“Woohoo!” by Julia on the 20


Wednesday April 27, 2016
10:34pm
5 minutes
from an e-mail

I am EXCITED to see you. I left you a scavenger hunt in the garage that you will LOVE but you have to have a reason to go to the garage. I didn’t leave clues in the house to go into the garage because I LOVE you but I do not have that much TIME! Remember that time I picked you up from the airport wearing a pleather sexy nurse costume? That was FUNNY but you were ANGRY with me because you were tired and not in the MOOD for an EXPERIENCE or a MEMORY. I was only upset about that for 6 months. Pretty good! Could have been way longer! Pride takes so long to heal though. You know that. Also my instinct to take risks for you had been RUINED and I didn’t really know that that’s what happened until much LATER.

“We’ve got your back” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday April 26, 2016
11:30pm
5 minutes
from a Suburu ad

Got a letter from Marie the other day. It was written on a series of post-its, unnumbered,disordered, and accompanied by a stack of photographs. She sent me a photo of her new belly button ring with a big “SORRY!” Written on the back in red lipstick. Another of her dog, Kate, and her just waking up. She looks happy in that one. She also sent a photo of her and Iris swinging a toddler between them. On the back she wrote “this ones a good one” and I have no idea what or who she’s talking about. Her post-its had her dreams scrawled on some but not all, a list of all of her current measurements, and a haiku about mint chocolate with a bunch of sparkly cow stickers.

“Not anymore” by Julia on the 99


Monday April 25, 2016
6:51pm
5 minutes
from a podcast

I don’t want you anymore
She says
Mouth full of corn flakes
Heart full of lonely
Are we going to discuss this
He says
Forehead vein pulsing
Forehead skin wrinkling
We are discussing it
She says
We are discussing it right now
No
He says
I mean don’t I get a say in this
Whatever you want to say will be too late
I don’t want you anymore
I don’t owe you a debate
You don’t have to be cruel
You’re already leaving me
He says
Eyes cast down
Eyes filling up
I think I’m being very nice actually
Being honest with you is the nicest thing I could do.

“you can do the first half” by Julia on the 250


Sunday April 24, 2016
2:55pm
5 minutes
from an e-mail

You can’t just tell me you love me once and then that’s it. You’re not in the clear. You have to show me that you love me. EVERY DAY. Because if you break the seal on love and try to hold it in, you are hurting everyone involved. You are hurting me. Don’t tell me that I “should just know” you love me. This is not a stupid video game. Or wherever you got that uniformed point of view. You don’t just say “I love you” and then expect all the perks of being with someone who actually feels loved. DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE ARE PERKS TO BEING WITH SOMONE WHO ACTUALLY FEELS LOVED? You get to feel the sunshine on your skin and wake up to beautiful breakfasts in bed and get tiny songs written for you and get love notes snuck into your gym shoes and get massages and genuine smiles and good gifts on your birthday. You don’t just get to do the first thing and then emotionally disappear!!

“No need to wait until we die!” by Julia at her dining table


Saturday April 23, 2016
4:35pm
5 minutes
The Essential Rumi
Tr. by Coleman Barks


We’re both sitting on the roof of Geri’s cottage and everyone else has gone to sleep. We are smoking weed and sipping on Mike’s Hard Lemonade and all of it feels perfect in this summer heat. I don’t know who started it but we’re playing a series of “get to know you”/ “get to fuck you” games. Questions like “Would you rather” or statements like “Never have I ever”. I am having the time of my life. I am flirting with you. Hard. You are flirting back and it feels like we could have been doing this thing together all our lives by how easy it all feels. At one point, after we simultaneously down our intentional drinks after both answering that we have have both in fact had a sex dream about the other, you tell me to close my eyes and say “stop” when your finger tips tracing my inner arm get to my elbow crease. I don’t want to say anything that might make it end.

“Your hands are cold” by Julia on the 14


Friday April 22, 2016
8:51pm
5 minutes
Scars
James Bay


You’re sweet. You let me put my cold hands in your armpits when I need to warm up, when my teeth are chattering and I’m complaining excessively. You squirm the first few seconds and you dance around but you don’t make me take them out. That’s one of my favourite types of touching. I feel taken care of by you and your overheated underarms. You are always a furnace, kicking off articles of clothing in your sleep, ripping up sheets, opening windows in the minus 30s or 40s. The only time I ever remember warming you up was when we went skinny-dipping in your family’s salt-water pool. It wasn’t warm yet, but we were high and felt free, and so I cupped your nut-sack in my hands so they wouldn’t retract and we stood like that for a while, impersonating Ethel Merman and smiling big at each other.

