“it makes us feel insecure” by Julia in her childhood room

Saturday December 22, 2018
1:11am
5 minutes
The Book
Alan Watts

The nothing howls
like a deep seeded pit
writhing in the grass,
burying itself free
from the light touching
The pain lives not in the
not knowing but in
the inventing of what the
unknown might be-
could be,
never ever will be
I can hear it too if
I listen
I can see the blues and pinks jumping off its bones and into the night
streaking the silence with
premature dread
What if we never learn to
see the unseen as a gift?
What if the ache builds a
house on its broken back and
boards all the whispered wondering there?

“The liar’s punishment” by Julia at her desk

Wednesday April 25, 2018
6:47am
5 minutes
From a quote by George Bernard Shaw

Five minutes isn’t long enough
to tell you
about the consequences of running away
Each movie sounds like your fear through the
megaphone of your worried heart beat
Each character flaw revealed stirs up your
blood and what if you start bleeding
right here
right now
You will think it is your job from this moment
on to live with the secret heavy that has been
pulling you down slowly, slowly
The sweet stillness will be sickened with dread
and what if dread lives in the elbow skin
collecting at the crease
turning soft into sweat

“silent as the folds of the yellow” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday April 18, 2017
7:35pm
5 minutes
Up
Magaret Atwood


I think his tiptoeing around me is louder than he believes it is.
I don’t like feeling as if he’s afraid to rock the boat for no reason.
Am I really that horrible?
Am I that much of a bear?
Lately he hasn’t been singing in the shower.
I think I broke his spirit.
He’s afraid to do anything wrong in case I might revert to the dark months.
I told him not to worry about me but he wouldn’t hear it.
Yesterday I woke up to him silently removing all the pictures from the walls.
He was nervous that I’d hurt to look at them.
He thinks a bare wall with holes in it is better to look at than a wall with art.
I don’t know how to explain to him that I am fine.
He doesn’t believe me anyway.
He thinks everything I say is a beautiful story.
He over laughs when I speak even if it’s not funny.
He brings home plastic flowers from the dollar store and sneaks them into my rain boots.
He smooths the hair on my arms in the wrong direction.

“He got a gun to his head” by Julia on her couch


Saturday September 17, 2016 at the Shadbolt Centre
11:43am
5 minutes
Overheard at the Shadbolt Centre for the Arts

If there’s a reason why we’re meeting here, none of us know it yet. The sky is dark and ominous. There are casual signs promoting danger or intrigue popping up in shadows and creaky floorboards but we haven’t seemed to take heed because we are convinced that this is a dream and nothing bad can ever actually happen to us because bad things only happen to other people or to humans in movies. It’s dark and cold. We don’t speak much in case talking gives us away somehow. Ali and Strat have both cried into their paper bags. I have been inhaling and exhaling in mine, assuming that’s why we were given these to hold in the first place. Cece said she would be here by ten but since none of us can reach her we have already accepted that she is probably dead by now or swallowed up by the night.

“We finally took the plunge ;)”by Julia at Bagels and Beans


Wednesday November 19, 2014 at Bagels and Beans
3:56pm
5 minutes
From the Bagels and Beans write up by Ronald Bakker

After pounding back at least one hundred tiny chocolate covered coffee beans, I feel the urge to finally do it–finally just look into his eyes, tell him I’m sorry for making him wait so long but I am sure now, I am excited now, I am positively secure in us now.
He keeps his eyes down on his Japanese style wild salmon and puts calculated bagel bites into his mouth without really looking up at all. I like his eating habits. That was something I could never say before-among a million other things. They don’t bother me anymore. That’s how you know it’s really real. I wanted to do it right then, reward his patience, achieve that perfect moment you spend your whole life constructing.
And he doesn’t respond to my throat clearing, my quirky sighs that signal I’m ready for his attention. I am filled with dread suddenly.