“If not dead, dying.” by Julia on the 99

Friday September 21, 2018
4:55pm
5 minutes
Nothing Like It Was
Mark Wagstaff

today you are the farthest from dying that you will ever be. you have more life in the wiggle of your brow than you even know. so far the room is changed by you. the building. the women. the men.
you are the farthest from unloved. the farthest from unwanted. you are the closest thing to god and even god knows it.
today you are born on the cusp of beauty. you’re already causing poetry and melting heart ache.
though we are on opposite ends of the country, you are the farthest from being far away from me. you are right here in this pocket of joy pushing through my chest. you are right where you belong.

“what would happen if we moved to Vancouver?” by Julia in her bed

Thursday September 20, 2018
12:31am
5 minutes
Crystal
Gillian Wigmore

nobody saw it coming
not me
not you
not the ones we were leaving behind
i suppose some deep place made known only to me in my dreams and
i guess in my mother’s
it was expected that i would make it
we both knew somewhere that i would twist silk into roots
and sink them in
she always knows the limits to my reach better than me
which is funny
since she doesn’t think I have any
but maybe vancouver gave me the pocket of soil to grow myself out of
she said that to me today
and here i am talking about leaving or staying or what in the world should I do
what would happen?

“after every sick joke” by Julia at The Coffee Studio

Monday September 17, 2018
2:35pm
5 minutes
July, ’77
Jill Mandrake

In the night the sticky hot wakes you up and the ac robot beside you becomes a sleep villain. The edge of noise I can teeter on has become finer. The line a little less warning, a little more plummet. I remember you asking for permission but I don’t remember granting it.
My throat catching all the room particles and holding them there. I pull the sheet over my legs and up to my mouth. It’s been an hour in sleep years and in my dream I’m asking you if it can die soon? The robot closes its eyes so now I know you can meet me in my dreams. I know you’ll be able to hear me. In the morning the alarm clock is a welcome sound. No more begging for breeze in the dip of my back, the swamp of my neck. You say, Well that was the most comfortable sleep of my life. Even this joke turns to mud.

“It is a highly awkward effort” by Julia on the Brown Line

Sunday September 16, 2018
5:55pm
5 minutes
How to Unthink (In Two Movements)
Jill Boettger

The bedsheets wake up bloody and somebody’s name gets cursed for choosing white. Not my name, I’ll tell you that. The first tears are muted into the pillow at 6AM. The second at seven. The stomach starts talking to me around ten after eight and starts yelling at nine. So far universe: 5, me: 0.

When the deep weakness punches back from the reflection in the mirror I know I am on an up-cliff climb without a rope. The first person to get hit in a street fight is usually the one who loses.

Somehow the angel card that gets flipped up from the pile by no one with fingerprints is
Acceptance.

It wasn’t me, I’ll tell you that. You said it wasn’t you.

Acceptance.

“people are still listing reasons” by Julia on the Red Line

Saturday September 15, 2018
7:55pm
5 minutes
Collaboration: Visual/Written Poetry
Sarah Leavitt & Jen Currin

When the subway ascends and we can see the city, you nudge my shoulder, point my body in the direction of the skyline and the tail lights of all those cars
glowing up the street
You say, look at that.
You’ve been giving me reasons why I should stay and what we could do if we decide to and who we would be if I decide to
They sound like good reasons
The good Mexican food being at the top of the list
You tell me this doesn’t have to happen and I believe the sweet in your eyes when you say it’s not going to move you if we don’t move here
Move lives
Move dreams over to a bigger city that we will surely get lost in
You are good at drinking slowly
Waiting for me to finish swirling the straw and ice around in my glass
But if we move here, you tell me, we will also find ourselves

“still dangerous,” by Julia at Millennium Park, Chicago

Thursday September 13, 2018
1:48pm
5 minutes
Soft
Sarah Pinder

He whistles his love from the bathroom with the door closed
She is supposed to whistle back to signal that she heard him
She never learned how to whistle
It hasn’t been a major set back
except when everyone else was whistling in the
first scene of the show but her
She pursed her lips together and
raised her eyebrows to fake it

When he whistles from the bathroom
She is supposed to answer him but
she doesn’t know how to fake it
Whatever song comes out, comes out
Whatever noise, faint or otherwise
He takes it as a symbol of her love for him
But she does not know how to whistle
She does not know how to fake it
She has never been good at lying
He has never been good at detecting it

They say you can teach yourself how to whistle
The placement of the tongue in your mouth is everything
The space left for air to flow through

One day she tried to teach herself how to whistle
She put her mouth the way they say to
she made sure her tongue was in the right spot
One sad little note slipped out
And she was glad that she could learn to do
the thing that everyone seems to know how to do

When he whistled his love for her behind the bathroom door
She whistled back one flat note
She never learned how to change the tone
Or make it sound more alive

“and a quiet evening sipping whiskey” by Julia on the Brown Line

Wednesday September 12, 2018
7:16pm
5 minutes
Mr. Bright Eyes
John Barton

Who had the bright idea to go to Target and buy a 12 pack of Miller Lite? Must have been you since you’re the only one drinking Miller Lite these days. Me, I can’t swallow the stuff. Not just Miller Lite, but beer. The only thing they drink here. Not beer as in here take a sip, take a load off, take the edge off. Beer as in, here, here, here, and here, and more, and more, and more, and here. I can’t do it like that. I was told not to. My body has been trying to remind me that. You wouldn’t want me that way anyway. Those days when I used to drink beer and beer and here and here I wouldn’t know where here was or me, or my desires. I don’t recognize the person who used to drink in the shower, before the comedy show, before leaving the house. I could ask us to stay in one night, have a quiet evening sipping whiskey but, you are not the kind of person who sips anything. You like the feeling of being tipsy with me, but I can’t seem to get there anymore without losing myself. I don’t like the action of sipping things when I am simply not thirsty.
My guts have been full since I got here. You had a Miller Lite in the closet yesterday and I had one more reason to stop. The dreams come worse when I’ve been filling all the holes with the wrong kind of gold. The kind that costs four dollars at Target.

“a few drops of peppermint oil.” by Julia on the Red Line

Tuesday September 11, 2018
4:27pm
5 minutes
The Incense of Those Rooms
Jen Currin

Misery loves Company so Misery keeps inviting Company over. Together they sway in the dark and call it romance. Call it pretty.
Misery asks Company to stay a while and talk to her while she cries. And she cries Niagara Falls. Sometimes on the inside where her sandwich drowns a thousand deaths. Company loves Misery and keeps telling her she’ll be there. That she’ll never leave her. Company draws a bath and sprinkles in a few drops of peppermint oil. All this running water and nowhere to go. Misery wants to be who she is, find someone who will love her this way. Company keeps Misery from changing. Keeps bringing her baskets of hand picked sorrow. Calls it unconditional. Calls it sweet. Calls it forever.

