“after every sick joke” by Sasha on her couch

Monday September 17, 2018
8:22pm
5 minutes
July, ’77
Jill Mandrake

Am I boring you?
I know we don’t edit these
but I just wrote
“borning” and had
to go back and erase
the “n”
Maybe I’m doing
that too

“N” is a letter
that I love
The cello is an
instrument that
I love
Fall is a season
that I love

Some days all we
can do is make
a short list of
the things
that we love

“It is a highly awkward effort” by Sasha at her desk

Sunday September 16, 2018
6:17pm
5 minutes
How to Unthink (In Two Movements)
Jill Boettger

Remember when everything was “awkward”? When that word took over the mouths and minds of everyone under thirty? “He looked at me and it was so awkward!” “I slipped and it was so awkward!” “Ew, that’s… awkward…”

Words have power and yet when my mother calls with the news, I can’t find a single one that feels right. When my mother calls with the news, there are no words in my mouth.

I love words. They are my prayer, my heartbeat, they make stories – my blood. And, even then, over the phone, across the country, there’s nothing to say.

“people are still listing reasons” by Sasha at JJ Bean on Cambie

Saturday September 15, 2018
4:55pm
5 minutes
Collaboration: Visual/Written Poetry
Sarah Leavitt & Jen Currin

Keith Jarret on the record player. The Masquerade Is Over. You stir risotto over the stove, your glasses fogging up. You add white wine, and then swig from the bottle. Here we are. The temperature is dropping outside and people we thought we loved are turning out to be those who we never imagined. Or did we? And people we definitely loved are sick, and we are gathering around them with baskets of fresh veggies from the market and tear-stained cheeks. There aren’t words. There’s Keith Jarret. There’s a table settling for two.

“a multitude of mouths” by Sasha at her desk

Friday September 14, 2018
8:58pm
5 minutes
SWITCH/CHASE
Ben Rawluk

“I don’t believe in that,” Kelsey shakes her head and picks a lemon seed out of her water glass. Jem has been talking about orgies and polyamory and how as descendants of apes we are meant to have many mates – “Many, many mates!”

“It’s not a matter of belief,” Jem says, leaning in across the candle-lit table.

“Everything’s a matter of belief, my love,” Kelsey looks Jem right in the eye and they both laugh.

Their food arrives – Kelsey’s pesto pasta and garlic bread, Jem’s burger with caesar salad.

“Do you ever just want to say fuck it and move to the country and keep bees and make preserves and sing in a choir?” Kelsey steals a crouton from Jem’s plate.

“Of course! But will I do such a thing before I’m all wrinkled and grey and surrounded by dogs and cats and parakeets?! NO WAY!”

“still dangerous,” by Sasha on her couch

Thursday September 13, 2018
6:39pm
5 minutes
Soft
Sarah Pinder

Soon we will be spread out
different places
you here and her there and
me where we used to leave
the three of us

Different countries
Different worlds maybe
Or that’s my fear talking
She sounds like you
sometimes

I want to tell you everything
but I can’t
and that’s a first
kind of
and that’s strange
kind of

Curled up in my bed
watching the clouds
listening to jazz on the radio
dancing with my hands
until I fall asleep

My heart breaks for
who we used to be
The women on the corner
head’s thrown back
laughing

“and a quiet evening sipping whiskey” by Sasha on her couch

Wednesday September 12, 2018
7:02am
5 minutes
Mr. Bright Eyes
John Barton

He calls and tells me that he misses me. I want to hear it from the one who hasn’t been drinking whiskey, the one who wakes up and washes the dishes, the one who plays basketball with the lanky teenagers in the courts by the community centre. I always said that I’d wait for you. I always said that I’d be able to. Now, though, it feels as though time moves faster and people are dying, and being born, and how are we wasting time on things that aren’t true? He calls and tells me that he misses me and I pull the phone away from my ear so that he can’t hear the catch in my throat, the tiny “me too,” the deep breath, the tear rolling down towards my upper lip.

“a few drops of peppermint oil.” By Sasha in the bath

Tuesday September 11, 2018
8:22pm
5 minutes
The Incense of Those Rooms
Jen Currin

We’re going to build a small house behind the house that I grew up in. A garden, five trees, a bird bath will separate the past from the present. Now it’s just drawings, and hoping, and scrounging, and working through feeling like hell. Now is making it happen for then. For them. For us, three years from now. It’s strange, isn’t it. How autumn brings nostalgia, heavy and ripe. We’re going to build something together, maybe a house, maybe several homes scattered across the coasts. East and West, sun and moon. God laughs at our plans. I hear it in my belly like butterfly wings, touching pinkies with you.

“like slivered almonds in the bulk section,” by Sasha in her bed

Monday September 10, 2018
10:31pm
5 minutes
Parsley
Listen Chen

Someone who’s just as lonely as all of us. A change of heart.
A sliver of a dream from a decade ago, a sliver of a hope that got washed out, a sliver of all the “no’s”; all mixed in together like almonds for baking in the bulk section at the grocery store. This is the way it goes, I guess.
Thirty two years doing this life, and I still don’t know
much beyond what I do. I imagine your body turning into a million tiny shards
of light – fireflies – and ascending up up up up up.

“We made sure you could still heal” by Sasha at the beach

Sunday September 9, 2018
3:45pm
5 minutes
Day Thirteen
Adrienne Gruber

We’ve been healing these weeks
Me – slow like the leaves turning
You – fast like the leaves turning

We’ve been in that rocky water
All I want is the glass lake
All you want is to surf

The more I know the more I don’t know
about all of this
What I do know is that strength is

Saying every day
“I am ready to meet
whatever life gives me”

What I do know is that love is
the messiest kitchen and the
softest “yes”

“books about people living on the street” by Sasha at her desk

Saturday September 8, 2018
7:12am
5 minutes
Searching, results
Shawn Syms

In a good bookstore (I think you know what that means) I wish I was a better writer I wish I was a better reader I wish I was a better person. Books make me want to do better in every inch keep things clean keep things open keep things real. I admire how my Dad reads. I wish I read like my Dad. I wish I spent way less time with a screen and way more time in pages and pages and pages and words are the way of the future they are how we become who we are how the future breathes life into the present.

