“special pings” by Julia on her patio

Sunday July 14, 2019
5 minutes
Emily Osborne

High as a kite and no plans of coming down
Down is the place where all the dirt lives
The down and dirty, the hole, the pit
I’m going to fly high right over this town
Town is a place where all the small people
get together and wage wars against any one
who seems like they have finally learned to
love themselves

They don’t know anything about us
They don’t know anything about us

And oh what a war it already was, the lonely
people all huddled together with their ideas
and their weapons because the truth feels like
too much to fight
Oh the light, that glittering thing illuminating
all the inside from the bottom of the barrel
sending them a mirror to see themselves clearer

High as a kite and it could be on life itself
or life alone and you would never even know
think it’s a strain or a pill or a potted plant
a cheap kind of thrill that leaves the seeking
emptier than when they started

They don’t know anything about us
They don’t know anything about us

They could come if they wanted to but they don’t

They don’t know anything about us

“special pings” by Sasha at her desk

Sunday, July 14, 2019
5 minutes
Emily Osborne

We eat spaghetti noodles with butter, basil and parmesan cheese. You crack on pepper and sprinkle red pepper flakes. I’m glad you’re not one of those people who doesn’t eat things, like cheese or whatever. I’m sick of those people. I made an arugula salad (with toasted pine nuts, dried cranberries and a little bit of shaved carrots). We’re sat at your sister’s dining room table. You’re dog-sitting Elizabeth, the Great Dane. Your sister recently got divorced and is hiking in Italy with one of the cousins. “Good for her,” you say, rolling your eyes but smiling. We eat in silence for a while, really savouring everything. You pour us each a bit more Sangiovese.