“like slivered almonds in the bulk section,” by Julia in The Loop, Chicago

Monday September 10, 2018
10:38pm
5 minutes
Parsley
Listen Chen

Jessie keeps her handkerchief in the secret pocket of her purse. Nobody knows it’s there but her. A tiny reminder of her tiny grandmother who left a big hole in her life when she passed away. She has never been the type to use a handkerchief but knowing that it’s there makes her feel better. It is yellow and white and sweet and floral. It makes her feel lavish. Abundant. Like all those slivered and blanched almonds in the bulk section. Nothing else goes inside the secret purse pocket. It has to stay clean and folded there where all the memories live.

“We made sure you could still heal” by Julia at Washington and Wabash

Sunday September 9, 2018
9:45pm
5 minutes
Day Thirteen
Adrienne Gruber

there is an old saying
let yourself be loved
and you
will love those who
love yourself better

okay those are
my words
I said them
I’m saying them

someone could have said these words before me
maybe not in their exact sequence but life is art
and art is theft

I’m glad we’re choosing all the right things to copy
all the good things to stand up for

these are all the words we heal by:
the ones that sound off in the echo of our own hearts
the ones that bridge the gap between lonely and understood

I could keep a tally of good dreams that mean something
that tell me I am collaborating with the energy of every good place I’ve touched

“books about people living on the street” by Julia in The Loop, Chicago

Saturday September 8, 2018
10:39pm
5 minutes
Searching, results
Shawn Syms

I walked into a bookstore today. The shelves were lined with post-it-notes telling me which staff member recommended which book. The girl working the counter had a tattoo of a strawberry wearing sunglasses. She recommended the Miranda July and I thought she and I would be friends. Mariella, the store owner, had recommended a few books about the housing crisis and single room occupancies. When I asked the girl with the same lipcolour on as me if she had read Mariella’s recommendations, she got real quiet and said, Mar used to live on the streets. She built this place so it’d be here for anyone who might need it. That’s why we’re open so late.

“she died before age forty” by Julia at Wabash and Washington, Chicago

Friday September 7, 2018
12:44am
5 minutes
F*** Face
Amber Dawn

She didn’t know what she wanted. Thought she wanted to change some minds and open some hearts. Thought she wanted to tell the truth and free herself of the lies she told herself. Guess some
dreams never come true. Guess some hopes are too high to reach.

On a Friday she realizes she
needs to define her path. She cries about the roadblocks but doesn’t even know the road. Her friends seem to be making strides. Putting their hands in all the right collection plates, offering themselves to the highest bidder. Maybe God is a good excuse not to do anything. Maybe having a baby is a better one.

She didn’t know how much the lion’s roar would sadden her. She didn’t know how small a big thing kept would feel when she wasn’t allowed to be free. Guess some dreams never come true. Guess some hopes are too high to reach.

“Grid of Polaroids” by Julia at Vancouver International Airport

Thursday September 6, 2018
6:15am
5 minutes
Sinuous
Lydia Kwa

When I first met you, you lived with two dudes who didn’t know what cleaning was. Or order. One of them waked and baked everyday. The other one had a weird thing with dogs. Your apartment was falling apart. You didn’t have proper wine glasses but you had wine. There was a wall of polaroids by the front entrance. You partying in those photos looked so cool. You had to bathe like an ape because the shower head was broken. You made that joke the first time I came over. Those thin walls. The corner store condom runs. The 28 hour day. The food poisoning.

“I love the internet” by Julia at the desk

Wednesday September 5, 2018
11:09am
5 minutes
The Experimental Boy
Mat Laporte
Did you know that ladybugs are actually beetles? Where would we be without the internet? Without online check in. Without Google Chrome crashing every time I use it because of karma, likely. You can find out all the most important information: Am I going to die if I’ve eaten the same seeds for a week and today I found a tiny worm in them? How do I remove this wart on my foot using home remedies? Can I put a wool skirt in the washing machine? How do I wash my dishes if I am out of dish soap? Cloves is the answer. Did you know that?  I love the internet for watching my every move and tracking my routes traveled. I love that the internet knows where I live and who I see often and can recognize their faces in my photo apps and can suggest other e-mails when I’m writing to a certain group of people. Isn’t that what we’ve always wanted anyway? Someone to see us and know us and help us? Or some thing. Or someones. I wonder how many people know I care about what a ladybug actually is or that I’ve searched for the kind of porn with “gentle hands”.

“I tell him how a blimp once hit my head.” by Julia on the 7

Tuesday September 4, 2018
7:26am
5 minutes
DADDY
Prathna Lor

I used to tell everyone that I was struck by a truck when I was little. Story goes: I was on my tricycle and the truck smashed me and I was very badly injured and everyone came running because they were so worried. Story is: I was on my tricycle and the truck backed up slightly and bumped me and I was fine.

Maybe the real story is better in the first place. The one that has me up against a monster truck and being saved in the 11th hour. The way I was saved in the 11th hour when I was 18. Swerved in the ice slush, totalled my parents’ Corolla, suffered back and wrist pain, but was still alive enough to get my charges dropped down to “Failure to Share The Road.”
Their car was a write off. they ended up getting more because of me.

“These are the demons you wanted” by Julia in her bed

Monday September 3, 2018
5 minutes
11:47pm
FtM
Kierst Wade

you called for these, right? these back spasms, hole in the heel of our feet, night light, better dreams? these are the demons you asked for. the ones who lie about comfort. the ones who throw you onto the pile, fire, fire, but won’t give out the punishment. they are just looking for abandoned hopes. they are looking for hoplessness. that is their favourite snack. amuse bouche at midnight.

“she would rub her clit to her bed post,” by Julia on her couch

Saturday September 1, 2018
11:14pm
5 minutes
Nocturne v: c
Marie Segolène

Kinny would think of being pushed up against the wall in the basement of the hospital. She pictured finally having that blonde woman all to herself. People would be around, but they’d both be turned on by that. She thought about her until her clit begged. That blonde hair made her want to tug. And that sexy fitted button down. With her eyes closed she saw herself undoing each one until her black bra pulsed. A little lace. A little bow. She wondered if the blonde woman ever knew she was into her.

“And we never talked about that.” by Julia on her couch

Friday August 31, 2018
11:38pm
5 minutes
A Love Letter To Lost Sisters
Hywel Tuscano

we never talked about the way he mishandled me and the way I let him. we never talked about how it was weird he didn’t mention that we’d be sharing his bed. we never talked about how early he wakes up and how late he’s banging around for. not about how I was feeling about my stuff. not about how I was feeling about him. we never talked about how he kept using my towel and saying he wasn’t. we never talked about the fruit rotting in the car. we never talked about the lines he crossed or tried to. the ones we both said we’d be mindful of. we never talked about how many times he told me the same story. how many times he’d break the pattern of the room by injecting a silly pun.

