these five minutes

“what it means to have light” by Julia at her desk

By: these five minutes 09/22/2017

Uncategorizedcreative writing, daily, fire, five minutes, inside, light, Lit, short writes short reads, unedited

Wednesday September 20, 2017

10:52pm

5 minutes

from the LIT call for artists

I think what it means is to be glowing from the inside out

I think that’s what it means to have light.

Also feathers have light. I’m not sure if you can say that, they are light, of course, but they have light too if we can let certain words slide

Fireflies have light too. They give light, they cast light, they are light, they have light.

Other earthlies that have light are candles, guitars, lace, and pixie sticks. These make sense to me. But then again, I’ve never been good with words.

You have light too. What that means is you are lit up. From the inside out. Where a brick could grow, you sprout sunflowers. That is quite beautiful. And you do it by holding on to the flame.

“finally coming home” by Sasha at Black River Farm

By: Sasha 09/21/201709/26/2017

creative writing, ongoing writing practice, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectfiction, Heather, lunch, mother, peanut butter, short fiction, short writes short reads, Writing

Thursday, September 21, 2017
11:14am
5 minutes
From a text

Glen makes himself a peanut butter sandwich and wishes that Heather wasn’t allergic. If Heather wasn’t allergic he could bring this glorious sticky mess to work everyday and wouldn’t have to mess with salami or havarti. Glen always thinks of his mother when he packs a lunch. She packed his lunches for twelve years, and then when he moved out and went to community college, he began to pack his own. He followed her formula though – sandwich, fruit, something salty (corn nuts, tortilla chips, or almonds) or something sweet (a chocolate chip cookie, a few jujubes, a fruit leather). Her name is also Heather. HEATHER. He never knew that heather was a flower until after she died. His mother. Not the other one.

“What it means to have light” by Sasha in the garden

By: these five minutes 09/20/201709/26/2017

creative writing, ongoing writing practice, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectfather, five minutes, non fiction, reading, short writes short reads, these five minutes, unedited, Writing

Wednesday September 20, 2017
10:52pm
5 minutes
from the LIT call for artists

My father wraps string lights around his hand, down to his elbow, around his hand, down to his elbow. He’s telling me something, but I’m only listening with my eyes. We’ve just eaten lunch – a chickpea salad – and I know what his breath smells like. Mine smells the same. I know what it means to have light between us, and to feel it, and to know it like I know the Christmas Carol. I know what it means when his eyes fall, when he laughs like only slapstick can make him laugh.

“May all that is unlived in you” by Julia on her couch

By: these five minutes 09/19/2017

Uncategorizedangels, daily, die, dip, help, regret, write, Writing

Tuesday September 19, 2017
9:47pm
5 minutes
To Come Home To Yourself
John O’Donohue

calling all angels!
I wouldn’t want to go my whole
life never having done that
just in case
maybe it would make something
a little bit more beautiful

I believe that we’re half this
and half that and when the sun
sets we all know what good
looks like
I’ve always felt connected to a vibration more than a heaven
and I think we must all see the magic in one another as surely it does recognize the magic in us

we could all use a little help
a little lift
and lucky lucky
we all have a team warming
up on deck
ready
And damn from high up can
those eyes see

“May all that is unlived in you” by Sasha in the Kiva

By: Sasha 09/19/201709/26/2017

creative writing, ongoing writing practice, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectall that is unlived, dolphin, moon, poem, poetry, short writes short reads

Tuesday September 19, 2017
10:17pm
5 minutes
To Come Home To Yourself
John O’donahue

May all that is unlived in you
Come to the surface for air
Dolphin breach
Full moon

May you say all that is unsaid
And it doesn’t have to be words
It can be eye contact and just
The right amount of honey in tea

May all that is heavy
Lift
Life and lift are not far off
Just a T for an E

“On the day of our wedding” by Sasha in the Kiva

Monday September 18, 2017
11:31pm
5 minutes
Swing Low
Miriam Toews

On the day of our wedding I will vow to
Be impeccable with my word
Not take things personally
I will vow not to make assumptions
And to choose love choose love
Choose love
Choose
Love
Every day

I will break these vows

We agree that we will
Break these vows

“It’s an aspiration”
You say
On the phone long distance

“It’s an aspiration”
I say
Under my breath
Crossing things off the list

On the day of our wedding
We will stand in a field
Under a blue sky
We will walk with our parents
We will walk alone
We will sweat
We will cry
We will worry that someone is uncomfortable
We will feel grace
We will promise
Honesty
Love
Honor
We will do our best
We will speak vows
We will break
We will kiss
We will vow
I will vow to

Be the one to hold
You
To yourself
To me
To your word
To the supple space
Between now and forever

“On the day of our wedding” by Julia at the sudio

By: these five minutes 09/18/2017

Uncategorizedchoice, daily, decision, dip, growth, lesson, marriage, pregnancy, promises, secrets, Trekkie, unedited, Vegas, vows, wedding

Monday September 18, 2017
3:38pm
5 minutes
Swing Low
Miriam Toews

We got hitched in Vegas (no not a Trekkie wedding, even though that would have been funnier)
and decided that every year we’d renew our vows. Not the same vows from our wedding day. Those were too wine soaked to reuse. But luckily we remember deciding to write new ones for each year’s cermemony so we could include all the growing we’ve done in three hundred sixty-five days and feel like our marriage was growing too. On the day of our wedding I found out that I was pregant and I never told him. I didn’t keep the baby. I made a secret vow to myself to keep some secrets with my own heart. That I would never betray myself to ease the guilt that would one day pass. I promised him that I would tell him what he needs to know and he laughed because he was drunk, but I’d like to think he laughed because he knew that it was for the best.

