“entirely free of the curse” by Julia at Kafka’s


Tuesday, September 29, 2015 at Kafka’s
12:49pm
5 minutes
a Wikipedia page

It’s a nightmare when I’m alone with her. She torments me and she tugs at all my soft spots. She pulls until she rips, and then claws away at the raw flesh. I don’t know why she is never sated. Why she comes back for more when I have nothing left to give her. And she throws herself at me, through me, in me. She’s everywhere and nowhere and she creeps in like a ghost that is convinced her only purpose is to haunt me. She haunts me. When I’m laughing, those moments in the day where I am happy or believe that I am. She gives me no peace, sinking her teeth into me, sucking my bones dry, killing me slowly. Until I give over. Until I’m just an empty vessel for her to inhabit. Then she’ll be complete. She’ll destroy every good thing I have, plow over the life I’ve so carefully built, rip up the early seedlings of joy I’ve planted, and scorch the earth of me. To ruin me. To feed off of me. Because I am weak. Because I let her. Because I deny that she exists even when she bulldozes all the love I’ve ever known. Some people give up. Some people give in.

“the usual agreements” by Julia at Coco et Olive


Monday September 28, 2015 at Coco et Olive
3:56pm
5 minutes
Environmental Theatre
Richard Schechner


I have told myself (AT LEAST ONCE IN MY LIFE)the FOLLOWING:
1. I have a head of curls on me that can RIVAL FUCKING SHIRLEY TEMPLE. (It’s a glorious MANE and I’ve said this to myself three times in the last week)
2. You win some, you lose lots! (This used to pertain to softball. I used to think it would be a good yearbook quote. Now it’s just true for everything so why stop TRYING?)
3. I am the best looking person of my exact physical features that I know. (this is like saying, there is only one you, so you’re the best you! This one comes into play after smoking ALL THE WEED and holding my own face as I tremble at my own fragility)
4. I am smarter than I think I am (when I believe I’ve left my phone at home and only my phone has the power to save me on days where I feel like laying on the pavement outside my house until it FUCKING POURS)
5. You are growing. It hurts cause your heart is expanding in your chest and sometimes the room you’re in is too small for you. (This one more and more lately. When I write letters to myself. And I cry honest tears.)

“the usual agreements” by Sasha at Moii Cafe


Monday September 28, 2015 at Moii Cafe
1:26pm
5 minutes
Environmental Theatre
Richard Schechner


I was a vegan for a decade and started a food blog and wrote about beans and lacinato kale and silken tofu. I was a capital “V” vegan. And then, three nights in a row, I dreamt of meat. On the first night, I dreamt of a burger – medium rare, dripping ketchup and pickle juice, accompanied by thick cut fries. On the second night, I dreamt of smoked salmon on a Montreal bagel with thick cream cheese, capers and thin shavings of red onion. On the third night I dreamt of roast chicken, marinated in garlic and lemon, a little bit sweet, with the skin crunchy. I woke up hungry, sad and confused. I woke up desperate for a butcher. I woke up betrayed by myself. It took about seven weeks for me to actually eat flesh. It took a long blog post, many tears, and several visits to my therapist.

“willing to launch an attack” by Sasha on her couch


Sunday September 27, 2015
10:38pm
5 minutes
Dead Metaphor
George F. Walker


James spots me, sitting under a maple tree, eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I watch him in my peripheral vision as he walks towards me.

“What’re you eating?” He asks, plopping down beside me. No one invited him, but there’s not much I can say.

“PB and J.”

“You aren’t allowed to have peanut butter at school! Simon Jenkins is allergic! Didn’t your Mom get the reminder letter?”

“I guess not.”

I quickly scarf down the rest of my sandwich and am very grateful to Miranda for including hand sanitizers on keychains in her birthday loot bag. I use my sanitizer with great diligence.

“Wouldn’t you feel so bad if you killed Simon?” James whispers.

“putting on sweat pants and sunglasses” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Saturday September 26, 2015
11:32pm
5 minutes
a tweet

Simone brings Jude a butter tart at work. He woke up with a cold and she feels bad for him. Butter tarts are Jude’s love language. Simone learned this two years too late. She bikes from the bakery all the way downtown, sticking to side streets. Biking in the fall reminds Simone of grade five, the first year she got to cycle to school on her own. The independence was dizzying. She texts Jude from the lobby. “I’m here!” He doesn’t respond and she only waits a moment or two. She tries to find the stairs but fails and finally takes the elevator up to the twelfth floor. This is one of those strange buildings that doesn’t have a thirteenth. She wonders about paranoia and superstition. She wonders who started the thirteen witch hunt. She like the number – the mix of tall and wide. She suddenly feels nervous about being at Jude’s work – like she doesn’t belong. She wishes she had taken the bus, maybe then she wouldn’t be so windswept and sweaty.

“willing to launch an attack” by Julia at her desk


Sunday September 27, 2015
10:58pm
5 minutes
Dead Metaphor
George F. Walker


I tell her that I don’t approve of him and now she’s pissed because she knows I’m right but doesn’t want to admit it. It’s not my fault the signs are glaringly obvious that he’s not right for her, that she’s only staying with him because she’s blinded by her “feelings” which, I believe are madly out of touch with reality. She’s asked me once before and I said, I don’t know, Lara, I’m not inside your relationship, you are. You should know how you feel. She got mad then too because I was looking too objectively at her problems. So fine, I think, I won’t say anything at all, but then she asks me one day when I’ve had no time to prepare myself to stay out of it, and I tell her, I say, honestly, Lara, I think you’re better than him and that he’s sucking you dry in every possible way and if you’re serious about your own happiness then you really should take a look at the cause of all the feelings you have that aren’t that.

“putting on sweat pants and sunglasses” by Julia on her couch


Saturday September 26, 2015
10:40pm
5 minutes
a tweet

Harley is sick again. She tells us this. She sips her “fluids”. That’s what she calls them, her “fluids” when they’re clearly as simple as chamomile tea or apple cider vinegar and honey. Harley is always sick and I stopped believing it was true about a year ago. She shows up to our meetings with sweat pants and sunglasses on, drinking her “fluids” and she doesn’t talk above a whisper.
“Why didn’t you just stay at home in bed if you’re not feeling well?”
“I don’t want to let you guys down.”
“Well you’re hurting us more than helping us. You could spread the germs.”
“I think the contagious part is over, I think I’ve tackled that part on my own already.”
“Okay, so should we get started? Harley, let’s see your notes for the–”
Harley is sick again. She tells us this. She sips her “fluids” and gives excuses for not completing her work. I don’t know why we keep her in the group. Maybe because we see that she needs us more than we need her. Maybe because she’s my baby sister and I have to make sure she doesn’t fall off the face of the planet.

