“white supremacy is disseminated” by Julia on the 9

Thursday November 22, 2018
6:56pm
5 minutes
White Fragility
Robin DiAngelo

In the years before this one
Tiny beliefs were planted in the
fertile pockets of our earth
And twigged things sprouted forth
bearing the ugliest fruit imaginable
Somehow the farmers convinced
the people to eat the ugly fruit
They might have used something violent like the deepest kind of lie
They might have thrown god somewhere in there to be safe
And inside every body that ate the wrong fruit grew a hole that hurt so much it needed to be filled
The people with bellyaches were desperate to put something in the place of the void
They tried eating whatever they could to stop the empty
The limbs of small children at first
But that wouldn’t do the trick
And then someone heard from someone’s uncle that self-hate takes up a lot of space…

“A hundred tourists are caught” by Sasha on the couch in Cowichan Bay


Friday, January 1, 2016
11:14am
5 minutes
Coda, Etcetera
Amber Tamblyn


when you tell me my feelings i flush with earl grey tears and this is not a testament to your impact on me it is an homage to my mother and my mother’s mother before her and when i make breakfast and lunch and dinner i am not subscribing to our cultural magazine of gender roles my soul is fed by mashing an avocado on toast and by stewing broth and lentils all afternoon for us to dip crusty bits of red fife bread in and when i try to breathe into my pelvis and find this difficult it is not just my body it is every woman’s body the body of the great mother and i set the intention like a timer that will go off like a church bell whenever i am far away from myself be here be here be here

“do something which both parties desire but are unwilling to do” by Julia on Nicole’s couch


Tuesday September 2, 2014
11:45pm
5 minutes
from the English translation of mamihlapinatapai

It was a look. It started out that way at least. He saw her standing in the rain with a broken umbrella at her feet and melting ice cream cone in her hand. She was letting it drip down her wrists and arms. It was sort of beautiful. Like an abstract oil painting of a feeling or a sentiment, captured by circles and lines and bright colours all winding into each other trying to tell a story of life and suffering.
She didn’t notice him there because that would have diminished her moment. She didn’t see anything but the rain falling around her so hard it looked like there was none coming down at all. She didn’t see the look he gave her which came from not his eyes but his chest. A heart beating wildly inside and for something he couldn’t quite explain or express. It wasn’t a quantity he could estimate or a dream he could decipher. It was her in all her perceived loneliness, in all her pain that he was adjusting to. Without moving, careful not to disturb her; careful not to disrupt the catharsis that was forming in his throat.

“Limit to your love” by Sasha at her desk


Monday March 3 2014
12:18pm
5 minutes
A cover by James Blake of a song by Feist


We speak about failure
We speak about embracing change
The incremental
The slow shift
The leap across continents and sidewalks and snowbanks
We laugh over overpriced things
But we don’t care
Because we’re young
We’ve only got our mouths to feed
We’ve only got our fires to stoke
We’ve got small apartments
With tealights
And jars of dried beans
We’ve got new/old things
We’ve collected from flea markets and Costco and our mother’s basements
We’re never done
We’ve just begun
It’s not a touchdown or a hundred meter or a tennis match
It’s a marathon
It’s a sunrise/sunset
It’s a cycle
I’m glad for that
There’s always more beginning
More ending
More beginning
More ending