather close a window than put on an extra layer of clothing
That orders McDonald’s fries without sodium just because I can
That falls asleep at the library
That takes a shit in public restrooms
That wishes on shooting stars which end up just being planes

“submitting this entry” by Julia on her bed


Wednesday, July 22, 2015
2:04am
5 minutes
from the Standardized Patient website

I’m really upset because I shrunk my favourite yellow shorts in the dryer even though I was following the care instructions to a t. I read everything over, I made sure the temperatures we correct. And now when I wear them they don’t look like they did before. They look like the shorts you try to wear when you’re not sure of how to actually dress: you know they’re sort of right but they’re not working at all for your body type. They shouldn’t be this mangled now and I no longer have a bright pair of shorts to wear to Deanna’s birthday. She specifically requested bright bottoms and black tops and now I have to figure this out. I am always the one with the bright bottoms and black tops but tonight I’m gonna be the only idiot who doesn’t know how to do laundry! It’s so embarrassing. Deanna always look stylish and put together. I can’t show up to her themed birthday party with bottoms that don’t fit! They fit the colour criteria but the style is way off! So I am asking you, ambassadors for Forever 21, if you could do something about this ASAP. I read the instructions and followed them. Is this a manufacturers’ failure???

“grabbed by the notion” by Julia on the 505 going West


Tuesday, July 21, 2015
11:28pm
5 minutes
from a letter to a celebrity

I’m on the ocean
The waves are healing me
I’m looking deep
In the cave in my chest
I’m on the ocean
The water is curing me
I’m holding tight
To the magic underneath

I remember these words better than I remember my own address. They’ve been sung into my soul so many times that they’re practically mine, top to bottom. Grandma used to sing it to me before bed. She dreamed of the ocean, and taking me there to live with her. When Aunt Christina passed away, Grandma said she knew a place where I wouldn’t feel any pain. She asked Mom if I could go but Mom said, You’re not leaving me too, not now, not ever. And Grandma tried so long to get me there. I didn’t know how much Mom hated to be alone.

“a boy like me calls his mother.” by Julia on her patio


Monday, July 20, 2015
6:19pm
5 minutes
http://www.howlround.com

I HAVE A DOG! Daddy saved a little black one from the shelter and brought him home for me TO KEEP! Mom said play nice with Joseph. Daddy thinks it’s better to call him Joseph than mom’s name, Peanut. He laughed when I picked it and looked at me with big Daddy eyes. Peanut is not the winner! I tell mom this and she storms back into the kitchen with the dish towel over her shoulder and tears in her big mommy eyes. Don’t worry about it, she likes to make things about her, Daddy tells me. She’s just mad you didn’t like her name, but guess what, Joseph didn’t like it either. Daddy goes into the kitchen after mommy. How could you, I hear her yell to him. Dammit, Karen, I hear him say back.

“There’s something I need to explain to you.” by Julia on her bed


Sunday, July 19, 2015
1:14am
5 minutes
Sputnik Sweetheart
Haruki Murakami


I’m not the light you thought I was
I am the cloud
The dark one
I am the cloud
The dark one
I am the cloud
The dark one
There is hate in my heart
There is anger in my belly
I feed them
I nourish them
I grow them inside me like a backyard tomato plant
I choose them over bravery
I choose them over peace
I don’t have excuses for this anymore
I would have once tried to explain
Why I am or why I have them so close
Some excuses
Some lies
Some carefully constructed reasons
Some backtracking
Some omissions
Something tangible to give you
So you can take home and look at it
To remind you that I tried
But I’m not the light you thought I was
And you should know
Before you count on me to glow

“No need to hurry” by Julia on her couch


Saturday, July 18, 2015
2:12am
5 minutes
From an email

Hi there’s something I’d like to say to you and I’m going to try to get it all out without freaking myself out into not saying it. So. Okay. Good mother of Christ. Okay.

I am not in love with you anymore. I do not like the way you chew with your mouth open. I shouldn’t have said I am not in love with you.
That was too far.
I love you and I am in love with you but I do not like some of your quirks the way I once did. The last time we spoke I watched myself tolerate you. I hate that I’ve just used that word. Oh Lord, I’m struggling with being direct with you. I’m worried that you will not be able to take my criticisms without hating yourself. For the record I do not hate you nor could I. What am I trying to say? I have to hurry so I don’t give up on telling you and I have to tell you because if I don’t then I’m afraid I just might. Might start to hate you, I mean. Not that I ever could. So the chewing. That’s a problem. The soup slurping. That’s probably a bigger one. Anything to do with how you eat, really: The way you crack pistachio shells, remove olive pits from your mouth, swallow full sunflower seeds including the shell…

“wrote a long great piece” by Julia on her bed


Friday, July 17, 2015
2:47am
5 minutes
A tweet by Sheila Heti

Dear Edith,

Your last letter was hard to read and yet I find myself rereading it every day; sometimes twice. I didn’t know there were so many things you found unpleasing about me. After all this correspondence, I suppose two people can fight just as they would if they saw each other face to face as often. I am understanding of our closeness and though I’d like to believe our relationship is immune to the casualties of constant interaction, I see now that it is not special or unique at all. Part of me likes that it is not because it takes some of the pressures of perfection away. I know now that if you can hurt me, I can hurt you, and that doesn’t make us love each other any less. What I struggle with is the fear that you have felt this way for some time and my once beloved qualities have now added up to an amount that is undesirable to you. Please, Edith, if you would, respond in honesty: Have I been bothering you for long? Or have you just recently noticed my flaws? I wonder this for if it’s the latter then I have to ask: Is everything in the right place with you? Sometimes, my dear Edith, we see ourselves in others…