“How did you recognize him?” by Julia at her dining table


Thursay April 21, 2016
6:18pm
5 minutes
overheard in the car

I wrote a poem about your laugh when I was 17 and in love with you. I compared it to Santa. I didn’t know anything about you, or love, or poetry then. Maybe I still don’t. I felt proud reading it in front of my class and thinking of you secretly as I shared some of my truest, most ridiculous metaphors about you. I told them about your laugh, about how you were so inclusive and even laughed at people’s bad jokes to make them feel good. I remember thinking you were generous. And I think I was right because a few months later I found out that you were trading kisses with other girls and going out with whichever ones you thought you would be able to sleep with. Maybe I was the generous one for sharing you! I was crushed. I could pull you off of a busy street with my eyes closed if I could hear your laugh. These days I don’t hear it as much as I used to. We don’t live in the same place. We live worlds away.

“We were two ships in the night” by Julia at her “New York”


Wednesday April 20, 2016
11:23pm
5 minutes
Capsized
You+Me


Arden: Elliot, where did you get that ring?

Elliot: Why, you like??

Arden: Yeah, I like it a lot. It looks expensive.

Elliot: What does that mean?

Arden: Means it doesn’t look like something you’d buy.

Elliot: What the fuck?

Arden: I don’t mean it like an insult, I’m just saying.

Elliot: Well why don’t you stop speaking in fucking puzzles? What are you getting at?

Arden: Woah, pump the breaks, I’m just saying I like your ring and I didn’t expect you to have something like that. Because you don’t have a job. And I don’t think you’re dating someone? I don’t know, Elliot, fuck, just forget it.

Elliot: You’re jealous.

Arden: No–

Elliot: You are. I fucking knew it. You can’t accept that I might have one thing that you don’t have.

Arden: That’s not true.

Elliot: No? Then I guess you won’t care if I tell you that Nanna gave me this ring.

Arden: What?

Elliot: Yeah. She wanted me to have it. She gave it to me before she died.

Arden: Why the fuck did she give it you?

“We were two ships in the night” by Sasha on her porch


Wednesday April 20, 2016
10:43pm
5 minutes
Capsized
You+Me


We were two ships in the night for twenty nine nights too long and then I lost you. The unnamed cousin of the Bermuda Triangle, you must’ve been swept up in a wave or a gust of wind, powerful and smelling of seaweed and broken bottles.

I looked for you, sails ragged and ropes broken, but only found a lantern and a tree stump. Remains of something that was once so precious, so present, so tangible.

I call to you sometimes, in my sleep. At least that’s what my lover says, brow furrowed.

“feel free to talk to me” by Sasha on her couch


Tuesday April 19, 2016
10:43pm
5 minutes
From an e-mail

You come home for lunch instead of buying it out, like you always promise you’ll do but never actually do and you make yourself a salad with greens from Kim’s garden – lovage and mint, romaine and baby kale. You don’t know how Kim does it – how she finds time to tend to all these things with her job and her father and the baby. You eat slow. You told Haddie that you have a meeting at a coffee shop after lunch – a white lie. You don’t feel bad about white lies anymore. No point. You sprinkle on soft goat cheese and pumpkin seeds.

“biking in the rain” by Sasha on the 16


Monday April 18, 2016
5:19pm
5 minutes
Overheard on Yew

Macy is sitting in the bathtub covered in blood. All I can say is, “What the fuck? What the fuck?” She’s not crying or smiling or moving, but her eyes are open and she’s looking at me, eyes wide.

“What’re you doing here?” I sit on the closed lid of the toilet.

“I hurt myself, Jay.”

“What the fuck happened?”

“I hurt myself.”

“What’re you doing here, even? How did you get in to my apartment?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Okay. What, yes, okay…”

“I rode my bike here, in the rain, and I got hit by a big truck. I passed out, under it. Louise, she was driving the fucking truck. I couldn’t call the police. She was high. She ran, she left the scene, she… Someone called a fucking ambulance and I was…”

“My head is so horrible” by Sasha on her couch


Sunday April 17, 2016
10:31pm
5 minutes
From a text

You are onstage and you are beaming and you are beautiful and you are gold. I am in the audience and I am watching and I am all heartbeat and dry mouth. You catch my eye and I am breathless, winded like I’ve been punched right in the belly.

I come out of the bathroom, rubbing my wet hands on the legs of my jeans. You’re there. You look at me, like we’ve met, like you know me. “Hi,” I say, but it’s too small a word for such a big moment.

“feel free to talk to me” by Julia at her dining table


Tuesday April 19, 2016
9:36pm
5 minutes
from an e-mail

Dearest Dot,
I am wearing the friendship bracelet you sent me in your last letter as I write you this letter in response. It is beautiful. You have such knack for colour coordination and choosing the coordinating colours that suit me best. My favourite part is the little H stitched in. How did you do that? You must send a tutorial for me to try in your next letter. Before I forget, I wanted to enclose some photos of me and my family while we were camping at Driftwood Beach this summer. I think you’ll find a pleasant surprise in the photo with me and Elsie holding her fetch ball in her mouth! Won’t spoil the surprise but I wanted to give you a heads up to look for it. Joshua tried to kiss me again behind the big elm tree in my backyard. I told him that if he keeps doing it I’ll have to find someone else to be in my play. I heard Benjamin and his brother, Nick, wanted to be in it but are too shy to talk to me. I wonder why that is? I like talking to everybody! I hope that you feel like you can talk to me? I mean I know you do because you always write back! Well I hope you know that I want you to feel free to talk to me about anything. Even this request!