“I’ll quit smoking when God admits he fucked up.” by Julia at King Street Station

Thursday August 30, 2018
9:57am
5 minutes
Nigh
Chris Emslie
 
I could ask God for some help here but God has been fucking up a lot lately. You know the God in the sky, the God in my chest. I can’t ask that God for help cause that’s the God that has been making things hard for me. What am I supposed to say? Thank you? To myself? Oh. Maybe I am. So I could say thank you to myself for fucking up? I see what you’re doing. Use my own mistakes as information. Gratitude for the fuck ups because they’re the real teachers, the mentors, the believers and the seers. They’re the ones who think I’m capable enough to handle the mistake and learn something.  Thank you fuck ups. Thank you God in me for fucking up and showing me what I need to adjust. I am grateful. I am responsible. I am the one in charge of leading this whole damn thing. So you’re saying if God is in me then I can ask myself for help? Believe that I already have what I need, and if I can ask the question I can certainly answer the question?

“the truth is” by Julia on B’s couch 

Wednesday August 29, 2018
1:03am
5 minutes
Close Encounters
Meg Torwl
 
I wish the inner me wasn’t so hurt. So confused. So left alone that I wasn’t able to summon some strength to say how I really felt about the whole thing. But behind the veil of this screen, the protection of “fiction” I can find some semblance of vindication. Thanks I’ll say. For inviting me to the party. Then for forgetting to tell me where the party is. Then for forgetting to welcome me. For forgetting to introduce yourself to me. Thanks for having me and not telling me I could eat. Thanks for having me and then leaving the room when I began to speak. Thanks for talking to your friends during the hard parts. Thanks for being more concerned with your phone. Thanks for blaming me for the guests staying too long. Thanks for forgetting to remind anyone I was there in the first place. Thanks for leaving me when I didn’t know how to find my way home.
And still none of this is the real truth. 

“And we created a hybrid,” by Julia on D’s chair

Monday August 27, 2018
1:38am
5 minutes
Poetry Is The Song Of The People
Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

Altogether in the forest
I remember us walking in a line linked like breakfast sausages
It wasn’t cold or I had on a good coat, I can’t exactly recall. But Illiah was wearing a red rope around his neck with a hangy medalian. a piece of wood with a stamp on it maybe.
and as we gathered around the mother tree, Jara started to sing and we all started to sing too. as if we knew the song. as if our bones were already in tune.I remember feeling like warm water was being poured over my head, cascading down and blanketing my spirit. I never wanted to leave. I never wanted to wake up.

“Light becomes me.” by Julia at the desk

Sunday August 26, 2018
9:46pm
5 minutes
Here Be Monsters
Lisa Foad
I have friends sending me long distance healing. I am blessed beyond reason.
When I remember this love I am lift. I become light.
Earlier my lover told me he loves looking at my eyes naked. As if he could see me better without mascara. I used to look at other women who didn’t need makeup with reverence. How much love they had for themselves, how nice their eyes were naturally.
I wanted to believe him better. Let him love me the way he loves me.
I am sad at how radical leaving the house without filling in my eyebrows has become for me.
Why when I am this loved from across the world. Why when I am this bright and grateful and open? Why do I question the quality of my light? Why do I sit and wait for someone else to tell me that they see it. Feel it. Notice it.
If I believe I am light then light will become me. It will be the best accessory. The sweetest outfit. It will bathe me in its glow. And I won’t need to line my eyes in purple paint to draw attention.

“But fuck that kid. He was a shitty poet.” by Julia on D and M’s couch

Saturday August 25, 2018
9:53pm
5 minutes
A quote from Alex Leslie

I want
to tell
you that
you are
so damn
good
but I
can’t cause
I don’t
like to
lie if
the truth
saves
don’t get
me wrong
I still
think you
deserve love
and all
the nice
things in
life
but you
can’t write
cause you
refuse to
see your
own heart
even when
it begs
you to
bleed
look you
are so
damn good
at so
many things
and one
day you’ll
find your
peace
paper and
pen and
pencil and
ink and
blank page
will love
you better
if you
know it’s
how you
see the
world

“I’m old enough to be that girl’s mother,” by Julia in T’s kitchen

Friday August 24, 2018
7:11pm
5 minutes
My Mother’s Body
Marie Howe

we sit at the diner without speaking. Lulu is mad at me and I am mad at her. the drive was long, quiet, peanut butter stuck in the back of the throat. when I pointed out the horses grazing in the field she gave me the finger. Lu knows i loves horses. she even loves them more than me. I don’t know where I went wrong. i’m old enough to be that girl’s mother but I am not her mother. they don’t tell you that trying to parent another person’s kid will pulverize your heart into something you wish you could snort. Madelyne isn’t sending any instructions from where she is. how to handle a kid who hates me for not being more. when she was just my niece she used to beg Mad to sleep over in my truck. I guess that’s a hope worth tucking beneath the hip.

“if you fed your neighbours” by Julia on her couch

Wednesday August 22, 2018
8:39pm
5 minutes
From a quote by Rebecca Solnit

you should feed them the bullshit
hi how are you good I’m good we’re good she’s good
no we can’t hear you coughing no we didn’t realize we were so loud
no we don’t have any sugar for you to borrow
you should tell them you are practicing a scene for acting class when they catch you screaming your lungs off
spilling your own secrets
about who you really are
you should tell them the thing they want to hear
i’m happy we’re happy he’s happy we’re good we’re staying together we’re really good actors we’re really passionate people

“the freedom to do as we please” by Julia on the plane

Tuesday August 21, 2018
10:51pm
5 minutes
From a quote by Wendell Berry

The place of more freedom is waiting for you.
And me.
Together we will see.
Hand over heart swear to the sun and the moon.
You say me and I say you
and you say you
You say this and I say true.
You choose me and I
choose me and I choose
you and you
choose you.
You keep leaving me babe.
And I keep coming home to you.
The heart knows how to
grow: slowly slowly.
It pumps what I use.
It gives it back to you.
I don’t want them anymore.
I don’t need them either.
You’re the only thing I’m after.
In your arms I find my freedom.
Come take this piece,
this experimental page.
Walk beside me walk me up to your lips and wait.
You will always see me, babe,
so you say, so I believe.
And I will always see you, babe.
Underneath.
Underneath.

“Be a lamp,” by Julia at Paul’s place

Monday August 20, 2018
11:13pm
5 minutes
From a quote by Rumi

Be the light in the room

Set yourself to bright and go

I know about the seeing

About the illuminating

Walk into a dark place and

Turn the switch

Then how bright the room will be

The glow will be from you being the light in the room

The whole house will be a beacon

For airplanes passing over head

Or be the fuzz in the room instead

The complicated thought

The blur that keeps lines unapproachable

If it is easy then be the fuzz

But if it is good

Then be the light

“the thin woods and across the highway” by Julia on Amanda’s couch 

Sunday August 19, 2018
10:00pm
5 minutes
November 1968
Brian Doyle

My best friend is a deer whisperer. She is pen pals with at least three of them and one doe with her faun. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a deer in a past life. She knows exactly how to breathe around them. She knows exactly what to hum. This month she asked one of them for protection and she granted it. She said her grace when she realized how  steadfast it all was. Nothing else in life is this sure. I hope when she writes them she tells them about me. Maybe they will love me by proxy. Maybe they will send their Forest Friends to keep me safe too.

