“spaces for writers to meet” by Julia in her bed

Friday October 19, 2018
12:03am
5 minutes
from litmaglove.com

what would I tell them
if I met the table of writers
would they know I was lying
like she did
would they have any respect at all
I see that now she wanted to like me but I wasn’t brave enough
I wouldn’t respect that either
so much for honesty and writing what you know
if it only causes you pain
why would any of us want that
but here we are going through it
here we are finding the love in the lousy

“God may have written” by Julia on her couch

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

10:33pm

5 minutes

From a quote by Nancy Cartwright

Aubrey tells me that she wishes she could sing without trying. Without crying. Without opening her mouth. She asks me to ask God what can be done about that. She asks me because I’m taller than her and therefore closer to God. She’s not wrong…

When I ask her why she wants this she doesn’t answer with words but with a look of disapproval. As if I didn’t already know. As if it needs to be spelled out.

Aubrey tells me it’s important that singing be true. She says she’s heard enough people trying and she doesn’t want to be the kind who has to push put feelings; one who tries to get it right.

Would you be okay with being wrong? I ask her, a little afraid now that I’ve pushed her too far.

She smiles then and blows her bangs out of her oval face.

“My unexpressed anger at nothing in particular.” by Julia on Jessica’s air mattress


Saturday July 15, 2017
8:33am
5 minutes
No one belongs here more than you.
Miranda July


I throw my phone across the room, breaking the corner and exposing the LCD screen. I am now angry at myself for wrecking a thing I needed. I am always wrecking things I need.
I didn’t want to talk to him this morning in the first place but when he calls my heart double dutches just like it used to so I answer because I am a creature of habit and likely synchronicity.
I don’t know how I choose this terrible mood over all the other moods, but this is the one I’m wearing like a hazmat suit. It’s bulky and oversized and it knocks people over if it gets too close. I even use sarcasm when I can tell I have pierced him. I am nowhere close to okay with that.

“When we look up” by Julia at her dining table


Wednesday December 7, 2016
10:06pm
5 minutes
An interview with Gloria Steinem

I have been wanting to read everything in Meredith Grey’s cadence when she narrates the beginning and end of the episode. Everything feels like a life lesson these days. Everything feels a little bit like a fucking education. She’s gotten angrier. They’ve made her colder, more unfeeling. And at the same time all fluffy and rising up or learning something profound about herself. I think about the character of Meredith Grey and how they based an entire show on the shoulders of the one beautiful individual who couldn’t actually act. Or is Meredith played exactly as intended? Is she that type to a T and Ellen Pompeo is a godddamn genius for the way she interprets her? I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I’m not even writing in my own voice, I’m writing in hers. And the main message with the sappy music is spoken in the monotone or maybe perfect cadence of a fictional character. Who is filthy rich in real life by the way.

“feel free to talk to me” by Julia at her dining table


Tuesday April 19, 2016
9:36pm
5 minutes
from an e-mail

Dearest Dot,
I am wearing the friendship bracelet you sent me in your last letter as I write you this letter in response. It is beautiful. You have such knack for colour coordination and choosing the coordinating colours that suit me best. My favourite part is the little H stitched in. How did you do that? You must send a tutorial for me to try in your next letter. Before I forget, I wanted to enclose some photos of me and my family while we were camping at Driftwood Beach this summer. I think you’ll find a pleasant surprise in the photo with me and Elsie holding her fetch ball in her mouth! Won’t spoil the surprise but I wanted to give you a heads up to look for it. Joshua tried to kiss me again behind the big elm tree in my backyard. I told him that if he keeps doing it I’ll have to find someone else to be in my play. I heard Benjamin and his brother, Nick, wanted to be in it but are too shy to talk to me. I wonder why that is? I like talking to everybody! I hope that you feel like you can talk to me? I mean I know you do because you always write back! Well I hope you know that I want you to feel free to talk to me about anything. Even this request!

