“wonders what’s in this woman’s fridge” by Julia at her desk

Saturday March 16, 2019
8:21pm
5 minutes
Malarky
Anakana Schofield

I go round to some houses that have giant fridges and a pantry filled with a lot of the Costco packaging. Giant boxes of shredded wheat, giant tubs of peanut butter, giant rolls of paper towel. The fridges upstairs have chocolate bars half-eaten, caramel M&M’s, bocconcini, tiny hummus cups with pretzels, and lime Perrier.

I am not hungry but they tell me to eat. And since I am here, and curious, and low on money, I save my rice leftovers. Leave the container in my bag and find as many things in the giant fridges to eat as I can. Anything already opened? Anything about to go bad anyway and finishing it is doing them more of a favour? Their leftovers sometimes taste better than mine. Because I didn’t make them. Sometimes old fries from a restaurant with a little bit of aioli.

“like a man swallowing clay.” By Sasha in the bath

Thursday January 25, 2018
10:43pm
5 minutes
Fish-Eye Marble
Sophia Lecker

Yogi swallows clay to clean out her toxins. Yogi does a headstand. Yogi drinks ginger – pure ginger – liquified. Yogi swallows soft white fabric and shits it out and pulls and now she’s clean.

Beth fries chicken in a cast iron skillet. Beth wipes her hands on a cloth that she found in the laundry room. It has small blue ducklings. She thinks it might belong to a baby. Beth stole from a baby.

Kenneth makes his fiftieth egg sandwich of the morning. He wonders if Jess is up yet. He hates working brunch.

“Space Womb” by Sasha at the casita

Sunday October 15, 2017
6:39pm
5 minutes
YouTube.com

I’ve got a Space Womb
What about you
Today she’s dripping
Brown red beauty
How about you
Today I light candles
In my Space Womb
She likes it warm
And dim
Today I eat and eat
Space Womb’s orders
Today I say
Don’t touch
To my lover
Space Womb is discerning
Moon is Waning Crescent
Space is close
Space is here
Space is in me
Like fire

“mini-volcanoes” By Julia in her cabin


Thursday February 23, 2017
10:11pm
5 minutes
from the Ocean Village Activity Book

In five minutes maybe I can remove all of the spicy chip from my teeth with my tongue and clear my mouth of all the tiny volcanoes erupting in my gums
In five minutes I’ll be able to finish the whole bag without meaning to and without effort, trying not to show signs of regret or shame so I can succeed in a more worthwhile game
I will learn the value of enough, I will learn it in my mouth so I don’t spend lifetimes filling my molars with trash to avoid the silence

“we realize we can’t eat money” by Julia at her desk


Saturday March 21, 2015
6:24pm
5 minutes
from an Indian Proverb

It stops me in my tracks for a second. We can’t keep it, eat it, turn it into fuel and be nurtured by it. We can’t take it with us, weave it into our bodies, make it anything but what it is. It stops me. It stops me in my tracks. When the world is spinning so fast it looks like it’s still..
That’s how it hits me, moves me, like a tectonic plate. I don’t know what I need usually -to remember this. A baby’s laughter, the oil painting of a woman breast feeding her new-born, a warm hug that lasts for at least 6 seconds, the poetry I buy with the currency of my tears. I am energy, I eat energy, I do not eat money. I wear artistic expression. I do not wear money. I think in hearts and hope. I do not think in money.

“Tutti liberi!” By Julia in Piazza della Mercanzia, Bologna


Saturday September 27, 2014
5:41pm
5 minutes
Street graffiti on Strada Maggiore in Bologna

When the missus takes my hat I fall in love with her hands and the silky smoothness of her fingertips as she lightly grazes mine. I fall in love with her in this instance and in all her past instances-her befores, her before thats. Her shadows following closely behind her-I see them and I love them too, for they know her intimately from the back, even though she barely turns her head.

She doesn’t say a word to me but with her silence I can tell she senses me more than she’d like to. She won’t meet my eyes but her skin is lit up and it radiates a heat that comes from fear disguised as indifference. She’s done this before and I’m aware that she knows this too, but old habits die the hardest. She doesn’t wish it were different, she doesn’t try to kill the thing that eats her. I wonder what the missus would have looked like as a girl and I picture her strawberry blonde curls frizzing in the midsummer’s heat.