“The waters here” by Julia at 49th Paralell


Thursday August 10, 2017
2:56pm
5 minutes
The Lonely Planet Bali and Lombok

I scooped up the sea in my hand and drank at the thought of you.
“I wish you were here” might be carved into my belly.
Yesterday, the croon of the waves kissed my shoulder blade the way you used to. It’s nice to be touched by your memory when you are far away. I gave my salt right back to the source. We laughed a little at the impermanence of things that never belonged to us in the first place. our dreams, on loan from the sky and the breeze and the gentle hereafter.

“The morning, happy thing” by Julia on her couch


Saturday August 5, 2017
12:59am
5 minutes
The Complete Poems of Emily Dickenson

In the morning, I stood up, naked and sweaty. I walked to the fridge with weight. I felt a stillness. This house has been quiet since you left.

When you were gone I slept on your side of the bed and didn’t wke up once. There could be two reasons.
1)Because your side is better than mine or 2)Because I sleep better when you are gone.

I missed you most in the afternoon when the daylight no longer knew which colour it wanted to be. I watched a video of you singing that made me smile out loud.

“trying to teach them technology” By Julia in her cabin


Monday February 27, 2017
4:47pm
5 minutes
from a text

my sister turns 32 and the entire family eats
stuffed lobster tail and shrimp
they gather around the table and tell
each other some of the same stories
after hearing some temporary new ones
my siblings make my parents use cell-phones
I am the only one missing
I am the only one on an island
I am the only one in a different time zone
my mother calls me on my birthday 4 days earlier
proud that she finally got the day right
she doesn’t forget my birthday
she just doesn’t know which day it is anymore because
she isn’t forced to look at a calendar all day
she asks what I am planning and I say nothing really
then my father gets on the phone
he asks me what I’m planning and I say I’m going to the island
he asks me if it feels different being 30
when yesterday I was only 29
I tell him sort of because sort of but not more
because my eggs are getting cold
he sighs and says that at the end of the day
it’s all just soup anyway
I laugh because he is so Italian
but he has a point
he says the first bite tastes like soup
and the last bite still tastes like soup

“I felt stung” By Julia in her cabin


Sunday February 26, 2017
10:19pm
5 minutes
Dear Sugar Radio

I don’t have any memories of my mother’s father. He died when I was three, lived in Italy, and I only met him a couple times. The first time, they tell me, was when I was 3 months old. I had my ears peirced with gold studs (by my aunt Patricia, who was also travelling to Italy with us), I carried around a rainbow striped bunny that I would later name “Skittles”, and according to my mother, I was a very picky eater during the first couple months of my life. They tell me that he was a big man, feared by many. They tell me all the other grandkids ran away from him because they were intimidated by his size, or his mood, or his silence. They tell me that when he walked by my crib I begged for him to pick me up. They tell me that it was strange for a small thing to reach out to him. They tell me that he lived for taking me out into the fields to pick fresh figs. They tell me he smiled a lot when we were there.

Sixteen years later I went to Italy for the second time. I found his gravestone. I listened to the air between my life and his. I still can’t say I ever knew him. But I missed him then.

“A failure to be my best self” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday January 15, 2017
6:22pm
5 minutes
Becoming Wise
Krista Tippett


When I broke into your home, your roommate was fucking her girlfriend. I wasn’t sure if I should stay, or go, or pretend that this was a normal way to spend a Wednesday evening. I knew that you were in China, and that a million different people were taking you out for every meal of the day. I knew that you hadn’t texted me back in exactly seventy six days. I get in your room, the moaning and screaming coming through the wall, and I’m not even sure what to do, I’m not even sure what I want. I take off all of my clothes. I climb into your bed. I drink in your smell.