“she died before age forty” by Sasha on her couch

Friday September 7, 2018
5:11pm
5 minutes
F*** Face
Amber Dawn

She died before age forty
and it’s okay don’t be sad about it
she was ready she’d lived
a full life
she’d fucked
and fled
and funned
and stayed
and stopped
and loved

She died before she turned forty
right but she lived more in those
years than most people live in
their eighty two or seventy six

She called her sister
before she died
because her sister couldn’t be there
she was the only on
she had two new babies
two new babes
and she called her sister
and her sister cried and cried
her nipples dripping milk
the twins sleeping beside her
she rocked them with her foot

“Grid of Polaroids” by Sasha at 49th Parallel on Main St.

Thursday September 6, 2018
6:22pm at 49th Parallel
5 minutes
Sinuous
Lydia Kwa

I see those years like
a grid of polaroid
some overexposed
the drunk the tired
the shabby the shameful
the tender the kissing
I see you now like I
did then but different
now you’re chest is wider
because you’re heart
is bolder now your
you-ness is the best
taste after being
gone too long
after being out
and away
after leaving

We sleep back to back
some nights and I
like those nights
too because my lungs
breathe the air that
your lungs made and
your lungs breathe
the air that my
lungs made and is
there anything better
than the mystery of
what we’re up against
of what we’re doing

“I love the internet” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday September 5, 2018
7:16am
5 minutes
The Experimental Boy
Mat Laporte

I refuse to believe that the internet is evil. Think about all of the political movements that were propelled forward through hashtags and blogs and twitter? Think about #metoo alone. Groundbreaking. Revolutionary. Literally changing the world and how we know it. If it weren’t for the internet, knowledge wouldn’t be shared with a click, opinions wouldn’t be batted back and forth across borders! You might look at me and think, “that old hippy dude probably thinks that we were better off without smartphones, Alexa, Google, whatever… In some ways, maybe. When we let the internet rule us – we’re in big trouble. When we are at the hand of capitalism, when our only identity is “consumer” – we are in big trouble. But, I do not fundamentally believe that all of us are lost at sea without a paddle, on a melting iceberg.

“I tell him how a blimp once hit my head.” By Sasha at her desk

Tuesday September 4, 2018
6:54pm
5 minutes
DADDY
Prathna Lor

A blimp once fell down out of the sky and hit me right here, right on my head! Do you see the scar? No?! It’s there. Cross my heart and hope to die. A bird pooped on me the first time my Mom took me outdoors to bring me to the doctor so I’m good luck. It’s good luck when a bird poops on you! My Dad my Dad my Daaaad used to be a firefighter until he had to stop because he’d inhaled so much smoke that they told him if he took in any more he’d become a dragon a real dragon!

“These are the demons you wanted” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Monday September 3, 2018
5 minutes
7:41am
FtM
Kierst Wade

You asked for this when you were in your mother’s womb
You asked to be wrapped in colts foot and birch bark
You asked to be burned and wrung out and lifted high
You asked for the stars to be in Aries
the moon to full
You asked for twelve trusted women to flank you
when you emerged
naked and screaming and howling at the Gods

You asked to be tested
to be tried
to be true

You asked for all of this by choosing them
and then you asked again when you chose him
and here you are asking this newness
this dawn
and you asked again for the grace to
rise

“and all the sheets drift jazz” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday September 2, 2018
8:10pm
5 minutes
Bad Boy’s Slut Song
Nick Comilla

Raymond plays jazz at the Rex on Sunday afternoons. I’m there because Nicola likes to go, not because I really care about jazz. But Raymond does something to a trumpet that I can’t quite articulate. He shows us how music can be, who we can be, what a wild heart actually looks like. The rest of us are fakers. I used to play, but I got tired of staying out late and having the schmooze and kiss ass and all the rest of it. Raymond doesn’t play those games. He plays his set, drinks a cranberry soda at the bar, chats a bit with the regulars, and then walks home. He doesn’t make a big deal about it. He’s just living his life.

“she would rub her clit to her bed post,” by Sasha on her balcony

Saturday September 1, 2018
10:01pm
5 minutes
Nocturne v: c
Marie Segolène

What time is it where you are? I’m not good at calculating that kind of thing. Vancouver to Tokyo? I don’t know… It doesn’t matter. Shit, I really miss you. Finding time to talk is hard, I mean “we’re all so busy” right? That’s what everyone says. “We’re all so busy”… I’m not that busy, but I pretend I am because I feel like it’s wrong to say that I’m actually bored about twenty percent of the time. Is that a good average or a bad one? I’ll never know because we never talk about that kind of thing. Sometimes when I’m bored I do weird stuff. I’m not going to get into it with you, because you wouldn’t get it, but let’s just say that vibrator that I got at that sex shop on Granville like ten years ago? It’s still going…

“I’ll quit smoking when God admits he fucked up.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday August 30, 2018
7:21am
5 minutes
Nigh
Chris Emslie
Fewer gifts and more
honest conversation
okayyyyy the sound
of your voice is a
lullaby a butterfly
kiss a warm wish
Less comparing
because that’s
capitalism talking
that’s the fear that
stuff makes us
enough but really
what makes us
enough
the laughlines
and the pit in
your chest that’s
filled slowly
through music
and a conversation
with an old friend
Who cares about
where we’re going
if the present is
full my heart is
bursting wide
begging the season
to change to mark
this bigness inside

“the truth is” by Sasha on her bed

Wednesday August 29, 2018
10:13pm
5 minutes
Close Encounters
Meg Torwl
The truth is, I never trusted you. Mercurial creature, shape-shifter, appeaser, provocateur (just for the sake of it), for your sake, not for the sake of the receiver. Most adept at playing “truth”, the only truth is that I never trusted you. The gut doesn’t lie. I know it now like I never have before. The gut knows. The brain in my gut is the smartest one I have. I will not apologize for my softness, for the times I kept quiet. I was guarding my gut, my guts, my heart, my everything. I am done with this “you are broken”. I am done with your self-absorbed, self-hatred, afraid to actually be free, preaching and lying and cheating and drugging and you are a sham. You are a fake.

“a constant nagging of hopelessness.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday August 28, 2018
8:44pm
5 minutes
My Tongue’s Memory
Antonette Rea

You only feel hopeless in small doses, when you’re fighting with your girlfriend, or when you can’t seem to get on top of laundry. You’ve never felt it for a prolonged period of time. Your therapist says you’re lucky. You’ll take it. Sleep’s been illusive these past few weeks and you wonder if it has something to do with the forest fires. You had asthma as a kid. You thought you grew out of it, but you feel like you can’t get a deep breath, like you can’t get enough air.