“good energy vibes” by Julia at her desk


Thursday, July 16, 2015
12:31am
5 minutes
From a text

When you walk into a room I can hear you without knowing you’re there. It’s funny, this feeling. I know you’re around yet I haven’t seen you at all. What do you call that? What kind of connection is it when your skin perks up all tingly and awake without fully understanding why? My back is to you and your presence greets me. I wonder if you feel me the way I feel you. Is it your smell? Are we horses, sniffing each other’s flesh and taking each other in? I don’t know if it’s because I want to sense you so I do. I read somewhere that we never can fully know someone else, but I think I know you. I think I know when you’re near because I know you like I know me.
Because you are me.

“and I’ve begun to name things.” By Julia at Valens Restaurant


Wednesday, July 15, 2015
10:55am
5 minutes
Admittance
Shane Michalik


I have a box for all my heartache
I put it on the shelf and I let it marinate
In the flesh of the oak
In the smoothness of the varnish
It sits there until it is ready
Then I take it out of its hiding place
I smell inside and breathe in the pain
Seeped into the wood
Crept into the grooves
Still remnants of yesterday’s decisions
When it’s time I light the stove
And I name all the moments that have crippled me
One by one I throw them into the oil
And I watch as they grow crispy and small
I burn each heartache into smoke

“No need to hurry” by Sasha on her porch


Saturday, July 18, 2015
11:43am
5 minutes
From an email

No need to hurry, Si. You’ll trip! Your shoelaces are undone… Silas! Shit. Come here. Come here. You’re alright, you’ll be alright. Shhh… Sh… Mikey and Lizz are coming for supper. What shall we make. Burritos? How bout burritos? And you and Mikey can have fizzies and me and Lizz will have grown-up fizzes with wine. Oh. I guess we should stop at the liquor store, then. Or… No, can’t ask Lizz to bring, she’s always so low on cash. Not sure why she doesn’t ask Greg for more spending money. It’s not like he doesn’t have more than enough! And then he takes the kids to Marine Land and gets all the glory while Lizz is left – … Silas? Nevermind. Honey, don’t pick that up. That’s garbage! SILAS! Don’t you dare put that in your mouth. There’ll be no fizzy for you!

“wrote a long great piece” by Sasha in her bed


Friday, July 17, 2015
11:57pm
5 minutes
A tweet by Sheila Heti

Sky dancing stories across your cheeks
Light like fingerprints
Eyes are heavy with the week
Open and close
Open and close
Whistling a tune for a new song
Arrived
A shooting star
Picking chords
Cherries
Callouses prove it
Harmonies don’t come easy tonight
It’s work
Kneading the dough
Waiting for it to rise
Patience
YouTube videos
In the oven
Crust turns golden
Sky dancing stories across your cheeks
Sun so high for evening

“good energy vibes” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday, July 16, 2015
7:57pm
5 minutes
From a text

The year I changed how I wrote my lower case “A’s” I met Dallas. He looked me up and down and said, “I like your style…” He had an accent that I’d never heard before, which isn’t saying much.

“You’ve got good energy vibes,” I said, three hours and two tubs of raspberry sorbet later. Dallas’ Dad made it from scratch and sold it to health food stores. Sometimes Dallas helped him with deliveries.

“Can I come?” I asked, one particularly hot Saturday morning. We took turns sleeping over at one another’s houses – we spent Friday nights in his basement on camping mats and we spent Saturdays in my sister’s room because she had a double bed. She was away at college and couldn’t get mad at us for not washing our feet before crawling in.

“I’ve never had a friend like you,” I told Dallas and he rolled his eyes and laughed.

“happiness is a fantastic vicious circle” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday, July 14, 2015
6:47pm
5 minutes
The Wisdom of Insecurity
Alan W. Watts


This is how my happiness starts:
Home early on a Saturday,
no one around for miles and miles.
Clear skies, beautiful sunset,
watching from my rooftop patio,
sipping on fancy rum.
Singing at full voice to the clouds,
and to the moon,
not caring about anything,
no one around for miles and miles.
Oreo milkshake for dinner,
extra cookies crumbled on top,
pounding through peanut butter ginger chews,
take a break to toast some crusty bread,
melt some fancy cheese.
Alone and eating and loving and eating,
it starts that way and then it repeats.

“and I’ve begun to name things.” By Sasha on her porch


Wednesday, July 15, 2015
9:22pm
5 minutes
Admittance
Shane Michalik


It happens when we buy a juicer. Amy points it out to me and I’m horrified. I’ve begun to name things after Hector. Multiple things.

“What should we call it?” I ask, standing back and admiring the juicer’s regal stature on our countertop. “You’re the one who anthropomorphizes,” Amy says, “I don’t care about naming appliances. In fact, I’d rather nap. See you in a bit.” She goes to her room.

