“Well, God is perfectly fair.” By Julia on the bus to Can Tho

Tuesday January 23, 2018
12:02pm
5 minutes
Institutional
Tamas Dobozy

Middle child=fairness and unfairness
=justice=judge

When god isn’t fair the middle child feels it. In her toenails. In her tears.
All this adding up does not equal the right sum.
Someone miscalculated.
Someone forgot to check the math. God is supposed to be good at math.
One good for you one good for me one bad for you one bad for me.
And if my turn comes today yours will be tomorrow. Yours will come and mine will come and faith and trust and acceptance and patience.
God doesn’t play favourites with disaster. That’s the rule. But what if it comes and it’s not fair? That’s the rule too. How does the middle child handle all these mismatched moments. How does god give back after all the taking.
Let’s take a bite until it’s gone. The middle child understands fractions. How to ration. How to make sure there is enough for everyone for as long as possible. You want the middle child on the boat when trouble finds you. You want the one who knows how to be fair.

“It depends how aware you are.” By Sasha in her bed


Saturday August 19, 2017
3:51pm
5 minutes
Lennon on Lennon
edited by Jeff Burger


He comes home raging
his eyes are round open
he’s not sure what the point is
in doing what he’s doing

I’m questioning everything
where I come from
where I’m going
what I do and what’s the meaning

Four thousand strong
gathered twelve blocks away
give or take
take or give

I nurse a neck that’s twisted
wrecked and tense
with warmth and lemon
with ice and tv

“cleared of misconduct” by Sasha on the couch in Mississauga


Tuesday December 23, 2014
11:34am
5 minutes
from The Telegraph
December 22, 2014


Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, today I’m here to tell you about a man. He’s not a hero. He’s not a villain. He’s a man. A simple man. A man who often forgets to drink enough water. A man who shovels the driveways of everyone on his street before the sun’s even risen, before anyone knows that it’s snowed. Before you is a man that’s been dealt a tough hand, a hand that has begged more of him than our hands have begged of us. I want you to close your eyes. I want to think of yourself at twenty three. Maybe you smoked cheap cigarettes. Maybe you were in love with your first real girlfriend or boyfriend. Maybe it was the first time you didn’t get home for Christmas… I want you to think about how you dreamed then, how you felt about war, how you liked your coffee.