“preceded by chaos” by Julia at her dining table


Monday November 7, 2016
10:51pm
5 minutes
from a tweet

It’s a scary place to be in when it’s not pretty. Not pretty aka not functioning aka not safe. That’s it, it is not safe inside my head right now. There are a lot of spelling errors and stress about deadlines. Things are in full swing: there’s scheduling and penciling things in, magnifying glasses and red pens everywhere, everyone is at their desk taking calls, all hands on deck. And then you look over to the self-care desk and for some reason she’s not there? Like she slipped out to have a smoke or something and nobody else is equipped to step in. Everyone is panicking that they won’t get their thing done on time so they don’t want to abandon their post for even a second to go figure out if self-care is coming back at any time soon? Or if she has DIED SOMEWHERE? No, of course not. They’re all eating chips for breakfast lunch and dinner and throwing candy corn at the walls because obviously it’s so stupid, but it’s inexplicably appealing. Some of them haven’t even washed. Some of them are looking at old photo albums from high school and are just fucking WEEPING.

“We talk all about our relationship” by Julia in her bed


Sunday November 6, 2016
11:28pm
5 minutes
Dear Sugar Radio

It’s been sixteen weeks since I’ve seen you. Sixteen weeks since we’ve talked. You told me not to be surprised if you one day couldn’t stand talking to me and now that day is here. I can’t say I was surprised or not. You’re not here. I’m grieving. I don’t have time for surprise.
I wish I hadn’t made you hate me to the point of I told you so. Sixteen weeks when the longest stretch before that was sixteen hours. I don’t know what days mean anymore. I don’t know what minutes are. I’m dying for you to forgive yourself for loving me so you can come back and get the real loving you expected.

“it really is used” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday September 5, 2016
11:32am
5 minutes
from a schedule

Sometimes I think about you. I wonder strange things. Are you drinking enough water? Do you have any tattoos? I don’t wormhole down a Google search or a Facebook stalk. I languish in the space between questions about how you might have changed, the shape of your lips, the smell of the back of your neck. It is there were I find stillness, in the wondering. It is there I find comfort, and trust, and faith in the goodness of us. Are you drinking enough water?

“for a fun birthday” by Julia at her dining table


Thursday August 25, 2016
6:59am
5 minutes
SAD MAG
from a TMZ video

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

I am not celebrating my birthday this year.

I AM NOT CELEBRATING MY BIRTHDAY THIS YEAR.

So. You can all go back to what you were doing. WHAT wERe YoU DOinG AnyWAY?? Celebrating something else?? Probably anything else??

I am very upset.
UPset. UPset. because. BECAUSE: I WAS Set Up. That is the truth. TO FAIL. set up to fail and to deal with the repercussions on my oWN. Which is painful. I mISs My Sister.
I miss her laugh. I miss her handssssssss.

And they want me to KEEP PUSHING?

How far before I am edging off the face of this planet? How FAR BEFORE I AM JUST Another NEWs STORy. This Just In: Everything is wrong and nothing is right and someone who needs those things to be switched is feeling the sadness of losing someone close and needs to be held but people are afraid and needs to be told IT IS GOING TO BE OKAY by someone WHO KNOWS and by someone who Won’t Turn It Into A Media Scandal.

I am not celebrating my birthday this year. I have disappointed everyone and nobody will come and everyone is mad and nobody can fix broken with cake.

“Contemporary and traditional ceremonies” by Julia at her dining table


Saturday June 25, 2016
9:23pm
5 minutes
Weddings from the Heart

I haven’t packed a bag in a long time. I don’t really know where I’d go, so I don’t do things that get me going. Matt will have been gone for exactly a year tomorrow. We’re having a mass for him even though he hated church. Mom is always there these days. She says she has a lot to repent about and just wished she could have done it before. She thinks she could have saved him with prayer. I haven’t thought about leaving home since he killed himself. Maybe because I had been away so long and if I were close by, or closer, he wouldn’t have felt so alone. I guess we all blame ourselves for him being gone. I wish the same thing as my mother, that I could have changed my ways sooner. Only in my case that I would have been less selfish and had the foresight to know the repercussions of moving away from home and leaving your kid brother to fend for himself.