“And we created a hybrid,” by Sasha at her desk

Monday August 27, 2018
7:15am
5 minutes
Poetry Is The Song Of The People
Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

Finally they are laughing again. It happens without them knowing. Sat around the table, eating homemade caesar salad and garlic bread and baked zucchini. Who knows what was even said, or what was even funny, but they are laughing and they haven’t in a long time, not all of them. When you lose a child, or a sibling, when you lose someone young, you forget how to laugh, or they did. We can’t speak in generalizations, but it’s easy to imagine that this is what happens, that this is what the grip of grief does, that this is what it’s like now. Finally they are laughing again, on this Monday at the end of August, as summer wanes and traffic buzzes and a fruit fly lands on the pineapple on the counter.

“Light becomes me.” By Sasha on her couch

Sunday August 26, 2018
8:22pm
5 minutes
Here Be Monsters
Lisa Foad

Light becomes me
like blue does
and rest does
even now when
everything is
upside down
and changing

Light becomes you
like a white shirt does
and rest does
even now when
you aren’t getting
very much
and you feel
like you’re failing

I’ve never loved
you more than the
moment I fell into
your arms near the
bookshelf that saturday
that morning I’ll
always remember

I’ve never loved
you more than now
watching you sleeping
watching your face
change with the dreaming

Here we are
on the edge
this new jump
it’s higher than
we’ve ever gone
and I know there’s
a peak of doubt
and a plunge of faith
but all I can

hear is all the
ones who have come
before saying

You’re ready
You’re ready
You’re ready

“But fuck that kid. He was a shitty poet.” By Sasha on her bed

Saturday August 25, 2018
9:32am
5 minutes
A quote from Alex Leslie

It’s true that everyone has a story to tell, and I don’t want to sound snobby, but not everyone can write. It’s a craft, like woodworking or pastry. I’m sorry but it’s true. I’m not saying I’m the best or anything, but when I was in seventh grade I did have a teacher tell me that I could become a novelist. I’m not a novelist, but I am a journalist and journalism is the hardest written form if you ask me, because you’re turning facts into something someone actually wants to spend their time on. Did you know that human beings have shorter attention spans than goldfish? Studies actually show that! We are fucked, but that’s not the point, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to say, that if you want to learn about writing, you’re learning about reading, about patience, about re-writing, about sitting with your ass glued to your desk chair when everyone else is having fun and getting married and going swimming.

“I’m old enough to be that girl’s mother,” by Sasha in her bed

Friday August 24, 2018
10:14pm
5 minutes
My Mother’s Body
Marie Howe

When I’m on the bus
or downtown
I see these packs
of wolf-girls
and I think

“I could be your mother, howler”

There’s a power
in that I didn’t
know to be true
until I got a disdainful
look until I was
standing in front
of the classroom
asking them to write
poems and a few of
these wolf-girls
look at me like
I’m old
I’m gross
I’m uncool
HA!

Jokes on them
but it does feel strange
because I used to be
one of them
judging less overtly
though

I used to be one of them
and now I’m old enough
to be that girl’s mother

“‘You talking to me like that in my home?'” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday August 23, 2018
8:02am
5 minutes
Rum Punch
Elmore Leonard

Mica uses her tongue to lick the centre out of the Oreo cookie. It’s not a real Oreo, it’s a gluten free knock off that her sister bought at the health food store on Princess Street. She’s on her fourth and she’s in a trance, she’s in another dimension. She’s sat on her sister’s floor and suddenly she is love, she is presence, she is God. Her sister won’t be home for three more hours, and her mother is at her Women’s Group and her father is in the basement painting war figurines.

“if you fed your neighbours” by Sasha on her couch

Wednesday August 22, 2018
8:03pm
5 minutes
From a quote by Rebecca Solnit

It’s hard to write today because he’s sick and she’s bursting and sometimes the dichotomy of so much joy and so much sorrow is just too heavy to hold
It’s hard to write today because I feel like shit and the room is spinning and I never thought it would be quite like this I never did
It’s hard to write today because I’m more tired than I’ve ever been and the city is burning and the smoke is strangling us and I’m scared to my bones
It’s hard to write today because I’ve got so much to say but it’s all secrets and when I have to hold back my writing suffers my writing sucks

“the freedom to do as we please” by Sasha in her bed

Tuesday August 21, 2018
5:19pm
5 minutes
From a quote by Wendell Berry

it’s the burnt toast on the floor and the crackers in the cupboard and the possibility however slim of mice it’s the freedom to do as we please eat chocolate pie for breakfast drink whiskey and rum til we’re crosseyed and giddy it’s the smell of fall knocking on the door and then running away and then coming back and hoping for a laugh it’s the tickle of a memory you thought you forgot it’s the toes touching when it’s too hot for more it’s the almost finished bottle of ketchup in the fridge that no one dares finish because what if there’s a spontaneous barbecue

“Be a lamp,” by Sasha in her bed

Monday August 20, 2018
11:11pm
5 minutes
From a quote by Rumi

“I don’t want to be a lamp”
young Billy did say
Sitting a top
a big bale of hay

“Of course you don’t”
His mama replied
picking him up
as she softly sighed

“I want to be a table
or a whale or a star”
Billy wiggled about
and they didn’t get far

The cows were grazing
and the pigs were in mud
Billy liked to watch the kittens
jump with a thud

“Come on now honey
It’s almost time for bed”
“But I’m not tired”
Is what Billy always said

They got to the house
and said goodnight to the barn
and while Billy brushed teeth
his mama spun yarn

“the thin woods and across the highway” by Sasha at the Airbnb in Mount Pleasant

Sunday August 19, 2018
10:56am
5 minutes
November 1968
Brian Doyle

She climbs and climbs
like she never knew she could
the thin woods reaching
towards sun
towards starlight
towards eagle feather

She reaches a highway
and wishes it was a
river she was crossing

Eagle swoops down
lifts her up
carries her across

She shares water and
bread as a thank you
and the bird leaves
a feather in exchange
for her smile
for her goodness
for her trust that
inter-species friendships
are not reserved for the
domesticated
it’s only that too often
human beings
are afraid

“Bible under his arm,” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Saturday August 18, 2018
7:40am
5 minutes
The Unbreakable Thread
David James Duncan

Things got weird when Malcolm started carrying his Bible under his arm. People didn’t take a lot of notice in the first week, thinking it was just some new strange thing he was up to. But a month in, Betty sat her son down.

“Malcolm, why are you carrying around that Lord book all the dang time?!”

Malcolm thought for a moment before answering. Not his usual.

“I’m a Christian now, Mom,” he took the Bible out from under his arm and put it on the kitchen table. “And I suggest that you start reading the Holy Book before your soul is too tarnished to save.”