“Bible under his arm,” by Julia at the Chelsea Hotel 

Saturday August 18, 2018
2:06am
5 minutes
The Unbreakable Thread
David James Duncan
She tore the stickers from my sister’s bible. Said the devil would get in easier that way. We tried to stop her but she wouldn’t listen. That’s what happens when teachers take students to Christian conferences outside of school hours. The guy who was praying over us said one of us should tell our testimonial to the guy with the headset and maybe we’d get to go on stage. I didn’t have a good story. No decayed turned golden tooth or a broken turned perfect leg so I didn’t go up. My sister was still sad about her troll stickers being destroyed by a tiny troll woman in track pants wearing a giant cross around her neck. I think I wanted to believe it so I did. The place was buzzing with people speaking in tongues and swaying with their eyes closed. I swayed with my eyes closed too. It was the only thing that came natural to me.

“trying to pry one of them” by Julia on the 505

Friday August 17, 2018
2:37pm
5 minutes
Ship
Tony Hoagland

The smallest one didn’t speak very loudly. Brandan started calling her “Small One” and she liked it so much that she stayed small. Even after a game where she spent most of her time smiling at dandelions, you had to pry Small One off the field. She didn’t want to go home to Bad Dale or Claudia, Bad Dale’s chihuahaha. Small One tried to sing to Claudia once and she bit her square in the cheek. The next time Brandan saw Small One at practice with a band-aid on her face she whispered to her, “I bet you’re not so small afterall.”

“Hey, man, fuck that.” By Julia at The Common on Bloor

Tuesday August 14, 2018
11:44am
5 minutes
A quote by Elvis Presley

I have never been to florida and now addie is planning to have her wedding there. she says it’s so dean’s family can drive there and some of them don’t handle flying very well. when we were young she used to invite me but I was never allowed to go. my mom said there was something she didn’t trust about florida but she had never been there either. addie wants the resort to plan the wedding because she plans events for a living and wants a day off where friends and family can drink and eat and tell her how awesome she is. if people give her a hard time about not doing a tradional (stupidly expensive) wedding at a hall she usually flips them the bird and tells them to fuck off.

“have another cup of coffee” by Julia on the 511 going north

Monday August 13, 2018
10:34pm
5 minutes
A quote by Joan Didion

in the days before these ones I was waking without assistance
the sun bright enough to light the room
the birds bright enough to sound the alarm
he wished I drank coffee
he begged
his headaches kept him from peace
his breakfasts too small to count
I would shake my head fuzz slowly
I would sometimes wonder at the fridge
but I did not drink my alertness
I did not know how to work the machine
which buttons to press
how long to wait at the foot
of an appliance

“the splendid ugliness of this disguise.” By Julia in Jess and Rick’s nook

Sunday August 12, 2018
11:10pm
5 minutes
Ode to Invisibility
Ellen Bass

behind this mask is a person afraid
of not living up to the hype she bestows upon herself
to the hype she gets from others
it is ugliest when she lies to herself
big dreams and cotton candy promises
do this then you’ll…
be this then you’ll feel…
one day you’ll wish upon a star and
find yourself among the wreckage
little lives left losing
little hopes laid to rest in the fields
filled with shoulds but didn’ts
knows but won’ts
the mask looks confident
the mask looks like a lot of things

“play the role of devoted son.” By Julia at G and C’s house

Saturday August 11, 2018
1:33am
5 minutes
Tincture Of Mother
Alan Craig

you can call them while you’re walking home on the busy bridge and tell them you love them.
you can ask them if they can pick you up from the airport or have the bed made ready.
you can tell them what you’re afraid of and that you need their help.
you can bring back their phone charger so they don’t have to spend the money on a new one.
you can make them laugh and get a good reaction when you try out your jokes.
you can be honest about the pot you’re about to smoke on their porch after midnight.
you can make as little noise as possible so you don’t wake them up.
you can take them to the best sushi place in town.
you can make them dinner for the first time and show them the sunset.
you can thank them for the good advice, the good company, and the good food.
but you cannot ask them for the toothpaste.

“it has been six and a half years since you died” by Julia in her sister’s bed

Friday August 10, 2018
10:48pm
5 minutes
Welcome to the Club
Marion Winik

I don’t remember the day you died but I remember how you lived. Your chest was an open x-ray. Here, the place where love scarred you. Here the place hope left. You smiled through your eyes, through the pain, and we knew we were getting the best of you left in you. We knew you were telling the truth when you said you wanted us to find what makes us happy. I remember how you sang Elvis at New Years and Easter and my dad’s birthday. You left every room you entered brighter. You entered every room.

“full of tenderness” by Julia in Amanda’s kitchen

Wednesday August 8, 2018
11:36am
5 minutes
Chant
Wang An-Shih

I sleep in your bed when you’re away and I toss and turn and have nightmares about people breaking into your apartment because I’ve done something wrong in a past life to ruin the trust you have in me. On a different night I dream of having to find an outfit for prom. 13 years later and I wonder what I have accomplished since then. Still trying to fit in. Still worrying if I will be perceived by them as I perceive myself. On the night with the nightmares I am landlocked to the bed. I can’t rise. I can’t wake up. Sleep paralysis plays a slideshow of disturbing footage and I’m not allowed to leave. I’m not allowed to leave. Your bed used to be softer. I think you gave that one to our parents. I think your heart full of tenderness gives everything to everyone. I’m sorry my body heavy with jet leg and self-doubt can’t ease into the gift. You’d be sorry if you knew it was hard, and it shouldn’t be hard. It should be soft. You’re sleeping on the cold ground right now and I pray that your bones aren’t wet all the way through. I hope you’re sitting on the garbage bag instead of a damp log. I hope you find peace in the stillness of the wilderness. You impress me. Someone who knows when to say yes.

“whose eyes are a thousand blind windows:” by Julia in Amanda’s kitchen

Tuesday August 7, 2018
11:52pm
5 minutes
Howl
Allen Ginsberg

We wait for each other to stop speaking
silence drifting between us in our car seats
Sometimes saying nothing is saying everything
How shame lives in my cheeks when I can’t
“say nothing”
“say nothing”

We spend three hours staring into each others’ eyes
separated by green tea and a key chain
and some blurry tears streaming without warning
We don’t call me what I am but later I feel it
The reckoning of too much information shared
Too much honesty not yet checked in the echo

We both say how lovely it is and how sad it was
and how soon we will do this again
nobody is crying now
The summer night too hot for tears to puddle

“You should always be sure” by Julia upstairs at Amanda’s

Monday August 6, 2018
10:55pm
5 minutes
The Law of Success
Paramahansa Yogananda

you won’t always be sure. some things take learning and living. some opinions need to be deconstructed and rebuilt and seen with new eyes. this happens for me and it makes me unsure. because if you must always be sure then where is discovery? were we born sure and lost it? will we ever even be? other people’s shoulds make me unsure. they can’t be taken as gospel when we all have a unique pattern to follow. we’re all stitching our hearts up with different yarn. how can we be sure about anything? unless we’re sure about being loved. this one, no matter who or what, is something true. and I am sure.