“After the Flood” by Julia in her bed

By: these five minutes 09/17/2017

Uncategorizedchoice, daily, decision, dip, epiphany, grateful, gratitude, lesson, movie, poetry, priority, romcom, sauce, unedited

Sunday September 17, 2017
10:36pm
5 minutes
from the NOW Magazine cover

As I ran up the hill my legs squeaked against the three safety pins holding my jacket at a more attractive length. The tie in the centre prevented my legs from ever breaking free into a proper run. I noticed how ill equipped I was to have left my home-the air a little too fresh, my braless chest dressed in a pajama top, my eyes, bloodshot, unsure.
I also realized I should not be leaving you.
After the flood,
I ran back, the sunset turning my decision into a b movie, stopping at the entrance way mirror to fix my hair.
I used the wrong key to get into our unit, adding to the squeeze
eventually we held each other over the simmering sauce-you charmed by my timing
four minutes until ready

“After the Flood” by Sasha at the kitchen table

By: Sasha 09/17/201709/18/2017

creative writing, fiction, ongoing writing practice, short fiction, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectcreative writing, five minutes, flood, rain, seaweed, unedited, wet, Writing

Sunday September 17, 2017
9:39pm
5 minutes
The cover of NOW Magazine

By now it’s all happened. By now your hair has dried even though the city is broken and bandaged. By now you have socks. It’s funny when people call you a name that I don’t know. It smells like seaweed and rain. Today will be known as The Day After The Flood.

When we roast marshmallows and eat the sticky bits slowly pulling them between our fingers, sixteen years from now, you’ll look at me sideways and say, “I thought you were going to drown.”

“Get me the hell off this bus” by Sasha at the kitchen table

By: Sasha 09/17/201709/17/2017

creative writing, fiction, ongoing writing practice, short fiction, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectbus, fiction, five minutes, grapefruit juice, public transit, short fiction, unedited, Writing

Saturday September 16, 2017
9:45pm
5 minutes
Overheard on the 99

“Get me the hell off this bus!!!!”

“Open the back door, please.”

“Driver, open the back door!”

Bang bang bang on the window and finally the driver stops and he doesn’t open the back door. He walks towards the back, past baby carriage and a printer in a box and a very fat man with a very kind face and children holding onto their parents’ hands and a woman in a leapord print shirt drinking a grapefruit juice box.

“What’s going on back here?”

“That was my stop! That was my stop! Now I’ve missed my stop!”

“Calm down please, or I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Get me the hell off this bus” by Julia on the 99

By: these five minutes 09/17/2017

Uncategorizedbus, commuter, daily, dip, plants, poem, poetry, unedited

Saturday September 16, 2017
6:37pm
5 minutes
overheard on the 99

a man with a plant sits beside me
he smashes his book bag into my arm
I almost hit it
he says sorry
I’m like oh my god no worries
I take a second to remember
nothing is personal
because nothing even matters
Hmmmm haaaww Jim Carey Jim Carey
The man with the plant gets off the bus
then a woman with a plant sits beside me
I do not hit her
I don’t want to disturb her Instagram video of her new plants
maybe this video will be her big break
and make her famous
I remember I have plants too
but they’re a bit sunburnt
and I keep forgetting to water them
and maybe if I just made an Instagram video of them on the bus
next to a woman who keeps forgetting to water her plants, I would have my big break too
I can hear everything and nothing
well not nothing
the man behind me gags in my ear
the man beside him laughs

Also, there’s more to life than power, you know.” by Julia on F’s couch

By: these five minutes 09/15/2017

Uncategorizeddaily, dip, experimental, keys, life lessons, ocean, poem, poetry, unedited, wind

Friday September 15, 2017
9:18pm
5 minutes
Vader’s Little Princess
Jeffrey Brown

lose control
whoosh
like the m-word-f-word wind
and how
trust
whoosh
like the tree does
not ready to blossom, okay, not yet,no rush, no problem, I’ll wait, look at me, I’m fine, one day I’ll be ready, all good, earth’s holding me up, rain’s stored in my guts, okay, no sweat, laid back relaxin all cool
give love
boom
like a cannon shooting as far as the eye can see
can’t see?
no problem, no issue, no need to panic, seeing isn’t everything, not all the time, not now
forgiveness
whoosh
like the m-word-f-word ocean
you wronged me, I’ll come
back, you’re sorry, I know I know
I know

“Also, there’s more to life than power, you know.” By Sasha in her teenage bedroom