Until next time,
Heath Heath

“biking in the rain” by Julia on Kits Beach


Monday April 18, 2016
4:49pm
5 minutes
overheard on Yew

I am
Moving
To a place where
You do not have
To worry
About
Biking
In
The
Rain
Because this place
Doesn’t have
Rain
And this place
Doesn’t have
Bike
Lanes
So crisis averted
And nobody’s hurt
And nobody’s sad
Because their
Favourite
Shirt
Got
Road grit
Splattered
On it
This place where
I’m going
Is far
And is
Wide
And is
Hope
And is
Dream
I will invite
You to meet me
As soon
As
I
Learn
My new
Address
Something like
Sunny Lane
In Sunshine Town
Just at the corner
Of
Rainbow and Sunset
Or I guess
Not Rainbow?
No more
Rainbows?
I didn’t
Think
This
New life
Through
I’ll need
Rainbows

“My head is so horrible” by Julia on her couch


Sunday April 17, 2016
11:44pm
5 minutes
From a text

Remember when you wore your pink thong to the beach and greased yourself up in olive oil to go play Frisbee in front of all our friends? You put glitter in your beard and people were taking photos of you the whole afternoon. I searched the hashtag “manthong” and your photo was all over Instagram. I spent that day laughing my ass off at your ass in the sand and your boyish charm. When people asked you why you were wearing your “thing” you said “it’s 34 degrees my brother” and then you’d do a cartwheel. I admit at first I was annoyed, maybe slightly even embarrassed. But I’m glad you didn’t care about one single bit of that.

“all that we went through” by Sasha on her porch


Saturday April 16, 2016
9:31pm
5 minutes
Back to Black
Amy Winehouse


fingerprints on arteries on sails
so young for this adventure
needles out of toenails out of freezer burn out of steam
the windows open in the summer and suddenly we all small
each other’s cooking hear each other’s kisses
told that you were better off
i wonder if you ever crumple up your dreams like you used to?

broken teacup broken heart broken frontal lobe
what if we could change our mind and go back and go there
would you say something different?
would you still light the fire?
would you drink just as many greyhounds?

“American singer-songwriter” by Sasha on the 99


Friday April 15, 2016
6:52pm
5 minutes
From a Lenny Kravitz Google search

I’m not sure about much right now
just the look of spring in your eyes
Glint like water of Salmachain pond
We spent the whole summer there
1979
The year your father re-married and mine
smoked his last cigar
We’d meet when the sun was just above the big willow
You’d bring the frisbee and I’d bring the lunch
We’d stay until the dock was empty
Everyone gone home for barbecued ribs and bath time
1979

“Let’s roll, babycakes” by Sasha on her porch


Thursday April 14, 2016
11:54pm
5 minutes
overheard on Arbutus

A: Let’s roll, babycakes…

B: I’m not ready to go yet –

A: Come on, this place is dead.

B: I’m, I’m having a good conversation with –

A: I already called a taxi.

B: You go. I’ll meet you at home.

A: No.

B: Excuse me?

A: I’m not leaving without you. That’s ridiculous.

B: Well, I’m not ready to go yet so either cancel the taxi or –

A: Excuse us, Elizabeth. We just need a minute.

B: No. Stay. It’s fine.

A: You are being really crazy right now.

B: Liz. This is what I have to deal with. Daily. Now you know.

A: I don’t know why –

B: Excuse us
.

“Don’t turn off your computer” by Sasha at Platform Seven


Wednesday April 13, 2016 at Platform 7
4:43pm
5 minutes
from the update installation screen

I showed you love like moss thick under bare feet
tangled just like we are
all roots and flowers all held tight
all reaching

I showed you patience like a watched pot like
the new moon and the tide in and out in and
out all smiles and sighs and gulps
all dirty fingernails and guitar solos

I showed you lavender bouquets blinded by the
streetlights the kitchen is the only alter I’ll
pray at the great divide somehow smaller
amongst tarragon and cinnamon

“I do not lie to you.” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday April 12, 2016
9:56pm
5 minutes
from a text

I was never asking for a storm, but it came with all the accompanying thunder and hail and wind storms and branches across the porch. I might’ve lied to you when I said that the chickens were safe and that the roof would’ve leak. Sometimes I am not the one in control. I ventured out into it, knee-high in mud and shit, stepping over bits of fence and roof, shielding my head and my eyes. I tried to save Alice, your favourite calf, but she disappeared. Lifted by a gust like a giant’s sneeze, who knows where she is now.