When Amy wakes up and emerges, tank top askew, she says, “So, what’s the verdict?” “HECTOR!” raise my arms up, like I’ve won the lottery. “But the toaster’s named Hector,” she is unimpressed. “Are you obsessed with Hector?” “I don’t even know a Hector!” “Um…” She takes out her cellphone.

“happiness is a fantastic vicious circle” by Sasha on her couch


Tuesday, July 14, 2015
10:32pm
5 minutes
The Wisdom of Insecurity
Alan W. Watts


Mad toasts me up a poppyseed bagel. He schmears on some Lite Cream Cheese and asks if I like tomato. “No!” I accidentally shout. Shit. He slams it down in front of me. The bagel bounces. I jump. He watches me eat half. Neither of us says anything. Finally Mad goes, “So, how are ya?” I finish my bite. “Good, I mean… For the first time in my life I think I can say that I’m actually happy.” Mad smiles and then frowns and then picks up a poppyseed from my plate by pressing his finger down. He stares at it. Eventually he says, “Happiness is a fantastically vicious circle, Kiks. Fantastic and vicious. Remember that.” He takes a kiwi from the fruit basket and bites into it like it’s a pear.

“that’d be a mess” by Sasha on the 99 going East


Monday, July 13, 2015
2:10pm
5 minutes
In The Boom Boom Room
David Rabe


As soon as you meet someone do you add them on Facebook?
No. Nope. I don’t think I’ve ever done that.
Do you follow more celebrities or real people on Twitter?
Celebrities aren’t real?
Usually not.
I think real people? But I’m not really sure. I do enjoy Amy Schumer’s tweets a lot.
Fair enough.
You?
I don’t do Twitter. I’m too much of a rambler.
Oh. I see.
Are you an only child?
Yes.
Uh oh.
What?
Only children are sometimes… selfish.
I’m not –
I’m not saying that you are. Studies show that –
Look. I feel like you’re interviewing me! This is… weird!
Sorry. I’ve been on three hundred and sixty nine dates this year –
Uh –
Yes. That means some double date days –
Oh –
I know what I’m looking for.
Okay –
I know what I want –
I can see that…

“I sent you an email” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday, July 12, 2015
3:09pm
5 minutes
from a text message

I send you an email because I’m not sure what else to do. You’re so sick in our bed and I can’t come in there because there’s a high probability that I’ll yell at you or say something dumb like, “wanna go get gelato?” or, “you look like shit!”

The email says:

Hey!
Just wondering if you need anything? I’m going to CrossFit at 7… Please don’t die when I’m gone
Love ya!

You’re not going to check your email. You’re probably sleeping. You’re probably trying not to barf.

I send another one.

I’m terrible at this. I’m sorry. My Mom used to call my Gran to come when I was sick because she had no idea how to take care of anyone. Not even herself. Too bad my Gran’s dead or I’d see if she could come look after you…

“His name is Luke.” by Sasha at Kitsilano Park


Saturday July 11, 2015
5:59pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Higher Grounds

His name is Luke. I bake him a blackberry rhubarb pie. I make the crust with cold butter. I cut it in with two knives. James Taylor plays on the stereo. The sun is high. The lake calls like a crow but I don’t listen. I grate in lemon zest and I mix the filling with my hands, staining them purple, staining them lovely.
His name is Luke. It’s his special day. Not a birthday, quite. Not a promotion, really.

When the pie’s out of the oven and the iced tea is brewed, I light candles. Luke is taking a shower.

Before we clink forks and take a bite, Luke says, “Thank you for this celebration. It’s just what I’ve needed.” We eat, quiet except for “ooh’s and ahh’s”. Betsy stops by with the pills he’s supposed to take before he goes to sleep. I cut her a slice. I watch her eyes close as she chews.

“I see four stages” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday, July 10, 2015
11:03pm
5 minutes
On Writing Zion
Maureen Stanton


I see four stages
You’re standing on one of them
Twirling
Your skirt makes a tulip around you
Your hair a halo
On the stage to your right
Your cousin Miles
His eyes are closed
He’s thinking about algebraic equations
and whipped cream
On the stage to your left
The man from the dry cleaner on 1st
He’s laughing
Unsure why he’s there
Happy to be included
He lives alone and
rarely gets to spend Sundays with others
On the final stage
is
Me
Taking pictures
Trying to remember this
Using any means necessary
A notebook between my teeth
A pencil behind my ear

“that’d be a mess” By Julia on her patio


Monday, July 13, 2015
7:10pm
5 minutes
In The Boom Boom Room
David Rabe


I’m thinking about what I’ll make you for dinner when I see you again.
See, I’m debating between ribs and chicken cause you really liked them both the last time. Maybe I’ll make you both with the special sauce and the arugula salad. You went crazy for the arugula salad. Or the chili shrimp. I could make you the chili shrimp. I want it to be special. Seeing you again after all this time, I mean, It has to be special right? It can’t just be thrown together. It has to be thought out. What a mess it’d be if I made all the dishes you liked but not well because there was a lack of focus. I tend to focus poorly when there’s more than one thing to focus on. I’m thinking about seeing you again, and kissing you again, and cooking for you again, and that’s very hard for me. It’s very hard not to let my mind wander. My mind’s a mess. You know it feels especially cluttered these days. Need someone to go in and do a spring cleaning, get all the cobwebs down, reorganize all the big issues so I don’t have to trip over them just to get to the good ideas.