“How are you doing this morning?” by Julia at Starbucks


Wednesday June 1, 2016
8:38am at Starbucks
5 minutes
Overheard at Starbucks

My face is in the window and every single person who walks by has a dog
Every single person who walks by has a dog that looks like them
The woman in her clunky heels behind me shakes the floor so much it makes me have to pee
Holding it in, letting it pulse inside me like a flood threatening a levy, is the closest I’ve come to having an orgasm in weeks
I can’t think straight because James is studying in Nepal and I’m worried that she’ll die over there
She is obsessed with going sky diving or bungee jumping
The last time we spoke I told her to please just build a house and stay on the ground
I hate every moment that I’m awake these days
The man beside me is listening to the sound of me breathing and using it as a metronome for his typing
I want to shoot an elastic band at him for stealing my life and turning it into something I don’t have access to
The woman I bought the toaster from off of craigslist last June walks by holding a scruffy man’s hand and wearing fishing boot waders
I wave to her and she waves back but she clearly doesn’t recognize me right away
Then I see it click as a big wide smile crosses her face and she gives me an encouraging ‘thumbs up’ before walking away

“It’s a little big now” by Julia on the 84


Thursday May 19, 2016
8:14pm
5 minutes
overheard at Kafka’s

he was cooking dinner on the island
he liked to call it his ‘cutting station’
where he did most of his cutting
not me
i liked to use the counters by the fridge
i don’t really like the feeling
of floating in the middle of something
just dangling out there
alone
he asked me what my favourite thing to eat was
when i told him i said but it has to be the way
my dad used to make it
he said not to worry
he said he would take care of me
when i looked at his ‘cutting station’
i couldn’t see one ingredient that matched
the items i told him
all the things necessary to make
my favourite thing to eat
i tried not to be bothered by it
or to worry
he said he would take care of me and
i had to
trust him
but i could smell the veggies cooking
and i could tell that he wasn’t
getting
it
right
and so i was bothered by it
and i did worry
and i missed my dad
in that moment more than ever
nothing is the same after your favourite loves die
not life
not dinner

“I’m flexible” by Julia at her dining table


Friday April 29, 2016
3:41pm
5 minutes
from an e-mail

bend me pretzel and salt me temptation
I want dinner for breakfast
I want all the rules broken for me
I am magic and missing you
if given the opportunity
I would tell you that
you’ve been gone for 516 days
I am counting each one
not a single night falls
without me wishing you weren’t
find the flavour of my cheek with your tongue
lap me animal, gentle wolf
greet me at the door’s hinge
tongue eager
and qualified

“Textures” by Julia on her couch


Thursday April 28, 2016
8:52pm
5 minutes
from an Instagram post

It’s hard for me not to see you in the wallpaper and feel you in the tile. Your life danced on these floors. Your heart wept in this bed. I feel you in the counter grime, underneath the green dust that has formed a film on the island–the spot where you placed all those freshly picked wild flowers for me. I tell myself it is not over. That you are still here and that I am still here and that this is still our home, the living room still a place where we used to make music, the kitchen still a place where we used to make love. I hear you in the buzzing hallway light, and the hum of the furnace. They sing to me your laugh and I am held there by the beauty of this pain. In moments where I am completely quiet, I can almost even see you reading in your favourite arm chair by the window, legs outstretched and resting on the blue accent pillow.

“gathering the medicine you need for re-birth.” by Julia at her dining table


Monday, April 4, 2016
9:26am
5 minutes
Mosaic magazine
Spring 2016


I have been free before I was alone
I have been seen before I succumbed to the fear
A little heart shaped pouch holds my dreams in it
A little heart shaped pouch holds my truth in it
I’ve been running wild in my imagination
Picking pretty flowers that I can carry with me all day long
I paint up the ocean I paint in a song
The mountains they’ve been calling so I can always find my way back
I am missing my tribe
The heart shaped hearts that I live for
Mother laughing
Sister holding
Auntie listening
Cousin giving
And to the wild women I left behind
Who I fit inside my sacred space
My medicine is abundant and flowing
I can take a sip from my blessings’ cup
And take steps to find myself again in the river when the deep in me craves
to be surrounded

