“of crucial importance” by Julia on her patio

Saturday June 30, 2018
11:23pm
5 minutes
Sex At Dawn
Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha 

Extend the left calf and then right
Stretch the toes out, point them down, hold, twist, hold again, take notice.

The stress of the foot is carried in the ball between my good and my grounded. Lightning curled up fetal in the belly of the sky. Press this button and know forever love. Know it like you know the beg of your own knots, the root of your own affairs, and tell me: I see you and the pain you hold. I see the the hole you’ve dug. This is how you water the flower. This is how you give her bloom.

“of crucial importance” by Sasha at Platform Seven

Saturday June 30, 2018
1:32pm at Platform Seven
5 minutes
Sex At Dawn
Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha 

“Katherine?! Is that you?! It’s of the most importance that you bring me up a gin and tonic. It’s after three! I haven’t had a drop and my hands are shaking!”

“Mrs. Cathers? It’s me, Monique? I’m here to make your dinner and give you a bath.”

“A bath?! Why in heaven’s name would I need a bath…”

“You haven’t bathed since Wednesday, when I was here!”

“Is that true! Good grief, no wonder I stink… But about that gin and tonic…”

“Katherine and Christopher decided not to buy alcohol anymore, remember?”

“RUBBISH – “

“It interferes with your medication – “

“RUB-BISH!”

“Maybe it felt like too much power” by Julia in her bed

Friday June 29, 2018
1:37am
5 minutes
Motherhood
Sheila Heti

I might go into the open field and kneel down, cry into the open sky and calm down, drink from a stranger’s cup. I might tell someone I’ll never see again that the worst thing we can do is throw away the key to the cage we’ve put ourselves in. Forget to get out of our own way and start listening to time as reminder, not murderer. Not weaker than us. Time isn’t interested in hanging out with people who aren’t good at patience. At taking action, at promises. Cause when you say it, then you’ve said it. Once it’s left you, it’s left. And then what? We must?

“Maybe it felt like too much power” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday June 29, 2018
10:32pm
5 minutes
Motherhood
Sheila Heti

On the days when I feel like the first drooping flower in the bouquet
On the days that a tight fist clenches in my throat and there’s no real reason why
On the days when the sun’s bright but the clouds in the mouth leave bad breath and dry words
On those days

What do we do on those days

One foot in front of the other
Moment by moment by moment

I see you flower and acknowledge your beauty despite your droop
Throat fist – I give myself over! You can have me! In fact, you make my voice sound funny and that makes me laugh!
Cloudy mouth – you help me to pause before I speak untruth

What do we do on these days

See a friend who makes beet brownies
Drink extra water
Stretch like a cat

“Getting lost in the dark is my favorite part” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday June 28, 2018
9:56pm
5 minutes
PYNK
Janelle Monáe

I know how the story ends, or at least I pretend that I do. Cello music plays. The lake is like glass. It’s dusk.

Getting lost in the dark is my favourite part. What’s yours?

Solo piano on the record player.

I know how the story ends.

Closing my eyes and seeing the night sky, seeing Jupiter, the full moon, Orion’s Belt.

A loon calls.

Where do we put our grief down when we’ve taken it far enough?

Hurl it into the water and watch as it floats on the surface and then sinks?

Bury it amongst the pines?

Hope that someone, a stranger, might tap me on the shoulder and say, “Would you like me to carry that for you for awhile?”

“Getting lost in the dark is my favorite part” by Julia on the Greyhound bus

Thursday June 28, 2018

2:25pm

5 minutes

PYNK

Janelle Monáe

It’s not the same thing as hopping around from province to province

It’s a different country and I am in it for less time than it takes for my hair to air dry. Gloomy here too so there is no vacation and if it rains later (careful) it will work better for some of my good lines. I will have to talk to the border patrols again. I hope they have long shifts and the man I met on the way over earlier is still on. He was even more attractive up close. I knew I liked him from far away and the officer beside him was impatient with the poor guy from Japan forced to finger print himself three thousand times even with all the proper paperwork. My guy was sweet and he made me nervous. I didn’t realize I was flirting with him but I was. He smiled at me and told me I was awesome. Do border patrols tell everyone that?

“isolated, alienated, and uncomfortable” by Julia on her couch

Wednesday June 27, 2018

9:55pm

5 minutes

from quillette.com

We spend a month apart while she thinks things over about me

I have been thinking things over about her

I am sad and heavy and fine all at once

What is this narrow minded thinking that she claims to hate?

How could you let someone tell you what to believe and then build a wall around yourself so mention of it never gets in?

I am upset that she will listen to other people but not to me

I should have written it all down sooner because now I am forgetting the details

How much should I learn before I make up my mind?

How can someone I love and trust be so fundamentally different from me?

My questions are filled with more gas, float to the ceiling and hang there

What is the dealbreaker for you?

What is the thing you will learn about me that locks the nail in the coffin on whatever this thing is that we’re doing now?

It feels like punitive measures but she says there is love

I know there is, but right now I have to wonder

Will it last?

“isolated, alienated, and uncomfortable” by Sasha on her balcony

Wednesday June 27, 2018
8:12am
5 minutes
From quillette.com

You died seventeen months ago. I count in months because years doesn’t give the weight. I stopped counting in weeks, in days, because that felt too heavy. There probably hasn’t been a minute that I haven’t thought of you, a whole sixty seconds. No way.

Pete said that you basically killed yourself, that you wanted to die. I said I wasn’t sure about that.

I play your guitar on the front porch and sometimes the cat from across the street comes and rubs against my legs. Is it you?

I saw the light only for a slippery moment – somewhere between here and there. I saw that I’m not fit to love again, not yet, I’m not fit to wife another husband, not yet.