“This never happened before.” By Sasha on the 99


Monday April 11, 2016
9:23pm
5 minutes
overheard on the 99

This
This didn’t happen
Never happened
Won’t happen
An eye like a dart right through the soft belly flesh
This
The space between never and always
The unrelenting happy birthday song rough and round
This didn’t happen in a basement
The sounds of a teenage party full throttle above
This didn’t happen at a bus stop in the broad daylight
cars driving by and honking
This didn’t happen in a movie theatre
Leonardo diCaprio pouting on screen
This didn’t happen round back of a night club
Pressed against the red brick
Scars on the back
Scars on the back
This
This didn’t happen
Never happened
Won’t happen still
A sugar cane factory
Smell of burning

“In terms of expenses” by Sasha on her couch


Sunday April 10, 2016
11:16pm
5 minutes
from an email

Can’t afford the rum or the coke or the ring or the milk for coffee or even KD, you know. That’s when it’s real bad, right? That’s when you’ve sunk to a new low. Can’t help that I’m bad with coin, it’s in my blood. My Pops once won seventy thousand dollars in a lottery, one of those kinds that they do at the hospital? It was all gone before the year was up, right? All gone. Didn’t see a penny of it, my Mama or me or Kelly. Fuck if I know what he spent it on, probably drugs or clothes or something.

“your comfort and ours” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Saturday April 9, 2016
8:32pm
5 minutes
from an email

My mother and father on their wedding day

Anthony and Sharon
Twenty nine – both of them, born the same year

1979 – August
U of T Faculty club
“My friend got us in” My mother says now, on the rare occasion that she talks about their wedding.

A modern dancer
A justice of the peace
His Catholic family from Edmonton
Her Jewish family from Montreal
Finger foods made by aunties and the Thai restaurant on Baldwin St.
They danced to Joan Baez and Rikki Lee Jones

I imagine my mother running her hands over the ribs of the brown corduroy
I imagine my father touching the soft floral cotton of her dress
“I didn’t wear a bra,” My mother says now, we’re only talking about weddings because I’m planning mine.

“Your grandma loved that.”

“We ate cabbage rolls and pad thai and Richard drank too much and Bubby was anxious and it was just what it was supposed to be, I guess.”

“authentic salt” by Sasha at Moksha Yoga Vancouver


Friday, April 8, 2016
10:29pm
5 minutes
from the Real Salt shaker

HER: Hey. Can you talk? Ugh. I just hung out with Brian and it was… I don’t know – it’s just like, I like him, you know? I liked him. But then he just… I’m not gonna lie, I was thinking about him too, like, I was excited to hang out again, I had a good time the other night but… He’s weird, man… I don’t know…

Jen? What are you doing? Are you in the bathroom? No, no, it’s fine.

But, like, after what happened last time, when he ghosted, when he… I think he might be a closet player. You know those guys who just – yeah – who, like…

Did the toilet just flush again? Are you sick?

Maybe he’s one of those guys who pretends to be the caring, sensitive, easy-going, kinda, like gentle type but really he’s this weird, awkward, asshole player?

Shit, it’s the other line…

“all that we went through” by Julia at her dining table


Saturday April 16, 2016
5:31pm
5 minutes
Back to Black
Amy Winehouse


I don’t feel right writing this. You’ve been gone for one month. I know you said it wouldn’t bother you if I saw other people once you said goodbye, but everyone else is saying it’s too soon. I met someone. I don’t know if he’s my one, but he’s someone and it feels nice to be with a man that isn’t dying. Your mother is still angry at me. She thinks I am mistreating your memory, disrespecting what we had. But the worst part is, I know I’m not doing anything wrong and I know that when you told me you didn’t want me to mourn you for long that you meant it. I still love you, I always will. I would have died with you if I could have but it doesn’t work like that. I wanted to thank you for being so understanding and trusting and knowing that me dating someone else does not mean I’ve moved on or that I’m okay or that I wanted to be with someone else this whole time. Nobody outside of us can know what we went through and what we talked about and what we decided together. Now all that’s left is my side of the story and no one seems to want to believe me when I say it’s okay that this is happening and you wouldn’t be upset. I don’t know how long I can keep justifying myself in the eyes of your family or my family. I miss you more than life.

“American singer-songwriter” by Julia on her couch


Friday April 15, 2016
8:55pm
5 minutes
from a Lenny Kravitz Google search

Performing in the bar, local bar, playing to crowds who love it, come back each week, bring their friends, become family. That’s what I really want. I don’t need stadium. I just want to entertain and share my music. I don’t care if I’m not rich. I’ll have artistic needs being met. I’ll get to share an experience, make people happy, help the bar make a bit more cash that night, drink for free. That’s it. I’m far from it. I’m not a flake or anything; I know that I’ve got a long road ahead of me before I can be that ready. I’m not delusional. It’s the dream though. I don’t necessarily envision it with a band or just me and my guitar. I don’t play the guitar yet. Doesn’t mean I can’t learn. Never too old to learn something new.

“Let’s roll, babycakes” by Julia at her dining table


Thursday April 14, 2016
11:52pm
5 minutes
overheard on Arbutus

I want you to beg me to stay when I tell you I’ll be sleeping at my mother’s place tonight. I want you to get on your knees and apologize for being a dick so I can forgive you and then apologize for being a dick back to you. I’m angry but I won’t be later but I don’t know how to turn this thing around before later is later. I feel like I’ve pushed all your buttons and there’s no easy rewind let’s pretend that never happened one to press. Why don’t you come with one like that? I am at the door with my overnight bag and I want you to throw me a banana if you’re not going to try to keep me from going. Let me know you still care about my potassium intake even when we’re hating each other. Even when you’re secretly glad that I won’t be sleeping beside you tonight to remind you of this stupid fight we both engaged in when we were both enraged about the thing we won’t remember in the morning.