“Pumpkin season may be upon us” by Julia at Comox Park


Friday September 25, 2015
6:48pm
5 minutes
An Instagram post

This girl. She’s a friend for life. Both mine and hers. You want to know why I love her? Cause when I mention waiting in a long line just for a coffee, she scrunches her nose and she says “Eww.” Or when I say “you know it’s fall when you can buy ‘essence of pumpkin spice’ at the grocery store.” And she says “Eww. No.” Or when I say “I can’t stand those people who hashtag their own kids’ names.” And she dry heaves, scrunches her nose even tighter and says “OH MY GOD EWW.”

“three crackerjack female” by Julia on her couch


Thursday September 24, 2015
11:39pm
5 minutes
http://www.shifttheatre.ca

There was a moment I didn’t think you were going to make it. No, seriously bro, you looked like you had tapped out. But I’m glad you didn’t because I get to be the one to tell you that you… you’re a hero. You’re a god damn hero and I’m impressed. So it brings me joy to relay that to you, man. So how’s Nancy? Oh man, she’s so nice to you. You’re a lucky guy. She puts up with a lot of your crap, you must be pretty damn lovable.

“Pumpkin season may be upon us” by Sasha on her couch


Friday September 25, 2015
11:31pm
5 minutes
An Instagram post

Every morning I walk out to the mailbox at the end of the driveway. In Fall, I take my mug of coffee with me. In winter I pull my hood tight around my ears. I open the mailbox, the one that Sam’s father gave us when we were fist engaged, with the red flag and the small door with a latch.

Today I pull out a few bills, something from the government for Sam, and a postcard. I haven’t received one of those in a long time. A postcard. With palm trees and Miami Beach written across the top in pink cursive. I turn it over, starting my walk back to the house. It’s a handwriting I don’t recognize.

“three crackerjack female” by Sasha on her couch


Thursday September 24, 2015
9:37pm
5 minutes
http://www.shifttheatre.ca

I’m not sure how i’m supposed to feel, but what I do feel is a strange ache in my back. I eat another tea sandwich. The doorbell rings. It’s probably Allison. She’s obnoxiously on time. She’s supposed to bring ginger cookies. I go to the door.

“Mel?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to give you something…”
“You can’t be here right now. It’s my shower. You can’t be at my shower.”
“Ted told me you were pregnant. Congrats!”
“Please leave, Devin?”
“I just wanted to give you this book. It was my favourite as a kid.”
“Thanks.”
And just like that Allison appears, in her bunny sweater, carrying a tray of ginger cookies and purple helium balloons.

“unless its roots reach down to hell” by Sasha at a sushi place on West 4th


Wednesday September 23, 2015
1:37pm
5 minutes
from a quote by Carl Jung

You’re welcome…
Thank you.
You’re welcome!
Why did you say it to start? Why didn’t you wait for me to say –
Thank you.
Thank you.
You’re dehydrated.
I’m not.
Your eyes are blood shot.
I’m tired.
Drink some water.
I’m not thirsty.
Just do it.
No!
Fine.
Fine.
What time are you going to bed?
No idea.
When you’re tired?
When I’m tired.
I love how you chew your hair when you’re concentrating.
I love how you interrupt me when I’m concentrating.
Aw. Aren’t we sweet.
You want to come to my ultimate game tomorrow?
Not really but I will if it’s important to you.
It isn’t.
Great.
Win win.
Win win.

“Don’t judge” by Sasha on her couch


Tuesday September 22, 2015
10:38pm
5 minutes
from a calendar

You, trying to get the stain out of your purple shirt.
Me, typing like I’m getting somewhere, pretending.
Ryan Adams on the stereo, trying to be Bruce Springsteen.
I just explained ovulation to you.
You just made yourself a protein shake for dessert.
It’s an average night, it’s a normal ten pm at our place.
You put the kettle on for bedtime tea.
I type like I’m making progress.
Am I making progress?
I keep thinking about time and whether or not I believe in it.
As a concept.
You, trying to get the stain out of your purple shirt.
Me, watching you, fingers moving, writing a poem about right now.
This minute.

“a work in progress” by Sasha at The Elysian Room


Monday September 21, 2015
3:13pm
5 minutes
from a dramaturge’s notes

Sometimes I creep you like an ex – scrolling through webpages and photographs, wondering if I’ll be able to see how you’ve changed, wondering if I’ll still recognize your grubby spots and your laugh lines. Mostly, it’s late at night when I’m home alone, too tired to read but not ready to unplug. I’ll watch a bit of Orphan Black to catch a glimpse of your smokey alleys and your graffiti, to get a hit of Chinatown and Kensington. Toronto, it’s a strange thing, how I miss you. How I crave your coffee and your noise. But when I’m there, when I’m visiting, it’s just not the same as it once was. It’s a long distance work in progress.

“We cannot diagnose or advise” by Sasha at Moksha Yoga Vancouver


Sunday September 20, 2015
7:45pm
5 minutes
http://www.bcwomens.ca

“We cannot diagnose or advise you regarding the scallywags in your guts”
Her coral smile is warm like hope
I’m unsure where to stand so I sit
on the cold lime linoleum
Leaning my head back against the coffee table
Chipped red nails scratch against a keyboard
“Help me” is the small voice that’s inside out
She hears though
She reaches for my hand
“I’m so sorry”
And she means it
She tucks me into a chair near her desk and brings me a Vanity Fair

“unless its roots reach down to hell” by Julia at her desk


Wednesday September 23, 2015
9:31pm
5 minutes
from a quote by Carl Jung

I’m not really sure how I got here. Not here here, just emotionally here. I wouldn’t have expected to end up like my mother but I guess it’s just in my genes. I don’t know if it’s fair to say that even. Like I’m blaming it on her or I’m not taking responsibility for my own life. I just wonder if I am predisposed to overreacting, turning molehills into mountains, turning good things into bad things. That’s what she does; my mother. She’s a hypochondriac and she’s a paranoid individual with a lot less good people in her life to help her out cause of the way she behaves. Now I see myself in her image. No friends. No partner. Nobody to convince me it’s better to be sane…

“Don’t judge” by Julia at her desk


Tuesday September 22, 2015
9:58pm
5 minutes
from a calendar

Halle and I walk hand in hand down to the end of the driveway. Kristina is on her bike and she looks stupid in her pink helmet. Not because she’s wearing a helmet. But because her helmet has tassels like her bike handles do and it just looks like a the kind of bike a circus monkey would ride. Too many ribbons and too many balloons. Or so it seems. Kristina tries to stop her bike but she hasn’t learned that yet. She’s really struggling. She wants to come talk to Halle and me. Kristina finally gets off her bike and lets it rest on the ground. She also hasn’t learned to use her kick stand yet. Her face is round and rosy and the snot bubble she’s blowing never seems to pop.
“Hi Nathan, Hi Halle. What are you doing today? Want to talk about our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ?”
Halle squeezes my hand. She’s 4 and she already knows that this girl is a quack job.