“What the he – heck, Malcolm! When did this – …?”

Just at that moment Tammy came in the door hollering about lasagna. She was still in her volleyball uniform.

“What’s the matter with you two?” Tammy opened the fridge and drank milk from the carton.

“trying to pry one of them” by Sasha in her bed

Friday August 17, 2018
11:07pm
5 minutes
Ship
Tony Hoagland

My father makes the sign of the cross and asks me what he can do to help. I tell him nothing, what’s done is done. He says that there’s always something to be done, and I say, “Not this time there isn’t.”

At confession I tell Father Mendes that I had to have an abortion and he gasps.

At school Maria holds my hand walking down the hall and I feel all eyes on me. I used to be invisible.

My mother won’t look me in the eye, and mutters prayers under her breath when we’re in the same room.

“slow puffs of steam” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday August 16, 2018
6:02pm
5 minutes
What Happened During The Ice Storm
Jim Heynen

She bakes because her favourite thing is the smell of bread rising, butter browning, cookies crisping. She bakes because her mother bakes, and her grandmother baked, and so on and so forth.

She limits her baking to Saturday, and brings the treats to her meditation group on Sunday afternoon.

“These are the best lemon squares I have ever had, Rachel,” says Glenn, who lead today and accidentally hit the gong with his foot when he was readjusting his seated position.

“Aw, thanks,” she says, and she knows he’s telling the truth. Her lemon squares are the best.

“You should open a bakery,” says Carol.

“I’ve thought of it, but I worry that if it’s my job I won’t love it as much anymore.”

“Maybe you’ll come to love it even more,” Glenn smiles. “That’s just as much of an option…”

“My miracle is not that you can’t knock me down” by Sasha on her balcony

Wednesday August 15, 2018
7:10am
5 minutes
Monday Night Class
Stephen Gaskin

you know that you’ll find yourself
finally
in your forties
you’ve heard that it can happen
for some people
in their thirties
but that’s just not you
you can’t even remember to
take the recycling out on the
proper day
or survive a month on
plenty of fish
you know you’ll find yourself
eventually
before death
you imagine that that’s what
that means
eventually
it’s a miracle that you often say
“I’m fine,”
when asked
“How are you, Melanie?”
you know that you are fine
most of the time
occasionally you drink too much
and on those nights
you wonder if anyone
is fine at all
if anyone has found themself

“Hey, man, fuck that.” By Sasha at her desk

Tuesday August 14, 2018
8:13pm
5 minutes
A quote by Elvis Presley

I’m not sure what you’re hoping for here, is it retribution? A break? A line in the sand? A banana split? You know what? Fuck you, man. Fuck your entitled face, and your big voice, and your rude disposition. I’m tired of your shit. I told you to have your stuff packed up, and to be out of here on the first of the month and now it’s the fucking fourteenth and that’s just insane. What makes you think it’s okay to act like this? Did someone teach you it was totally fine to take advantage of people? Mila was supposed to move in two weeks ago, man! She’s staying at her parents place because she refuses to move in when you’re still here! You’re ruining my relationship!

“have another cup of coffee” by Sasha on her balcony

Monday August 13, 2018
7:08am
5 minutes
A quote by Joan Didion

How many points?
How many calories?
How much fat is in half an avocado?
Is this nourishment?
Have I had enough broccoli?
Weight Watchers?
Have you lost?
Have you gained?
Am I succeeding?
You do not know
how full of health
she is
I am
we are
BMI is a lie
Did you know that
What about
What about
What about
“She’s looking so beautiful! She lost a bunch of weight, and not like she had much to lose, but… She just looks so healthy!”
BARF.
Actually, though.
All these gorgeous chickens vomiting in the bathroom.
“Could you please pass me some toilet paper?”
Everything is points.
Here are your points.
If you don’t reach your limit, you’ve succeeded!
If you aren’t listening, then you aren’t losing.
But here’s the thing –
when you’re losing, you’re
actually winning!
And who gives a flying fuck
what you feel like and if you like your life!
Thinness is the prize and GOD I am displaying
it on the mantle.
Who has a mantle anyway?
How many points, though?
How many calories?
Is this an indulgence?
“I know I shouldn’t
but I think I’d like the
brownie
sundae
cookie ice cream sandwich”
DON’T FEEL BAD PLEASE
DEAR GOD FEED YOURSELF
FEED YOUR GOODNESS
FEED YOUR HEART
YOUR DAUGHTER DOES NOT
GIVE A FLYING FUCK
ABOUT WHAT YOU’RE
PUTTING IN YOUR MOUTH
AS LONG AS YOU ARE
FULL FED LOVING
TURNED ON

“the splendid ugliness of this disguise.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday August 12, 2018
7:36pm
5 minutes
Ode to Invisibility
Ellen Bass

I buy another black pair of jeans, another white T-shirt, a blue blazer, a grey pair of leggings. $364.99. I buy a coffee at Starbucks. $6.21. I buy food from the hot bar at Whole Foods. $14.10. I Car2Go home. $6.45. I sit on my $2,475 couch and I go on Facebook and I see that fucking Cathy is in the Dominican Republic again. Who is that disgusting hottie she’s holding onto is that her new boyfriend SHOOT ME?! HOW DOES SHE DO IT. Onto Expedia. I text Jacquie, “What are you doing next week?” I see that she’s typing back, and then she stops, and then she types, and then she stops. “What the fuck?!” I throw my phone across the room and luckily it lands on the footstool. $220.

“play the role of devoted son.” By Sasha in her bed

Saturday August 11, 2018
10:02pm
5 minutes
Tincture Of Mother
Alan Craig

You groomed me to be your little sidekick. Until I was thirteen or so, I liked it. I ate it up like a peanut butter sandwich. The role of devoted son was the best one I played. I could’ve earned a medal, or a Golden Globe, or at least some kind of pin/ribbon. God knows I didn’t have enough coordination for the school musical, and I wasn’t fast enough for softball. But being your boy? I had that down pat. You taught me exactly how you wanted to be treated – always “Maman”, never “Mom” or “Mother” or “Mummy”; a gin and tonic with a slice of lime and five ice cubes in your hand at 4pm; “I love you,” and kisses on both cheeks before getting on the bus. When Papa left you sat me down (drink in hand), in the parlour. We only ever sat in the parlour when we had guests over, important guests, colleagues of Papa’s or the Westford’s from the across the street who you always wanted to impress. You said, “You’re my man now, Francois.”

