“a time lacking in truth and certainty” by Sasha at her desk

Monday July 22, 2019
11:04am
5 minutes
From a quote by Louise Bogan

Drive up the mountain in an SUV and throw a cigarette butt
out the window and laugh at the irony of how things
tend to go Drink an iced coffee and throw the cup
out the window and then take a selfie
in front of the forest fire

hashtag world ending hashtag hot hot heat
hashtag fire hashtag smoke
hashtag do I look beautiful here
Is the light good

Instagram does not measure the rate
of destruction caused when tourists pose
at the site of Chernobyl
exposing butt cheeks and pink lipstick
How far will we fall
How deep will we go

I am not condemning my generation
I am saying that I am afraid
of the passion for followers
gurus of make up tutorials and false eyelashes
the disconnect from the
heartbeat

“the fortifiers of human agency” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday March 27, 2018
11:10pm
5 minutes
On Being

it’s a being human problem
slump of the shoulders
puff of the chest
rise of the belly
imagining the world
without us

that’s the thing
the world will continue
it’s us who won’t

another species extinct
makes a low down
low down headline
(lowline) shows the priority

when it’s us
no one will report
or will they

trying to carve hope
out of despair
belief out of devestation
trying to hold the future
the anger
the explaining that of which
there’s none

it’s a being human problem
one moment the rapturous joy
of love and a slice of orange
the next moment
this

“I wish that we could talk about it” by Sasha at her desk


Monday April 17, 2017
11:46am
5 minutes
Someone Great
LCD Soundsystem

It’s the kind of morning that your mother
used to yawn about Laying in bed with a book
and a cold tea on the nightstand
The golf ball is in your throat again
but maybe this Earl Grey will wash it
down

It’s not a crisis of faith you hear yourself
say to your oldest friend It’s not anything
like that

“it’s an overhead shot” by Sasha at her desk


Tuesday, February 28, 2017
4:03pm
5 minutes
Mr. Burns: A Post-Electric Play
Anne Washburn


At first I don’t think it’s a problem, but then I realize that it is a problem, a big problem, and so I call Dot.

Dot doesn’t answer, because she’s at chemotherapy. I instantly feel bad that I’m going to bug her about something as silly as a cinematic existential crisis. She’s dying. Nothing trumps that.

I resent the fact that the word T-R-U-M-P is now ruined, because before all of this baloney I really did like that word.

Dot calls me back before dinner, while the chicken breasts sear in the pan, and NPR plays from the shitty speaker in my phone.

“I can’t say I know what you’re talking about,” Dot says, in that way that she does, in that way that feels like chamomile tea.

“I see the slug-lines of my life, Dot!” I cry, flipping the over-cooked chicken with a pair of tongs she gave me. “For example right now, this conversation, it’s an overhead shot, lit dimly, with a score of sweeping cello!”

“Spiritual teachers” by Julia on her bed


Sunday, July 17, 2016
11:06am
5 minutes
Women Food And God
Geneen Roth


I called my spiritual teacher, Helia, because I was in a state of emergency. I couldn’t find anything to wear and I couldn’t tell if it was my inner child reacting to my adult life, or if it was sign from the universe telling me I had to listen inward, or take a risk, or write down my dreams in the journal marked “For Dreams”. Helia was on vacation in the Okanagan. She had posted a photo from Peachland so I knew she was alive, but why wasn’t she responding to my very desperate attempts at contacting her? It’s not like this was a run of the mill anxiety attack or some realization that I cannot do this alone. I already know that I can’t, and that’s what I pay a spiritual healer for. Healia said to never hesitate to reach out. She failed to mention that I should just never be in crisis during the last weeks of July and first weeks of August. So I called my sister instead and she invited me over for homemade brownies and lemonade. She said she would try to massage my left shoulder knot out and maybe I just needed some TLC from someone who used to share a room with me.

“a boy like me calls his mother.” By Sasha on her porch


Monday, July 20, 2015
9:11am
5 minutes
from http://www.howlround.com

We make a plan to go to the diner for milkshakes.
“No dinner. Just milkshakes!” You text.
“Milkshakes ARE DINNER.” I respond.
I’m already there, picking off my chipping nail polish.
My phone beeps.
It’s you.
“I’m in a crisis.” You text.
“And when in crisis?” I respond.
“A boy like me calls his mother. I’m gonna be an hour late.”
It’s not the first time.
It won’t be the final time.
I order onion rings.
I order a root beer.
You finally roll up in a purple velour tracksuit and red Doc Martin’s.
“Where’s your milkshake?” You say.
“I’m full…” I respond.
“Fuck you.”
“Meanie.”
“I WANT A STRABERRY SHAKE! HEAVY ON THE CREAM!”
“Shhh – ”
“MY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD!”
You’re high.

“Man vs. Wolves” by Sasha on the 99 going West


Monday January 26, 2015
12:42pm
5 minutes
from Outside Magazine

You start the storm with your face
Curving open
Teeth like wolves
The glaciers are melting and all we can do is
pop pills and peel back the bark
When the rain comes it comes hard
You brace your
self
You reach deeper down than you’ve ever reached
You scream for the erosion and the oil and the money
You’ve got none of it
You plant your heels and you
pray
The drought was predicted by the preacher
She said
It’s gonna be dry
dry like a miracle
She said
The rain was summoned by
You
Good Lord
Good sweet wolves and monarchs and salmon
Sweep the demons under the roots
Tangle
Get away while you still can