“a work in progress” by Julia on the futon


Monday September 21, 2015
11:33pm
5 minutes
from a dramaturge’s notes

I stare into the mirror, I am naked.
Paint me.
I hear myself say.
I am naked.
Am I ashamed?
Paint me.
Do I need clothes?
Paint me something good.
I hear myself whisper to myself.
I want layers of art. Not fabric.
Paint my heart, thumping.
And I do.
Paint my lungs singing.
And I do.
Paint my mind growing.
Paint my skin softening.
Paint my posture straightening.
Paint my arms strengthening.
Paint my smile more genuine.
Paint my eyes brightening.
Paint my worries lessening.
Paint my self-consciousness subsiding.
Paint my risk taking.
Paint my understanding.
Paint my learning.
And I do. I do.

“We cannot diagnose or advise” by Julia in the car


Sunday September 20, 2015
12:05pm
5 minutes
http://www.bcwomens.ca

I don’t know what day I’m on. I sincerely don’t. I don’t think it’s wise to try and self-diagnose right now, but I do know that I’m somewhere between not good and not getting better. So. There’s that.
On the plus side, Madeline is coming to visit us on Friday and she’s staying till the following Thursday. She can take care of Dottie on some days so I don’t have to do it. I’m lucky I can pass her off to someone else without it seeming like I don’t want to help. Maddy adores Dottie and she wants to help. I think when she takes her I’ll take myself out to the shed and get some of the sanding done on the old rocking chair. The last time I went to do it I realized I didn’t have any strength in my wrist and I assumed it was just a lack of sleep. We’ll see once Maddy gets here if my wrist has returned to normal, and my mind has followed suit. I could hazard a guess at what I think is going on with me, but like I said, probably isn’t so wise.

“This is fantastic!” by Sasha in her bed


Saturday September 19, 2015
11:21pm
5 minutes
http://www.food.com

A sad, small song, sung to the tune of your sadness
I’m as tired as a possum in a puddle.
I’m as lonely as a clam without a pearl.
I’m as broken as a china doll fallen off the top shelf.
I’m lowwwwwwww.

I’m as grumpy as a cat without a sun patch.
I’m as down as the sun after dusk.
I’m as shaky as the leaves after a storm.
I’m lowwwwwww, baby, I’m lowwwwwww.

I’m as minced as a meat pie.
I’m as scraggly as a stray.
I’m as empty as a barrel in a drought.
I’m lowwwwww! Oh baby! I’m lowwwwww.

“My flight was $10, 200″ by Sasha on the 99 going West


Friday September 18, 2015
2:50pm
5 minutes
overheard at Parallel 49

My flight to Osaka was like ten thousand dollars. Not even kidding. I didn’t pay for it, so whatever, but when someone told me that, a receptionist at the agency, I couldn’t believe it. People LIVE on that for a year, like, I’m sure some people do. It’s kinda fucked. My apartment was in this neighbourhood in the north of the city. The agency arranged everything. There was even this, like, apartment cat. It was weird. It was docile. I’d go on castings in the morning and then come home and make flowering tea and rub this cat’s belly. No one ever told me it’s name so I just kinda… called it “cat”.

“I’ll mesage in a bit” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday September 17, 2015
10:20pm
5 minutes
from a text

“You’re like an antidepressant,” Ruby says, matter-of-factly. She usually plays her cards closer to her chest but with Syd everything is different. Syd smooths out Ruby’s unruly eyebrows using his pointer fingers and smiles. She rolls a joint and they hand their bodies out her bedroom window, blowing smoke rings. Syd gets his weed from a guy in the mail room at work. Ruby thinks that’s really funny.

“the stakes couldn’t be higher” by Sasha on her couch


Wednesday September 16, 2015
1:42pm
5 minutes
from an article from Maclean’s

When you sleep you dream in black and white. You shake down gangsters for American hundred dollar bills. You cry out for justice. The people you meet wear hats and gloves, shades of a memory, a memory of whose origin you aren’t quite sure of. When you wake, you’re disappointed by the colours. It’s all more complicated and muddy. It all bleeds, this thing into that thing into this one.

“This is fantastic!” by Julia at Souzan’s apartment


Saturday September 19, 2015
9:25pm
5 minutes
http://www.food.com

I’m scratching my wrist too hard for comfort but it’s itchy and I need to.
You look down at my red flesh and you say, “remember when you used to scratch your hands raw? Remember that summer you did that? What a nervous tick that was.”
There’s a permanent furrow line on my forehead that deepens when you say things like this.
“It was a hot summer, my skin got itchy, and so I scratched it. It wasn’t a tick, Remy.”
“Well you did it almost unconsciously! Look! You still even have the scar.”
You go to reach for my left hand but I swat you away. I don’t need you making a circus out of me.
“Stop it, Remy.”
“Oh come on,” You say, “I’m not being mean to you, I’m just saying–”
I stand up from the couch and storm off to the studio room. “I think you should go.” I say, not quite knowing why.

“My flight was $10, 200″ by Julia at Souzan’s apartment


Friday September 18, 2015
9:40pm
5 minutes
overheard at Parallel 49

You let me fall asleep on you while you do you and read the newspaper or something
Catch the race or something
Eat a cob of corn or something
I nestle in there onto the soft of your body
Ready to greet sleep
Ready to find ease
And I do this so I can feel your heart beat without asking to
And I can breathe into the space of the folds of you while you carry the weight of me
These are my favourite moments
The world stops for me and continues for you
I die a thousand happy deaths laying there in your middle
And you go on living in the comfort of me lifeless, but content

It’s been one whole year without you and I don’t have a squishy home to lay my head
It’s not the same as it was
I cannot fall asleep on myself and float away
I don’t know where you are
I consider paying an unearthly sum to find you
A flight to the good old days may just cost me ten thousand dollars
Or ten thousand tears

“I’ll mesage in a bit” by Julia at 49th Parallel


Thursday September 17, 2015 at http://49thcoffee.com/
3:20pm
5 minutes
from a text

