“positive descriptions of the world” by Julia at the desk

Sunday May 24, 2020
8:46pm
5 minutes
Perceiving Ordinary Magic
Jeremy W. Hayward

This day is a glorious foreshadowing of what is to come
The morning is fresh and free and the afternoon a dark tear
the rest, as it happens, opens up like a wild orchid and
the grass never looked so green so vibrant so nourished

The rain follows to wipe clean any bad mouth tastes and the
sky is hazy again in a way that reminds us we can’t always
bask in the heat of the sun for we would never remember what
it feels like to retreat back into the hole and find comfort
wrapped in a fuzzy blanket that keeps migrating from chair to
the couch to the bed

When all is said and done the rain forest drips on a feathered
song and continues continues continues and the cycle of rebirth
is as beautiful in the thick as it is in the wide

This is what it means to open the chest at the seams and watch
as the exchange of oxygen enters while the beast gently floats
out out out into the place where it can become cloud again and
fuels its purpose of filling until it overflows

“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

“If you catch some salmon in October” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday March 3, 2015
11:07pm
5 minutes
Cascadia
Ramon Esquivel


I haven’t told you this but there’s a black cloud that hangs over your head every time you enter a room. It sits in the upper right corner of your human bubble and it looks pretty heavy. I really thought it would pass: the storm would come down eventually (after threatening to so consistently), the grass would be nourished (after being teased with water), and the sun would pop out and say, “Just kidding! I’ve been here all along!” But you never stopped turning shared spaces grey and you never stopped shifting the feeling of an entire room, or influencing the mood of a whole group of people. I suppose I wanted you to know this so you could potentially fix it for your future interactions. Part of me, however, thinks I’m getting good at making up excuses for you.