By: Sasha 09/15/201709/15/2017

creative writing, ongoing writing practice, poem, poetry, short poem, tiny poem, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectcreative writing, five minutes, poem, power, unedited, worry, Writing

Friday, September 15, 2017
12:18am
5 minutes
Vader’s Little Princess
Jeffrey Brown

Sometimes I worry
I worry a lot
Sometimes I worry that
I don’t think more about
Power and who has it and
That it’s a sign of my
Privilege that I don’t
Have to think about
Power

My mother tells me that
She’s worried
That she worries a lot
I come by it honestly
This unrelenting
This unshakable
This courage
This power

It’s hot here and it
Doesn’t smell like salt water
My name is carved in big wood letters
Sat atop stacks of CDs that used to be
My prized possession

I worried less then I think
Or maybe it’s just rose colored glasses nostalgia
Maybe I worried just as much
Just as wide and deep and blue and red

“I need to buy some tango shoes” by Julia at K’s Airbnb

By: Julia 09/14/201709/15/2017

Uncategorizeddaily, dancing, dialogue, dip, fiction, fight, sarcasm, unedited, write

Thursday September 14, 2017
11:24pm
5 minutes
overheard at the airport

-I do not want to take dancing lessons if you’re not going to take lessons aiming your dick into the toilet bowl. I’m sick of stepping in the drips.
-You left BLOOD splatters on the toilet seat last week. Blood.
-Yeah because you know who doesn’t lift the seat to pee? How am I supposed to know it’s even there, Dillon?
-So this is all about me?
-Christ, you cannot write this shit.
-Write what? What?
-You only have one switch and that’s “attacked”. I’m not attacking you I’m observing. You know, paying attention.
-Fuck your sarcasm Marie, I am not kidding.
-Can’t handle the truth, Dillion?
-Can’t handle my fiancé, Marie.

“I need to buy some tango shoes” by Sasha in an airplane heading East

By: Sasha 09/14/201709/15/2017

5 minutes, creative writing, ongoing writing practice, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectall talk, dancing, fiction, lying, Marsha, tango, tango shoes

Thursday September 14, 2017
2:39pm
5 minutes
overheard at the airport

Marsha keeps talking about her fucking tango shoes. It’s driving me up the wall. She acts like she knows how to dance. What she does is not dancing, I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t tango. And besides, there’s no such thing as tango shoes! Put some leather on the bottom of your best lace up heels. There. Tango shoe. Marsha’s all talk. She talks and talks but nothing ever comes of it. She never actually does it. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hasn’t even taken one class. She’s off the rails.

“This one has more nuts” By Julia at the studio

By: these five minutes 09/13/2017

Uncategorizedbutter, couple, depression, dinner, dreams, five minutes, interrupt, pasta, poetry, relationship, sadness, sage, short writes short reads, unedited, Writing, writing practise

Wednesday September 13, 2017
6:28pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Bump n’ Grind

Last night I thought I’d woo you with a sage butter walnut sauce
in my dreams the slick pasta would make you hard instantly
then you’d fuck me on the counter top
taking breaks to slurp back another slippery noodle
Last night I made a sage butter walnut sauce
Okay, margarine
I should have grinded the nuts more
I should have put fewer in
You ate three bowls and we didn’t fuck once
You asked why I wasn’t talking
I said these walnuts are killing me
You laughed
it really wasn’t funny
I told you sometimes I’m not sure how deep this
sadness lives
You interrupted me then, the first real thing I’d said
in days
to tell me how much you liked the sage
I guess dreams really do come true

“This one has more nuts” By Sasha at Bump n’ Grind

By: these five minutes 09/13/201709/13/2017

Uncategorizedfive minutes, non fiction, short writes short reads, stream of consciousness, unedited, Writing, writing practise

Wednesday September 13, 2017 at Bump n’ Grind
12:38pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Bump n’ Grind

When I speak to her, I taste egg salad sandwiches on white bread, lots of mayo. The phone rings again fuck fuck fuck I don’t want to answer. But I do. This is my practice, I say. Show up show up. Hi. Hi. Blah blah on on on stress drugs. I know I’m not making sense but I can’t be fully clear because I don’t want to betray and five minutes isn’t a lot of time and I might run out before I can find the happy ending. HA. There’s pickle in that egg salad. Sweet pickle. I open up the sandwhich and pick each bit out, building a tiny fortress on the counter, amongst all these god damn dishes.

“astral projection, stress and depression” by Julia at her desk

Tuesday September 12, 2017
8:40pm
5 minutes
Binaural Beats & Healing Sounds on YouTube

I believe that some horoscopes are life changing and I’ve read them. I know they exist.
I am confused, however, that I can read something, understand it, find it moving, and then not be moved by it. I don’t know why putting perfect phrases, keys to the universe surely, into practice is so damn hard. All you have to do is realize your worth, allow your heart to express itself, decide what it is you’d like to do, and then do it. These are the simple steps laid out and yet I read them, but won’t remember them. As if I never saw the answers in the first place. As if I have to take the test day after day without having studied the material. Some days I am always guessing. Water? Do I need water? Do I need to flip an egg? Scramble it? Fresh air? Do I need to use the bathroom? Do I need to stretch? Vomit? Be so mean to all the good things? Do I need to cry it all out?