I let go of that misery that used to haunt my dreams
I left it at a bus stop
or something
equally as insignificant
Where did my mind go
when I dropped it off in the rain
I think about calling it back
When the knowing sets in
Don’t need it anyway, I’m a better man
A better man
Don’t think it’ll hurt anyone
It was designed for me
I didn’t want to carry it
but I got used to its weight
and warmth
Left alone with it and it would tear me
down the middle
Maybe now I’m a sum of those two parts
Don’t think about it anyway, I’m a better man
A better man
Sleepless nights caused by sleepless demons
I would lay awake wishing I was gone
Now the air is clearer
When I remember to forget
I left that version of me there
I’m a better man
A better man

“the stakes couldn’t be higher” by Julia at Melriches


Wednesday September 16, 2015 at Melriches
11:45am
5 minutes
from an article from Maclean’s

Okay so these two idiots have been staring at me for a total of 17 minutes. I know they think they know me, but they don’t. Not the first to make the mistake! I know I have the hair, but I am not who they think I am and I will NOT give them the satisfaction of looking up and saying so. Come and ask me, fine, but don’t sit there, whispering, shhmush shmusshing about me, going silent, then staring some more. I suddenly wish I could throw up on command. I would just stand up, lean over, and barf right at them. Then without wiping my mouth, I’d maintain eye contact, and sit back down. My best friend Treena used to make herself vomit all the time. When she was little and she didn’t get what she wanted, she’d just stand on an expensive carpet, or over a pile of clean laundry and she’d throw up. I think that’s hilarious. The only things stopping me from pulling a Treena are a) the fact that I know staring is not a crime, and b)that I physically cannot make myself hurl in less than 30 minutes.

“It’s almost magic” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday September 15, 2015
8:08pm
5 minutes
From a vintage ad for American Cyanamid Company

last night
purple flannel twisted around ankles
my bum against your bum
you said grace
full voice
at first i was annoyed
i’m sleeping!
i’m kind of sick!
and then
i listened
i really listened
“thank you for this food on our plates
thank you for the love in our home
thank you for thanksgiving”
it’s magic
how you pray in your sleep
how you love in your dreams
how you bless me with your sweetness

“all-day softness” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday September 14, 2015
10:32pm
5 minutes
from a tube of hand cream

When Willa’s mother calls, she considers not answering. It would only be the second time. Bill says, “If you need to get it, don’t worry. It’s okay…” She steps out onto the porch and slides her finger across the screen.

“Hi Mom.”
“Willa?”
“Yes – ”
“They’ve come to take me and I refuse to go!”
“Mom, where are you?”
“In my chair!”
“Who is there?”
“Those men in the hockey equipment!”
“Mom, what are you – ”
“I’m scared, Willa. Please come pick me up?”
“I can’t right now. I’m busy.”
“What would you have done that time you had the chicken pox and you were visiting the Petting Zoo? What would you have done if I didn’t come to pick you up?”
“I was five.”
“I’m SCARED.”
“Did you call Roberta?”
“Who is that?”
“Your nurse.”
“No. I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“She’s been coming every day for the past six years, Mom.”

“I will go to the river” by Sasha on her couch


Sunday September 13, 2015
2:31pm
5 minutes
Jewish Fairy Tale Feasts
Tales retold by Jane Yolen


You will walk in the streets of your childhood, a stranger, and this will change how you think about yourself and where you orient the compass of home. You will have your wallet stolen out of your back pocket by a small boy in a red sweatshirt. You will regret having thought that he was cute and that he looked hungry. You will scour the guest room in your aunt and uncle’s house for this wallet, with all of your ID, with the photo-booth picture of you and JJ, with the coffee shop card where you’re two stamps away from a free latte. You will remember the boy, how close he came to you, and how you hadn’t purchased anything since then. You will think about how you thought he was

“It’s almost magic” by Julia at 49th Parallel


Tuesday September 15, 2015 at http://49thcoffee.com/
6:08pm
5 minutes
from a vintage ad for American Cyanamid Company

I have been throwing my love up, shooting it into the air, pew pew, pew pew
You have been catching some, letting some fall
I ask you, don’t you want this? Too much? Not right now? Check your box, X, x, X
I send it up in smaller doses, shoom! Shoom!
You lift your hand and grab what lands there, the rest fluttering down to the earth
I ask you again, don’t you see I’m giving you all of it? Pick ONE: Maybe, No, YES
You smile down at your hand as if you’re only noticing now that it’s tingling

“all-day softness” by Julia at Souzan’s apartment


Monday September 14, 2015
9:19pm
5 minutes
from a tube of hand cream

Lounging around the house with my slippers on, feet up on the couch, and you lean in deep to kiss me.

-Whatcha reading?
-The Bible, what does it look like?
-Ohhh, recipes.
-Big surprise, huh?

You hunch your back and drag your right foot as you slouch back and forth in front of me.

-Would you still love me if I walked like this?
-No.
-Not even like this?

You start to flap your arms wildly by your sides, still dragging around your dead foot.

-Almost yes, but still no.

You grab my arms and you place them around your waist. You sway, and you shimmy hard under my hands.

-Wanna dance?
-Oh we are dancing.
-I’m dancing, you’re resisting.
-I’m reading!
-And she multi-tasks, everybody!

“I will go to the river” by Julia at Souzan’s apartment


Sunday September 13, 2015
12:36am
5 minutes
Jewish Fairy Tale Feasts
Tales retold by Jane Yolen


If you close your eyes and stretch out your hands I promise I’ll lead you to safety. Trust me. I’ll sing that to you until you believe me. I’m in no rush. I’m in no hurry. I’ll take you to the river and I’ll wait with you there. When you’re ready you can expand and when you’re ready you can lift up and soar. I’m in no rush. I’m in no hurry. Trust me. I hear the water in my sleep and it calms me, draws me in. I know the route to the moments worth keeping like I know my own nail beds, like I know my own smell. I will go again and again because I never tire of its medicine. I never tire of the healing that sets me free.

“A boy in my algebra class nicknamed me “terrorist”” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Saturday September 12, 2015
9:41pm
5 minutes
https://broadly.vice.com/en_us/article/life-as-a-hairy-muslim-girl-after-911

When we, like, started the band, we were like young and pretty unclear about our goals and our aspirations and our sound or lyrical content and like, I don’t mean to sound like a B but like, GoGo couldn’t even decide on a signature hair colour so like… And, like, a boy in my algebra class had, like, totally nicknamed me “terrorist” so I just totally went with it and claimed it and owned it and everyone called me terrorist aka terror aka lil’ t. I’m not sure if where we went wrong was like, not fully deciding on a message or a medium, you know? That’s a tough one. We are all about the music, like serving the music, but, like, when GoGo chooses like green or mauve or something the juju gets thrown off, you know?