“I sent you an email” By Julia outside Darkhorse on Spadina


Sunday, July 12, 2015
4:14pm
5 minutes
from a text message

Of course you haven’t responded yet! I’ve only sent you the most life-changing e-mail of all time. I shouldn’t have to resend my thoughts, but your lack of response is truly IRRITATING to say the least. How do I know where I stand. It is more important to know where I stand then how you feel as I’m the one who has put my heart out on a limb here and now it’s just DANGLING, don’t you see? I don’t know if you’ve drafted a response or not even because I refuse to log into your account like last time and check for myself. We all know it ended badly last time, and let’s just say once you know, you can’t unknow. But I am going a bit mental waiting for you to either confirm or deny your feelings for me. I know it sounds trite, but do you think of me the same way I think of you? Don’t answer this question. This one is riddled with self-doubt and neediness. Just answer the one I thoughtfully crafted for 3 and a half hours. YEAH! THREE AND A HALF HOURS! It took a long time to articulate. I wanted to be clear without being over-explicit. You are ALIVE, right???

“His name is Luke.” by Julia on her couch


Saturday July 11, 2015
10:59pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Higher Grounds

After she named her first two boys Matthew and Mark, everyone thought she’d name her third one Luke. She didn’t name the first two with any religious references in mind, she simply wanted the names and that was that. She might have named the third one Luke but she never liked the name. It felt too small for a man once he grew up. That and it reminded her of the first boy she ever agreed to marry. Luke Walker had asked her to marry him in the first grade and she said yes because that’s what six year olds do. He was small and feminine and had a horrendously small nose. She only said yes because she thought Andrew Griffith was going to ask Sylvia Van Kasterin to marry him. Turns out Andrew liked her all along. She found out when he left school to join the army.

“I see four stages” by Julia on the bench outside Baldwin Laundry


Friday, July 10, 2015
4:08pm
5 minutes
On Writing Zion
Maureen Stanton


Day One:
listening at the door to see if Alistair is still crying into his pillow
making sure he knows he can talk to me if he needs to
hoping that if he needs to he doesn’t bring up Deb
knowing that if he’s going to, he’s going to bring up Deb
preparing to talk about Deb
hand-washing the kimono Rufus stole for me at the charity drive
listening to Marco Beltrami to help focus my intentions

Day Two:
Consoling Alistair again about Deb
Using kind words with him like Easy Does It, There There Sweet One, I’m Not Going Anywhere
Wearing the kimono in front of the mirror to test it out
Deciding to wear the kimono loosely tied when dealing with Alistair
Figuring out ways to move my body naturally so as not to arouse suspicion when dealing with Alistair
practicing the look of genuine understanding and concern mixed with attraction

“within 15 days” by Julia on her bed


Thursday, July 9, 2015
11:42pm
5 minutes
A letter from Health Insurance BC

“Or maybe we could rent a van and pack it up tight with all our stupid stuff that we don’t care about and just drive it across the country like we did last time?” She says this, rubbing an ice cube side to side across her collar bone, making him sweat, making him want her even more.
“Yeah, we could, or we could purge all our stupid stuff that we don’t need and just be free and minimal.” He says this with a knowing smirk that she’d never go for something like that.
“You mean minimalistic?” She pops the ice cube into her mouth and lets it melt there for a second.
“I don’t think we need to purge. Maybe get rid of a few things. The waffle iron. We could get rid of the waffle iron, and maybe the second set of measuring cups.”

“I wake in the middle of the night” by Julia at Grange Park


Wednesday, July 8, 2015
3:45pm
5 minutes
from Between Gods
Alison Pick


There’s a ghost in my room and she’s been haunting me since last Wednesday. She won’t let me sleep the whole night because she’s only interested in getting what she needs. I told Cass before she slept over that she might not get a good sleep because this ghost has been haunting me lately and Cass looked at me like, “duh, there’s no such thing as ghosts.” But I’ve been feeling her while I lay there in bed when she wakes me up at the same time each night. I first feel the breeze by my face, and then I hear the laughing. Cass would have to see for herself, so I just stopped mentioning it all together. Sure enough me and Cass are sleeping soundly head to foot, then I feel the breeze. It’s 2:02am. I look at Cass and she doesn’t even flinch.

“And she put her arms around me,” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday, July 7, 2015
12:12am
5 minutes
A Complicated Kindness
Miriam Toews


My mother hates to see me cry. She doesn’t hate to offer me money, or sneak a 50 in my coat pocket when she thinks I’m not looking, even though she knows those exact things will make me cry, but when I start with the tears, it breaks her abundant heart. She doesn’t want to make me feel bad. She just wants to love me. But I feel bad because I’m self-hating and dramatic, and I cause trouble where there doesn’t need to be. She wishes I could see me how she sees me and that only means so much since I’m her baby and she’d look at me and see Mother Theresa even if I burned an entire nursery school with the children still in it to the ground. I know this because when I told her I had deep, steadfast, secret thoughts about poisoning Auntie Ellis because she scolded me in public one time, she put her arms around me and she squeezed me with so much love that I started to cry. Then she wiped my face with her kisses and said, “I would want to do the same thing if I were you.”