“Greet me at the gate” by Julia in her bed

Tuesday June 26
10:40pm
Green
Nikki Sharp

Glad you could make it, I’m so glad you’re here.Got a typewriter from Anne Marie Lossing, do you remember her? Big hair, bigger teeth? She was going through the trash cans in the alley and someone was throwing one away, can you believe it? Says it works too, good as can be given the circumstances. Did you want to write something? I could make some tea and some cake. Well the cake I would reheat. I won’t have time to make a cake for you now, but did you want that, would you like that? It’s been a while since you’ve seen something floating around in there worth holding on to. If you don’t like Anne Marie’s typewriter, that’s okay. I won’t tell her. She always liked your sense of humour, you know. I think she respects you a lot more than you might realize.

“Greet me at the gate” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday June 26, 2018
7:12am
Green
Nikki Sharp

meet me at the gate with your arms open and lift me up but don’t spin me just get me off the ground and whisper something in my ear that you’ve never said to anyone that you’ve only ever said to me and put me down and look me in the eyes because my eyes have changed since you last really saw me i know you saw me this morning but i’m talking about really seeing really knowing and my eyes are going to tell you how i miss you til i’m sick and dizzy and gorging and my eyes will tell you how i’m not sure if i can take this but my words won’t my words won’t they can’t that’s not how they work

“gros bisous!” by Julia at her desk

Monday June 25, 2018
10:52pm
5 minutes
​from an e-mail​

She kisses me in french,
so cool
I think we are supposed to become friends

I want to know what she sleeps in
I want to see how she makes to do lists
if she owns any hand me downs
what she sees when she looks at me

She’s consistent
in her inclusion of me, validation
she, inconsistently, responding,
and we are similar
surely she must see that by now
a mirror mirror on the wall
remember what you came here for

i want to have her over one night when
we both believe in yes, gratitude

We’d probably make out

“gros bisous!” by Sasha on her balcony

Monday June 25, 2018
9:36pm
5 minutes
​from an e-mail​

Mike makes eyes at me across the bar and my stomach drops. Am I going to shit my pants?! FUCK. I go to the bathroom. Pull down my shorts. All good. All safe.

“Why are you so weird around him?” Bec asks and I just hit her on the arm a bit harder than usual.

“Hey Alison, how’s it goin’?” Why does he come here? Why does he do this? Why is he here? Take. Me. Away. I vacate my body and I fly above us and I see how I’m sweating in every crevice and he’s salivating and we’re both remembering.

“When do you go back to London?”

“Not until August… We still got time…”

“You never had my time – “

“I beg to differ – “

“Fuck you.”

“Woah…”

Bec comes over and all she heard was the “fuck” part she didn’t hear the rest she didn’t hear the thunder.

“for the girls I kissed in seventh grade” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday June 24, 2018
10:03pm
5 minutes
Practicing
Marie Howe

This is for the girls I’ve kissed
Tulip breath and hummingbird tongue
All softness and goodness and truth
All sour and breaking and everything

Seventh grade was a strange year
Overalls to hide breaching breasts
Smile to hide unasurredness
I am alive but I am afraid but I am electric

Girls kiss different than guys
But sometimes you find a guy that kisses
Like a girl and that’s one you want to hang on to
That’s one I want to hang onto

Beeswax and cinnamon
Coffee and salt
Pineapple and peach
Gin and playing cards

“for the girls I kissed in seventh grade” by Julia in her bed

Sunday June 24, 2018
6:03am
5 minutes
Practicing
Marie Howe

In the food cellar in the basement I turn the light off
pull the chain hanging from a lone bulb and launch myself onto you and the concrete floor
you kiss me back and we are rubbing up down on each other
writhing around like two snakes let loose in a barrel
I dont remember who said we should go upstairs to your room but we go upstairs to your room and I stay on top of you
I stay on top of you and I catch your breath in my mouth
I think your mom was home cutting someone’s hair and there we were growing slowly and opening
Days earlier I am watching you and thinking I must have missed my chance
it didn’t strike me then that you might not want me
perhaps when you know something in your soft bones you really know it

“I have two more weeks to pack” by Julia on her patio

Saturday June 23, 2018
11:36pm
5 minutes
from a text

Get here sooner bring your guitar and your good ideas
We’re going to jam on the patio and light some candles and eat a charcuterie board like last time
Like last time
I like last time and this time will be so different
No more blonde on the top
No more orange hue better in person
You, I think will find a sundress in my closet to love best and please wear it
Great don’t pack anything let me give you everything you need
And feed you I will feed you
Like a humming bird buzzing up
Borrow the tiger balm you gave me for my trip
I use it on the back of my neck when I can’t sleep
You can sleep in or out or on my side of the bed
It caves in sometimes
It caved in today
But we can touch the floor and isn’t that always fun
I can’t hold the clock because it teases
Tick tick and still weeks and weeks
Week week
Week week
Counting down the days until the walks catch our feet and the night worships the salt back into our hair
Don’t bring a blowdryer
Mine is fine and works the way a $3 blowdryer should
Don’t bring anything but you

“I have two more weeks to pack” by Sasha on her balcony

Saturday June 23, 2018
9:10pm
5 minutes
From a text

I have two more weeks to pack. I have TWO WEEKS! STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! fucking hate packing, truth be told, and anyone who says that they enjoy it is a liar. Really! I mean what is there to like? You’re faced with all of your shit that is haunted with all the bad choices that you’ve made, and you always find a photo you wish you didn’t still have or a card or something… Every time I move, I get rid of tons of stuff but then by the time I move again I’ve accumulated an equally hideous amount of shit. I hate it! UGH! Wanna help me do it?! I’ll get boxes from the wine store and I’ll order pizza and I’ll love you forever?!