“what kids want” by Sasha at The Elysian Room


Friday September 11, 2015 at Elysian
1:21pm
5 minutes
From the front page of the Globe and Mail Life and Arts section

Because these days she wants to crawl into a shell and become sand
Because she eats til she’s empty and the toilet bowl is full
Because she’d lied about her first kiss for two decades and that’s a heavy weight to bare
Because now that the leaves are changing she can’t deny that she is
Because when she’s alone she feels a hollow sternum further than the sky
Because she was a kid once with a fear bigger than the top bunk
Because around the corner is something she’s never seen before and it’s flashing neon
Because Toby and Gwen got married and she can’t stop looking and re-looking at the photographs of their first dance

“A boy in my algebra class nicknamed me “terrorist”” by Julia at English Bay Beach


Saturday September 12, 2015
8:01pm
5 minutes
https://broadly.vice.com/en_us/article/life-as-a-hairy-muslim-girl-after-911

I think Luke heard it from his dad or something. Luke is always coming into class with his big words and his big hate and it sounds like stuff his dad says. My dad says that Luke’s dad is a vessel of pure sadness. I don’t get how he thinks he’s sad, cause Luke’s dad is always yelling and screaming and swearing and stuff and that seems like he’s pretty angry to me. Sad is when you cry and when your nose leaks and your stomach gets that empty feeling. How do you get that sad empty feeling when you’re always filling your stomach with cans of beer?
Luke is always saying things to me or to Ruby about our skin and about our voices. He laughs and his face goes all red when he holds my arms behind my back and calls me a “terrorist.”

“What kids want” by Julia at Kibune Sushi


Friday September 11, 2015
6:48pm
5 minutes
from the front page of the Globe and Mail
Life and Arts section


What kids want is to be born into a family that wants them. Then after they’re alive in this world, after they’ve traveled from one distant universe to the one we all share, they want to be held and warmed up, and spoken to very softly. They need someone else to carry their spongy bones for a while so they can rest after their long journey. That’s not asking too much. That’s the least we can do. And after they feel like they’ve been shown a kindness or two, they start to want a couple more things. They want love and they want home and they want patience and they want security and they want comfort and they want ice cream and they want to cry and they want to laugh and they want to shriek and they want to imagine. These and all the other things they want, are the things we can give them. They don’t ask for everything. They don’t need that. We do all the complicating. We do all the blaming.

“your mother’s sewing machine” by Sasha outside Koerner’s Library


Thursday September 10, 2015
3:12pm
5 minutes
from Sasha’s transcriptions

two million
three hundred and
ninety six
rays of light
converge
where my mother’s hand
rests
she’s sat on a stool
that we found by the side of
the road
wood worn for sitting bones
her foot
pumping the pedal
a handful of crickets
my fall dress

“your mother’s sewing machine” by Julia at Souzan’s apartment


Thursday September 10, 2015
12:33am
5 minutes
from Sasha’s transcriptions

My mother didn’t know how to sew so I’d spend hours at my Aunt Winnie’s house watching her hem skirts, and braid old mops to use as hair for the dolls she’d give out at Christmas. Aunt Winnie liked to talk to herself while she worked, mumbling “Okay Win, this time, straight lines, straight straight lines.” Or, “One thread, two thread, three thread, four.” I would watch Aunt Winnie get herself over any hump, or out from any rock she found herself under. And if clothes got ruined she could fix them! The most self-sustaining thing I ever knew to be in my family was having the ability to sew. She would show me on her sewing machine, sit me on her lap so I could watch up close how to install the bobbin.

“Distant, tired, but holding her hand” by Julia in the car


Wednesday, September 9, 2015
5:06pm
5 minutes
http://lennyletter.com/lena-dunham-first-short-story/

He coughed into the crook of his elbow and tried not to make too big of a deal of it. She glanced at him from the side of her eye, the way she did when she was trying to read his e-mails without him noticing. He was growing tired of her testing him and she was growing skeptical of his patience.
Maybe if you didn’t worry so much about EVERYONE else for a change, you’d be—
He hadn’t prepared himself for a blow out. Had been priding himself on containing it all and picking his battles, in fact.
Forget it. He walked a bit in front of her.
What would I be? JUST. FUCKING. SAY IT. She was shaking now, trying to make direct eye contact. She realized when she asked him if he still loved her earlier she didn’t look him in the face when he gave his response.
How fucking easy I make it for him to despise me, she thought. I never look to see if his eyes are lying.

“Distant, tired, but holding her hand” by Sasha at 49th Parallel


Wednesday, September 9, 2015 at http://49thcoffee.com/
12:33pm
5 minutes
http://lennyletter.com/lena-dunham-first-short-story/

Jenny hands me the list of what everyone wants and I give it a glance. I don’t want too appear to unfamiliar with my purchases. I don’t want to set off any alarm bells. I’ve done bought booze for everyone before, with my sister’s old drivers license, so I shouldn’t be nervous, but I am, and when I’m nervous I blush and when I blush I stammer and when I stammer I sweat. I’m doing all of these things when I get inside and the bell on the door goes.

What the fuck? Nelson works here? Damn shit mutha –

“Hey Sadie.”
“Hey Nelson.”
I put the id in the back pocket of my cut-offs.
“What’s up? How was the rest of your summer?”
“It was good. Nothing that exciting.”
“I ran into your brother at the skate park. He said that your grandpa died.”
“I wouldn’t classify that as exciting and I wouldn’t just share that in a moment of aw aw awkward small talk with – …”
“Pardon?”
“You gave me fucking chlamydia!”
“Excuse me?”
“Chlamydia… You gave it to me.”
“Not possible.”
“Yes.”
“I get tested every three months!”
“You gave it to me.”
“Are you… sure?”
“YES, I’m sure! I, unlike you, keep very diligent track of whose penis I put inside me.”
I’m crying then, all of a sudden, like a snowstorm in October.

“make a cool can” by Sasha on her couch


Tuesday, September 8, 2015
10:12pm
5 minutes
from a LinkedIn profile

We got matching red hats from the Sally Ann and we wore them all through the fall and winter and even in April’s aloof blush. Yours was more slouchy and mine was tighter, what with my gargantuan head. This made less people recognize that we were indeed wearing matching hats, which isn’t what we were going for, but was a nice perk. You worked out Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings at six thirty, before going to work at the Lavalife call center. I would have breakfast waiting on the table, a couple of scrambled eggs and rye toast with caraway seeds.