“it has been six and a half years since you died” by Sasha on her balcony

Friday August 10, 2018
7:18pm
5 minutes
Welcome to the Club
Marion Winik

I wake up in a cold sweat. Felix is sleeping at my feet, like he always does, and when I jolt awake he digs his nails into my ankles. “Stop it!” I yell. He does. He comes up to lie beside me, purring. Cats are dicks. Then, it hits me like a tree falling – I missed it. Oh my God. How could I? I just… It’s been six years since you died, six years yesterday, and I missed the anniversary. I didn’t light a candle. I didn’t call Mia. It was just any other Thursday, where I drank a green smoothie, shat, went to work, procrastinated, stirred the pot in a team meeting, asked Don if he wanted to make out in the handicapped washroom (he said, “No thanks, Becca…”), came home, went to yoga, made pirogies for dinner, cuddled Felix on the couch while I watched three episodes of Queer Eye and then I went to bed.

“Eyes roaming distant waters,” by Sasha at her desk

Thursday August 9, 2018
3:52pm
5 minutes
Wandering At Oblique Creek
T’ao Ch’ien

You walk to the lake before sunrise. You barely stumble on the path because you’ve tread it so many times but once or twice there is a new root, a new rock, and you almost trip but you don’t because you’re listening. When you arrive at the water’s edge, the light is rising. The sun isn’t on the horizon yet, but the light is reaching up up up up up and there are colours like you’ve never seen before – a new lilac, a new azure, a new lapis, a new rouge. You find a place to sit, the quiet, familiar dome of a boulder that you’ve sat on many times before. You unfocus your eyes over the still glass of the water. Sky and lake blend. You and this place are one, these birch trees, these ferns, these cedars.

“full of tenderness” by Sasha on her balcony

Wednesday August 8, 2018
6:52am
5 minutes
Chant
Wang An-Shih

Gimme a minute sweet one I’ve got water boiling on the stove
Gimme a minute honeypots I’m on the phone
Hold on darling there’s something I need to finish here
Can you wait?
Why not?
Okay…
Hold on…
HOLD ON…
Okay.
What is it?
A caterpillar?
My goodness!
You’re right!
Can you could those legs?
How many do you think she has?
Gentle.
Gentle!
See that little yellow stripe?
How do you think she feels about it?
It’s not quite time for lunch yet but I have some apricots if you’d like.

“whose eyes are a thousand blind windows:” by Sasha on her balcony

Tuesday August 7, 2018
7:30am
5 minutes
Howl
Allen Ginsberg

He’s got a tight face. I wonder about plastic surgery (try not to judge, each to their own, I guess)… He’s expressionless, which is super odd given his job, given that he’s a self-proclaimed actor. I wonder how much he actually works. It might sound awful, but his eyes are hollow, like looking into them is very unsettling. I bet he pulled the wings off flies as a kid. Maybe still does. I bet he googles weird, really weird shit. You know those people who you see and you just know that if you went into their search history it would be worse than a murder show?

“You should always be sure” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Monday August 6, 2018
7:02am
5 minutes
The Law of Success
Paramahansa Yogananda

The thing is, we’re never sure
And we leap anyway
Off the edge
Whatever that looks like for you

It’s often a dock
like the one at Knowlton Lake
Sometimes it’s a cliff
something I would never do

Every big decision
doesn’t come from a place of sureness
It comes from an inkling
like the loons calling at dusk

Did you hear that?
Was that their song?
Is it time?
Is it now?

We’re never sure
or maybe I’m never sure
But I am on the other hand
My gut whispers “Go”

“all-new, feature-length” by Sasha at Jericho Beach

Sunday August 5, 2018
1:30pm
5 minutes
Teamsters and Tutus
Simon Lewsen

Do you ever hear the soundtrack of the movie of your life playing? Do you ever imagine the Norah Jones, Gypsy Kings, Tori Amos, TLC, Marvin Gaye… It happens to me most when I’m on public transit, usually a train, occasionally a bus. Looking out the window and there it is – the music.

What’s the song that plays the most in your head?

Have you ever been to a concert and thought, “this must be what heaven is like?”

Have you ever heard the quote, “Without music life would be a mistake”?

I once thought that if I didn’t have music I might shrivel up and fade away. I don’t think that anymore, I’m in a better place, but I get it. I get that.

“Hear splash blue” by Sasha on her balcony

Saturday August 4, 2018
2:42pm
5 minutes
Here Room Sleeps
Dale Smith

“Do you hear that?” Mimi tilts her head up, and cocks it a little to the right.

“No…” This happens often, but I play along. I got a good sleep last night so I’m feeling game.

“It’s it’s it’s it’s BLUE!” Mimi laughs.

“You’re hearing the blue?”

“M-hmm.”

“Mimi, how are you hearing a colour?”

“It’s easy! You just feel in your tummy and your tongue and some other places like maybe the liver or the kidney! And it’s clear that it’s BLUE.”

I haven’t heard her explain something like this before, about her experience of the world.

“Mama, are you crying?” She touches my face.

“$750-million investment” by Sasha at her desk

Friday August 3, 2018
9:33pm
5 minutes
From an Enbridge ad

It’s a million dollar
three point two
seven point nine
three and half
oh my word
it’s dollar symbols
and decimal points
and I can’t even
count that high

They are building a
new skyscraper and
every new story
makes me
every new story
gives me
I joke about
going down there
and getting a tour
dressing up
I’ll wear heels and
you’ll wear a three
piece suit

Two million
down payment I can’t
believe I ever thought
owning a house with a
garden and a bird bath
was going to be

Oh wait
here are the angels
in blue

Oh wait
we’re getting
somewhere

“But when he reached the age” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday August 2, 2018
9:35pm
5 minutes
Atheist at the Pulpit
Larry Krotz

It wasn’t okay for you to smile like you used to. When you reached a certain age. Suddenly upturned corners of mouth and sparkler eyeballs means something you don’t want it to mean. Shit. Why does that have to happen. You have to start thinking about the kind of shirts you wear. The boys in your class stare. Shit. You stop playing soccer at lunch on the icy field because you’re not sure about how things are moving. You steal subway tickets from your babysitters wallet because no one thinks you’re a kid and you don’t like when the bus driver makes a scene and asks to see your birth certificate. You carry it in your yellow wallet, though, just in case.