“Where it pours bean green over blue” by Julia walking home

Friday June 22, 2018
11:26pm
Daddy
Sylvia Plath

I thought I saw you walking toward me
You had headphones on and you were walking a bulldog
You don’t have a bulldog so I knew it couldn’t be you but the face and the beard and the eyes were yours
The same sadness was not doing a very good job of hiding there in the corners
I almost reached out anyway
The whole thing has got me blurry
Seeing you on neck of other men wishing
Watching you look at me like we both know that you’re not in this city but your soul has been hopping
I almost reached out
I almost touched the you that wasn’t
In this way that I do

“Where it pours bean green over blue” by Sasha on the plane

Friday June 22, 2018
10:49am
Daddy
Sylvia Plath

From the sky this place is blue
over green all tumbledried
Yawning fresh mountain peaks touched with the toes

From the ground this place is home
even though that’s hard to say sometimes
Even though my this and that tries to tell me otherwise

From the trees this place is salty
the ocean breathing her seasons into hue
The rainy months giving way to this immeasurable beauty

From where I am
the mantra of thirty two is
Tell the truth
Tell the truth
Tell the truth
Tell the truth

Why choose any other

“your desired starting point”by Julia on her patio

Thursday June 21, 2018
8:55pm
5 minutes
audacity.com

Vision
Board
On
The
Wall
And
Plan
To
Look
At
It
Every
Damn
Day
That’s
A
Good
First
Step
A
Good
First
Thought
And
It
All
Seems
Doable
Then
Step
By
Step
Day
By
Day
Prayer
By
Please
Promise
By
Promise

I look at my wall, blank space and burning a hole where the good ideas are supposed to live

Remember something belongs here. Remember you said you would do something in the shape of this wall space.

Today

I

Made

A

Lot

Of

Grand

Mistakes

And

Now

I

Will

Never

Make

Them

Again

I

Will

Give

Thanks

Instead

Of

Being

A

Martyr

When

The

Bus

Is

Late

When

I

Go

The

Wrong

Way

When

I

Spend

The

Money

Step

One

Is

Acknowledging

It

Step

Two

Is

“your desired starting point” by Sasha at Mitzi’s

Thursday June 21, 2018
12:21pm at Mitzi’s
5 minutes
audacity.com

I’m decent at starting. A blank page – let the fingers dance and trust that they know the steps. A pot of vegetable soup – onions, carrots, celery, chopped fine, cooked until soft in olive oil and spices. Add stock, add salt, add a wish, and it will be good. A choice – feel it in the bones, or don’t, it will let me know when it’s moved to my stomach. It always let’s me know what’s best. A story – the people within it whose beating hearts are always the point. It’s that simple.

“in that beautiful mind” by Sasha in the Kiva

Wednesday June 20, 2018
11:02pm
5 minutes
All Of Me
John Legend

It brews in the guts for months and I wonder why I’m streaming rivers
It raises as a wail on a phone call and I feel sick with the wondering if I am not enough of a friend for this
But that isn’t it
That isn’t it

He’s held a throne since before we met so I don’t even know a world in which things are different
But it’s been in my guts since then since forever ago since before we met
So
Now it almost feels like I’ve missed my chance
But I know I haven’t
The chance is always there

I’m not sure how I’ll tell you
I’m not sure when is the best moment
Haven’t had a weight like this in awhile
Clouds over my eyes dimming the blue
Brick on my chest
Marble in my throat
Tears just almost there
Eyes the lake in the morning

I guess it’s not about what to do
It’s not about what to say or not say
It’s not about leaving
It’s about being with the truth in guts and sharing that with you
That something is off in the painting of the house on the hill on the island and I’ve always felt it I’ve always known
Maybe then I didn’t trust
Or I wished I would
Wished I could

As complicated as telephone wires strung above our heads
A spark
A deep breath
Here goes

“in that beautiful mind” by Julia on her patio

Wednesday June 20, 2018
8:56pm
5 minutes
All Of Me
John Legend

I used to fantasize about making out with you. And kind of fucking you in the bathroom but never telling anyone about it. I have a feeling you would have preferred to be doing it than people thinking you were and I wouldn’t want anyone to know. Our bodies are too similar in size and maybe that’s part of why I like the idea of us and why there never was an us. I think you’d be good for the record, but you come off in groups like you don’t think you’d deserve it and be so afraid to just slap my ass or kiss me like you mean it. Maybe that’s what I told myself so I wouldn’t be tempted to flirt with you. You were an easy target in that way. Innocuous. Bug spray. I have thought about you seldom since because I’m not sure that I’m wrong. I want you to be bad. I guess that’s the fun of fantasies. You get to make a good one into a midnight mystery tour and be as bad as you think you are with someone who you believe would bend over backwards to sleep with you. Maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d say no if I cornered you in the bathroom. I don’t think I’m wrong. But. I guess we’ll never know for sure.

“the sum total of the courage and the integrity” by Julia at the studio

Tuesday, June 19, 2018
5 minutes
10:37am
A quote by Eleanor Roosevelt

We can walk into the mouth of our lover with gratitude
and compassion or wake up on the wrong side of the bed
with a vengeance that travels in heat, and ready.
I remember this when I am late to the day after a long
night of bad decisions and I am too ashamed to greet you
in your half way done morning, specific goals set, etc.
I come out with a new tail tucked between my legs and you
stop your structure and stretch out your arms to me,
welcoming, grateful. You say how lucky you are and you
say it with skin and smile before words leave your lips.
I remember this when you are late to the day and I am
awake before you and running and weaving and juicing
and you come to me with the same openness but my first
instinct is to keep running, make you catch up, make
you feel bad. We can walk into the mouth of our lover
with gratitude and patience if we remember how important
time spent gazing at each other really is. We can choose
this in the morning, at night, and in the afternoon. You
do this and you teach me. I thank whoever is in charge
that you do not dole out grades to match the student.