“Be aware.” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday, September 7, 2015
7:58pm
5 minutes
from a residential security poster

S: Do you even know the energy you’re putting out?
K: Nope?
S: It’s like carbon monoxide.
K: What?
S: Carbon monoxide? Poisoning?
K. takes out their phone and starts Googling.
K: (Reading) “Carbon Monoxide is a colourless, odourless gas that can kill you.”
S: (Self satisfied) Mmhmm –
K: “When exposed to CO symptoms include vomiting, dizziness, chest pains…”
S. coughs.
K: I don’t see an vomit around here –
S: Ever since you got back from Mexico you’ve been spreading poison all over this house and I’m tired of it!
K: Tell me how you really feel!
S: I AM!
K: I KNOW!
A moment of quiet.
K: Do you feel better now?
S: A bit…
K: Tell me, what energy are you putting out? If you were going to classify it or compare it to a chemical or odourless gas or whatever?

“the tallest trees send down roots” by Sasha on her couch


Sunday, September 6, 2015
11:12pm
5 minutes
The Soul’s Code
James Hillman

Silver never explains how he got his nickname. I learn his real name after crashing on his couch for three months. He’s finally left the apartment to go and look for a job and I rifle around looking for evidence of who he really is. When I ask him where he’s from he just says, “Here”. When I ask him about his family, he says, “I don’t have one.” “Everyone has a family,” I say, “whether they like it or not.” “Nope,” he says, scratching Kitty’s belly. “You named your cat “Kitty”?” I ask, scrubbing inside his stove. No one’s done it in ages and there appears to have been a whole lot of explosions. “I didn’t name her.” Silver leaves all the windows open even though the temperature’s been dropping steadily since I got here. When I close one he shoots me a dirty look and mumbles, “Gotta let the air in, Sam.”

“make a cool can” by Julia at Souzan’s apartment


Tuesday, September 8, 2015
9:51pm
5 minutes
from a LinkedIn profile

Ways to live, Days to be, Things to do, Dreams to have:
1.Make a cool plan with a cool hat on and go outside and say HELLO WORLD
2.Drink lemonade through a straw, out of a fishbowl with your eyes closed and your HEART OPEN
3.Wash your body and your lover’s in the lake and use the sunlight to dry YOUR BONES
4.Kiss the next person you see who is wearing a graphic t-shirt UNIRONICALLY
5.Spend a day on your belly watching the ant colonies under the rocks show you HOW TO LIVE
6.Eat an entire watermelon with your hands tied behind your back and don’t let your thoughts WANDER

“open 7 days” by Sasha on her couch


Saturday, September 5, 2015
9:27pm
5 minutes
from the sign at the liquor store

Eating pizza beside you for probably the millionth time and all of a sudden it hits me, like a slightly greasy meteor, I’m in love with you.

“ShitshitshitshitSHIT,” I say, and you say, through pant-like dog breaths, “Did you burn the roof of your mouth, too?”

I go to the bathroom and wash my face. I even use Rachel’s Aveeno face scrub.

“Did you just use Rachel’s face wash?” You lean in close and I smell the pepperoni and the charming sexiness. “I’m sorry.”

“If pizza makes you feel so dirty, why do we order it every Sunday?” It’s a really great question. I resent that you asked it because there’s no way that I can explain that my obsessive face washing has less to do with the cheese-grime and more to do with how I love you.

“I can go by myself” by Sasha at Jericho Beach plaza


Friday, September 4, 2015
5:52pm
5 minutes
Overheard at the library

Adele taught me how to say “fuck you” in Spanish, how to steal a pair of jeans from the mall, how to insert a tampon, how to french kiss, how to sneak in the basement window of my parent’s house, and how to drink whiskey on the rocks.

Adele taught me how to say “yes”, how to take a good photo with my phone, how to ride the subway in New York, how to lose ten pounds without barely trying and how to listen like my life depended on it.

“that’s a dumb simile” by Sasha at VGH


Thursday, September 3, 2015
12:32pm
5 minutes
overheard on the street

It’s dumb. The rain on the window pane. Feeling sorry for myself. Daddy made me a salmon salad sandwich and the bread went all mushy. Had to throw it out. Was a real shame to waste, but what’s a boy to do. It’s dumb. I wanted to have my birthday party at Science World but Daddy said it’s too expensive. I suggested that we play charades and Daddy said that he was tired. I don’t get it. It always rains when I could really use a bit of sunshine. Have you noticed that? It’s pretty wild. That’s what Daddy says – “wild”.

“The stress that I have been carrying around with me” by Sasha at Kafka’s


Wednesday, September 2, 2015 at Kafka’s
11:30am
5 minutes
Teach Only Love
Gerald G. Jampolsky, M.D.


I been carryin a stress around with me like a trekking pack. You know the kind them backpacker hikers wear? With all the strings and straps and pockets? I got that stress from my Mama, right, and she didn mean to give it to me but she jus did.

Mama worked at the hotel on the highway, ya know the first one on the right? She’d work the desk all night so when people’s come cuz they forgets their toothbrushes and condoms and stuff she’d have that covered.

“When, Finally and inevitably,” by Sasha on the 99 going West


Tuesday, September 1, 2015
1:22pm
5 minutes
Bits
Louis Taylor


Let’s say that the grass was damp with dew
and the day was grey
like this one
Let’s say that Johnny Cash was playing from your
tinny computer speaks
like now
Let’s say that finally
inevitably
you put on your socks and boots and left for the factory
“Twelve years, Leila,” you say
“Eight more to go and I’m free”
Let’s say that I stand on the lawn
Watching as you pull out of the driveway

“And for some reason these men fit the bill.” By Sasha on her couch


Monday, August 31, 2015
11:53pm
5 minutes
Cowboy Poetry
(ed)Hal Cannon


She likes the sweetness. Kate. A name like a blank page, like a sky at dusk. Kate. She adds honey to her cereal, sweetness, sweetness, and stirs a cube or two of sugar into her tea. Her mother never let them have anything refined as a kid. She ground her own flour. She soaked chickpeas on the counter. As soon as Kate could she bought herself a Crispy Crunch. She ate a bite a day for a week. She rolls up her carpet before doing her exercises.