“read in the privacy of one’s study.” By Julia at her desk


Monday, July 6, 2015
1:01am
5 minutes
“What is creative nonfiction?”
Wayne Grady


I have locked myself in Martin’s study where Tizz won’t think to look for me. He hates confined spaces and Martin’s study is exactly that. It looks like a secret hideout, converted from a closet. I think that’s actually what it was before it became Martin’s study. I think Martin likes to pretend that this house came with a room specifically for him. He likes a place to put his papers and his legal documents. He doesn’t study in here. He doesn’t even read. He just likes to have a place that people associate with power and mystique. Well now I’m in Martin’s study executing my mystique and power. I alone know where I am and Tizz won’t have a clue. I had to read the letter without the chance of Tizz finding me. I’m only a good liar until I get caught and Tizz has always been an investigator. Should have joined the police force but they just couldn’t take someone with the severity of Tizz’s brain injury. I think they called him a liability. So he might not have a badge but he knows how to keep me in line.

“How’s that bite on your neck?” By Julia at Belly Acres


Sunday, July 5, 2015
10:09am
5 minutes
Said by Joe

The bathroom floor is covered in dead earwigs and it’s only fitting that earlier Edwin and I overturned a giant rock to investigate an earwig community, business as usual, frantic and overwhelming. Edwin told me how when he was younger he’d keep going deeper into their hub and see just what goes on further away from the light. When he told me that I fell a little bit more in love with him. There was an understanding I guess that wasn’t there before. A glimpse into his young and detailed mind.
I feel like I’ve seen them live a full life, come full circle from under the rock to making their way into this bathroom. They’re not as threatening or disturbing now. They’re just inching to get by like we are: hidden and safe from any distractions or dangers, then fully exposed out in the real world, trying to survive.

“Kiss me quick dear” by Julia at her desk


Saturday, July 4, 2015
10:35am
5 minutes
From the back of a postcard

Kiss me quick dear
before this feeling disappears dear
before the urge to have you is gone before the magic of this spell is worn
kiss me quick dear
before someone else comes in dear
before we’re caught in the heat of the moment
before we’re made to feel aware
kiss me quick dear
before the lilacs bloom dear
before the lilacs die before the lilacs are picked
kiss me quick dear
before the water boils over dear
before stillness turns into something we can’t turn back

“within 15 days” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday, July 9, 2015
4:44pm
5 minutes
A letter from Health Insurance BC

The vines climb her legs like a joke
Like a hiccup
A mistake

Thursday night karaoke
no one can look away
from her song
She’s naked
Nipples like rosebuds
“Pat Benatar’s a good gardner”

She left her wedding ring at home
Not because she doesn’t love Cal
Because she’s too hot for metal
She’s melt it

The bartender makes a joke about the weather
Someone says
“Shhhhhh”
A sacrilege

“Who is she?”
A hand on a lower back
Mine
No one answers
It hangs in the air between the chorus and the bridge
A river

In the bathroom I want to kiss her but I don’t
I’m a puddle in my jean cut-offs
I know she’ll be gone in two weeks
They are moving to Mexico City
Cal got a job there

“Why don’t you ever sing?”
She puts on fresh lipstick
Red like the sky

“I wake in the middle of the night” by Sasha at Moksha Yoga Vancouver


Wednesday, July 8, 2015 at Moksha Yoga Vancouver
9:11pm
5 minutes
from Between Gods
Alison Pick


I wake in the middle of the night and he’s got me by the throat. He’s playing around of course, don’t get the wrong idea.

“You’re a koala when you sleep. You look like a baby koala,” he says, whisper-breathed.

Groggy, I rub sleep from my eyes and roll on top of him. “What time is it?” I say, kissing his stubbled cheek.

“Who cares!” He grabs my ass.

We’ve only known each other twenty weeks. We moved in together after three.

“Oh Cassie,” my mother said. “You’ll get yourself in a real pickle!”

The first time we had sex I was hit with a bout of hysterical laughing part way through. Maybe it the sounds he made, maybe it was delirious fatigue, maybe it was that I loved him but I didn’t know what to call it, so it came out like laughter.

He started laughing, too. We had to stop, we were laughing so hard. He said my “vagina muscles were strangling his wang,” so I climbed off of him and just kept laughing.

“And she put her arms around me,” by Sasha on the 99 going East


Tuesday, July 7, 2015
6:10pm
5 minutes
A Complicated Kindness
Miriam Toews


Fiona put her arms around me and coo-ed in my ears, “Shush, baby girl… Shushhh…” I cried until I couldn’t cry and then I cried more.

The next morning I charade as okay and eat too much granola and then feel sick.
“Can’t go to work today,” I say, rubbing my belly.
She keeps her eyes on her grapefruit and says, “Go on. It’ll do you good.”
I go but regret it.
My boss tells me I “look like a bag of shit.” He’s right, but has some nerve saying it. Henrietta jumps to my rescue and says, “Allergies, eh? So bad right now.” She winks and it feels like a kiss on my temple.