“all-new, feature-length” by Julia at Amanda’s place

Sunday August 5, 2018
7:24am
5 minutes
Teamsters and Tutus
Simon Lewsen

it’s the movie of our lives
the stop and go the faraway
the you call me in the morning on your way to buy peaches from the market
the me call you back before the family reunion and the butter tarts
the mesaages of sweet when I wake up and you still asleep
in another time zone
the missing you from here
and I point to my heart so you know exactly where here is, where here lives in me, where I carry you
it’s the meeting at a wedding two summers in a row
a new suit and a new pair of heels to show our loved ones
look, we’ll say, we’ve done all this growing
and the credits won’t because the movie isn’t over yet
it’s only just beginning
it’s only taking shape even after all the years and tears and open wounds
and still we both look at each other and say, I’m into this so far
this is going to be a good one
I can tell

“Hear splash blue” by Julia in Amanda’s bed

Saturday August 4, 2018
1:53am
5 minutes
Here Room Sleeps
Dale Smith

She’s the colour of the sky

You’d think I meant blue but

I mean lime green

It’s that line that hovers in between the pink and the purple

It does a good job of loving me there

She does

Oh I’m the sunset then I guess

And sometimes she’s the whole sky

And sometimes she’s the sun too

I don’t know what colour I am to her but she is the lime green to me because she is the in-between

The always centred

The glowing line of equilibrium

She is subtle and yet she makes the whole picture sing

When she’s not the whole sky she is the reason the whole sky wakes up

She is the sun and the lime green and the sky and I am happy she is above me and she is above me

That’s where she should stay

“But when he reached the age” by Julia at YVR airport

Thursday August 2, 2018
9:07am
5 minutes
Atheist at the Pulpit
Larry Krotz

Elliot, Romy’s kid, had a wine stain birthmark on his hair line. It bled out a bit toward his eyes and cheeks but framed his face in a sweet way. He smiled at me when I caught his eye. It made me feel good. then I watched him smile at anyone he looked at and realized he was not in love with me alone but with people. With life. That made me me feel good too. he pointed at the man on his bluetooth next to me. As if to say “you’re the one that I love the most.” I liked his birth mark. I imagined the skin kissed red to be extraordinarily smooth and squishy. My best friend in high school had a wine stain birth mark on her arm. Her skin was so fun to press myself into. She used to get teased but she was so beautiful. People really suck the life out of you when they dont understand something.

“a family house can remain empty” by Julia on the couch

Wednesday August 1, 2018
11:15pm
5 minutes
The Highest Bidder
Kerry Gold

My sister answers the phone when I call even if she is with her friends. My brother did the same a few days ago when I called him on his birthday. He was at Montana’s eating a burger before going to the Falls. I felt bad for calling but it felt like he would have chatted all day. That’s the home I’m going back to. The house emptied of the three of us years ago. I was the first to leave and stay gone. I keep boots and books and pictures there. I like going back if we watch the old home videos. We all keep saying we should turn those VHS tapes into DVDs so we can keep our memories longer but no one ever does. If I can find my old glove in the garage I suspect we’ll hit the field behind the house and go long.

“Of course we should postpone.” by Julia at the desk

Tuesday July 31, 2018
10:02pm
5 minutes
from an e-mail

I’ve been reading about community and how you don’t always get it without making one you fit into on your own. It brings me back to middle school. I was put with all the kids who weren’t try-hards or try-at-alls and I had to do the leading. I had to do all the deciding. I had to do all the work. And I still didn’t get anything out of it. I still didn’t get any respect. Didn’t get any thanks. Didn’t get any friends. Nobody surprised me. Nobody learned anything new about me. And those were the people I was getting. Were they the ones I was asking for by refusing to set boundaries or make my own rules? Maybe. Am I simply adverse to work? There are many maybes here. The point is, it’s not for free. It’s not a guarantee. So I have to learn to love myself instead. I have to learn to love myself so much so that the absence of community doesn’t destroy me. I have to be stronger than that. And it is more work than waiting around. It is more.

“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

“Truth rambles some moorish in-between, but that’s poetry” by Julia at the desk

Saturday July 28, 2018
10:30pm
5 minutes
Rhinocerotic
Ellie Sawatzky

It’s probably the password if I forget
that place between here and there and doing and not doing
somewhere, there, hedged beside the good choices

Truth is the heartbeat that carries the body
The metronome of where and why
this body loves this way
this body lives like this
I knew a Truth once who didn’t know me
That was a hard one
I saw her like the the french fries, jumping beans in the pan,
the minor knuckle burn and blister on the back of my hand
pulsing just slight of ordinary
not bold enough to remember
but raised enough to cause omparison
She was standing out
She could stand out
Or maybe she was just loud convenient
hiding behind the lie of her own name
I don’t care if she sees a poem or
a proclamation
a punishment
a passive aggressive persecution

She’ll never read this anyway
She doesn’t know me, after all.
She wouldn’t think this was about her

“a couple in a living room” by Julia on the 99

Thursday July 26, 2018
12:33pm
5 minutes
From audition sides

I see this couple get out of their car, walk up the stairwell, into their apartment, turn on the lights, sit on the couch, flip on the tv, get up, walk around, close the blinds, get up, walk around, steep a tea, come back to the couch, turn off the light, leave the room. They do this on Mondays and Tuesdays and Wednesdays and Thursdays. I dont know where they go on Saturdays but I suppose that’s not for me to know seeing as though I’m not a part of their couple. I am a part of my own that does all the same things and none of the same things. And yet, I watch them but I don’t think they watch me. We are always moving but they are never looking. When I see movement, I look. Maybe it’s just a crow, or the guy from upstairs throwing his couch cushion by cushion from his patio into the bin. Maybe I don’t catch them looking when I am in my living room because I am busy living.

“I want to walk with you on cloudy day” by Julia on the 7

Wednesday July 25, 2018
9:29pm
5 minutes
Come Away With Me
Norah Jones

I walk out of the council woman’s house and stare a mountain square in the eye.
My jaw drops. The sky cartwheels. The pink drips off the clouds and into my veins. I drink, greedy, like a humming bird first to the bloom.
I tell her I would like to bring you here for an urban hike so you can see this pocket of the city we live in but don’t even know yet.
I think of taking you to the Rosemary sanctuary. I know if I do you will have to pull me away with some force.
The council woman says nobody knows about this place. She knows all her neighnours.Loves Carla’s garden.
Down the road a teenager lighting a joint under a tree asks me if that guy’s okay.
I ask what guy.
That guy down there, she says, the one who just got shot.

“The sun has risen but gives off no warmth.” by Julia at the desk

Tuesday July 24, 2018
11:24pm
5 minutes
Waiting for the Barbarians
J.M. Coetzee

On days like these I rise heavy, rub the sleep heavy
from my eyes heavy, and nod off on the hot bus.
I carry the heavy thing I’ve borrowed in the heavy sun.
I carry all of it pressed in the furrow of my brow-
the one that confuses people, Is she okay? Is she mad?
This morning’s sun burnt a hole in my head and reminded
me of it every second after it. I could have moved my
face but I was smitten there, sitting there, luxuriating
in the imminent ache. I might say I know better but on days
like these I don’t know what I know, if anything. The heavy
is only heavy until you put it down. I could put it down
and catch my breath for a minute, write a song, say hello
to the man with no teeth, nodding at me from the passenger
seat of the helping van. Later, I will watch the sun set
inch by inch to prove that even this shall pass. When the
sun stops, I take off my pack and rest.