“But a song” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday, August 30, 2015
11:13pm
5 minutes
from a poem by Roy Croft

The first song I wrote was about a tidal wave
A melody like gull wings
A sun high in the sky
We never see it coming
When he walked out the door he left it
open
Wide
A gust of wind came in
Bringing a tumbleweed of what might’ve been
Wide
Bringing tears
Salt stains on flushed cheeks

“Be aware.” by Julia at Souzan’s apartment


Monday, September 7, 2015
7:56pm
5 minutes
from a residential security poster

There’s a little cat that visits my apartment every night. Late. When everyone else in the world has gone to sleep except him and me. We’re up doing god knows what: prowling the streets, wishing there were more cheese puffs (respectively). He’s black and white and has on tiny speckle of grey right on his nose. He’s cute, but he’s confusing. Why does he visit me so late and isn’t there something he’d rather be doing? I sit out on my porch smoking Belmonts and making up video game style music. Usually I just hum it and it passes the time. But then sometimes this cat comes and I pet him, or I bring him out some tuna, or whatever I have. Some nights he brings me things too. Like last night, he came by around 4, usual time, and in his mouth he was carrying an ambiguous and bloody carcass. He dropped it at my feet. It’s still there now.

“the tallest trees send down roots” by Julia at Nelson the Seagull


Sunday, September 6, 2015 at Nelson The Seagull
2:32pm
5 minutes
The Soul’s Code
James Hillman


Mama, there’s a shooting pain coming and going in my legs! It feels like knives and daggers and glass, digging deep and twisting tight.
My dear, you are growing. Your legs are becoming longer, your torso building higher toward the sky.
But why do I ache? Why do my legs shriek out every night?
Because to grow is to change and to change is to expand. You’re stretching, my love, growing into the you you are meant to be.
How big will I get? How long will I grow?
As big as you’re meant to be. As long as your soul needs.
My soul is growing through my legs? Will it always hurt this much?
Maybe a little at first. But it lets you know you’re alive. That you’re entering new dimensions. Filling bigger spaces.

“open 7 days” by Julia at Souzan’s apartment


Saturday, September 5, 2015
6:59pm
5 minutes
from the sign at the liquor store

When she begged me to forgive her there were tears in her eyes and I was wearing a red and green apron that made me look very Italian and very comical. I couldn’t take myself seriously, let alone take her, so instead of being an adult, I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I’ve always dreamed about these kind of moments where the lighting is just right, there’s the perfect amount of rain, maybe a bit of wind, and an underscoring of building music that sounds like it’s just far enough away to be acceptable. But instead we were both covered in gnocchi flour and our bangs were plastered to our foreheads cause in real life there are no perfect forgiveness temperatures. I laughed and she got very angry. I didn’t mean to offend her but I was angry too…that she couldn’t have picked a better moment for all of her guilt to add up. Instead, right as the tester gnocchi were rising to the top, she fell to her knees and buried her face in my Italian flag.

“I can go by myself” by Julia outside Whole Foods


Friday, September 4, 2015
1:45pm
5 minutes
Overheard at the library

I didn’t think I could stand another minute of Bryan and his “band” covering Bob Dylan or Bob Marley or Bob Seger. They didn’t seem like the type of “band” that could easily do renditions of such different styles of music. It’s like, just pick one, you know what I mean? Bryan was trying to impress me because I told him once I’d never dated a musician before. That was a lie, cause Joe in high school played the drums and we dated for 5 whole months before I realized I didn’t want to marry him. Also, Matt, the busboy at the tequila bar, was a very good kisser and he happened to play the flute during his elementary school production of The Snake Charmer.

“that’s a dumb simile” by Julia at Souzan’s apartment


Thursday, September 3, 2015
11:32pm
5 minutes
overheard on the street

compare her to the sky and she’ll melt before your eyes
with a softness in her curl
a smile unbeknownst to her

Draw her like the sea and she’ll grow until she’s free
with a calmness in her song
wisdom there all along

Dance her like the sun and she’ll be your warmest one
with a lightness in her face
shining in the world’s embrace

Love her like the night and she’ll always hold you tight
with a mystery in her touch
radiant gold-speckled hush

“When we love” by Sasha on her porch


Saturday, August 29, 2015
9:02am
5 minutes
from a quote by Jean Shinoda Bolen

When we love
we burn the sweetgrass of our lover’s breath
Daily
A meditation
like the caterpillar crawling across the grass
When we love
we leave behind what we don’t need
The snakes skin
A brittle forgotten pile on the side of the dirt road
When we love
we worship at the feet of a many sided God
we adorn her with rose oil
we kiss each toe
When we love
we wash in holy water
we sacrifice everything we thought we knew
for something mysteriously more
for something more holy than we ever knew possible

“the Moon moves into harmony” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday, August 28, 2015
12:12am
5 minutes
from the Gemini horoscope in Cafe Astrology

You’re sorry.
I can see that.
The star freckles connecting the sorry-dots.
A meteor shooting out of you all
“FORGIVE”.
All
“FORGET”.

The night’s are darker now.
The dark is longer now.
The longing goes from here to there and back again.
Snaking and weaving.
Circling and knotting.

Do we ever outgrow what we learn when we’re afraid?
How we hold breath like it’s fire?
How we squeeze tight?

“the result of a period of research” by Sasha on her couch


Thursday, August 27, 20151
8:36pm
5 minutes
Presence of Minds: The Importance of Active Exploration and Response in Dramaturgy
Christopher Michael Petty


I find I’m less lonely when the radio’s on. I’m sorry to be speaking about my loneliness again. I find that when the radio’s on I think less about Gwen and more about the whole wide world. Like the wars and the orphans and the earthquakes and global warming. Strangely, it doesn’t depress me like it used to… It used to really throw me for a loop. I actually remember saying to Gwen, “I can’t watch the news anymore, dear. Makes me feel so helpless and sad.” She’d draw spirals on my palm with her pinky.

“Complete all sections” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Wednesday, August 26, 2015
11:14pm
5 minutes
from the Canada Arts Council Application Guidelines

I walk up and down the aisles in my classroom. There are two. I stop at my desk and take a sip of green tea. Kathy said I had to quit coffee if I wanted to live past seventy, so I did. Green tea. It’s good for you and you basically get the same buzz. I see Leanne cheating. I get a knot in my gut the size of a cantaloupe. Shit shit shit shit shit. I pretend to turn away and pray that none of the other kids notice. I know that her Dad just got out of jail and her mother’s probably still fucking Jeremy Santana. I feel so bad for her. Leanne. Beautiful Leanne.

“Cut to the chase” by Sasha at VGH


Tuesday, August 25, 2015
2:12pm
5 minutes
an in-flight magazine with Air Canada

I’m editing. Everything. Writing. Kitchen. Closet. Those were listed hardest to easiest. It’s a good way to go. I’d been wanting to do it for awhile – mostly with my closet. The other things just sort of fell into place. Editing is the most important part of creation, if you ask me. It’s not rocket science but it does take patience, dedication and a really good playlist. I divide my days into three sections, with breaks for meals and a nap. I start with writing, working my way through my pile of files. I edit in hardcopy. Just me. I grieve the trees but feel I can’t get in the groove on my desktop. Besides, it’s nice to be away from the luring Internet. Then, I make a cup of coffee, and move onto the kitchen. Who even purchased these cream of mushroom soups? Not I! They’ll go to the food bank. Did you know that spices go bad? They do! They don’t really spoil, but they do lose their strength. See you later, thyme from 1999!

