“Your arms would eventually tire” by Julia on the 351

Tuesday September 24, 2019
3:41pm
5 minutes
The Purpose Driven Life
Rick Warren 

Jeremy is green-eyed, like the sea, and sea-eyed like the man. He has beautiful white teeth that look white thanks to all the dirt he’s wearing. Caked on his neck like a sunburn, Jeremy is trying to make it here. Left
his ex and his kids and has lived all over this place: lasted longer in Winnipeg than Fort McMurray, and tried to make it to “Van City” but ended up here.
No luck with the criminal record check this time.

Jeremy lifts rebar all day. He’s wiped but he has all this pent up energy and doesn’t know what to do
with it, who to screw with it, or who to call.
Jeremy’s eyes are green.

“I was standing beside his bed” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Wednesday April 2, 2014
10:25pm
5 minutes
The Great Gatsby
F. Scott Fitzgerald


1. I am standing beside his bed, watching the dreams escape from his ears, watching his chest rise and fall like the sun.
2. I am lifting a tablespoon of tea leaves in the green, pottery mug, waiting to hear the whistle of the kettle.
3. I am looking out the window, watching the construction change the house next door, watching a tall man saw a piece of wood. I wonder what he’s making.
4. I am reaching for the epsom salts to pour into the bath that’s running.
5. I am listening to him speak to his parents on the phone and tell them what’s moving inside of us and I close my eyes and feel the disappointment in his chest. I’ll make it better with sweet potatoes and coconut rice.
6. I am reading my younger self on lined paper, and I am laughing at my goodness.

“while the real work is done outside” by Julia on her couch


Monday February 3, 2014
2:08pm
5 minutes
The Essential Rumi
Rumi tr. Coleman Barks


Get on those steal toes, that hard hat, that tool belt. Get on outside where the real world fights its fights. Protected by the construction of our warm and cozy houses, we sit and we contemplate. We fear the windows when the blinds are drawn, we fear the callousness of strangers we have not yet had the pleasure of meeting. We fear the ambulance and its never-ending cries. We stay indoors, thankful for running water and a steady stream of television programs or movies ordered by e-mail. We don’t leave the couch to see the world in action outside of us. There is a whole big thing out there, and it looks just like your imagination dreams it does. Only worse. Only better. There’s no way of knowing if the dead bolt on the front door stays locked. Just a thought. Just a hunch. That we thank those pillars and roofs and hardwood floors for keeping us safe and sheltered and avoiding anything that might cause us even the slightest amount of pain. There are people living in their nightmares all around, and not in a house with books rescued from the streets. Not in a house with a pumpkin loaf baking in the oven. Not that we should choose sadness. Choose hardship. But we should not stay in our pyjamas until noon, just because our jeans are cold from the wind blowing in through the cracks.