Until next time,
Heath Heath

“She expected me to be in jeans” By Julia in Brooklyn


Friday, July 31, 2015
2:17am
5 minutes
from Sasha’s transcriptions

As if to say I had already fucked everything up for everyone, she looked straight down her nose at me and slightly shook her head. Not a full shake. Just enough to really shame me and make me wish I hadn’t needed to even come. Stevie was on the other side of the lounge and she was sending over her best “Sorry, Delia” eyes. I think at one point she mimed tightening a noose around her neck out of solidarity but even she knew she had no idea what hell I was in. Stevie happened to meet one of the suitors who liked her care-free, dress-code breaking, entirely beautiful, but way too young looking face and had told the monitor that Stevie was free to remain as she was. I on the other hand didn’t get so lucky.

“some of your visitors” by Julia in London Fields


Wednesday December 31, 2014
6:11pm
5 minutes
http://www.wordpress.com

Some of your visitors have been overstaying their welcome. They have still not brought you a nice bottle of wine and they somehow continue to forget to take off their shoes before going upstairs to the bedroom. What I will say to you, and you know to whom I’m referring, is that certain guests who don’t show appreciation for their hosts’ home will not be tolerated to remain visitors. Some of your visitors have contemplated stealing from you, taking your possessions hidden deep in the over-fridge cupboard when you are in the shower or out picking up items to make their breakfast. This might be a warning. I’d take it as such if I were you.

“Wish I could, you know that” by Julia at Bolpetta


Sunday November 30, 2014 at Bolpetta
3:45pm
5 minutes
overheard at Bolpetta

I’m kind of mad at you, I guess. I was really angry before but now I’m. I don’t know just upset, really. I want to explain why I’m upset. I really want you to understand that for me this is not an overreaction. I’m not exaggerating. You made me feel a certain way and it’s valid and I want you to know that.
So. Ok. So I guess I have the floor, then don’t I? I’ve been working on my nerve but it doesn’t seem to be showing. Dr. Abrahams wants me to use “I” statements. “I feel” statements. You. Sorry I mean I feel..felt..because it happened already. Um. Okay. I felt betrayed by you when you decided to eat at the meatball place without me even though I told you it was very important to me. I know you will think that it’s a petty thing to be upset over but you. I feel that you threw away my feelings and decided I was not important enough for you to wait. That’s how it felt. I am entitled to that feeling. It signifies that when it’s really life or death you won’t have the sense to keep me in mind. I am entitled to that feeling.

“100th Birthday Party” by Julia in her bed


Friday, July 4, 2014
2:12am
5 minutes
a poster at Cafe D’amour


A hundred days even seems longer than a hundred years. I mean, I know it’s obviously not longer. I know that. But it feels easier to comprehend, to grasp, maybe. If I have to explain I’d say because a hundred years doesn’t even seem to exist at all, therefore in comparison to something that does exist (100 days), it seems like less. You know,cause ghosts are infinitely less human than humans–right? If this doesn’t make sense, I apologize. I used to be so good with expression and communication. I guess now that I’ve been doing this for a hundred years…whoops…there I go, proving my point even there! 100 years in declarations, in hyperbole, does not exist at all–the listener understands it and is not annoyed by it as its usage is wildly celebrated, therefore proving that it’s not real. It’s the forever amount of time. It’s infinity. From here to there-from now to 100 years.

“300 pages” by Julia on her couch


Wednesday January 8, 2014
1:24am
5 minutes
from the cover of an old notebook

wrote you a letter explaining my love
i used words and pictures so you would understand
thought i was being clear and concise
i have a habit for confusing beautiful things
it had symbols and references
metaphors and similes
song lyrics and abstract drawings
it was over 300 pages long
it was over 4 years of patience waning and devotion
it was full of perfectly crafted images to indicate my feelings
the words written slowly so you could read them with ease
and the same things kept repeating over and over
the things about forever
the things about honesty
the things about forgiveness
the things about grass watering
and moon bathing
the kind of love poets have trouble describing
mostly because they fear that words will only taint it