“Don’t turn off your computer” by Julia at Platform 7


Wednesday April 13, 2016 at Platform 7
4:47pm
5 minutes
from the update installation screen

For the first time in a month of coming here, the man with obnoxious voice and even more obnoxious ponytail is not working in the cafe that I am borrowing as my office. I don’t mean to say I miss him-I don’t- but I’ve come to expect him and now things feel a bit off.
I spilled coffee into my laptop bag, and into my laptop keyboard, and onto my table, and into the self-deprecating narrative that I’m the kind of person who spills liquids on all the things that should never get wet.
I waited in line for the single-stall bathroom for the duration of “Another Day” from the Rent soundtrack because I could hear someone doing a million weird things inside and I didn’t know how long was reasonable to wait before I decided to stop waiting.
Nothing else bad has happened. I don’t think it’s obnoxious ponytail accent’s fault for not being here- I was just trying to connect some dots that don’t need connecting while my computer updates itself and tells me not to shut off until it’s done. It’s done now. It doesn’t take long to restart or update but I always think it will. Maybe that’s a reminder for me when I make excuses for staying married to bad habits…

“I do not lie to you.” by Julia on her bed


Tuesday April 12, 2016
9:51pm
5 minutes
from a text

When you ask me for the truth I gladly give it. Not to everyone, but to you, I don’t how not to. I remember sitting with you in a dusty bar a year and a half after first meeting you and feeling like that was the first time I actually got to know you. You said some profound shit and you were as lucid as I’d seen you. I preferred you like that. I wonder if you noticed me opening to you too. If you noticed me sharing more secrets or more weaknesses or more dreams laced in marijuana and vulnerability. We are close now like a weird combination of two unlikely flavours that you avoid combining at first because the idea puts you off, but that no longer surprises you once they’ve been mixed together and tasted and enjoyed.

So now. We’re both here: you in love with someone who loves you even more than you love him, and me in love with someone who loves me for reasons I will never comprehend, and we still have each other when we’re dying or when we’re thriving. You ask me if you think you deserve to be happy. I say yes. You ask me if you made mistakes. I say yes. You ask me if I’m happy. I say yes. You ask me if when the world ends, can we hold hands in a tulip garden. I say yes.

“This never happened before.” by Julia on the 99


Monday April 11, 2016
11:39pm
5 minutes
overheard on the 99

You tell me you love me like a bazillion times a day and I say it back maybe once? Twice if I’m in a good mood. I wonder it it bothers you that I say I love pizza more than I say I love your lips or your hands or whatever nice shit you say to me. You don’t seem bothered. You seem normal. Not even phased. I assume because you must believe you’re hearing me return your sentiments every time you say them cause otherwise your heart would need mending. And I’m saying you seem fine so I imagine you feel great about needing to express yourself so much and being with a person who needs coffee before speaking to you and who wants to be left alone for the first 40 minutes after returning home. I used to think saying I love you meant meaning it. If you asked me now I’d say it had nothing to do with that.

“In terms of expenses” by Julia on her couch


Sunday April 10, 2016
11:44pm
5 minutes
from an email

Mia and I have plans on the weekend. She wants to go camping and I want to go where Mia goes. So we’re going camping. She says it will be really easy if we just pack a tent in my car and then sleep in cornfields or daisy patches or whatever the fuck she actually said. I said yes. I said, I love camping, and I’ve been camping many times, and I am not afraid of getting caught by police or bears or raccoons or snakes. Mia wears an anklet that drives me wild. It’s a gold infinity rope thing and I didn’t know I liked ankles, but fuck hers are nice. She asked me recently if we could squeeze one more person in the back. I heard myself say yes but my whole body was screaming no. My body was too late to the party. It was distracted by the smell of her ponytail.

“your comfort and ours” by Julia at the pastry shop on Davie


Saturday April 9, 2016
2:31pm
5 minutes
from an email

Sylvia stays over for a night puts her feet up on the coffee table cooks with Remi’s fresh herbs and his signature sauces drinks my wine and dusts my curtains sleeps in late forgets to hang the bath mat over the edge of the tub stays up late talks on the phone to her psychic friend hangs my photos irons my shirts tells Remi that she’s menstruating tells Remi how to tell me he loves me in sign language listens to me cry about my mother’s surgery holds my hand when I lie about hating my new dance class sleeps over again stays for a week and then another.

