“foolish joy, greedy desire” by Julia at her desk

Wednesday August 14, 2019
8:36am
5 minutes
On The Brevity Of Life
Seneca

The wind is asking me to spill my secrets
I will not do it unless Mr. Jeff Buckley advises.
I am asking him a question and he answers
with his death cry and I listen, listen, as if he
knew my soul better than I did

Do I leak out the truth or do I bury it in the
backyard with all the other blood, all the                                                                                                                                                              cracked lips and hunted soft, do I, do I,                                                                                                                                                                Mr. Angel Jeff Buckley, do I, do I, do I?

We don’t all have the answers or the space
to dig them up since some of us want to
keep the soil on the earth instead of eating it
for breakfast and then again when the clock strikes midnight

If the wind wants me, should I give her the
whole of me or the hole of me and will she
notice the difference if I stood there shaking?
Mr. Angel Man says that these are the only options.

The whole of me is the hole in me, negative
space as much as the weight that I can trace
with my finger tip, do I, do I, do I?
I spin the web from underneath the deepest
pit, the ones I vowed no one would ever see.

“the shedding of lint” by Julia at her desk

Saturday August 10, 2019
8:02pm
5 minutes
Laundromat
Carmen Pintea

We walk every morning toward a cinnamon bun and
everybody stares at you, watches you. I am but
a thread attached to your coat pocket, I do not
unravel, but lead, I lead you to the cinnamon bun
so you can walk without bumping into all the people
who are falling in love with you.
You and your gap-toothed mouth, little air bubbles
flying out, like an angel or a dream.
It would seem like you are drifting but that’s because
the people watching you give you lift by grabbing time
by the throat so she will slow down and let them see you
better. It is not magic. It is not good.
What’s good is a cinnamon bun and that is all you want
this morning, like every morning, not to be watched or
crossed or lifted from the earth, you have been begging
for dirt in your toe nails since the last time someone
tried to convince you that you were theirs.
It wasn’t me, I wouldn’t do it. I know what it’s
like to have the whole world needing something from
you that you can’t give them because it’s made up
from the inside places they hide all the wrong ideas.
I know because I wasn’t always a thread, I wasn’t
always a help, I wasn’t always so sure of how to
leave my house and find the cinnamon bun.
But because this lint sheds form the lining of our
hearts in the same way, I take you. I show you how.

“Angel texted” by Julia at the studio

Wednesday July 4, 2018
12:26pm
5 minutes
V.I.P. Tutoring
Vanessa Hua

Angel texted, told me to look where I was going and to read while sitting down. It made sense. The text was very much related to a thing I was about to do carelessly. It came right on time.
Angel is always watching over me. I think she thinks she has to. She thinks she has to cause her name tells her she should. I tend to listen to what Angel has to say. If she tells me to wait until the next morning to make a hard decision, I listen. Angel knows how to get me right in the soft. She sent me an e-mail yesterday after waking up at the crack of dawn. She said the sky was “milk-blue” and it melted me. I love when milk is used to describe things, like the sky. I picture Angel knowing more about the sky than anywhere else. Maybe I think she’s from there and her name was given because her mother was a clairvoyant and there’s magic and stardust in her smile. I might name my kid Sunshine so she brightens up people wherever she goes and everyone thinks she’s ‘of the sun’ because her name makes them believe. I could name her Honesty so people are reminded to look inward. But that might be too heavy a burden to carry. What if there is shame? What if she reminds people they have lived in this life with secrets? Maybe she’d remind everyone that we have all lives our lives with secrets.

“Slack jawed” by Julia on the tub


Thursday October 13, 2016
11:08pm
5 minutes
from an email

Russell was really pleased with himself for finding a teddy bear with his own name etched in the ear tag. He believed this kind of thing was rare and meant to be and that he had some newfound super powers. Suddenly he believed he was where he was supposed to be. He had never believed that before. He attributed it to the bear finding and the sign receiving he was now very open to. He said thank you in a low whisper to his lucky stars and his Nanna Toni who was among his lucky stars but also acted in part as a guardian angel. She was a star angel. Russell liked to think of her twinkling in the sky and twirling in the wind. She never danced while she was alive but somehow afterward Russell felt like that was all she did. Aside from looking out for him. When the bear appeared to him, his face fell open in wonder and amazement for the possibilities he might get to find.

“from bridges to clouds” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday, June 22, 2015
6:11pm
5 minutes
theawesomedaily.com

Mitch drove a green Ford pick-up that summer and he felt proud to be so high off the ground. When he filled up the tank he wondered about how manly he looked and whether or not his shoulders were filling out his T-shirt well. He made a left onto Lexington and saw Jennie and Angel on her front porch. He slowed down. They were passing a litre bottle of Ginger ale back and forth. Jennie clocked him and his whole body reacted – a ripple of want and lust and longing. “HEY!” Called Angel, “Mitch Porter!” He pulled over and took a deep breath before hopping out of the truck. He slowly walked up to the house, not waiting to come across as too eager. The girls watched him. “Haven’t seen you since school got out, hey?” Jennie drank. He sat on the third step. “What’re you up to this summer?” Angel lit a cigarette. “Can I bum one off you?” Mitch asked. She extended the pack. He took one and lit it, hoping neither of them would be able to tell it was his first.

“skill testing question required” by Sasha on the King streetcar going West


Friday April 4, 2014
5:03pm
5 minutes
from a receipt

Answer the question correctly, Angel, and we might actually get somewhere! We might actually get out of this hell-hole of a trailer park! Think really hard. Please. Think the best you possibly can. We might actually progress beyond communal showers and deep fried hot dogs. I love you, Angel, but… It’s harder when you’re old, like me, to really feel like you’ve got much of anything. If I can offer you one word of advice, it’s this… If you let them chain you, they will. Don’t let them chain you, Angel! I guess that’s more than one word. Shit. I got chained, I got chained too young. Barely seventeen and I was chained to that bald man for fifty three years! Can you even imagine?