“the sum total of the courage and the integrity” by Sasha at Knowlton Lake

Tuesday, June 19, 2018
7:20am
5 minutes
A quote by Eleanor Roosevelt

Courage and integrity are the two words that I want to leave you with today. Courage – because you’ll need it. Because the world is a dark and dangerous place. Because the dark and the dangerous need courageous warriors like yourselves to bring something new, something bright, something only you can bring. Dear graduates, integrity has come to mean so much to me over the years. I believe it’s how I’ve gotten where I’ve gotten today, standing here, giving this very speech. Integrity is treating everyone you meet with respect. Not “how you want to be treated” because not everyone wants to be treated like you do. That adage doesn’t apply any longer. Integrity is the only thing that is going to make this world a better place. So go in courage! Go in integrity! Take it from me! I’m almost one hundred!

“everything is ending” by Julia at the studio

Monday June 18, 2018
1:14pm
5 minutes
A Visit from the Goon Squad
Jennifer Egan

Good timing. I was about to flip my shit.
Who do I flip my shit toward, anyway? Is there
someone out there who has the necessary skills to
deal with shit being flipped at them?
Do they specialize in flipping shit back over or something?
It’s a good thing that everything is ending.
because I am not sure how much more beginning I can take.
New life, new friends, new ideas about my eyebrows.
This shit takes time to build and see and I think what is
worse is that it does not take long to flip, just long to
decide to flip it. Flip the shit I mean, If I wasn’t being clear.
Things are ending and the new moon is like, Yo, do your new thing.
We are all new. We are all brand new babies sucking on the nipple of life
hoping there’s enough milk to keep us from crying our heads off.
That’s what the new moon says. I swear to god she is full of shit herself
but like, it’s the moon, and she may be royalty but she’s not an asshole.
She doesn’t think she’s better than us.
I like my moon to have a little bit of attitude anyway.
She’s not pretending to be better than us new babies trying to navigate
this ridiculous existence. She sees it all, so she knows how common
the scrambling around is.
And now that everything is ending I can finally take a shit
instead of piling shit on shit and getting buried in a world
of my own misguided making.
I’m still talking metaphoric shit here, cause I never really let
that whole concept go. I’m working on making some more specific shit.
That’ll be good when it all ends and has to begin again.

“everything is ending” by Sasha on her mother’s couch

Monday, June 18, 2018
10:47am
5 minutes
A Visit from the Goon Squad
Jennifer Egan

Mama cries alligator raindrop tears cuz things are changing
“Why do things always have to change?”
She cries and cries and the house fills with salt water

Papa doesn’t laugh much anymore because he’s got a belly ache
And Mama is real worried
Danny’s going to firefighting school and leaving home
“We’re empty nesters!” She wails
And the tears spill out the windows

“Vivian! You’re going to drown the whole neighbourhood!”
Says Papa and I tell ya, I think he’s right

“spilled cola, coffee, and cigarette ashes.” by Julia on her patio

Sunday June 17, 2018
8:44pm
5 minutes
The Best Lack All Conviction
Jacob Scheier

We have come out here to avoid our inside lives
the ones that get sticky on the couch
or forget to take out the recycling again
(mistakes and impulse decisions piling up on each other)
(A bitter taste from the cruel beach wind on your tongue)
The woman across the alley way is telling everyone the same story
“The government something and now he’s outta there”
Neither of us can catch it
But we watch like she is the movie keeping us silent and side by side
She knows she can be obnoxious and has repeated that too
The air is perfect
The sky is purple and pink and orange on my side and
blue and lime green and red on yours
We light up and pass the joint without words
I’ve got the ukulele and you have your guitar
It’s so nice here outside our inside lives
It feels like the sun is still kissing our shoulders
It feels like my body didn’t just give out on me an hour ago
I crave coffee now and I never used to
You love that about me and I love that you love that
Outside, looking down at the man trading his time for our bottles
the gas fumes wafting up through the patio floor
Inhaling our new air and some of the neighbours’ below

“itching for Presidency” by Julia on S, G,and E’s patio

Saturday June 16, 2018
11:03pm
5 minutes
The Politician
H.L. Mencken

Watch the sky turn from velvet to suede
The city, whatever the opposite of itching, below
It is easier than it was the last time
The last time I wasn’t myself and still they loved me
The last time I was eating scraps of pizza and noodles and
the one most lie me told her aunt that I ate A LOT of food
I didn’t mean to be so hungry
I was worried about dying and leaving them dead
I am worried about their parents and I wonder where they are

The waxing crescent moon is keeping score tonight
Making sure I don’t rely on all my usual charms
The city can look so beautiful when the light hits it right
I only eat the watermelon cut into slices
I only take a blueberry yogurt and a chicken finger
I am the boss and they know it but they do not care
And I do not make them care
I make them feel important
I tell them they are

“itching for Presidency” by Sasha in her bed

Saturday June 16, 2018
3:02pm
5 minutes
The Politician
H.L. Mencken

I’ve got nothing to say about presidency or anything right now. I feel like death and I don’t want to be writing and the screen hurts my eyes and I wish I could dictate or something but I don’t know how to do that. Shit. I can’t believe that there’s this now, right before leaving, right before flying, again. Being sick a flying is nasty. I hate it. I hate that I had to do it in the winter and I hate that I have to do it again. I’ve got nothing to say about a presidency besides I can’t bear to read the news.