When I get home, Fiona has left me pancakes on the counter with a note that says, “Breakfast for dinner!” And a smiley face.
And a heart.

“read in the privacy of one’s study.” By Sasha on her porch


Monday, July 6, 2015
6:23pm
5 minutes
“What is creative nonfiction?”
By Wayne Grady


Pauline watches me in my study.
I think I’m alone and then I realize that, nope, she’s right damn there.
Not sure what to do with her ashes.
Dead in January, the ground’s frozen. Not a good time to do something like burying.

“I never made it to the Eiffel Tower,” she said, the morphine changing her eyes from blue to grey.
“I know, I know,” I said, rubbing an ice cube on her chapped lips.

It’s the longest trip I’ve ever taken.
Only been to Montreal and Salt Lake City.
I pack three apples and a jar of almond butter for the plane, just in case the food is as bad as everyone makes it sound.
It isn’t.
I only leave the mashed potatoes.

“How’s that bite on your neck?” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday, July 5, 2015
10:32pm
5 minutes
Said by Joe

How’s the bite on your neck?
Itchy.
Can I scratch it for you?
Isn’t that kinda… gross?
Not to me…
Pause.
Okay, I guess.
Okay.
Ouch!
What?
You’re hurting me!
Sorry.
I already over-scratched it so you have to be gentle!
Sorry.
Pause.
It’s okay. I shoulda told you.
Is that better?
Oh. Oh yeah. That’s really good.
Pause.
Wanna also massage me?
No.
What?
I never give you the kind of massage you want.
That’s not true.
It is.
I’ll give you one back?
No.
Pause.
Stop scratching me, then.
Your bite’s not itchy?
Now that’s it’s all raw and like, practically bleeding?
Shush.
Thanks. You scratched real good.

“Kiss me quick dear” by Sasha at SFU


Saturday, July 4, 2015
6:32pm
5 minutes
from the back of a postcard

I fell asleep in the ocean
Lying on my back
And I woke up in Kingston
Jamaica
I was afraid at first
Fleeting fear
I’d only just been
home
I lay on the beach
Dried off
Sampled coconuts
Fried bananas
I wondered if I would fall asleep
and
wake up
someplace new

I didn’t

I felt badly that I didn’t know your number off by heart

“She said she was an actress” by Sasha on the 16 bus going downtown


Friday, July 3, 2015
6:32pm
5 minutes
Said by a Valens customer

Ya ever hearda Parker Posey? She’s my favourite actress. Met her one time, even. Yup. Met her down at the tennis courts. I was doin’ my thing, selling popsicles, right and I look up and, like, I almost die cuz it’s her. Parker Posey.

“May I please have a rocket?” She says. UMMMM? Yes, yes you most certainly can have a rocket – yes you can! So I reach in and I’m freakin’ out, because should I tell her that she’s my favourite? Should I play it cool? Nothing like this’ ever happened to me before so I really don’ know what the heck to even do!

“How much?” She asks, after I hand her the rocket.

“Ah…” I stumble. “On the house!” I say.
“Aw, thanks,” she smiles, “that’s so sweet of you!”
“Oh it’s sweet a YOU to come and get a rocket from me, from lil’ ol’ me an’ I wish I wore a cleaner T-shirt!”

“Have a great day!”

And then she’s gone. Parker Posey.

“Attackers might be trying to steal” by Sasha at Culprit Coffee Co.


Thursday, July 2, 2015 at Culprit
3:43pm
5 minutes
A notice from Google

Paddling down the river, I shout at the top of my lungs, “BERNADETTE!”
We’ve broken up three weeks ago and there’s a haze of grief and longing between me and the Algonquin wilderness. I want it to go away, but I also clutch to it. If I lose this, I’ve lost her.
Marc makes s’mores and says he’s “never seen me so blue.” He hands me a perfectly melted marshmallow and I put the whole thing in my mouth. My tongue chars.
“Man! What the fuck?! I just took that off of the fire!” He passes me his Nalgene. My eyes tear but I don’t feel anything.
On the water the next morning, we see two loons. One calls for the other despite her being right there.
“BERNADETTE!”

“She said she was an actress” by Julia at Grange Park


Friday, July 3, 2015
3:48pm
5 minutes
said by a Valens customer

She said she was an actress
Her heart the bleeding kind
She said she was a change maker
Her heart the bleeding kind
She said she was only half living
Her heart the tortured kind
She said she was only half being
Her heart the tortured kind
She said she was a lover once
Her heart the open kind
She said she was mother once
Her heart the open kind
She said she was an actress
Her heart the beating kind
She said she was a slave to the art
Her heart the beating kind
She said she was unhappy
Her heart the breaking kind
She said she was wasn’t done yet
Her heart the breaking kind

“Attackers might be trying to steal” by Julia on her patio


Thursday, July 2, 2015
4:40 pm
5 minutes
from a notice from Google

They rock you from outside your cage
They spit
They leer
They laugh
They drink your blood in a furious rage
They hit
They jeer
They scoff