“a family house can remain empty” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday August 1, 2018
1:03pm
5 minutes
The Highest Bidder
Kerry Gold

Snap and we’re sat at the table and we’re talking about more money than I’ve ever had/dreamed of (that’s not totally true) and Snap we’re talking about a house a place where we’ll grow and scream and hug and make salads and Snap I tell you my secret and you hold it like you hold me Snap to the gentleness of the realization that words aren’t enough and the present is all we have and Snap okay baby you say okay baby we’ll do it Snap how do I deserve this (that’s not really it) Snap scrolling and scrolling and scrolling Snap rock a by baby on the tree top Snap lines of credit and how will the mortgage work and life’s short but also let’s hope life’s long and there’s no time like the present but timing is everything Snap

“Of course we should postpone.” By Sasha on her balcony

Tuesday July 31, 2018
9:31pm
5 minutes
From an e-mail

Typing into Google (the all mighty 8 ball of this century)
“Why am I so tired?”
“How do you know you’re pregnant?”
“How far away is space?”

All these kittens in their bedrooms
Nirvana posters and twinkle lights
condom wrappers and Fruit by the Foot
belly button lint and a card from a grandmother

Searching for God in a screen
little or big same difference
searching for connection alone
little or big same difference

You’re tired because you don’t sleep enough, peanut
You’re pregnant when magic happens and blood doesn’t
Space is here
God is here

Let’s spoon until it’s winter
and make soup
and sing anthems

“Happy Monday Lovers” by Sasha at her desk

Monday July 30, 2018
10:55pm
5 minutes
from @a_belovedgreen on Instagram

I bobbed in the water at Indian Arm
let my hair turn to seaweed
let me toes touch tadpoles
kissing the salt
kissing the sun
kissing you
oh the sweetness
of the dead man’s float

remember
remember
remember

Happy Monday from
the cove of the free
and the spot of the brave
uncomfortable conversations
trying to explain
land acknowledgements
these nations whispering
through our feet

remember remember
remember

I bob in the water at Indian Arm
drove her stretching elbow
swam under the freckle at
her wrist

“hence it is important that you DETERMINE” by Sasha at her desk

Sunday July 29, 2018
3:05pm
5 minutes
Snark Tuner Instructions

Today I scrubbed the glass
of the sliding door and thought
Oh this is spiritual practise
as prayer is
Oh this is prayer
Sweat beading on my forehead
squatted and smelling of
newspaper and vinegar

In May when we’d get
the cottage ready for
a summer of rentals
it was my job to wash
the glass of the sliding doors
and while I probably procastinated
I loved doing it
giving to this home that held us
through the joy
and the madess
giving to this mother
who gave everything to us

I’m glad that we know the
clarity of clean space
that the act of clearing
dust from the surface of the altar
sends a smile to my lips

“Truth rambles some moorish in-between, but that’s poetry” by Sasha on her balcony

Saturday July 28, 2018
4:42pm
5 minutes
Rhinocerotic
Ellie Sawatzky

Truth rambles out open pores
and I smell goodness on your skin
drink it in
maybe that’s why I like to bury
in your armpits

I’ve never known a love
with these peaks and valleys

When someone I enjoy
asks me about the first year
of marriage
all I can say is

“Yes
it’s different
Yes
it’s the hardest thing
Yes
it’s all a beautiful mystery”

“The roots went down
that day and they spread
wide always reaching always
ready”

all I can say is

This is how I
want to be

“Kensington Prairie Farm” by Sasha at work

Friday July 27, 2018
5:40pm
5 minutes
www.kpfarm.com

She types on a tickity tickity keyboard
in a square office
in a tall building
on a busy street

The sun shines in through her window
lucky she has one
she tells herself

She wonders about dirt under her fingernails
what that might feel like
she chews a hangnail
and thinks about planting seeds

Literally
she remembers how peas grow
clinging to anything they can
holding eachother up
growing tall

Her garden on the balcony
of her apartment
gets so thirsty she can’t keep up

At the farmer’s market
she touches peaches and plums
radishes and chantrelles
like her children
like her beauties
like her friends

“a couple in a living room” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday July 26, 2018
7:08pm
5 minutes
From audition sides

A couple

A friend
A dog

A friend
A friend

A child
A father

A woman
A woman

A woman
A child

A non-binary person
A man

A man
A woman

A man
A man

A couple

Sit on a
sofa

It’s purple
It’s red
It’s speckled
It’s dirty
It’s covered in cat hair
It’s covered in plastic
It’s new
It’s old

This sofa

A cherry sized
space between
them

They look

She
They
He
They

They look

at the clouds

“I want to walk with you on cloudy day” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Wednesday July 25, 2018
11:03pm
5 minutes
Come Away With Me
Norah Jones

I’m not sure about this peanut butter sandwich
or the pink kissing the clouds french and open mouth
this taste of clumsy fat of oil fake of ok ok I’ll surrender

All the hours wasted honey it’s ok it’s ok

Lie down so the breath can go low so the stomach can relax
all tight in pants all day all sat all day all held all day
cradle the baby that is you in these loving arms in these
knowing arms stroke the baby that is you and tell her

it’s ok
it’s alright
it’s ok

There’s a lot of rules that are implied about womanhood
and I like how we’re poking them in the belly button

like is this

“The sun has risen but gives off no warmth.” By Sasha on her balcony

Tuesday July 24, 2018
7:00am
5 minutes
Waiting for the Barbarians
J.M. Coetzee

Marsha wonders why it seems like ever since she broke up with Jeremy she’s valued less by society. She remembers this feeling. When she was in her early twenties she gained thirty pounds and suddenly felt invisible. She’d never been thin, but she’d been average enough to be considered conventionally attractive. Even writing that makes me feel gross. What does that even mean? Anyway, back to the story. Marsha wonders why it seems like ever since she broke up with Jeremy (it was amicable, but she instigated, he was sad and called a lot in the weeks following, but now he’s stopped and she’s convinced he’s probably banging his neighbour who he always secretly lusted after)… that she’s valued less by society. “Oh you’re single?” She hears the judgement, she feels the hairs on her arms raise.

“exiled to the foothills” by Sasha on her couch

Monday July 23, 2018
12:02am
5 minutes
The Gulag Archipelago
Solzhenitsyn

“Let’s go to the mountains, mama…” Oli looks up at me with longing.

“Why do you want to go there?”

“Because I’ve never been!”

“Why do you think you’d like it?”

“Because mountains are tectonic plates that smashed together and that’s so cool and I want to do my project on them and how can I when I’ve never seen them in real life?!”

“Please don’t whine.”

“I’m not! I’m just saying that it’s only fair – ”

“Honey, nothing about decision making when it comes to vacation has to do with what’s fair.”

“BUT – ”

“I’ll think about it, okay? Now, go brush your teeth, it’s already seventeen minutes passed your bedtime.”