“The stress that I have been carrying around with me” by Julia at Barb’s house in Vernon


Wednesday, September 2, 2015
9:40pm
5 minutes
Teach Only Love
Gerald G. Jampolsky, M.D.


Oh it’s like a sack of potatoes just weighing down my shoulders, you see? I never once thought of an image quite like that before! It’s actually thrilling to be creative in this way. Hmm. Let’s see, how else would I describe my stress? Well, I suppose I could say, if I’m really going deep here, is that it’s like a 4 year old who refuses to walk on his own and is nothing but dead weight because he’s desperate for attention or something like that. You know the way children act out when they’re not getting what they want, and they throw tantrums, and you can barely drag them around, let alone carry them? Oh dear, I’m afraid that one got a little further away from me than I was expecting. The truth is, I know a lot about these things and those memories that just sort of add up and when I let myself, they all come flooding back to the surface. I’m understanding now that all I needed to say was the refuses to walk on his own bit. The rest just seems superfluous. Either way, we were discussing what my stress feels like. It also feels like a cement block tied around my ankle right before I’ve been thrown into the water….

“When, Finally and inevitably,” by Julia at Barb’s house in Vernon


Tuesday, September 1, 2015
5:28pm
5 minutes
Bits
Louis Taylor


I’ve seen the sun, he was locked away, hiding.
I whispered to him often, reminding him to take his time.
I said hello to him every morning, and I bowed my head down deep.
He didn’t want to come out.
He didn’t want to be my guide.
Sometimes facing the day is hard for everyone.
But he was there and I could tell that he needed to set himself free.
I knew because I had lived that way before.
I knew because revealing feels bad before it feels good.
I knew because in the shadows no one can see your smile, or the one you think you’re wearing.
Then after all my meditations and salutations and exaltations, I asked him quietly if I should go.
I leaned in close to catch it: he didn’t want to be left alone.

“And for some reason these men fit the bill.” by Julia at Barb’s house in Vernon


Monday, August 31, 2015
10:27pm
5 minutes
Cowboy Poetry
(ed)Hal Cannon


Mama had a ranch and she lived a good life
With her dogs and her horses and her cows and her ribbons
Mama had a good life and she wrote herself letters for 45 years
Today we branded 20, yesterday Henrietta rode on Lyla for the first time
Mama made her own history and she changed into someone she liked more
With her spirit and her intentions and her sanctuary and her home
Mama made us meat loaf and made us take seconds
Cause we are family, eating like family, reminding each other of what’s important
Mama knitted life lessons in afghans and couch cushions
With her advice and her kindness and her generosity and her magic
Mama stayed up late walking outside under the stars
With her open heart and her open hands and her rain boots

“But a song” by Julia at Ryan’s place in Calgary


Sunday, August 30, 2015
11:29pm
5 minutes
from a poem by Roy Croft

Sing to me little bird and I will count the promises on all the strands of hair on your head
I will love you forever
I will want you
I will help you
I will hold you
I will need you
I will please you
I will defend you
I will preserve you
I will encourage you
I will enjoy you
I will inspire you
I will charm you
I will disarm you
I will guide you
I will follow you
I will dare you
I will give you
I will remind you
I will kiss you
I will soothe you
I will understand you
I will accept you
I will protect you
I will learn you
I will study you
I will know you

“When we love” by Julia on the floor


Saturday, August 29, 2015
1:01am
5 minutes
from a quote by Jean Shinoda Bolen

-And it feels like dying
-Yeah it feels like dying
-And it feels like your heart is thumping harder than usual
-Yeah
-And it feels like eye contact is binding
-Yeah it does
-And it feels like the walls are closing in
-Yeah, but those walls are lined with soft velvet
-Soft velvet lined claustrophobic walls closing in
-Yeah that’s how it feels
-But why does it feel like dying?
-Because dying isn’t bad
-But shouldn’t it feel like living?
-It does
-But
-And also dying
-And it feels like living anddying?
-Yeah it feels like both
-Because dying isn’t bad
-And living isn’t good
-Because it’s hard and also worth it
-Yeah

“the Moon moves into harmony” by Julia on Joe’s couch


Friday, August 28, 2015
11:37pm
5 minutes
from the Gemini horoscope in Cafe Astrology

I can feel her calling
Tugging on my heart
Pulling me close to her
Dancing with me till the night’s song is over
And she flows through me like a light
Like a flame
And she gives me freedom like a flight
Like a dream
She brushes the hair away from my ear and whispers the truth so no one can hear
Cause it’s meant for me
And it has to be
This little thing called faith
Calm shore rocky sea
She spins me around before the morning wakes up
Twirls me unfurls me
Spreads me wide for the wind

“the result of a period of research” by Julia on Joe’s couch


Thursday, August 27, 20151
10:14pm
5 minutes
Presence of Minds: The Importance of Active Exploration and Response in Dramaturgy
Christopher Michael Petty


According to the barometer set deep in my stomach, I am gauging that the level of contentment I am experiencing is lower than (if not the same as) the level it was at exactly one year ago today in exactly this very spot. It alerts me that something is wrong and that I am not safe. My body is registering some kind of prolonged trauma and it’s beginning to react accordingly. The spot in my brain where it’s supposed to regulate my mood and my outbursts is no longer functioning. It has shut off, hopefully not for good, but in this moment, it’s very much ineffective.

“Complete all sections” by Julia on Joe’s couch


Wednesday, August 26, 2015
9:09pm
5 minutes
from the Canada Arts Council Application Guidelines

During the testing Jeremy looked around the room to gauge the progress of his peers. Amelia had a crooked smile on her face and was scribbling with utmost vigor. Gareth had his boogies in his hands again and was rolling them between his palms, making them long and roll-y. Jeremy glanced at the clock and saw that he had only 29 minutes remaining. He shot back down at his papers and realized he hadn’t don’t much of the exam at this point and would have to hurry. Even still, Jeremy was preoccupied with his beside neighbour and his horizontal neighbour. Did Erin like to scribble tiny hearts where the tops of the ‘i’s should go? Did Reilly smell his fingers like that every day, or just the day after spaghetti night where he gets to chop the garlic and add as much as he likes?