“My mother, who lost her teeth” by Julia on A and W’s couch

Friday June 15, 2018
9:29pm
5 minutes
What We Lost
Brenda Peynado

I’m praying to anyone who will listen but also to anyone who has the follow through. Not sure if god gets how deeply uncomfortable it is to have a uterus, so I’d rather talk to someone else. I catch myself calling out for my Nonna. She knew how to live with discomfort. With pain. With problems. She was a freaking magician. A soldier. A person with no teeth and the strongest gums you’ve ever seen. Flapping words around her mouth like weapons. Like violin lessons. She kept her dentures in a yellow cup over night. She once moved her entire living room around with a broken arm because “it had to get done.” And no it did not have to get done. Nothing did. Everyone told her to sit down and rest for once. I’m calling on her now because she didn’t have an off switch. She’s probably making god’s bed while god is still laying in it. She did not let anything stop her. Not even a little bit.

“My mother, who lost her teeth” by Sasha in her bed

Friday June 15, 2018
5:20pm
5 minutes
What We Lost
Brenda Peynado

My mother lost her teeth when she was forty. She woke up one morning and they were on her pillow. All of them. Even her molars.

When she went to the dentist Dr. Hendricks said that she’d never seen anything like it.

“Perhaps it’s hormonal, Mary. Have you checked your hormones?”

“My hormones are fine, thanks.” My mother said.

I know becuase I was there. Well, almost. I was in the waiting room. See, my mother’s teeth fell out the same month I got mono. She dragged me around to all her appointments and I read comic books in the waiting rooms.

“What’s up with you, Monika?” Dr. Burns, our family doctor said.

“I have mono, remember?” He’d diagnosed me three weeeks before.

“Of course, of course, my mistake. I see a lot of young people, Monika, and it can be hard to keep everyone straight.”

My mother rolled her eyes as though there was no reason to be discussing anything other than her gummy mouth. Or maybe she was also irritated that Dr. Burns, who delivered both me and my brother, had forgotten about my mono. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with her.

“Rule # 17: Act a little stupid.” By Sasha at her desk

Thursday June 14, 2018
11:32pm
5 minutes
The Queen Of Hearts
Kathleen Hawes

I’m not sure when I started playing dumb
started dumbing down
started acting a little stupid
started laughing when things weren’t funny
started seeing how far I could get
on eyelashes and witty words
How many drinks
how many drinks

how many drinkssss

Please

Was it when I needed an excuse for my body
needed to explain the sudden newness
needed a reason for all this extra?

Was it when I realized I could wield it
but it wasn’t power it was giving over
it was giving up
it was giving

Giving

Nostalgia turns the edge of memory up
flips the corners so that I’m just
not so sure about anything
not so sure about everything

“Rule # 17: Act a little stupid.” By Julia at the studio

Thursday June 14, 2018
5:03pm
5 minutes
The Queen Of Hearts
Kathleen Hawes

She is desperate to speak to someone in French. She goes over to Chantal’s desk because Chantal will talk to anyone and she wants to speak French too. Le Sandwich. I understopd that one, Sans Probleme. Whatever. Let them speak in the secret language that I should know after four years of taking it in high school. After getting the French award at my grade 8 graduation.

At first I thought she was a miserable cunt who hated that I shared a cubicle with her. Maybe she thought I typed too loudly. Maybe she resented my youth. I can see now she might not have known how to express herself properly in English. I wish I didn’t spend so much time hating her back.

She smiles at me on her way to Chantal’s desk. She puts a little French in my name as she passes.

“That’s the bottom line.” By Julia on the 2

Wednesday June 13, 2018
3:40pm
5 minutes
From a quote by James Baldwin

It’s underneath my anger and sweeps below the bitterness
The way you say I love you to your father
The way you call him your man
You take all the risks in your life when it comes to loving
You know how to lead by example and love non-stop as if you weren’t worried about it running dry
It’s in the baby picture of you smiling that same smile
So I don’t know if I can stay angry
At the day, at the weather, at the sting of you
Because you can be so good
So soon after claiming your space
I should be happy you have chosen to show me this side of you
And I am happy
That’s the bottom line

“That’s the bottom line.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday June 13, 2018
7:13am
5 minutes
From a quote by James Baldwin

During the meteor showers in August, my family and I would lie on blankets on the small hill beside the cottage in the woods. It would be past my bedtime, and the glee of staying up late would create effervescent excitement in my belly. My sister Layah and I would swap tactics to catching the most shooting stars, “Squint your eyes and then you can see farer!” “There are more over there! Just look over there!” “You take the right side of the sky and I’ll take the left and when we see one, point and say, ‘There!’”

“Get used to me.” by Julia at her desk

Tuesday June 12, 2018
7:31pm
5 minutes
From a quote by Muhammad Ali

Thanks for the epiphany, timer.
I guess I’ll tell you about it?
Got only five minutes.
Better not f u c k i t u p.
Better not waste my time.
I haven’t impressed you.
I know this now, this very now.
I know it like it’s the first time.
I haven’t impressed you because I haven’t broken out of my skin.
You call me baby, call me potential in the same breath.
Hug my heart into beating the speed you believe in.
Lift me all the way over your head.
Step back to see where I will leap.
Watch where I will land.
If I’ll fly all the way there or if I’ll launch.
And then I sit back down on the easy steps.
And you have to get your hopes back down from the shelf you put them on.
I haven’t impressed you because I haven’t said yes to the sky.
Better not f.u.c.k.i.t.u.p.
All this wasted time.
All this almost decade for absolutely nothing.
Nothing new.
Nothing nothing.

“Get used to me.” by Sasha on Granville Island

Tuesday June 12, 2018
5:12pm
5 minutes
From a quote by Muhammad Ali

Walking through the snowy trails in big boots. Snow pants making steps feel strange and belaboured, intentional, my Mom, sister and I trudge across the beaver ponds. Many separate ponds connected by banks of shore, each trek took a similar shape – elation at the cold air biting my cheeks and feeling so warm in my pink jacket and pants, white boots and pink scarf that could be pulled up to make a hat. Joy at the rush of the endorphins – being with my family out in the ponds, especially after spending hours inside playing cards by the wood stove. And then hatred – too tired, too far, too long, too hot, need to pee, “I hate this!”, tears sometimes, fights sometimes. “See that cardinal there! Look, Sash, over there by the pointy pine! See the red?!” “Oh my gosh look! Look at what the beavers did to that tree!” Eating snow.

