“wild horses” by Julia at her desk


Saturday June 3, 2017
10:45pm
5 minutes
from the microsoft home-screen

On the road trip, Marco presents the game called Animals.
It’s simple, really, when you see an animal, you yell out what it is.
My favourite one to yell is HORSES.
Marco’s favourite is GOATS.
We’ve been playing since the bad burgers and the overpriced fruit.
Marco won’t let me drive even though he’s nodded off twice. I told him
he could rest if he wanted, but he didn’t want me to miss all of the
waterfalls, happening exclusively on my side.
I try to present the game called Water Falls.
But only I can play. Marco can’t take his eyes off the road
on this mountain because every turn is very important.
After we stop for gas and retape the underside of our car,
Marco snapps at me for trying to put down his sun visor and blocking his view.

“People will say,” by Julia in her childhood room


Friday January 6, 2017
12:45am
5 minutes
from The Province

I didn’t wish you a happy birthday and people will say-probably-that I am avoiding you or doing it on purpose or trying to play games. I’m not doing any of those things-though it’s your prerogative to think that I am. To believe everyone else but me. I didn’t do it this year because I was busy and because I don’t think you’re a good person. I should clarify that I still love you somewhere deep down as the person who first showed me what borrowing my parents’ car was really for; who laughed easy to build someone else up when you knew how much that would matter. I can’t condone the rest of you these days. Maybe not for the last few years. I tried to trick myself but it didn’t work. I’m not a very good liar. Not nearly as good as you.

“the games you don’t play” by Sasha at Platform Seven


Friday June 17, 2016 at Platform Seven
7:51am
5 minutes
What You Don’t Do
Lianne La Havas


You don’t play those kinds of games that other guys play. The ones where they act all interested, all invested, and then dive off the deep end, out of nowhere. “It’s called ‘ghosting’,” someone said at a dinner party last night. You thought about it when you brushed your teeth, carefully polishing each one with the rechargeable electric toothbrush. “Ghosting,” you whisper, rubbing vaseline into your lips and the callouses on your feet. You don’t play those kinds of games. Helen texts when you’re already in bed and you know it’s her before you check the screen. She’s close by and wants to come over. You switch your phone onto silent and turn out the light. “Ghosting…”

“Can you see anything?” by Julia on Amanda’s couch


Saturday February 28, 2015
3:05am
5 minutes
overheard at Amanda’s house

I begged Birdie to let me have a look but she told me I was being impatient and to show some courtesy. When I asked her what courtesy meant she shushed me so fast it sounded like a bullet was zooming right past my face. It was my idea in the first place to “borrow” uncle Ray’s ladder and creep up the side of the fence. Birdie didn’t trust me with being the first set of eyes on Old Annabel Winkler because she was convinced I wouldn’t be able to
control my laughter and I’d give away our hiding spot in seconds. Then she got up there and all she was saying was “ooh” “woah” “oh my gosh” and “no way!”

“we thought we’d play a little trick” by Julia at the Perth/Dupont Library


Wednesday February 25, 2015 at the Perth/Dupont Library
1:51pm
5 minutes
Betty and Veronica Double Digest
The Archie Library 215


We had a ton of little games we used to play when we were kids: See how many fingers you could fit in your mouth, how far you could shove a twisted piece of facial tissue up your nose before sneezing, see who could sneeze the most in a row after that twisted piece of facial tissue was stuck up there, how many times you could belt out the national anthem while you did a number two. We’d come up with the weirdest shit and we would be so willing to complete every single thing. How many bubbles could you blow with your gum in the nude while you got wrapped up in a towel, how many bubbles could you blow with your gum before you got unwrapped from your towel? How many spoons of cinnamon could you keep in your mouth without spitting it everywhere. You’d think we didn’t have one single toy, one single book. Where we came up with these crazy ideas, I will never know.

“Qualified For: Video Blogger” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday, June 25, 2013
12:58am
5 minutes
from a business card

Always liked my arms. Never had a problem with them. Never felt like they were disproportionate. Thought about getting liposuction once (Who doesn’t), and then realized that I just don’t care enough about that stuff. Never had a problem with my hands until a stupid boy named Brendan with bleach-blonde surfer hair told me they were too big for my body. I was 14 (fuck you Brendan). Thought my feet were okay. Not too big, not too small. Just right. one of my toes is ridiculously too tiny but do people care about toes these days? Thought if people were playing the game where they deconstruct themselves, then build the ideal human with all the best parts from them and their friends, at least two or three of my features would make the cut. Not my hair. Too scraggly in the wintertime. (Not my lips either.) Some friends would make it on for everything. They had better shaped eyes or noses or something. But if we were playing the game where we deconstruct all our skills and build the ideal human with those? I’d be up there for sure. Nobody can video blog like me. I even put it on my resume and business cards.

“Maybe find a bluebird’s nest” by Julia on her couch


Sunday, June 2, 2013
1:28am
5 minutes
Knee-Deep in June
James Whitcomb Riley


In the yard, that’s where we were hiding. We didn’t want Anthony to hear us so we cupped each others’ mouths and just hoped nobody had to sneeze or pee for a little while. It would have ruined everything; the sounds of children playing carelessly travels. That’s when I saw it. I didn’t want to tell anyone just in case one of them couldn’t keep their little yipps to a minimum and blow our cover. It was beautiful. Just a tiny egg all by itself in the nest. Couldn’t tell what kind of nest it was either but that’s because it was dark. I couldn’t believe how low it was to the ground. Started wondering if the mother bird was nearby, stalking us the way I felt I was stalking her baby. I never would have touched the thing if it were up to me. My mother used to yell bloody murder at us when we were young if we ever went near a nest in our backyard, or at grandma’s cottage. I knew better. But then Corey had to stick his snot-nosed face right into it because he didn’t even see it. I told him to keep his glasses on from the start, but no, Anthony convinced him that if he took them off he’d be more of a man, and he’d also be less scared if he couldn’t see what was coming for him.