“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.

“Happy Monday Lovers” by Julia at the desk

Monday July 30, 2018
10:25pm
5 minutes
from @a_belovedgreen on Instagram

It’s raining somewhere that isn’t here.
Somewhere deep and mysterious and easy
to get to but not here because here it
is not raining. Some us of are praying
for rain, and some of us are praying at
the alter of the sun god shining, staying
up, warming our bones, illuminating all
the things we might rather go on not
seeing. And isn’t that a risk in of itself?
And yet some of us are worshiping. Some of
us really like the truth. It is a day of
reckoning when all is lit up like a beacon
of hope or desire or loud. It is a Monday
for lovers of the light and lovers of the
afternoon. I am happy loving this seminal
summer from the inside out. Hazy sky and
all, blurred lines and everything. The
colour of my new skin would tell you that.
I am out there chewing ice cubes, singing
thank you through my teeth

“Felicia has a colourful aesthetic” by Julia on her couch


Sunday June 25, 2017
10:55pm
5 minutes
http://www.squarespace/templates/clay

I think about her as a colour when she leaves my house,
what is blue doing now? What is blue wondering about.
Blue stops at all the green grocers hunting down
the perfect avocado. Blue is making guacomole to celebrate
her new job. Blue is picking away plaque resting behind her bottom
teeth. She cries in blue. She laughs. She takes a bath in blue.
She paints the bed blue when she lays on it. She sleeps.
Dreaming blue dreams. Dreaming in blue after blue after blue.
I watch her kiss every surface she passes as if blessing the town
blue. Turning into melt.

“technically I could be there by” by Julia on her couch


Saturday November 28, 2015
11:10pm
5 minutes
From an email

Alana has stopped dreaming in colour and can’t figure out why
Maybe ever since she started seeing Rich things have been different
Maybe ever since she started filling her prescriptions and taking her pills
Maybe ever since she stopped eating cheese
Nothing makes Alana more upset then to think of her head as a black and white pod of pain
She feels like Dorothy before the tornado
She feels like somebody who isn’t her
She feels like her imagination is being replaced with something sad
Rich wakes up each morning with obnoxiously detailed dreams
Rich dreams in colour
Rich tells Alana how crazy it all was every single day
Alana used to dream the way Rich does
She used to remember every bit of them and sometimes use them to write her music
She used to look forward to going to sleep

How is one to know—with strangers?” By Sasha at Studio 1398


Saturday March 14, 2015
3:41pm
5 minutes
The Midwich Cuckoos
John Wyndham


Let’s take ourselves back in time to the time before
the time when we knew about consequence
and hemming of jeans and the blueberry kiss of

summer

How is one to know when a stranger is the icy breath on the window
of the car accident?

or

The Mother we’ve been waiting for since the day we arrived her
spewing needs and hunger
calling for

more

at the top of our lungs

I’ve wanted a revolution from day one but I don’t like starting things
preferring the sourdough to rise in the cupboard
unwatched by blue eyes

brown eyes

We wrapped purple and blue and green and grey around strands of hair we weren’t
afraid to lose

a summer of coconut oil and tuna sandwiches

Cherry popsicle lipstick

“landed immigrants” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday March 13, 2015
4:09pm
5 minutes
from http://www.banffmediafestival.com

We have finally found the rainbow and it’s better than we’d heard
The blue tastes like french fries and the yellow
is smooth like velveteen rabbits
We have finally learned the secret and it’s gentler than we’d assumed
The Lost Boys know their times tables!
The ketchup has magic in it!
The library door is never locked!
We have finally burned the glass and it doesn’t shatter like we’d guessed
Friendship bracelets keep the moths out
Your grandmother is rolling cigarettes and blaring Edith Piaf from her
imaginary record player

“customize the formula” by Sasha on her couch


Thursday April 3, 2014
10:36pm
5 minutes
ivillage.com

She thinks about her future, yeah, she sees the colour of her life. The mornings are blue, yeah, soft, yeah, like cheek, yeah. The afternoons are yellow, yeah, like a daffodil, yeah. The nights? The nights are velvet red, rich red, yeah, like lips. She thinks about her future, yeah, and she sees that wide colour palate, the one that stretches across the horizon at sunrise, yeah, sunset, yeah. She mixes midnight herself, yeah, she forgets about taking away and only adds. She adds, yeah.