“climbing into theirs” by Sasha on her couch

Monday June 11, 2018
11:19pm
5 minutes
Suburban Bitch Curse
Akhim Yussef Cabey

I’m never sure what you mean when you talk about climbing up into the loft, I’m never sure if you’re talking about here or at the farm or at Aunt Bev’s place. I’m sorry. I wish I knew. I’m glad you’re sleeping. I don’t know what they’ve given you today, this whole week really, but I’m so glad you’re finally sleeping. It was the worst when you first got here and you couldn’t rest. “Wired”, was how you described it and it’s how you looked. “Wired.” Poor soul. Did I tell you that Gemma called again? You really might want to call her back, Mike. It’s the fourth time she’s called this week and I’m guessing you aren’t texting or emailing either. You should’ve heard her voice. She sounded awful.

“climbing into theirs” by Julia at the studio

Monday June 11, 2018
12:45pm
5 minutes
Suburban Bitch Curse
Akhim Yussef Cabey

I think I want to justify anything and everything and I can because I do
I am I am
I can I can
And you can justify all my bad habits with a knowing smile
a smile that makes me wish I had waited to tell you the truth about me
I find myself climbing into their skin to have compassion
I was told that’s how to heal the heart
You tell me gossip is useful and I laugh because the sweethearts
in my past life have told me the opposite
but I am so glad that I have met you and you’re saying this
so I have someone to bitch to, moan to, try out some of my new jokes about humans existing alongside the flaw of one another
We are all existing alongside the flaw of one another and isn’t that so damn beautiful?
Anything we do can sound lovely when underscored properly
I would choose The Digger’s Waltz and you might pick a different one
My lens could be nicely rose coloured and you
are allowing the side of me flourish that I don’t think everyone should see
Flourish
Bloom
I am afraid of so much and being so little
How can I be better if I keep myself small
I will climb inside my own skin to find out and you will always be the platform
that I get to wonder out loud to
I wonder if anyone wants to climb into mine?
If you do?
If you already have

“our bodies amalgamated from the great melting pot” by Julia on her couch

Sunday June 10, 2018
11:45pm
5 minutes
The Communion of Strangers
Brian Jay Stanley

tonight you are coming home
this morning
tonight’s border with morning and you will be crossing the border too
I think we talked about the amalgamation of our bodies
but I know you’ll be tired
I can wait one more day
been waiting
been staying up late to avoid going to sleep without you
I’ll put my hand in between your shoulder blades
wake me up if you can last long enough to say hello
my body will know you’re there in my sleep
the human heart is pretty amazing like that
I can meet you in my dreams
we used to do that but this whole time was different
we forgot
we had other things going on
I tried not to make plans but plans were made
I’ll be leaving the bed before you and then maybe
I’ll see you at breakfast
maybe lunch
definitely dinner
how can we be in the same city and see each other after everything happens
I hope our sleep bodies find some peace before we
get to lay in the curve of one another without a plane telling us it’s time to go

“our bodies amalgamated from the great melting pot” by Sasha at her desk

Sunday June 10, 2018
9:25am
5 minutes
The Communion of Strangers
Brian Jay Stanley

When we met
you were smoky eyed
luscious and tempting words
wearing green is what I remember most
the bigness of your youness
is what I remember most

before surgeries
a joint bank account
a daughter’s name chosen
and waiting in the bank
of where our hearts meet
a promise made under September sun

before two summers of waiting up
three fights where one of us broke something
four winters in the rain
five trips on highways and planes
six days a week of being ships crossing now
and priase be
seven whole years of this biggest love

In sleep our bodies know no boundaries
except when you’re snoring
or I’m too hot
or one of us is sick
In sleep we do become one
boundless being of newness
Nowness
Toes touching

Your arm under my head
cradling my dreamscape
My leg over your leg
hoping that you go so far
knowing that you’re home
when you’re here and when
we’re here
exactly like this

“Victory is ours” by Julia on her couch

Saturday June 9, 2018
11:44pm
5 minutes
Victory
Charlotte D. Staelin

If I got dismissed from my job I would lie and tell you I just didn’t want to work there anymore. I won’t tell you it was because I got caught stealing office supplies. You will think I’m better than I am for finally leaving a bad paying job. I will be both a liar and a thief. And it will be the best thing to happen to me. I need proof of my bad behaviour in the form of embarrassment. Maybe I want to be tortured by shame. Maybe I need it. Not having money is not a good place to be (morally) if you’re a kleptomaniac. It really makes you want to put on the tv and forget.
I wouldn’t tell you because you won’t understand that I would have celebrated my lack of reckoning. I might not ever have changed.

“Victory is ours” by Sasha on her balcony

Saturday June 9, 2018
9:14am
5 minutes
Victory
Charlotte D. Staelin

I’m not sure what to say about victory
or probiotics or the smell of the seat
in the back left corner of the bus

I’m not sure about jaw clenching
or the apartment across the alleyway
with the constantly changing people
and the lights going on and off

I’m not sure about eggs or dairy
and it no longer seems appropriate
to say that cheese is delicious

I’m not sure about the squirrel
digging up my parsley and the birds
that I’m feeding do you think
that will get in the way of them
getting their own food
in the future if I happen to move

“The American imagination” by Julia on the sky train

Friday June 8, 2018
12:03pm
5 minutes
Poetic Justice an Interview with Camille T. Dungy 
Airica Parker