“he had this reputation because” by Sasha on her balcony

Sunday July 22, 2018
10:21pm
5 minutes
Under The Skin
Michel Faber

He deserves this reputation like he deserves the calluses on his feet and the chapped lips. He deserves the ridicule and the rundown. He deserves everything that’s happening to him. Forgiveness is a hoax. Compassion is a joke. He deserves to rot in the bottom of a well, like the fairy tales always say. He deserves sunburns, cancer, ulcers, dementia. Don’t look at me like I’m being a bitch. I am not being a bitch. I am being real, I am being powerful, I am being truthful and articulate and I am on fucking fire.

“Brady and Rix” by Sasha at her desk

Saturday July 21, 2018
10:15am
5 minutes
Fever Pitch
Nick Hornby

Brady smiles at Rix and Rix isn’t having it.

“What?” Says Brady, playing dumb.

“You know what! You stole my idea! You acted like it was yours! That’s just an awful thing to do!”

Brady shifts in their chair.

“Stole is a harsh word. It implies violence – ”

“It implies exactly what you did!” Rix fights everything in their body not to get up and leave the room. Why do they have to share such a small office anyway? Who decided that would be a good idea?

“Look. We brainstormed together. Parsing out whose idea is whose seems reductive, does it not?” Brady takes off their glasses and polishes them.

“You infuriate me!” Rix no longer cares about making a scene.

“cultivate the kind of robust gladness” by Sasha on her balcony

Friday July 20, 2018
7:32am
5 minutes
The Spiral Staircase
Karen Armstrong

I try to cut you loose but then you show up when I’m least expecting.
Today you’re in my jaw. Asshole. It’s already tight.

There isn’t enough space for you! I try…

I use the heel of my hands and massage where you are, hoping I’ll squeeze you out like toothpaste – slow and gunky.
Nope.
You hold on.
You always were stubborn.

The last time I saw you was when I was going down and you were coming up at Bathurst station.
“SHIT!” You said.
“Hi.” I said.

“I thought you lived in Vancouver?”
“I do. I’m just visiting.”
“Want to grab a coffee?”
“I, um, I… I can’t. I’m meeting a friend.”
“I’m a friend.”
“Um…”
“I’m just teasing you.”
“Yup.”

“as I grow old and my friends leave me.” by Sasha outside at work

Thursday July 19, 2018
2:10pm
5 minutes
Psalms For Praying
Nan C. Merrill

Sam is off with Pete and Justin at the lake. I hate sleeping alone. I wonder what they’re doing. Fishing, that was the plan. But what else are they doing? Are they living off of chips and canned soups? What does Nana keep at the cabin anyway? I should’ve helped to organize groceries. The least I could do given how good Sam’s been to me with all the work stress, and my Mom. He’s out of cell range so I can’t call. I texted a few times but haven’t heard back. Why do I feel so strange and empty and ill when Sam’s away?! How can I be this kind of woman?! I never thought that – …

“What happened to the women?” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday July 18, 2018
12:33pm
5 minutes
A Warm Moist Salty God
Edwina Gateley

They gather us in the camp. All of us strong ones, all of us pretty ones, all of us fat ones, all of us supple ones, all of us bleeding ones. The camp smells like cat food and compost. Some women hold their noses. I don’t want to be that obvious. I plug it from the inside, like Duncan taught me when we were at the cabin and had to shit in the old outhouse. The guards outnumber the women. This is what it’s come to.

“What’s your problem?” Shirley asks a red-headed guard who can’t be more than twenty two. He’s been watching her as she scrubs the floors of the mess hall.

“I don’ got a problem but chu…” He isn’t from here.

“I find it terribly strange that – ” Shirley can’t even get her words out. PhD.

“ENOUGH!” Captain shoots his rifle out the window.

“Age is a work of Art” by Sasha on her balcony

Tuesday July 17, 2018
11:47pm
5 minutes
from a Banyen Books bookmark

Let’s separate morning from night
with a stretch of time that breezy and blue

Let’s name a child Noon and call to her
when the grass is hot
when the sun is high

when the pavement is a griddle for tip toes

Age is the goal in this world
how much of it you can have and
how much of it you can’t share

I’ll love you to sleep
from now until eternity
no matter how much you gut me

Across this world
we’ll wander
a caravan of hope

“There are no edges to my loving now.” By Sasha on her balcony

Monday July 16, 2018
6:44pm
5 minutes
Quoted by Rumi

the water of this wears me
this sweat and longing and heartbreak
and love and trust and dreaming and collision
of past-present-future
there are less edges to my loving now
that we sleep naked in the glory and mud

i set the same intention a million
times over set the timer for five minutes
twenty minutes
three days
as a marker that maybe then i’ll be
ready maybe then i’ll be healed

the words help they always do
the forest helps it always does
water helps it always
does
too

the fluid nature of love
can’t be explained can it
just as you can’t explain
the etches on the walls of
the heart
this heart
beating in my mouth
this love
this heart
fireworks in the aeorta
ventricle to ventricle
we reach towards
the now

“Are we able to live simply,” by Sasha on her balcony

Sunday July 15, 2018
9:32am
5 minutes
Living Buddha, Living Christ
Thich Nhat Hanh

It all started when he felt there was hole in his chest. Below his breastbone, somewhere deep inside.

“Are you okay?” She would ask and he would nod and she would take this to mean “no”, but that he didn’t really want to talk about it.

Seven months later he texts her that he wants to live more simply.

“What does that mean?” She asks, feeling her voice raise in pitch but not volume.

“I don’t know… maybe quit my job? Maybe buy a place in the country?”

“Oh. Oh wow. Really? Wow… I just – …”

“I have a hole in my chest that grows bigger and deeper and wider every day, Janessa. It’s not a way I want to live. I want to live more simply.”

“I get it.” She says, and she does and she doesn’t and they both know that.

“I need my medicine” by Sasha on her balcony

Saturday July 14, 2018
7:55pm
5 minutes
overheard at Genavie’s house 

I need my medicine, Charlie! I need it right now! If you don’t bring me my medicine, I’m gonna divorce you, Charlie! CHARLIE! Oh. There you are. Thank you. Thank you so much. You know that I can’t make it down the stairs on bad days and today is a bad bad day! Charlie? Are you upset? Why do you look irritated? Are you – … Are you angry? Doctor said that you’d need to pay extra close attention during healing and that means medicine every three hours. You know that. How could you possibly be irritated?! Shit. It’s almost three thirty. Bella and Jeffrey need to be picked up because Hennie is at chemo! You have to go. The drugs haven’t kicked in yet!