“exiled to the foothills” by Julia at the desk

Monday July 23, 2018
6:36pm
5 minutes
The Gulag Archipelago
Solzhenitsyn

Send me out to the no where place and let me weep there
Water the dry earth with my ache and pouring
I need to be alone, in a place where spider webs take over the sky
Will I continue to decompose when nobody is around
I exile myself before it is too late
Before I am stuck forever in the shape of how things used to be
I banish my lost and force my bones to build something
from the inside out
I am already dreading it
and that is how I know I must
I do not have time to sit and wonder how the world knows me
Give me fields to lay in
to pronounce my epiphany in the echo
Let me know me
Let me know that this is my enough
my contribution
A care package tied with a strand of my hair

“he had this reputation because” by Julia on the 7

Sunday July 22, 2018
8:05am
5 minutes
Under The Skin
Michel Faber

Because he was good
Because he was kind
Because he was thoughtful
Because he was sweet
Because he was playful
Because he was funny
Because he was grateful
Because he was honest
Because he was forgiving
Because he was generous
Because he was happy
Because he was smart
Because he was curious
Because he was willing
Because he was respectful
Because he was adventurous
Because he was unique
Because he was listening
Because he was trying
Because he was athletic
Because he was vulnerable
Because he was hard working
Because he was loved
Because he was love
Because he was true
Because he was different
Because he was strong
Because he was light
Because he was committed
Because he was disciplined
Because he was musical
Because he was mine
Because he was real

“cultivate the kind of robust gladness” by Julia on the bed

Friday July 20, 2018
11:37pm
5 minutes
The Spiral Staircase
Karen Armstrong

When your heart opens you know it in the stiff of your ribs
the slow of your knee
Everything breathes, even the crease of your doubt,
the no in your lips
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to feel that?
If I were a witch I’d cast a spell that wouldn’t let me forget how easy it is to be kind to myself:
It would have it’s own incantation, sung by the bones wishing in my skin
to be held and touched
And I have to be open as it can’t get in if I’m not
I want to cultivate that and if I don’t say it out loud
it might never come true

Thankful now for moments of clarity like these
And for the wisdom of my future me, the one who knows how good I am

If I were a witch I’d…
oh wait…I’d…hold on…
close your eyes

say this one
with me

“as I grow old and my friends leave me.” by Julia on the couch

Thursday July 19, 2018
1:30am
5 minutes
Psalms For Praying
Nan C. Merrill
As I grow old my friends leave me wanting them more
I get cravings for their hearts to soar
And for their souls to laugh
I want nothing more than their rise
Their absolute and inevitable rise.
And my friends leave me.
They leave me when I have stopped needing them
They leave when I am no longer hunting them
They know I do not stay loyal on only one shoulder
Carry the weight of knowing them on both
I want to be your last leaving friend
And you can let me love you that way

“What happened to the women?” by Julia on the toilet

Wednesday July 18, 2018
11:37pm
5 minutes
A Warm Moist Salty God
Edwina Gateley

They all bled out

I know this

I was one of them

The insides twisting

The ache throbbing

No couch soft enough to hold us

No water hot enough to soothe

We all bled out

The way we once did

Hoping someone would come along and offer some supplies

Something to tend to the womb

Wound

Nobody came along

And we got good at smiling when one of the muscles spasmed

When one of our girls got some feeling back

We couldn’t complain about it

Who would understand?

Who would know what we know?

One day we would stop smiling on the inside

That’s when things fell apart

There is only so much

Unfolding

Unravelling

a pulse can take

“Age is a work of Art” by Julia on her bed

Tuesday July 17, 2018
11:40pm
5 minutes
from a Banyen Books bookmark

It is an ever changing thing today I got older and younger during the same conversation

I see myself reflected sometimes so young in her eyes

And when I see her as wise and older and let her be, she is kind

Remarkably kind

And generous with her heart

And that is age painted pretty

That is the poster child the reason why, the trailer for the good show kindness is age and love is old

Love is young

Love is ever changing

I hear myself laughing the way she does and I know we are born from the same legs, mixed in the same sky

“There are no edges to my loving now.” by Julia in her bed

Monday July 16, 2018
11:02pm
5 minutes
Quoted by Rumi

there are nothing but edges
I see that
you see that
we have perfected the dance of walking on pins and needles
the bed lays flat
the floor a running river
it is easy on the tile as if the room should know better
but nothing is soft
nothing is without conditions
or consequence
I know I am supposed to love you like a circle
like a knot
undoable
I’m meant to give much more over than I do
but I do not love anything like a circle
except for the idea that I do not

“I need my medicine” by Julia at S,G, and E’s house

Saturday July 14, 2018
10:05pm
5 minutes
overheard at Genavie’s house 

I need this before I can do this I need the house to be cleaned the old milk to be taken out the practice of preaching

I need many things
before I can be enough

I need the light on
the story told
the writes written
I need the glory of the coming of the Lord

I need my medicine
drip drop in the throat before I can sleep
I need my mom to come
back to come back for me to not leave me here without saying goodbye

I need to watch Annie and pretend that my chance will come too
sing a little while I scrub the bathroom
tell you all the counters I’ve wiped and counting
counting to remind myself I am here and they are comig back
that they haven’t forgotten me
that I am enough

I need my medicine
this healing
this grace

“It gave her a deep sinking feeling” by Julia on the couch at Alma Beach Manor

Friday July 13, 2018
9:27pm
5 minutes
Cujo
Stephen King

She spent an hour reorganizing the spices. Rosemary in front,
Chinese five spice in the back. Somehow she has more Chinese five spice than anything else. Well not somehow. She doesn’t like it. She’s only used it once.
After that she moved the sugars and honey to a different shelf. “Everything has its home” and now everything looks like company’s coming.
That was the plan all along
But really it was just the catalyst. She needs clean cupboards so she can see all the spices she isnt using.
She slammed the cupboards around as if he wasn’t sleeping in the other room.
She didn’t feel much like being quiet. Especially now that she had “exhausted him” into an early evening nap.
He said some things earlier that she rebutted well but the tears came as they always do, as the Niagara Falls always does. She wondered if he was right about one thing. Maybe two.