The imagination there is big, he says
Big and bold and brassy and big
Every day a new phone call telling me how much closer he is to being big too
The ceiling is high, the sky is higher, and the people know how to help each other be extraordinary
This is a dream sequence that I am replaying: people helping people
Not so afraid of someone else’s greatness that they need to throw stones at them until they fall off
To think of the inventors and chefs
The writers and the football players
The American imagination plays like the movies that are big enough to be made there
I don’t know what they think of us
Maybe that we’re polite pushovers
Maybe that we know how to apologize for things instead of owning them
They might not think of our country at all
I didn’t really either
Until I thought about leaving it

“The American imagination” by Sasha at her desk

Friday June 8, 2018
10:23am
5 minutes
Poetic Justice an Interview with Camille T. Dungy 
Airica Parker

The American poses beside his sports car. He leans down. Pats the head of a chocolate poodle. The American laughs at your jokes when his mouth is full of steak, and then covers up and says, “How rude. You’re just so funny!” And you are. You don’t need him to tell you. The American upgrades his phone twice a year. He wears bespoke cologne that a perfumerie in Paris blended just for him. The American’s imagination is dotted with dollar signs, traced with ambition, dusted in gasoline, fingerprints of those who work to make his life happen.

“I liked watching him BBQ” by Julia in her bed

Thursday June 7, 2018
11:38pm
5 minutes
From a text 

He flips the portobello and my lip risks a twitch
I want to know what he’s thinking
If you could have any superpower…
And he says flying without missing a beat
And I say Let me be invisible
And he asks me why
He does not miss beats
Not any of them
And I say so I can watch people living when they think they’re alone…
He presses down on the mushroom with the tongs and it gives them a little sizzle
I want to be able to see what is going on inside their heads
But why not say your power is mind-reading? That’s what it is.
Because thoughts have the same super power as you do
They never stay too long to be seen
Someone walking back and forth?
That’s forever

“I liked watching him BBQ” by Sasha on her couch

Thursday June 7, 2018
11:13pm
5 minutes
From a text 

Driving along the country road
The paved ones before the gravel ones
I stick my arm out the window
and play with the air

You’ve never been to Knowlton Lake before
and I am already excited about waking up tomorrow
The way that the quiet hugs
The way that the birds know
the tune to the songs in our hearts

I can do no wrong with you
except when I do and then it’s bad
And then I cower in the corner
and you use your size
And I say that this isn’t what I want
and you cry until we go to the bedroom

James Taylor on the tape deck
I realize that I don’t know if
corn is in season
if we have to turn on the water
if there’s a French press

“Subway platform walls” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday June 6, 2018
10:10pm
5 minutes
People Revolution
Amani Bin Shinkansen 

So much of this now
maybe someone will listen
Someone big and someone powerful and
someone who can do something
I recognize how that sounds
I recognize how that might sound
naive

When the subway pulled
into the station
everything went black
Someone gasped
Someone said,
“Shit, now I’m going to be late”
Someone said,
“Another fucking jumper”

The ground knows how they feel
The ground can’t jump
I’m sorry if this is morbid
and you were hoping for something
Loving today
These five minutes are for
the grief and the someday somewhere
Maybe it will all get better

“Subway platform walls” by Julia on the 84

Wednesday June 6, 2018
5:35pm
5 minutes
People Revolution
Amani Bin Shinkansen 

I miss a city that knows how to be a city
I think about subway platforms and rats and random conversations with a stranger at the laundromat

I want a city that doesn’t stop living when the snow hits
When the festival is over
I want a city that knows how to make things
Reaches into its pockets and turns lint into lightening, paints the sky magic

I miss a city that celebrates life in the streets with food and music and dancing

I need a city that doesn’t have any height restrictions
If I am going to fling myself off of a building, then let it be a big one

I want the me I am when summer kisses city on the sweaty mouth
I want to kiss it on the mouth

“Let us briefly consider the back” by Julia at her desk

Tuesday June 5, 2018
7:05pm
5 minutes
The Other Side
Sarah Ball

Built for carrying heavy all up and down the stairs
Used to holding tension in the crevices that can’t be reached without injury
The smoothest skin on the weakest part of me
The softest muscles bending forward and forward and the other way
Let us, if we might, consider how we can’t see it but must trust it’s there
even when it feels like it’s been buried under all the heavy
carried up and down the stairs
I would watercolour the shit out of yours, painting tiny villages along your spine
planting flowers at the base of the hinge that folds you
I would write you the sweetest words with the nicest flowing pen
straddling your hips, using your bum as a seat
and I would breathe life into you that you will never see without the help of a mirror
but will have to trust is there

“Let us briefly consider the back” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday June 5, 2018
7:32am
5 minutes
The Other Side
Sarah Ball

I walk the sea wall in the morning. No matter what the weather. No matter “June-uary”. No matter. I wear layers because sometimes the sun comes out and sometimes it starts to drizzle, or hail, or gust. I whisper mantras and sometimes walk ten or twenty steps with my eyes closed. There are joggers. There are dog walkers. There are old couples who don’t need to speak anymore. They know what each other are thinking. I walk alone. I used to run when the twins were young. I’d push them in their double stroller. They’d usually fall asleep.

“Jesus do I have to even get out of bed” by Sasha at her desk

Monday June 4, 2018
11:32pm
5 minutes
From an interview by Devin Friedman

Ben calls to me from upstairs, “Jesus, do I have to even get out of bed?!” It’s the third morning in a row that he hasn’t wanted to crawl out from under the covers. It’s the third morning that I’ve wooed him with bacon, extra coffee, pancakes, sex in the kitchen. These tactics don’t always work, but they sometimes do, so I try.

“It’s almost ten, babe!” I call back. I hope he smells the brewing french press. I hope he hears the love in my voice, and not just the impatience.

“Jesus do I have to even get out of bed” by Julia at her desk

Monday June 4, 2018
9:26pm
5 minutes
From an interview by Devin Friedman

Do I have to leave this? I’ve built a warm thing to lay in. My head is heavy. My eyes blink slowly. What is it about grey mornings.