“more than 20 pages” by Julia in her bed

By: these five minutes 09/12/201709/12/2017

Uncategorizedbaseball glove, diary, dip, garage, good, jesus, Post-Its, protection, safe, Secret message, sister, write, writer

Monday September 11, 2017
12:35am
5 minutes
from bcartscouncil.ca

I found more than 20 pages of post-it notes stapled together
in the garage
top shelf
under dad’s old baseball glove
I liked the style
it got me wondering if I’m the one who did it
maybe all the way back then young me would have wanted to
the writing was worn off save for a few Ands and Obviouslys
I couldn’t make out the phrase
but each square had the same line written in with red ink
for 20 whole pages
it kept going and going
like a man who will answer your questions but never asks you any
I imagined my sister being the author
she could have written her diary out in fragments because of me
it would have been safer that way
everyone knows threatening punishment by way of Jesus
was not enough to scare me from reading it

“never been good at multitasking” by Julia on her couch

By: these five minutes 09/12/201709/12/2017

Uncategorizedbones, care, challenge, cold, cook, creator, cycles, dip, good, helping, needs, non fiction, self-love, skin, spiraling, write, writer

Sunday September 10, 2017
10:49pm
5 minutes
from a text

I know I’m inching fufther away from myself when I can make sure I send you a writing prompt but I will go the whole day without writing a single word for me. And I think long and hard about what I’ll suggest to you. What I hope is something that gives you a reason to write. Because I care that you aren’t writing. I care that you must write. That the bones of your body only feel warm when you do. I know this sensation too. Cold bones. The feeling of your bed being the scariest place to end the day. When sleep takes more from you than it gives. I have been shivering these days. And I do not want to turn on the radiator because it shouldn’t be this frigid in my home. It shouldn’t be this removed from skin. I don’t remember how to fix this but I do know that it always comes back–which means it always goes away first.

“astral projection, stress and depression” by Sasha in the bath

Tuesday September 12, 2017
10:42pm
5 minutes
Binaural Beats & Healing Sounds on YouTube

No one’s here to help baby
No one’s here to help

Magic mushroom toast root bake festival
Astral projection
Stress and depression
Forests of consumerism
Extra large M’s and double D WHY’s
Shaking our devices in our sister’s faces
Shaking our devices so we can feel somebody
Find a chin hair shake a leg
Take a bow and call for help
9-1-1 is just a static
9-1-1 is just a dial tone

No one’s here to help baby
No one’s here to help

Cocaine snow angels
In the ashes of our mothers
Water tastes like urine and coffee
Coffee is urine
Urine is coffee
The land’s most trusted caregivers
Are gathered in a place made of cardboard
And needles and songs
Stress and depression
Coffins under the ground layer

No one’s here to help baby
No one’s here to help

“more than 20 pages” by Sasha on her balcony

By: these five minutes 09/11/201709/13/2017

creative writing, ongoing writing practice, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectcreative writing, five minutes, friendship, grief, unedited, Writing

Monday September 11, 2017
1:15am
5 minutes
from bcartscouncil.ca

I haven’t written anything in forty three days
I feel like shit
I want to live in my bed amongst stray hairs and dust bunnies
I won’t take the dog out
She can shit on the balcony in the herbs I haven’t watered

This is what you tell me

I hold your grief for the millionth hour
And I watch as you fall into her like a lover
I cradle your grief here in this public space
In this shop where there’s croissants and babies

We are etched into one another’s star signs
We are tattooed on our guts
We are sisters here in this hot asphalt jungle
Cars honking and streetcars lurching

This is what I tell you

“never been good at multitasking” by Sasha at the kitchen table

By: these five minutes 09/10/201709/13/2017

creative writing, ongoing writing practice, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectcountry, country house, family, fiction, five minutes, France, short fiction, short writes short reads, Writing

Sunday September 10, 2017
10:56pm
5 minutes
From a text

You’ve never been good at multitasking, sweet one track mind. You complete tasks one-by-one, diligent and focused. If something gets in your way, say, a phone call or the toaster dinging, you are off course, whirling into oblivion. You’ll put on some Eartha Kitt and dance around the living room. You’ll eat blueberry jam from the jar, fridge door open. You’ll call me at work, and ask if I can talk and tell me how one day you’d really like to go to space. I laugh, and say I have to get back to work. You say, “Shit. Me too.”