Run run run
Run run run
Run run run

Run

They steal your words from right off the page
They stab
They fight
They will
They tear your flesh on a live stage
They break
They take
They kill

Run run run
Run run run
Run run run

Run

“with special guests” by Julia on her patio


Wednesday, July 1, 2015
6:59pm
5 minutes
From a Baroque to Birdland flyer

Ever feel like you’re not even starring in your own life? Lately I haven’t even been guest starring let alone carrying the whole thing. I’ve been having dreams these past few nights that I’m doing the things, going on the adventures, but it’s not actually me. It’s somebody else, someone else’s face and hands, but it’s not me. I watch another human play my role in my own mind’s film and I’m bewildered about that. Why am I not controlling the action? What am I doing so wrong that someone else has to step in and take over? I think it’s obvious, I haven’t been taking initiative in getting things done. But in my dreams who is this other person? It’s not someone I recognize. Is it my alter ego? My true self? My active mind? My true personality? Is it the me I wish I was? The me I’m supposed to be? The me I will be? The me I am when I’m being honest?

“Our favourite woman is missing!!!” by Julia at Valens Restaurant


Tuesday, June 30, 2015 at Valens Restaurant
10:02 pm
5 minutes
From a text

I wait for Dany to close the door fully before I utter a single word about Cynthia. I hear the click. Dany waits at the window watching Mitchell get into his car. She makes sure he drives away then she slowly turns around.
“He’s gone.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Watched him drive off. ”
“I don’t think she’s dead. ”
“Don’t say that. I knew you were going to say that. ”
“Hear me out, Dany. I’ve given this a lot of thought. ”
“I don’t like that she could be alive and wouldn’t tell us. Or wouldn’t even tell her own brother. ”
“That’s just it, Mitch can’t know about her. No one can. ”

“10% off” By Julia on her couch


Monday, June 29, 2015
3:31pm
5 minutes
From http://www.hollyhock.ca

Attention bargain hunters! Yes you! You with the University of Minnesota tote bag and you with the amethyst wrecking ball size pendant! Get thee to our one of a kind, one time only save big or save yourself event! Starting now until the very last shelf is bare, you too can find true happiness with true (and useful) deals! Price matching? We don’t need to! We ARE the match! We are the price! Take advantage of our super store-wide mark downs today! We only have today and then it’ll all be over! We’ll disappear into the nothingness and you’ll never know we were even here!

“with special guests” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Wednesday, July 1, 2015
6:43pm
5 minutes
From a Baroque to Birdland flyer

“We’ll meet you there,” Andre says, “in the lobby,” and I believe him. I have no reason not do. Or… Do I?

We park and walk into the theatre. The lights start to flash and Marj says it’s time to go in. “But they aren’t here yet,” I say, and we have their tickets. “Well that was a stupid plan. They are always late!” Marj goes and gets a seat, “How are we going to know what’s happening if we miss the prologue!” she says. “It’s in Italian! We aren’t going to understand it anyway!” I wait. I order an Old Fashioned.

At Intermission, I start to worry. Marj takes forever in the bathroom (“Godddamn lines! Goddamn women!”) “I’m worried, hon,” I say and she touches my face and says something must’ve come up. “He’s not a surgeon, hon!” Marj goes in for the second act and I take a seat right near the door.

We’re in bed and the phone rings.

“Our favourite woman is missing!!!” by Sasha on her porch


Tuesday, June 30, 2015
9:39pm
5 minutes
From a text

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Sydney says, eyes round as fried eggs. “I sorrrrrry!” She wails, throwing her arms around my waist, wetting the front of my dress. “It’s okay,” I say, even though it’s not. “It’s fine, sweetie.”

She’d been painting on the floor and had used one of my grandmother’s bone china tea cups to mix her paint. Acrylic. She’d asked for acrylic paints from her aunt Kim and Kim always obliges, without okay-ing it with us. “Really?” I’d hissed, taking off my party hat. “That shit stains!” Kim had smiled apologetically and said, “I’ll tell her to keep it on newspaper.”

Sydney and I tried to get the paint out of the teacup but it was forever tinged green. “Why don’t you just turn it into a planter or something?” Kim asked. “I liked to drink tea out of it, that’s why!” I said a little too enthusiastically.

“10% off” By Sasha at Le Marche St. George


Monday, June 29, 2015 at Le Marche St. George
10:14am
5 minutes
From http://www.hollyhock.ca

You hide your face in your dirty hands. I want to lick your tears like a puppy, but I don’t, only because we’re in public, not because I wouldn’t do something like that. I would. I do. Sometimes when my Traditional Chinese Medicine Doctor asks to see my tongue I worry about the stains of coffee or a banana. I suck back the spit and I hope he doesn’t lean in too close to analyze. I stick it out and he looks, but from his roll-y chair a bit of a ways away. “You’re stressed,” he says, like a Knighting. “Who isn’t?” I think. “Not really…” I say, doing the stress comparison. I was more stressed last time I was there. I am less stressed now, for sure. I spend many more hours lying on the beach now. Less hours sitting (“is the new smoking”) at my table or in a coffee shop, maybe eating a few too many paleo, almond butter cookies.

You hide your face in your dirty hands. We spent the morning building sand castles.