“authentic salt” by Julia at her dining table


Friday, April 8, 2016
11:19pm
5 minutes
from the Real Salt shaker

I’ve been digging for the salt of the earth
Salt of my mother’s womb
Salt of rebirth
Where did all the good go?
The salty salty good go?
I know where to look but how deep do I go?
How far below?
Can I borrow some then give it back?
When I need a snack?
When I need to bleed the earth’s tears?
I don’t need a lot I just want a taste
To remind me of what I lost
To remind me of what I need inside and what’s worth risking
I promise I’ll return it
Along with my first born and first song
All the stuff worth trading for
Give me that diamond salt sparkling light
Give me that freedom first that cause for thirst
Digging for the true salt of the earth

“Night night” by Julia at her dining table


Thursday, April 7, 2016
12:08am
5 minutes
From a text

The rules are:
No giving up
No giving in
No praying to Jesus before sleeping because he steals all your dreams and sells them to God who then turns your worst nightmares into movies written by OTHER PEOPLE
No lying
No lying down
No drinking KFC gravy from the container (ANYMORE)
No baby talk to babies
No baby talk to adults
No wishing on stars
No more fucking in cars
No tattoos of things you can’t pronounce
No backpack logos
No Popsicles before July

“No I’m glad you did.” by Julia at her dining table


Wednesday, April 6, 2016
11:24pm
5 minutes
from a text


This cute 17 year old just offered me a toke of his spliff and then told me if I wanted he would buy me chicken wings and show me the place that will change my life. I took a hit and I said “yeah alright” to the wings because I’m no idiot. I think he knew I was older but assumed just by a year or two and not a decade + two but I’m not in the business of walking people through life. If you have a question, ask it, if you think I’m a radiant and sexy 19 year old who will still be taken in by a high schooler’s charms then that’s what you think. Who am I to tell him I’m a little too old for him or that I’m in a relationship? He didn’t ask maybe he doesn’t want to know. Maybe he doesn’t care. I’m not going to be presumptuous. Maybe I’m going to kiss his soft baby lips after he buys me chicken wings. Maybe I’m going to give him my phone number so he can text me how much he needs me.

“Night night” by Sasha on her couch


Thursday, April 7, 2016
11:21pm
5 minutes
From a text

Hey. Can you talk? Ugh. I just hung out with Brian and it was… I don’t know – it’s just like, I like him, you know? I liked him. But then he just… I’m not gonna lie, I was thinking about him too, like, I was excited to hang out again, I had a good time the other night but… He’s weird, man… I don’t know…

Jen? What are you doing? Are you in the bathroom? No, no, it’s fine.

But, like, after what happened last time, when he ghosted, when he… I think he might be a closet player. You know those guys who just – yeah – who, like…

Did the toilet just flush again? Are you sick?

Maybe he’s one of those guys who pretends to be the caring, sensitive, easy-going, kinda, like gentle type but really he’s this weird, awkward, asshole player?

Shit, it’s the other line…

I’m gonna let you go. Night night.

“No I’m glad you did.” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Wednesday, April 6, 2016
11:31pm
5 minutes
From a text

There’s a pile of laundry on the table and no one’s sure why
No one moves it because no one’s sure if it’s safe to touch
Toast crumbs and pizza crust bits and a smear of ranch dressing
The pile of laundry is an unintentional cotton centrepiece
Yellow and green and white and black

After awhile
At least twenty one days
It almost looks beautiful
A few drops of candle wax
A stain of wine and tea and balsamic vinegar

“Whose stuff is that?” You finally ask
After being out late and eating too much ramen and spicy chocolate
“No idea…” I say, drinking down a mouthful of too hot tea
“Why haven’t you moved it?” You say laying down on the blue concrete of the kitchen floor
“Why haven’t you?”

Then it’s a different story
A protest
A digging of the heels into mushy ground
Then it’s a commitment
A too-tight ring around a too-fleshy finger

Seven years later
The pile of clothes covered in dust
You’ve been gone since last Winter
And everytime time I see it I hate you and I love you
At the same time

“Seems stressed always.” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday, April 5, 2016
10:11pm
5 minutes
from a text

When we finally found the sun
it was orange. Shaped like a teapot with mugs.
Shaped like a soccer field, the smell of peppery
sweat and vinegar-y wine.
Shaped like a business card, proclamations of chandelier bon vivant
Shaped like a photograph.

When we finally found the sun
the paperclip was fastening a stratus cloud there
to the smell of ginger chai to the broken top of a green bottle
to the pile of laundry ready for a wash.

When we finally found the sun
it wasn’t what we’d expected. It was brighter
it was more still
more silent
more
more.

When we finally found the sun it was six billion fingers typing on
keyboards made of moss.