“delicately flavored granita” by Julia in her bed

By: these five minutes 09/10/2017

Uncategorizedcare, character, cook, dip, enjoy, food, good, mom, Naples, nutture

Saturday September 9, 2017
12:57am
5 minutes
Apples
Andrea Albin

mom’s in the kitchen making “something you’ll like, shut up and trust me”
it’s her speciality
don’t know if she learned how when she was living in Naples nannying those conjoined twins
or before
or when she was raising her younger brothers so they wouldn’t fall off a cliff or accidentally drink lighter fluid
“something we’ll like” is often a combination of soft bread and sour spreads
something we wouldn’t know to choose
or if we’re lucky espresso granita
served with impossibly cute spoons

“I could be wrong” by Julia in her bed

By: these five minutes 09/10/2017

Uncategorizedavocado, beg, daily, dip, flawed, human, mistakes, perceptions, poem, right, want, work, world, wrong

Friday September 8, 2017
12:45am
5 minutes
overheard at 16th and Oak

I do not like to be right
whole world can challenge me on that
might think I don’t know how to be wrong
that I won’t stand for it
I am
not
as
strong
as the world might think I am
I still Leave drippings on the burner
I still Set off the fire alarm after asking other hands to be more careful
I still Pee sometimes before pulling down my underwear
I still Find myself wearing my heart on my cheek like a cat scratch
I do not like to be right
oh how the kingdom does fall when I get what I want
and I do not want to be right
there is not enough time in a day to beg for the opposite
nobody gets it
they don’t know how painful it is
how lonely
how sad
Not just about other hands
about who I thought I was
The reckoning tastes a little
too much like an avocado
on its last day in the basket
before becoming
nothing
but
waste

“I could be wrong” by Sasha on her couch

By: these five minutes 09/09/201709/09/2017

Uncategorizedcreative writing, death, end of life, mom, short writes short reads, unedited, Writing

Friday September 8, 2017
12:25am
5 minutes
Overheard at Oak and 16th

I could be wrong but when Steve called, I don’t know, I just felt like I had to tell him. Who are we to make that choice for him, Mom? Seriously! I’m sorry if you feel it’s not my place, but I can’t just stand here and act like someone, Steve, shouldn’t have choice in whether he fucking lives or dies. Mom. Listen to me. LISTEN! He is not a dog! He has a voice! This isn’t about putting down an animal! Okay, I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t want to…

“stomach discomfort” by Sasha at her desk

By: these five minutes 09/09/2017

Uncategorizedache, creative writing, five minutes, poem, poetry, short writes short reads, sick, stomach, the brain in our gut, unedited, Writing

Thursday September 7, 2017
10:25pm
5 minutes
saje.com

My stomach knew you weren’t to be trusted
I was sick for months with the twisting and turning and writhing
Once I pressed the metal bowl by my bedside to my skin
crawling over it like a slug
the cool pressure relieving all of the things I didn’t know

The more I ached the more I knew that something
was wrong but the older I get the more I know
that when something’s wrong it takes it’s time
and will send the memo when all parties are ready

The last time I saw you was waiting to board a plane
back home

“You waited for me to let you learn” by Sasha at her kitchen table

By: these five minutes 09/09/2017

5 minutes, creative writing, ongoing writing practice, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectfast, poem, poetry, short stories, slow, Writing

Wednesday September 6, 2017
5:16pm
5 minutes
Yours Is This
Julia Pileggi

You waited for me to let you learn
slow like a crocus or a grandmother
Slow like I’ve come to know is true
Fast used to whisper to me from under
the bed taunting that I could never
get to where I wanted without moving
FAST
Now I’m wiser or something and I don’t
prize the fast I don’t look on those
bunnies and say
WOW
I wish for that life

“stomach discomfort” by Julia at her desk

By: these five minutes 09/08/2017

Uncategorizedbody, contraction, cramps, daily, dip, knife, medical, pain, poem, poetry, signs, twist, unedited, warning, woman

Thursday September 7, 2017
8:44pm
5 minutes
saje.com

It does this twisting thing it used to do after running
body’s way of kindly suggesing to stop taking hills like I’m in the army
respect the hill
walk the hill
or to please drink a glass of water today, okay, please?
It feels like birth and like preventing it
it knots me up so nothing feels good
not even breathing
no breathing can make this good
And the moon says it’s almost time
but the moon has never tried to be so in my life about it
there haven’t been warnings before
And in the middle of sleep sex it’s there, twisting
and you are sleep concerned
and I am sleep breathing in the toilet
so that nothing worse happens
like every reminder that I have done this to myself
because I’m the one who wanted the sleep sex
and to avoid the tap
and to run up the hill
and to hide the health card papers behind the TV
because no one ever looks behind the TV
nobody ever finds poetry ideas
or classical music scores
or the lipbalm that looks much better than it smell

“You waited for me to let you learn” by Julia at her desk

By: these five minutes 09/07/2017

Uncategorizedbed, choice, daily, death, die, dip, heart, love, Mars, partner, poem, poetry, ready, soft, space, timeline, unedited, waiting

Wednsday September 6, 2017
9:21pm
5 minutes
Yours Is This
Julia Pileggi

It feels like I have been here before
in this moment between Mars and Monday
you are here too like a cup of water
or a good pencil
We chose this space and this timeline to wander together
I know your hands less than I should
You will likely forget mine when I die
Of course I can’t pretend that I won’t
All true things have death attached
And still I hope you don’t go first
Unless your body could use the rest
in which case I will keep my arms strong
so I may hold your last breath
the last time your body builds a memory
I will be the softest bed you ever had to leave

“meeting your heart’s longing.” by Julia on the 99

By: these five minutes 09/05/2017

Uncategorizeddaily, dip, guest, heart, kindness, love, meeting, moon, poem, poetry, ready, self, traveller, unedited, waiting

Tuesday September 5, 2017
8:12pm
5 minutes
The Invitation
Oriah

Hello, I say to her
tender teeth and Milky Way.
Hello, hello you humming bird wing
you olive oil drenched skin
you whistling Lilly
I have waited for you.
I have been here being here
and I have been waiting for you.
Hello.
You found me.
Would you like to stay the night?
I have some things I’d like us to do together if you have some time to rest.
I know how far you’ve travelled,
let me rub your sandy feet.
Hello.
She is unlike midnight and yet she sits perfect in the sky.
She glows like she’s been drinking from a river cried by the Moon.