Don’t say they’ll turn into something beautiful. It’s always too late when this city decides to help me out.

I think it’s sadness?
It feels like it.
Laying, laying, not moving, sort of staring

I think another body in the bed would change the shape of things.
Make me sink a little toward the middle.
Make me have to get up in the night.
Make me have to come right back and settle.

Today is hard.

If I admit it maybe it will get the validation it needs and move on.
Maybe tomorrow won’t be so needy.
I slept with all my clothes last night.
Sweater, pants, socks.

Another body in the bed would require shorts or nothing.
Another body in the bed would be built like a furnace, jobbed and ready to heat whatever is close and shivering.

I’ll ask Jesus if he knows where to get one.

“literally naked, mopping, and crying ‪at midnight‬” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday June 3, 2018
10:55pm
5 minutes
Quoted by Sienna Miller

Mopping the floors at the end of the night is my favourite part of running a bar. I used to like the conversations that I’d have with customers – giving advice about unruly preteens, counselling on break-ups, weighing in on the best marinara recipe. That used to be my favourite part. But things change, we change. Now, after two, once everyone has left, I turn the music up loud. Maybe Sade or Tina Turner. Whitney if I’m feeling extra. I fill the bucket with water and a few drops of soap. It gets really sudsy. I’ve already put all the stools and chairs on top of tables. I dance with the mop and sing and take my time. I take my time.

“literally naked, mopping, and crying ‪at midnight‬” by Julia on the 99

Sunday June 3, 2018
10:04pm
5 minutes
quoted by Sienna Miller

This house casts a shadow on all the rooms emptied of you. I don’t like it. I don’t like that I like it. I don’t like it.

The hum from the radio breaks my heart so I turn it off. The sound of your music playing on the iPad doesn’t help. I’ve tried keeping you here.

Wandering back and forth like the in between needs discovering. Laying in bed like the rest of the house will burn me if I move. I have been late to meet friends. I have stayed under.

A phone call a day lets me know you wish I was where you are. Am I supposed to unravel the day’s decisions for you? Are you interested in hearing how nothing I feel?

The new waste bin is drying upside down in the tub. I scrubbed it after I finished my shower, still dripping wet, my hair pasted to my neck and back. I know how to decide. See? Somethings are easy.

“I’m as prepared as I ever am” by Julia on C’s couch

Saturday June 2, 2018

11:18pm

5 minutes

The Art Of Freeloading

Alana Levinson

I know what agonizing over calling in sick feels likes. Especially when you’re not sick, just too high to be trusted. You didn’t think it would last that long. That it would be that strong. But you didn’t know what you were taking. You thought you’d be fine but you didn’t even know what it was. And you were worried that the clocks were bad. But what should

you have done? Said it’s cramps and you aren’t able to move much? Said you’ve been poisoned and you are very sorry?

“I’m as prepared as I ever am” by Sasha on her balcony

Saturday June 2, 2018
9:52pm
The Art Of Freeloading
Alana Levinson

“Vic, you’re starting to freak me out…”

“Why! We have to be prepared!”

“We live in a one bedroom apartment! We don’t have storage space for seven of those water jugs! We don’t have the space!”

“You know who is going to thank me when there’s an earthquake? You know who?!”

“Me?”

“YOU!”

“I’m down for being prepared, I am, I’ve told you that a million times, but this is just… too much. Every time you come home from the store there are more cans, more blankets, more matches… and this water?! Where are we going to put it?!”

“The storage unit. Obviously.”

“The one in the basement?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that full of camping gear?”

“And whose junk is that?”

“It’s mine! And it’s not junk! It took me a long time to collect all that stuff!”

“Go paint yourself” by Julia at her desk

Friday June 1, 2018
11:54pm
5 minutes
From a L’Oréal ad

Go paint yourself red and stand out in a field telling ghost stories
This is how you will terrify yourself into standing

Go paint yourself yellow and swim in the ocean like a giant bee
This is how you will see under the coral and into the sweet

I don’t know the rules to this game so I just made them up
I don’t know what painting yourself will do
Maybe make you feel like a real human
Humans are the only ones who can paint themselves
who can write poetry
who can throw things

We were built to throw things

I will go and paint myself the colour of a Louisville Slugger and then throw a hard ball across the grass
This will go over well
This is what we are meant to do with symbolism

Real humans muse about the throwing configuration of our arms
Of anything else we choose to launch

“Go paint yourself” by Sasha on her couch

Friday June 1, 2018
10:21pm
5 minutes
From a L’Oréal ad

Third grade recess. Teacher calls me out for wearing purple mascara that I stole from my aunt’s medicine cabinet when I went to visit her in New York City.

I didn’t know that it was purple, or I wouldn’t have taken it. Teacher says,

“Why are you wearing make-up?! You’re just a kid! Wash that off right now!”

So I went inside and tried to get it all off but it was hard, it was clumpy, it was attached.

“Monika! You’ve got purple all over your face!” Javier whispers. He’s got my back. Bless him.

“Like you’ve never seen her” by Julia in her bed

Thursday May 31, 2018
12:35am
5 minutes
allure magazine May 2017

She is the light in the room you read by

The harvest in the moon you can count on

She came back from the below with a glow so bright it makes you wear one of those gigantic visors

She’s not comparing herself to who’s smiling bigger

She wonders what she did yesterday instead. She has been comparing herself to the wind and to her first self.

She’s so bright she zigzags through the room. Like lightening sucking on a breath mint.

People pay attention to her.

They always seem to know that she’s got pop rocks in her blood. That she shows up to herself everyday even if she had a bad thing happen.

She doesn’t know about excuses

Or blame

The alarm goes off and she rises to meet the day.