When we finally found the sun it wasn’t an orange
It was an apple,
striped red and yellow, dotted with birthmarks
Rough at the bottom
(it’s been through a lot)
Top askew
cool guy attitude.
Chilli chocolate starburst
The planets are calling for a revolution and this Ida Red is their
Revolutionary
“International Lover
All round good guy
Part time chandelier cleaner
World traveller”

“Seems stressed always.” by Julia at Platform 7


Tuesday, April 5, 2016 at Platform 7
5:12pm
5 minutes
from a text

You can find me in the poorly lit coffee shop scratching at my scalp, tiny flakes of dandruff floating into my keyboard as I type a letter to your mother that I will likely never send. I have escaped the confines of our bachelor apartment, spent the $2.75 on a coffee that reminds me that people are dying in places all around me, and have been here since the place opened. Miller is working a double and doesn’t ask me to leave or buy a sandwich. When he sees my crumpled forehead and my dandruff start to pile up in between the space bar and the track pad he knows to keep his distance. I am writing a letter to your mother and in it I am breaking up with you and I am breaking up with her. I am telling her why first so you can’t spin the story. I don’t want her to think less of you but I think she should know the truth. It’s taken a lot of my energy to think of the right words. I already have the right reasons. They’ve been living inside of me as long as your Taco Bell leftovers have been sitting in the fridge, collecting mold, being avoided like the plague.

“gathering the medicine you need for re-birth.” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday, April 4, 2016
10:32pm
5 minutes
Mosaic magazine
Spring 2016


Voices in darkness.

“Wake up! Wake up!”
“Can you hear them?”
“No one’s there! It’s the echo of your own voice!”
“Wake up! Wake up!”
“Shhh…”
“You’ll wake the children!”
“Wake up!”
“You’re dreaming again… Go back to sleep. Go back to sleep!”

Darkness wakes me. Puts me to sleep. Wakes me. Puts me to sleep. Darkness makes takes no prisoners. Darkness shakes my bones til they rattle.

Water drips. A bat’s wings brush my leg. Where’s my blanket? It’s cold. A hand reaches out into nothingness.

Voices in darkness and then a match.

“Shhhh…”

“if there can be no final satisfaction” by Sasha in front of the fire


Sunday, April 3, 2016
9:59pm
5 minutes
The Wisdom Of Insecurity
Alan W. Watts


Everyday when Bernadette goes to work, she carries an oversized black purse with a change of shoes. She wears her Practical Shoes, her New Balance runners that she got on Boxing Day for $29.99. Her Nice Shoes are in her bag. Before getting the office, she’ll scan her keycard and stop in at the downstairs bathroom. She’ll go into a stall and crouch down. She’ll change from her Practical Shoes into her Nice Shoes. For the first few moments of walking in her Nice Shoes (three inch grey heels with a pointy toe), she’ll cringe inside. Outside, she’ll smile. “Hello, John.” “Hello Luelle.” “Good morning, Horatio.”

“the best of” by Sasha on her couch


Saturday, April 2, 2016
11:11pm
5 minutes
from a program insert

L: Dan hasn’t been to see Ma in almost a month.
V: Yeah, and?
L: That woman gave us her life.
V: I was there last weekend. Lizzy painted her nails.
L: I saw.
V: You didn’t like the turquoise?
L: She didn’t like the turquoise.
V: How do you know? She barely speaks.
L: I could tell. She’s not a vegetable. She understands. She still has taste and opinions.
V: Sorry, Lawrence. I’ll make Lizzie fucking ask next time, okay?

They keep sparring.

L: What’s up with you?
V: It’s been a shit day.
L: Why?
V: Same old.
L: No.
V: What do you mean?
L: There’s something else. That wrinkle in your forehead is showing.
V: That wrinkle collects the sweat.

“Did you send the message?” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday, April 1, 2016
11:19pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Kits Beach

Vee arrives. Class has already started. Loud pump up music plays. Twelve women, of various ages, are in a circle, bouncing on their feet and punching the air. Lawrence, a man built like a bulldog, legs and arms covered in black tribal tattoos, is leading them, calling out instructions.

Lawrence: Faster, Mel! Faster! Keep those feet moving, keep bouncing, keep bouncing! Arms up! Arms up! Guard your face!

He sees Vee enter and says nothing. She puts her bag down, takes off her sweatshirt and jumps in, a little outside the circle.

The warm-up goes on for a while longer.

Everyone is sweaty.

A buzzer goes.

Lawrence: Nice work! Nice work! Grab partners and start sparring. Only grab water if you have to. You gotta get your endurance up.

“gathering the medicine you need for re-birth.” by Julia at her dining table


Monday, April 4, 2016
9:26am
5 minutes
Mosaic magazine
Spring 2016


I have been free before I was alone
I have been seen before I succumbed to the fear
A little heart shaped pouch holds my dreams in it
A little heart shaped pouch holds my truth in it
I’ve been running wild in my imagination
Picking pretty flowers that I can carry with me all day long
I paint up the ocean I paint in a song
The mountains they’ve been calling so I can always find my way back
I am missing my tribe
The heart shaped hearts that I live for
Mother laughing
Sister holding
Auntie listening
Cousin giving
And to the wild women I left behind
Who I fit inside my sacred space
My medicine is abundant and flowing
I can take a sip from my blessings’ cup
And take steps to find myself again in the river when the deep in me craves
to be surrounded