“meeting your heart’s longing.” By Sasha at her desk

By: these five minutes 09/05/2017

Uncategorizedcreative writing, letting go, love, non fiction, pain, poem, poetry, short writes short reads, unedited, Writing

Tuesday September 5, 2017
6:11pm
5 minutes
The Invitation
Oriah

Lion’s roar in the morning
and we’re off in these trenches
crawling on arms and my core’s not
strong I know that and you’re tired
and I know that
We’re overtalking but it’s all I’ve got
these pudding words these greys and whites
The smokey sky is ominous
and we bark and we cry and we we we we
We’re ready
you say
We’ve got this
you say
Doubt rains heavy
Faith dances on my fingertips only when
I write
So I do
I write to you
I write a manifesto to my great-granddaughter
I tell her
Trust yourself
The wisdom of your fulfillment is inside you
I tell her
Rise up from the heaviness that’s plagued us
for generations

“Woman suspended” by Sasha on her balcony

By: these five minutes 09/05/2017

Uncategorizedbras, breasts, creative writing, list, unedited, womanhood, Writing

Monday September 4, 2017
11:54pm
5 minutes
From the BBC News app

pink bras lacy bras white for white dress shirts bras strapless bras peach bras pushup bras sports bras old bras bottom of the barrel bras got too drunk it that bra bras second hand bras hand me down bras wedding bras cleavage bras comfy bras line-leaving bras red bras show the world bras peek-a-boo bras underwire bras soft as a baby’s bum bras give me now bras fuck me bras no bras summer bras always want to be seen bras backless bras

“Why does having children” by Sasha at her kitchen table

By: these five minutes 09/05/201709/05/2017

creative writing, ongoing writing practice, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectbabies, kids, non fiction, reading, short writes short reads, ticking clock, unedited, want, Writing

Sunday September 3, 2017
11:59pm
5 minutes
Don’t Even Think About It: why our brains are wired to ignore climate change
George Marshall

So many babies already born
already needing love
already hurting
already here
So many babies taking up
so much space
I read about climate change
I read about destruction
over and over
and I know the stats I know the reasoning

And yet

Everything in my body says
MAKE LIFE
Everything in my body says
GIVE ME A BABY
I never thought myself traditional
I never thought myself wanting
wanting wanting a generation of
longing paid to want paying for the want

“Woman suspended” by Julia in her bed

By: these five minutes 09/05/2017

Uncategorizedactions, blurry, change, confusing, daily, dip, fiction, guilty, memory, recount, shift, spirit, unedited, woman, write

Monday September 4, 2017
10:58pm
5 minutes
from the BBC News app

I don’t want to get this one wrong. Tell me the events as best as you can remember them.

Hill stares at Joan, her eyes filling up.
I told you, I did it. I did it all. One minute I was against the wall and the next minute he’s against the wall. I don’t remember what happened in the middle but I feel different. Do you get that? I feel like there’s been a shift in my spine. My spirit. I am telling you it’s like I had a different one before.

Joan jots down on her graph paper legal pad. She looks back up at Hill.

“Why does having children” by Julia in her bed

By: these five minutes 09/04/2017

Uncategorizeddaily, dip, everyday, kids, parents, poem, poetry, questions, unedited

Sunday September 3, 2017
11:49pm
5 minutes
Don’t Even Think About It: why our brains are wired to ignore climate change
George Marshall

why does having children have to be the norm anyway
what if I’m not too interested in seeing myself reflected back
oh that’s why you think people have children in the first place
so they get another stab at living
or so they have enough hands to help around the farm
tell me again how me holding someone else’s baby makes you feel
when I come home and tell you that it is so nice to be able to give them back
you know how S says that some people aren’t meant to be drivers
how if you don’t have a real interest in driving then maybe you shouldn’t be on the road and there is nothing wrong with admitting that
it’s preferable to someone who acts like they love driving but then causes several traffic accidents
that’s what it should be like for parents
or whatever you call humans who don’t want to be parents

“If your passport is damaged” by Sasha at her desk

By: these five minutes 09/03/201709/05/2017

Uncategorizednon fiction, passport, photograph, short writes short reads, unedited

Saturday September 2, 2017
11:39pm
5 minutes
From the passport booklet

Every time someone looks at my passport, they say, “Nice picture.” And it is. I look warm, open, the faintest hint of a smile tickling my lips. I’d ridden my bike to the passport office so I had the endorphins flowing. I remember my mother bringing her first passport into my room when I was nine or ten. She was a teenager. I looked at the picture so closely I could see the dots of ink.