“The Psychology of Colour” by Sasha at her desk


Monday December 30, 2013
10:06pm
5 minutes
www.stumbleupon.com

Red wants me to bake him a chocolate cake for his birthday but I’m trying to cut down. On chocolate. Not on cake. “Let them (me) eat cake!” I say. “What about lemon? Citrus is so fresh…” I try to entice him. He rolls his eyes. “Citrus is so nice this time of year!” Red stands up and makes for the fridge. This guy can eat an entire frozen lasagne. He can eat a whole crate of those clementines. “I want a chocolate cake, okay?!” “Fine!” I say, “I just won’t be able to have any!” “Oh Jesus, Ramona,” he says, “it’s a special occasion every Thursday night when the girls come over but you won’t celebrate with me on my damn birthday?” I think he’s upset because he’s turning twenty. He isn’t ready to have the responsibility of no longer being a teenager. “I’ll make you a chocolate cake,” I say. “I’ll make it, I’ll eat it, and then I will be very upset. And you know who is going to have to deal with me like that?! YOU.” After standing there, door open, gazing in like he might find the secret to life, Red takes a jar of pickles from the fridge and goes upstairs to his room.

“On those grey days” by Julia at Second City Training Centre


Wednesday, January 16, 2013 at The Second City Training Centre
5:35pm
5 minutes
Running With Scissors
Augusten Burroughs


On those grey days where you just don’t want to get out of bed, I think to myself, dark room, dark walls, and try to get myself back to sleep. I don’t want to get up, I don’t want to do anything that involves other people. I want to sleep and sleep and give back to my body. Give back to my mind and just let it dream all day. Those grey days, the ones where the sky is even lovelier than yesterday, the birds only sing in harmony, and the lawn mower is taking the day off, that’s when me and me find one another after being separated, seemingly all the way from birth, and we hold hands with the idea that We Are Enough. I am enough. To get out of bed to even prepare a cup of soup would be a tragedy. To lean over the edge of the warmth and safety and potential imminent back ache to pick up the tissue that had been left there over night would be a disservice. For those grey days are not grey in colour, but in feel. In texture. In one world where ideas and solutions can’t multiply fast enough. It’s the in between, the place where my mind and body go to have a lie down; a rest. It’s the place where no other colour is invited because it would just ruin everything. It’s that.
So on those grey days, I sleep.

“Allow the process to unfold” by Julia at her kitchen table


Tuesday, December 4, 2012
1:01am
5 minutes
Pisces Horoscope, from 24h
Monday December 3, 2012


Some days you sit and wait and watch the rain fall and dream of doing and sit some more and think something will happen and then never make anything happen because you’re too busy thinking that it will. Some days are like that. And some days aren’t. Some days are like today where you stand and run and jump and scream and cry a lot and laugh a lot and give your charm bracelet to a stranger and open a jar of horse radish mustard without any help and push play as opposed to pushing pause and it’s amazing. The day like today makes you better. Makes you kinder and more satisfied with your purpose. Makes you realize that everything you do will be the way it is because you chose it that way. And it will seem easy, and it will seem like it will always happen this way if it is happening now. It isn’t quite perfect, this plan, this thinking. It’s a guideline, surely. It’s a metaphor, maybe. It’s something that isn’t always ‘it’ and it keeps you from drowning because it’s an interesting thing trying to figure the whole thing out. Some days you sit and watch dust collect on your favourite books without reading them, or dirt pile up on the floor you hate cleaning. But some days. Some days, you smile bigger than the universe. And you dream in colour and black and white, and in 3D, and in animation because it feels right. And you don’t question it. And you don’t let it question you.
You just do what the day tells you to do.