“making dinner for my family” by Julia at Rivendell

Sunday January 20, 2019
11:08pm
5 minutes
The Other, Invented Man
Matthew Vollmer

I’m chopping onions to simmer for my man
Tonight we feast and I feed him and he wants me
Tomorrow I’ll surprise him with a new dish I’ve never made before and I’ll feed him and he’ll want me
If I were alone I would get resourceful
Start with one egg and see far I can stretch it
See how many meals one egg holds
If I have no one to please or impress,
no one a barometer for if I’ve gone to
the grocery store in a while or chosen something I was curious about tasting
When he’s home I put on the alien, the apron, the mask
I find a different reality
If I had a full family I would cook for them
I wouldn’t need to feel anything after that

“Part of the explanation” by Sasha at Ideal Coffee


Friday June 9, 2017 at Ideal Coffee
3:34pm
5 minutes
The Globe And Mail

When Maggie feeds her snake, she says a prayer for the mouse. It actually isn’t her snake, it’s Tova’s, but Tova is in Switzerland and Maggie isn’t sure when she’ll be back so as far as she’s concerned the snake now belongs to her. It was actually Tova’s sister’s boyfriend’s snake, but his landlady lost her mind when she found out a snake was in the apartment, so what was Tova’s sister supposed to do? Take the snake. And then Tova’s sister, ever the pacifist, couldn’t get over the feedings so Tova took pity and said she’d take the fucking snake.

“Stufo (agg) fed up (with)sick (of) ” by Julia at Il fiume in Monetelone


Wednesday September 17, 2014
4:11pm
5 minutes
Availiardi Dizionario Italiano-Inglese

After my nap I wake t the three cats in heat moaning to be let inside. I begged Mira not to feed them the very first time they showed up at our door and she refused to listen, claiming I was an insensitive product of my own eternal cynicism. I told her I had heard that cynicism would change the quality of our lives and she shook her head while pouring milk from the height of her hip into two tiny yogurt containers on the landing. Now these cats, thought I could have predicted it, are outs and we have to love them or it might, heaven forbid, breed more insensitive cynicism. I don’t love these cats. I don’t love most cats. I tried to give them a piece of my heart but in their eyes I see a great manipulation and a hunger that can’t be trusted. I think they see that in me too, even though I reluctantly feed them now and sometimes throw bits of yarn their way when I feel like attempting my good deed for the day. Mira never seems to be here anymore–always working late nights at the factory. I’m left here with these little gypsy cats more than I’d like.