“if there can be no final satisfaction” by Julia at her dining table


Sunday, April 3, 2016
9:50pm
5 minutes
The Wisdom Of Insecurity
Alan W. Watts


Saying goodbye to you was the worst thing I’ve ever had to endure.
I’ve already told you this but you like to ask it again and again. You say “what was going through your head when you had to leave? Were you sad? Were you empty?” You ask this stuff because you felt sad and you felt empty. I know it was harder for you because I was the one going and you had to stay. My neck was sore that day. I strained it from laying on you the way I did. I didn’t want to let you go. I didn’t want to stop smelling the spot behind your ear where your hair line starts. At the airport you were crying and it was making me angry. I didn’t want to cry there in front of everyone. I wanted to wait for my planned privacy sitting beside two strangers watching Gone Girl for me to cry over you. I wasn’t feeling sad, but hopeful. We needed the time apart and I couldn’t match your dissatisfaction. You wanted to relish in the misery and I wanted you to go do that in the car because it was hard enough already with a bad neck and a lot of emotions I hadn’t yet named. I didn’t think about how upsetting it would be to return to the house we used to share, see all my bath bombs and loose leaf tea, my microphone and my hair towel, and know I wouldn’t be coming back.

“the best of” by Julia on her couch


Saturday, April 2, 2016
11:41pm
5 minutes
from a program insert

How do you know if a toddler is thirsty? They don’t know how to ask for things, they get distracted by spinning and highlighters and drumming on the refrigerator with paper towel rolls. How do you know if they need something? I am wondering because as an adult I never even know when I’m thirsty. I mean I know when I am and that I ignore it and that I have to have an app my phone remind me when it’s time to ingest a life fluid that I know I need to drink in order to be healthy. A toddler is waiting for the adult to give him water isn’t he? Isn’t the little one waiting until she sees her cup to know she could put it to her lips and feel better after she drinks? Do you have to ask every thirty seconds? I don’t want to be responsible for a child’s thirst. Do they just swallow their own saliva, manufactured every millisecond by the gallon? Is there some forum online for this? I don’t want to ask this question publicly if the world already has an answer. It’s not even my kid by the way. I guess that’s why I kind of need to know…

“Did you send the message?” by Julia on her couch


Friday, April 1, 2016
11:19pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Kits Beach

Connie has her overnight bag packed. She laughs every time she thinks of Alison calling it her “satchel”. Alison’s mom always teaches her to use the correct word for things, which is good because Connie can learn from that too. She thinks about her own mother falling asleep with a cigarette in her mouth while watching Wheel of Fortune every night after work. Once she solved a puzzle with only two letters revealed and Connie thought she was faking. She never hears words like “satchel” or “rotunda” or “enigmatic” so Connie didn’t think her mom was even fully watching her word shows. Connie goes into the living room to kiss her mother goodbye. She’s already asleep. Connie covers her in the red afghan and turns off the TV.

“Won’t you please please help me” by Julia on the 99


Thursday, March 31, 2016
10:43pm
5 minutes
From the Beatles song


If I knew what to say to you I would already have a book filled with writing that’s beautiful
poetry that looks like you
I would have pockets filled with love notes and kitchen drawers overflowing with to do lists that have your name scrawled all over them
to love: you
to touch: you
to kiss: you
to be grateful for: you
If I knew what words to string together I would have yard after yard
like a decorative threaded popcorn line at Christmas
I would wrap you up in it
I would fill the day metaphors of you

“unable to” by Julia at Lindsay’s house


Wednesday, March 30, 2016
4:49pm
5 minutes
From an e-mail

Can’t keep my head on straight it’s a spinning
Got those blues again my heart’s a singing
I have a lot of lists saying try me try this try that and I don’t know what I think or if I think or what to think about any of it
Can’t keep my head on straight it’s a spinning
Got those dark blues shades of green my heart’s a singing
I said I would I said I wouldn’t I said I could but now I feel like I couldn’t
Even if I tried
Can’t keep my head on straight it’s loose and wobbling it’s a spinning
Got those blueish blues those greenish hues my heart’s a singing
Can’t cannot unable unstable
Can’t cannot unable unable

Won’t you please please help me” by Sasha at Platform 7


Thursday, March 31, 2016 at Platform 7
3:47pm
5 minutes
From the Beatles song


Freddie is practically begging for my help, so I’m all, okay, okay, I’ll do it, I’ll do it. Moving sucks. I get it. Problem is, Freddie’s moved seven times in the last three years. Not even exaggerating! No wonder the guy doesn’t have any friends! But like, I feel bad for him, I really do. And it’s not just that we both only have sisters and so we have that, like, bond that dudes with sisters have… I feel bad that he’s been dealt a shitty ass hand. In more ways than one! He’s had roaches and rats and mites and maggots. He’s had bedbugs, man. That shit scares people really bad.

“unable to” by Sasha on the ferry


Wednesday, March 30, 2016
1:46pm
5 minutes
From an e-mail

She was unable to move, frozen under the icy grip of a hand on her back, pushing her down, face in the snow. “I’m just playing…”

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” She spits gravel and salt, icy bits sneaking down the neck of her jacket.

“Why can’t you take a joke?”

She’s unable to speak, fury rising like mercury.