“a flickering lamp, a phantom” by Julia on the couch at the Airbnb

Thursday July 12, 2018
9:41pm
5 minutes
Diamond Sutra
Buddha

We sit in the dark.
Connie tells me, “These wafer cookies taste like they cost only a dollar.”
I tell her, “that’s because they do cost only a dollar. People who buy these don’t by them for quality, they buy them because they’re trying to bury the thing inside them that keeps them itching.”
Connie says, “Who has a face long enough to shove one of these in without biting?”
And I say, “What in the world are you talking about?”
Connie says, “These things leave crumbs everywhere like a motherfucker. I’m not Hansel and Gretel. I don’t need someone to follow the path of them all the way back to me. Me and my face trying to hide the sadness in my stomach.”
I don’t really know why she keeps eating them except for the fact that she might be one of those people who eat the wafers that the people trying to bury the thing inside them buy so she can at least complain about them.
Connie says, “They leave a film on the roof of your mouth. What is that?”
“Regret”, I tell her. “Or something like it.”

“The joy of bursting and bearing fruit” by Julia at her desk

Wednesday July 11, 2018
6:58am
5 minutes
Earth Prayers
John Soos

One day conceivable from here, from now, from everything that I know,
I will hold a tiny, living thing in my arms and I will feel this great love…
The one everyone talks about
the changing kind, the one that gently nudges, inspires, forces you into bearing witness

Each moment between now and then is a teacher
A dream
I will want this when I have gotten good at turning the love inward
At being a witness to myself
And there is much to see. This life has been long already, the one before this one longer still, I imagine, and it is going going
I would very much like to give a tiny, living thing, my heart beat in excess
I want to give everything away when I know I don’t need to hold onto anything I’ve gotten but a tiny, living thing
Everything of use to me is being shown to me from the inside out and the whole world knows it
At least it does if I give permission to the whole world to be within me

Last night I felt a connection with a tiny, living thing
that did not burst forth from my own joy,
but was able to recognize it
We rocked there, our heads touching
and that was enough for me to know

“Mixed Media-Pastels-Drawings-Photos” by Julia outside her apartment

Tuesday July 10, 2018
11:02pm
5 minutes
http://www.johnmcalpineart.com

Tells me he can’t decide what kind of artist he wants to be
I wonder if he really has a choice
Not to say you can’t do more than one kind of art
That’s like saying you can’t ever cut your mushrooms tail first
There’s no one way to do art but I want him to know
the kind of artist he is
What he stands for
What he looks at
What he sees
What he wants to say
Or fuck
What he must
He can paint and take photos and write
He can dance and sing and sew
He can sculpt and build and carve
He can dream and drink and draw
He can also be true to himself
He can cut the mushrooms lengthwise
Down the middle
In slices
In quarters
In bits
Regardless
Mushrooms are a part of this
The dish called for them
It wasn’t really up to him

“I do not know how to smile” by Julia at Oak and Broadway

Sunday July 8, 2018
11:02pm
5 minutes
From a text

I want the world to know that I wont be smiling from here on out. I wont be laughing either, in case you were curious. I have been smiling and practiced smiling and I have done a good job but now that’s over. No more giving away for free. That’s what I’ve been doing. And at first that felt good but then they started taking my smiles for free which is different than receivng them. Smiles shouldn’t cost anything and I’m the one who’s giving and paying. Forced smiles have cost me the most. When someone thinks they’re entitled to my smile, my good, my honest light. That’s when it leaves me dead and wondering. Maybe I should be saving them all for the children. They never take something worth so much for free.

“Our isolated human grandeur” by Julia on her patio

Saturday July 7, 2018
9:36pm
A quote by Thomas Berry

I can’t believe it’s come to this.
One million years and counting.
Or I was.
Maybe you aren’t anymore?

I never wanted to admit that I have been less
but I have been less
Less than I wanted to be
Less than you needed
We were building on the good ship lollipop
sailing somewhere together
on the open sea of hope and do betters
We were doing better

Perhaps this solo journey I’ve been taking at the same time has interfered
Whisked me away to the clouds and dreaming
Pushed me further into myself to question why anything was where it was
Why these lungs here?
Why this pull on my rib cage?
I thought I was busy finding myself but I was busy losing you
Caught asking too many questions in the good room
When you are in the good room, you are not supposed to ask questions.
It might jinx things.
It might put a hex on the whole damn house.

“I want to tell them” by Julia on her couch

Friday July 6, 2018
5:02pm
In the Dermatologist’s Office, Again
Robert Tremmel

I want to tell them I don’t hate them that I love them that I need them
I want to tell them that they hurt me that they weren’t me that I am them
I want to write it in a letter snail mail send it
Write it on the mirror in red lipstick
Call Them on the phone and sing a prayer of sorry
Meet Them in the park and hug them full of thank you

I want to tell them that they’ve helped me that they’ve shaped me that they’ve held me

Tell them that they’ve known me that they’ve shown me that they’ve stoned me

That they’ve made this soft centred M&M melt that they’ve crunched my hard shell easy that they’ve pressed too hard on my bruises and buttons

I want to tell them that I’m not going anywhere.

That I’m big.
That I’m growing.

I want to tell them that the sea is going to swallow them up and they should let it.

I want to tell them who I am.
I want to tell them I’m the sea.

“My parents expected brilliance” by Julia at the studio

Thursday July 5, 2018
9:16am
5 minutes
In Praise Of Incompetence
Lauren Slater

We started watching the new Ghostbusters movie last night. There have been some funny moments. My mother told me to watch it. She thought I should have been cast in it. She always says that when funny women are on-screen. It’s nice she thinks so highly of me. She saysI remind her of Julia Louis Dreyfus. This just goes to show that my mother doesn’t know much about Julia Louis Dreyfus. Or show business. Or what I have been busying myself with.
Ten years ago I decide to be an actor. I also decided to be famous and be interviewed by all the Jimmies. At the time there may have only been one, but whatever, it’s all the same.
I thought it was the only thing I could be doing. I hadn’t really lived yet. I know now that I wasn’t willing to put in the work. I know it, Jam knows it, and maybe my mother knows it, but she still thinks I’m destined for greatness. At Aunt Tina’s wedding on Sunday, there was a distant relative there who said she saw me on a commercial. Said it was really funny. My mother said, don’t you think she reminds you of Julia Louis Dreyfus? This woman had no idea who Julia Louis Dreyfus was. My mother beamed anyway.

“Angel texted” by Julia at the studio

Wednesday July 4, 2018
12:26pm
5 minutes
V.I.P. Tutoring
Vanessa Hua

Angel texted, told me to look where I was going and to read while sitting down. It made sense. The text was very much related to a thing I was about to do carelessly. It came right on time.
Angel is always watching over me. I think she thinks she has to. She thinks she has to cause her name tells her she should. I tend to listen to what Angel has to say. If she tells me to wait until the next morning to make a hard decision, I listen. Angel knows how to get me right in the soft. She sent me an e-mail yesterday after waking up at the crack of dawn. She said the sky was “milk-blue” and it melted me. I love when milk is used to describe things, like the sky. I picture Angel knowing more about the sky than anywhere else. Maybe I think she’s from there and her name was given because her mother was a clairvoyant and there’s magic and stardust in her smile. I might name my kid Sunshine so she brightens up people wherever she goes and everyone thinks she’s ‘of the sun’ because her name makes them believe. I could name her Honesty so people are reminded to look inward. But that might be too heavy a burden to carry. What if there is shame? What if she reminds people they have lived in this life with secrets? Maybe she’d remind everyone that we have all lives our lives with secrets.