“It gave her a deep sinking feeling” by Sasha at Vancouver Folk Festival

Friday July 13, 2018
9:21pm
5 minutes
Cujo
Stephen King

I was bred to say yes
Keep my head down
Eyes have power I learned
too young
Waiting for the train
I accidentally look up
and he’s leering and
cat-calling and
asking how much

Taught to nod
Use the delicacy
of the clavicle
for broccoli and wine

I was bred to open
to suck
to receive
to mm-hmm
to reveal
to tempt
to oblige

Waiting at the gas station
whistles and waves

How far we’ve come
from how it used to be
my grandmother says

When women were lauded
were bowed to
were worshipped

“a flickering lamp, a phantom” by Sasha at her desk

Thursday July 12, 2018
12:27pm
5 minutes
Diamond Sutra
Buddha

The lamp flickers in the window of the cabin and Gemma squints to see if she can make out Liam’s shadow. Maybe he’s gone to bed. She’s taken to walking in the woods before bed. Henry, their mutt, goes with her. She craves the darkness. She wanders until her cheeks get cold. That’s her sign it’s time to get back.

“Do you have to go tonight, babe?” Liam had asked, pulling her into a hug. She’s taller than him, so she rested her head on his head.

“Yeah, I do. I’ll be home before you’re asleep. Promise.” Liam kissed her, and she stepped into rubber boots and left.

Henry barked.

“The joy of bursting and bearing fruit” by Sasha on her balcony

Wednesday July 11, 2018
9:30pm
5 minutes
Earth Prayers
John Soos

It’s on my mind on my tongue on my heart in my hands. It’s everywhere. An obsession like none other that I’ve ever felt. A craving deep inside my body, and beyond my body. Of the body and not of the body. This profound ache. This transcendental desire. The distance from here to there feels long, but short, too. In moments when I value quiet, independence, my body being only my own. So much hinges on this, this choice, this timing, this trust, this surrender. I can’t know anything but right now, we all can’t, really. I read articles, I look at photos, I ache. I try to explain it to you, or it just is explained through the markings in my words, on my tongue; the etchings of my heart make a potato print onto yours.

“Mixed Media-Pastels-Drawings-Photos” by Sasha at her desk

Tuesday July 10, 2018
8:31am
5 minutes
http://www.johnmcalpineart.com

I used to draw for hours
sat at the kitchen table
lost in purple and blue

Pastels worn down to nubs
and the rounded edges of
beeswax crayons
watercolour pools
paintbrushes left unwashed
and hardened

Somewhere along the way
I stopped
Was is when I started
writing songs?
Writing stories?
Performing?

Somewhere along the way
I stopped

Why does it feel
as though there isn’t
enough space
for all the creativity?

“Where every member is a minister” by Sasha at her desk

Monday July 9, 2018
10:03am
5 minutes
from a business card

She dreams of parliament. She dreams of platforms. She dreams of knowing how to articulate all the change that she wants to make and that everyone listens. She dreams she’s speaking to a cabinet of women. Some are stretching. Some are breastfeeding. Some are rolling their eyes. Some are interrupting. She dreams that they find their way. She dreams of a world where she might prioritize childcare, elder care, health care. CARE. She dreams of being allowed to fail and that failure won’t haunt her. She dreams of risk. She dreams of loss. She dreams of calling another leader and deciding she will unleash the tidal wave of wrong-doings.

“I do not know how to smile” by Sasha on her balcony

Sunday July 8, 2018
11:13pm
5 minutes
From a text

A woman
asks me why
I’m so happy
like how could I possibly be
so entitled to joy

Isn’t this
our birthright?
Now to convince
the masses

The forest
knows how to
bend and sway

This woman
looks skeptical
like I must be
on something

That was a time
when I was riding
without a helmet

That was a time
when I was kissing
a lot of people

“Our isolated human grandeur” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Saturday July 7, 2018
12:02am
5 minutes
A quote by Thomas Berry

I’m not sure about grandeur
I’m not sure about the sound of traffic
I’m not sure about how discontent the discontentment
feels especially at this hour especially after coming home

I’m sure about how I’ll never tire of your face
I’m sure about my love of you
I’m sure about love
I’m sure about my love of the Pacific North West

I’m not sure about isolation
I’m not sure about the lump in my throat
I’m not sure about the performed happiness
of this busy generation

“I want to tell them” by Sasha in her hotel room in Victoria

Friday July 6, 2018
12:02am
In the Dermatologist’s Office, Again
Robert Tremmel

It’s after midnight and the streetlights are flickering and the sound of traffic is slowing and somewhere maybe a wolf is howling. It’s after midnight and my head is pounding and I’m thirsty for you beside me and I’m over the hump of exhaustion that now I’m awake again. It’s after midnight and I’m thinking about how positivity is a practise and how so few practise and how do you make it through a life with so much negativity and where does it go in your body and will you wake up one day and think that this is what life is this is what life is a about?

“My parents expected brilliance” by Sasha at the desk in her hotel room

Thursday July 5, 2018
11:39pm
5 minutes
In Praise Of Incompetence
Lauren Slater

My parents never spoke their expectation of brilliance, but it was implied.
It was implied through their own self reflection, striving to always be better, do better. It was implied through how they spoke to me. It was implied through the dinner table and the art room and the backyard games.

Maybe I’m making this up. I lie, after all. We do. Don’t pretend that you don’t. Maybe my expectation of brilliance came innately, emerged inherently, was a natural trait. Maybe my parents, bless them and their wild hearts, had nothing to do with it.

Wouldn’t you say that this is the debate of adulthood? Wouldn’t you say that at a certain point you maybe go,

“This is who I am, by fluke or by nurturing, and I’ve gotta figure out how to do life regardless?”

“Angel texted” by Sasha in her hotel in Victoria

Wednesday July 4, 2018
11:53pm
5 minutes
V.I.P. Tutoring
Vanessa Hua

She just wants a dog because she’s always wanted to name something “Angel”. Every since she was young, any chance she got, she’d try it out. Her cabbage patch kid. Her troll. Her handmade doll from Bolivia. A teddy bear. “Are you Angel?” She’d whisper in the ear, or where she thought the ear might be.

She scrolls Petfinder for hours, looking at little, lost faces. She’s looking for Angel. She knows she can’t get a dog that barks, because she lives in an apartment. She can’t get a big dog. She debates the ethics of changing a dogs name… She knows people do it, but loves her own name and wouldn’t like it if some stranger decided it should be changed.

She contemplates veganism for the millionth time.