“The audience is your partner” by Sasha at David Lam Park


Sunday, June 28, 2015
7:44pm
5 minutes
Conversations with Anne
Anne Bogart


When Isaac gets on stage he glimmers
He doesn’t wear glitter
He glimmers
Just himself
His music his harmonies his skin radiates light
When Isaac moves his feet back and forth
it’s just right
A mass of moving pink and purple and denim
can’t help moving too
Moving just like he is
A kaleidoscope mirror
“ISAAC!” They shout
“I love you guys!” He responds
It’s that simple
It’s that present
It’s that easy

“The audience is your partner” by Julia on her couch


Sunday, June 28, 2015
8:44pm
5 minutes
Conversations with Anne
Anne Bogart


Hi! Oh there are so many of you! Such a good looking group, and I swear I’m not just saying that. I don’t tell everyone that. I don’t think it’s fair to give people false interpretations of themselves. If it’s not a good looking group, I just avoid the topic entirely. But you. You are a stunning piece of work, and you should know that you are because everyone should hear it if it’s true. I don’t like when people go crazy for babies even if they’re not cute. Some people say the mothers always think their kid is cute but what about the truly ugly infants? I’m not trying to be cruel, but my friends, I value authenticity; I value reality. How does a mother look at her ugly kid and still make claims that he or she is adorable. Okay okay I know what you’re thinking, “she’s an asshole, she must be dealing with some childhood trauma, or self-image issues.” I can assure you, and maybe I should be lying here, that I do just simply hate people who won’t see the truth.

“Our backyard garden plot” by Julia on her bed


Saturday, June 27, 2015
1:31am
5 minutes
From the back of a photo from Sarah

You and I
We found a spot
Built our home
And a backyard garden plot
We paid the rent
We made our space
Went to bed early
Slept face to face
You and I
We found happiness
Said our I love yous
Made our promises
We created a board
To pin up all our dreams
We envisioned our lives
Crafting behind the scenes
You and I
We stayed strong
Fought sometimes
Took turns being wrong
We remembered ourselves
When we were young
Our heads filled with hopes
Our home filled with love

“nasal congestion” by Julia at Grange Park


Friday, June 26, 2015
5:45pm
5 minutes
NETI: Healing Secrets of Yoga and Ayurveda

I can hear her blow her nose through the wall. Thin ass walls, the realtor conveniently forgot to mention. My husband’s obsessed with her. Whenever he hears her go out onto her patio he somehow gets struck with an urgent need for”fresh air”. He goes out there so he can ogle her and imagine what colour her underwear is. He thinks he’s being so slick but I know what he’s doing. He just assumes I’m none the wiser because I don’t say anything. I guess I don’t quite know how I feel about it. Do I care? Do I even mind? When he goes outside for his fantasy time, I have the house to myself and I forget about him completely. It doesn’t even bother me when he goes out because that alone time feels so good. It’s when he comes back in I can’t stand: adjusting himself and quickly thinking of something to say that will convince him, and he thinks me, that he wasn’t just outside wishing he could stay there.

“Let me just check the mail” by Julia on her couch


Thursday, June 25, 2015
12:06am
5 minutes
Said by Nadeem

SOMETHING BIG is coming. I CAN FEEL IT. I have that tingling in my fingertips. It’s not pins and needles, it’s INTUITION. I once felt the VERY EXACT thing in the tip of my nose and it PROTECTED me from danger of the VERY WORST KIND. Can I get into that right this moment? No. Why? Because it would CHANGE YOUR LIFE and you must be very ready for that kind of SHIFT. The tingle, if you were wondering is almost the same feeling as getting splattered with VERY HOT OIL. If you were also wondering, I don’t enjoy the feeling of getting oil splattered on me, or candle wax dripped on me, or anything else that could SUGGEST SADOMASOCHISM. I am not speaking about ANYTHING EROTIC IN NATURE. This is all free from that zone, I’ll have you know. The tingling is a warning that I must heed. The outcome does not necessarily have to be life-threatening or even negative. But I’m asking you to trust me that THERE WILL BE A CHANGE HERE. THE EARTH IS SHIFTING ON ITS AXES AND THE WORLD WILL TILT TO OFFER CLARITY.

“I got my new hair” by Julia at Grange Park


Wednesday, June 24, 2015
4:19pm
5 minutes
Overheard at grange park

Well Lacey left the bottle of Carnivore at my house and she knew I would be helpless against it so now I blame her for everything that happened after she left me alone with it. We had been talking about hair cuts and just doing it ourselves. You see where this is headed? You blame Lacey too? Yeah. She thinks it’s hilarious but she doesn’t have to walk around like this freak show that is now my reflection.
Anyway, it went like this:
I drank the wine. The rest of it. And I’m a light weight. So I was wasted.
I saw the scissors. Sticking out of the knife block. They called my name. I answered them.
I went to the bathroom. I laughed at my blood mouth. My jungle attack mouth. I pulled my hair out from the messy bun on top of my head. I said out loud to the mirror, “Let’s do this.”
I snipped one piece at a time. It was going well. Michael Jackson’s Thriller album was playing.
The next thing I knew, one whole side was completely missing.
So then I had to even it all out…