“you are the first woman I’ve touched” by Sasha at her kitchen table

By: these five minutes 09/03/2017

creative writing, ongoing writing practice, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectcreative writing, fiction, five minutes, short writes short reads, unedited, woman tribe, Writing

Friday September 1, 2017
10:57pm
5 minutes
Pearl in the Mist
V.C. Andrews

When we arrived at the camp, Yaza kissed each of our foreheads and offered us a glass of golden milk. Mother declined and so I declined too. Yaza frowned. “Why won’t you drink?” She asked. Mother smiled, but without showing her teeth of course. She spoke quietly,

“We know that there is a shortage. We don’t want to – ”

Yaza interrupted sternly, “You are one of us now. What’s ours is yours. Don’t be silly.” She motioned to her assistant. “Rebecca, bring us some golden milk and a few figs, please. Lisbeth and Tabora have travelled far to join us.”

I was entranced by the colour of Yaza’s hair. I’d never seen anything like it. Grey, but a bright grey, a grey I couldn’t place. She wore her hair in three braids down her back and they swayed as she walked.

“If your passport is damaged” by Julia on the living room floor in H’s Air bnb

By: these five minutes 09/03/2017

Uncategorizedanswers, daily, dip, everyday, flight, passport, question, serious, travel, unedited

Monday August 28, 2017
9:39pm
5 minutes
from the passport booklet

my passport is good until 2023 or something like that. I opted into the ten year thing. I have a good photo so I’m lucky. I should probably travel more to get some better use out of it. Lately I’ve been taking my drivers license with me for domestic flights. that makes me nervous but also makes me feel cool. I am lying on the floor right now. I am not flying anywhere. They say if your passport gets damaged then you should inform whoever it is that issues them. I want to know how passports are getting damaged. Are people stabbing them? Are the bad guys painting them with nail polish? This is a very serious question with zero
serious answers. I keep mine in a yellow Koodo bag. Safe enough.

“You said not to read his old texts” by Sasha at her desk

By: these five minutes 09/01/201709/01/2017

Uncategorizedcreative writing, emails, love, poem, reading, short writes short reads, snooping, texts, unedited, Writing

Thursday August 31, 2017
9:24pm
5 minutes
From confidential sides

It starts in the morning
before you’re awake
I creep towards where your phone
is plugged in
Unassuming
Gentle turtle
I don’t know your passcode
but I will
I will learn it
and then I will
I will
read your
emails
texts
missed calls
made calls
listen to your voicemails
I will not listen
to your voicemails
That is an invasion of privacy
That is something only
a monster would do

“drove up to the prison” by Sasha at her kitchen table

By: these five minutes 09/01/2017

creative writing, ongoing writing practice, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectcreative writing, fiction, prison, short fiction, short writes short reads, unedited, Writing

Wednesday August 30, 2017
11:49pm
5 minutes
This American Life episode 282

I never thought that I would, I mean, I never knew that… Wait. Can I start over? I don’t know… I’m not good when I’m on the spot. I finished high school, even started community college something but I can’t… I’m nervous. If Jay was here I’d be… I’d be… I drove up to the prison last Saturday, for visits… Went all alone. Sometimes his mama wants to come and I’m not gonna deny her that, she has the right to see her son. She doesn’t drive so… It’s hard. It’s hard.

“drove up to the prison” by Julia at her desk

Wednesday August 30, 2017
11:39pm
5 minutes
This American Life episode 282

can’t stop a freight train
on its way
it knows where it’s going
it goes
and goes
it doesn’t think to break to take
in the scenery
it doesn’t put off gettting to
its destination because there is
something easier to do
nothing is better than arriving
when all you’ve done is travel

can’t stop a freight train
on its way
it carries the load it was meant to
doesn’t complain about the weather
the speed of the tracks
doesn’t beg for something to make it
more fun
doesn’t whine about needing snacks
it definitely doesn’t light the Palo Santo
over and over again until it believes
it doesn’t call its mother on the
phone to ask for directions
it knows where it’s going
it goes

“He presses a button” by Sasha in her bed

By: these five minutes 08/30/201708/30/2017

Uncategorizedbutterflies, fiction, five minutes, ice cream, science fiction, short fiction, unedited, Writing

Tuesday August 29, 2017
10:02pm
5 minutes
From VO sides

He presses a button and the ceiling opens. Tens of thousands of butterflies swirl like soft serve ice cream. All shades of purple and blue, all moving and swimming and flying and wow wow I’ve never I’ve never. I smile and it feels really good because it’s been days since I smiled and that’s not normal for me. Jim looks over. “I told you,” he says, and it’s true, he did tell me and I didn’t believe him because who would who really would if they said what Jim said I mean Jim says a lot of stuff and it’s not always true. I never knew that a place like this could be be be here. I never knew that Jim, of all people, would have the key, hanging around his neck like something he maybe got at a garage sale. The sky turns dark and the butterflies disappear I can’t imagine where they go and Jim says, “We had better get back.”