“pockets of bullets” by Julia at the studio

Tuesday July 3, 2018
2:16pm
5 minutes
All The While The Women
Hugh Martin

At any given moment you can reach into your own pockets and find the weapon
It’s up to you what you use
No one is saying they have to be bullets
You might have to form your hand into a fist first
Feel the edges lining the space between thigh and modesty
Challenge the boundary of what fits in and out–What feels good
What feels good?
Is it the truth, wielded like a maniac might, shaking it in the face of someone who doesn’t understand?
Is it the lie? What does more harm in a circumstance like this one; in a circumstance like ours?
My mother never told me honesty was the best policy. She didn’t believe or she would have mentioned it
I think I learned it on my own, anyway
So many chances to use the sword of truth like the good word told me to
It’s funny how deep a pocket will seem when you’re looking for a place to hide
You might throw your hand in and emerge with nothing but a ball of lint
Ah, but it’s what you do with the lint that makes a hero

“For the sea lies all about us…” by Julia on her couch

Monday July 2, 2018
9:38pm
5 minutes
From a quote by Rachel Carson

The moment I decide I will love you forever you turn into a sea slug
It is my curse of course
I’m the one who made it happen
Earlier you are bright and light and good all over
You have the smile that makes me remember why I choose you
You smell lime fresh
Avocado sweet
And then the sun drops from his throne
The sky changing colour from orange to purple to earth pink
Suddenly you do not want me around
You are weary of me
You are wishing I was dead or asleep or a seagull passing over the ocean for the last time
This might be a truth
This might be a lie
A story that I tell myself when loving you as is feels too scary to do
I am scared of how easily the light can switch
How little weight my word holds

“your body will always be there for you” by Julia in her bed

Sunday July 1, 2018
11:53pm
Woman Code
Alisa Vitti

I know what the cravings feel like Broccoli and kale love on top, icing, laughter She knows what she wants To run, sleep, be held in the small of her back The body knows, she will always

Skin built for rebounds, bouncing off the burn Bones made to play and jump and leap This is where the body begs and reminds; where the knots shift, calling

“of crucial importance” by Julia on her patio

Saturday June 30, 2018
11:23pm
5 minutes
Sex At Dawn
Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha 

Extend the left calf and then right
Stretch the toes out, point them down, hold, twist, hold again, take notice.

The stress of the foot is carried in the ball between my good and my grounded. Lightning curled up fetal in the belly of the sky. Press this button and know forever love. Know it like you know the beg of your own knots, the root of your own affairs, and tell me: I see you and the pain you hold. I see the the hole you’ve dug. This is how you water the flower. This is how you give her bloom.

“Maybe it felt like too much power” by Julia in her bed

Friday June 29, 2018
1:37am
5 minutes
Motherhood
Sheila Heti

I might go into the open field and kneel down, cry into the open sky and calm down, drink from a stranger’s cup. I might tell someone I’ll never see again that the worst thing we can do is throw away the key to the cage we’ve put ourselves in. Forget to get out of our own way and start listening to time as reminder, not murderer. Not weaker than us. Time isn’t interested in hanging out with people who aren’t good at patience. At taking action, at promises. Cause when you say it, then you’ve said it. Once it’s left you, it’s left. And then what? We must?

“gros bisous!” by Julia at her desk

Monday June 25, 2018
10:52pm
5 minutes
​from an e-mail​

She kisses me in french,
so cool
I think we are supposed to become friends

I want to know what she sleeps in
I want to see how she makes to do lists
if she owns any hand me downs
what she sees when she looks at me

She’s consistent
in her inclusion of me, validation
she, inconsistently, responding,
and we are similar
surely she must see that by now
a mirror mirror on the wall
remember what you came here for

i want to have her over one night when
we both believe in yes, gratitude

We’d probably make out

“for the girls I kissed in seventh grade” by Julia in her bed

Sunday June 24, 2018
6:03am
5 minutes
Practicing
Marie Howe

In the food cellar in the basement I turn the light off
pull the chain hanging from a lone bulb and launch myself onto you and the concrete floor
you kiss me back and we are rubbing up down on each other
writhing around like two snakes let loose in a barrel
I dont remember who said we should go upstairs to your room but we go upstairs to your room and I stay on top of you
I stay on top of you and I catch your breath in my mouth
I think your mom was home cutting someone’s hair and there we were growing slowly and opening
Days earlier I am watching you and thinking I must have missed my chance
it didn’t strike me then that you might not want me
perhaps when you know something in your soft bones you really know it

“I have two more weeks to pack” by Julia on her patio

Saturday June 23, 2018
11:36pm
5 minutes
from a text

Get here sooner bring your guitar and your good ideas
We’re going to jam on the patio and light some candles and eat a charcuterie board like last time
Like last time
I like last time and this time will be so different
No more blonde on the top
No more orange hue better in person
You, I think will find a sundress in my closet to love best and please wear it
Great don’t pack anything let me give you everything you need
And feed you I will feed you
Like a humming bird buzzing up
Borrow the tiger balm you gave me for my trip
I use it on the back of my neck when I can’t sleep
You can sleep in or out or on my side of the bed
It caves in sometimes
It caved in today
But we can touch the floor and isn’t that always fun
I can’t hold the clock because it teases
Tick tick and still weeks and weeks
Week week
Week week
Counting down the days until the walks catch our feet and the night worships the salt back into our hair
Don’t bring a blowdryer
Mine is fine and works the way a $3 blowdryer should
Don’t bring anything but you

“Where it pours bean green over blue” by Julia walking home

Friday June 22, 2018
11:26pm
Daddy
Sylvia Plath

I thought I saw you walking toward me
You had headphones on and you were walking a bulldog
You don’t have a bulldog so I knew it couldn’t be you but the face and the beard and the eyes were yours
The same sadness was not doing a very good job of hiding there in the corners
I almost reached out anyway
The whole thing has got me blurry
Seeing you on neck of other men wishing
Watching you look at me like we both know that you’re not in this city but your soul has been hopping
I almost reached out
I almost touched the you that wasn’t
In this way that I do

“your desired starting point”by Julia on her patio

Thursday June 21, 2018
8:55pm
5 minutes
audacity.com

Vision
Board
On
The
Wall
And
Plan
To
Look
At
It
Every
Damn
Day
That’s
A
Good
First
Step
A
Good
First
Thought
And
It
All
Seems
Doable
Then
Step
By
Step
Day
By
Day
Prayer
By
Please
Promise
By
Promise

I look at my wall, blank space and burning a hole where the good ideas are supposed to live

Remember something belongs here. Remember you said you would do something in the shape of this wall space.

Today

I

Made

A

Lot

Of

Grand

Mistakes

And

Now

I

Will

Never

Make

Them

Again

I

Will

Give

Thanks

Instead

Of

Being

A

Martyr

When

The

Bus

Is

Late

When

I

Go

The

Wrong

Way

When

I

Spend

The

Money

Step

One

Is

Acknowledging

It

Step

Two

Is