“finding my people in unexpected places” by Sasha on her couch

By: these five minutes 08/30/201708/30/2017

Uncategorizeddrag makeup, eyebrows, fiction, five minutes, purple, unedited, videos, Writing, Youtube

Monday August 28, 2017
11:50pm
5 minutes
Bad Feminist
Roxane Gay

I’m watching the fiftieth video of the day. I can’t stop. I can’t stop this insane addiction, I’m not judging myself but it’s just the truth. I am obsessed with the purple paste that these Queens use to cover their real eyebrows. And then the whole new set that they draw on way up on their foreheads. OBSESSED. If I could just just watch the eyebrow stuff I might, I really might. Who knew that these would be my people?

“it was a God that acted through me.” By Sasha on her balcony

Sunday August 27, 2017
12:04pm
5 minutes
Disgrace
J.M. Coetzee

Some days she forgets why she’s trying
why she’s waking and walking and eating and fucking
Some days she only rises to piss and eat a rice cake
over the sink
Some days she lets the phone ring even though she knows
it’s her mother and she misses her mother and she wants
nothing more than to speak to her mother
This is one of those days
This is one of those days
She peels an avocado and bits of green flesh get
on the sheets and shit she didn’t want to make
more of a mess.

“He presses a button” by Julia at her desk

By: these five minutes 08/30/2017

Uncategorizedaim, buttons, daily, defenseless, dip, fiction, gym, men, poem, poetry, rhyme, rhythm, target, women

Tuesday August 29, 2017
9:27pm
5 minutes
from VO sides

i watch him from the corner of my eye
he is sly
a man on a mission to push all of my buttons
coming for me like a dart
flying through the air, straight for wherever he aims
did i mention he has great aim?
taught to throw a baseball at the age of three
and now the target is me
i can’t avoid it, it’s the end,
i’m nothing but a machine
when he wants laughter he strikes the soft above my knee
says something unexpected in that charming sort of way
if he wants to knock me over
he hits below
buckle and shake until i make peace with the ground
i am onto him
looking for any kind of reaction
reaching out and teasing with a smirk
hovering right above my button
i am defenseless
yet feeling tension
will he won’t he
no sir yes sir

“finding my people in unexpected places” by Julia on the 99

By: these five minutes 08/28/2017

Uncategorizedbathroom, bowels, constipated, daily, dip, fiction, fingers, flash fiction, gym, lessons, older, public, short fiction, women

Monday August 28, 2017
3:50pm
5 minutes
Bad Feminist
Roxane Gay

In the bathroom stall at the gym, I stick my fingers up myself to help stimulate my bowels. My cousin, Trina, taught me this trick one day during the commercial break for Days Of Our Lives. I was eleven and she was thirteen. “You’d think twice a week would be enough but it’s not. You’d also think you should stick your hand up the back but this is way more forgiving!”
Trina showed me a lot of things. Like how to make out with the silky skin in the crook of my elbow for practice, or how not to move the shower head from my clit the second I started to like it.
Without thinking I let slip a tiny groan. The woman in the stall beside me sighs.
“I get it, girl. Been trying since Tuesday over here.”

“Host art classes” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Saturday August 26, 2017
11:52pm
5 minutes
From a business card

I really wanna make Mama proud, you know. She spent a whole lotta time not being proud of me when I was younger and getting into all that trouble. We don’t need to talk about that, but like, it wasn’t a good scene and I caused her a whole lot of stress. So I wanna make her proud! Like the kinda proud where she smiles really big and acts like I’m the kid she’s always dreamed of having! I ask Kim if I can use the barn at the back of her property, just on Saturdays to start. She says that it needs a real good clean, but I can do that, I can do that for this.

“street cake!” By Sasha at her kitchen table

By: these five minutes 08/27/2017

creative writing, five, five minute story, five minutes, ongoing writing practice, these five minutes, Uncategorized, writing, writing practise, writing projectbaking, cake, fiction, foodie, love, unedited, Writing

Friday August 25, 2017
9:12pm
5 minutes
From a text

I preheat the oven while you select a record. I’m not sure what exactly you choose, we’ve been hitting up garage sales, but it’s sexy and it’s got vocals and some horns, so it’s all good. You asked for cake this morning, and all day at work I dreamed about what wouldn’t require softened butter. I dreamed about caramel and vanilla, or, chocolate, yes! Chocolate. I use coconut oil because it’s so very good for you and I sift the ingredients and you watch me and sometimes grab at me and I push you away but only for now.

“it was a god that acted through me.” By Julia at her desk

Sunday August 27, 2017
12:02pm
5 minutes
Disgrace
J.M. Coetzee

I found a home on a shape shifting cloud
hung up my dreams
put away my human skin
You could say that this one is mine now
here all the time
even the angels know my name
When I look down I can see it all
The places I used to burrow into my own flesh
trying to find a tunnel to an alternate reality
the shops I stole from
Candy, jackets, a single tampon
the secret leafy groves where I asked for forgiveness

And without warning I was shooting upward
my body buoyed by the possibility of knowing something sweet

October 2017
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