“if there can be no final satisfaction” by Julia at her dining table


Sunday, April 3, 2016
9:50pm
5 minutes
The Wisdom Of Insecurity
Alan W. Watts


Saying goodbye to you was the worst thing I’ve ever had to endure.
I’ve already told you this but you like to ask it again and again. You say “what was going through your head when you had to leave? Were you sad? Were you empty?” You ask this stuff because you felt sad and you felt empty. I know it was harder for you because I was the one going and you had to stay. My neck was sore that day. I strained it from laying on you the way I did. I didn’t want to let you go. I didn’t want to stop smelling the spot behind your ear where your hair line starts. At the airport you were crying and it was making me angry. I didn’t want to cry there in front of everyone. I wanted to wait for my planned privacy sitting beside two strangers watching Gone Girl for me to cry over you. I wasn’t feeling sad, but hopeful. We needed the time apart and I couldn’t match your dissatisfaction. You wanted to relish in the misery and I wanted you to go do that in the car because it was hard enough already with a bad neck and a lot of emotions I hadn’t yet named. I didn’t think about how upsetting it would be to return to the house we used to share, see all my bath bombs and loose leaf tea, my microphone and my hair towel, and know I wouldn’t be coming back.

“The earth’s insomnia” by Julia at her “New York”


Wednesday March 16, 2016
9:04pm
5 minutes
Moonlight
Lorna Crozier


I have been out stealing rosemary again. Middle of the night. I am not sorry. But I do recognize the pattern. It’s not about much more than needing to have it in my home so I can touch it when I want to and it can calm me down. Some people do the very same thing with animals. I mean maybe they don’t go around at midnight and sneak into people’s front yards, but–I mean they feel comforted by the presence of a pet. So what? I don’t have one of those. I make do. I’m fine. Please don’t ever think my problems will be solved by a cat. They most certainly will not. I don’t need something like that. Thank you for the offer of your offer. I miss my fucking mother. I want to call her and cry and let her love me back to life. I want to tell her that after all that rosemary thieving I didn’t even put any in the roast potatoes. Because I wanted to keep it longer in a vase next to my bed. Because I wanted to hold onto her soft voice telling me for the last time that I was her laugh.

“It’s all my fault.” by Julia at Platform 7 Cafe


Wednesday, February 24, 2016 at Platform 7 Cafe
3:19pm
5 minutes
from an e-mail

I have asked for clarification for the last time from Robbie. He is toxic and hearing his explanations of why he’d prefer to be with Patricia over me has stung for the very last time. I used to need to hear it from his mouth. I’d say, Let me hear it from your two lips, Robbie, tell me exactly why you need her. I want to hear the truth about the tiny heartshaped birthmark next to her left eye that has “cast a fucking spell on you. His earnestness is poisonous and it gets into my veins deep where it can torment me long after I’ve turned off for the night. Gets in my dreams. I thought knowing the words, hearing his reasoning would put this whole thing to bed. I thought it would give me closure or at least act as a critiquing sounding board. I wanted an excuse to get better. I think I also wanted an excuse to blame myself. I am good at taking on Robbie’s shit. I am so good at it I’ve carved out a special place in my life where I store all his stupid behavior and his shitty treatment of me. I take it off the shelves of my heart when I need a reminder that I’m so deeply human when it comes to him—or maybe because of him.

“When ur cat is more” by Julia on her couch


Friday February 5, 2016
11:19pm
5 minutes
A meme on Facebook

I’ve been dreamin’ about Jeanie again. She’s comin’ back to haunt my sleep! Purrin’ like a pretty cat does. I think she’s tryin’ to tell me somethin’ important cause I keep on missin’ her and she keeps on comin’ back. Tonight I’m goin’ to try to ask her some very dreamy yet respectable questions. Jeanie never talks but maybe that’s cause she’s waitin’ on me to lead the way. That’s how she was when she was alive anyway. Always movin’ so slow just to let me go ahead of her. She was very chivalrous! Always waitin’ for me, lettin’ me go first. That’s real love cause cats don’t usually want to go anythin’ but fast, sept when they’re creapin’ up on prey! Oh Jeanie! Tonight in my dreams I am gonna ask you for the first time if you’re happy. You always asked me. You always made sure my answer was yes!

“what you can expect” by Sasha at Harvest Community Foods


Monday, January 18, 2016 at Harvest
5:32pm
5 minutes
from an e-mail

I wouldn’t say no to you becoming a seagull and riding a wind pattern West. Because that’s what you need. Because your wings are achy from underuse.

I would kiss your feathery cheek and whisper, “be safe.”

I would watch as a feather fell into the water and I would strip off my clothes and run in even though it’s cold out now and I would catch the feather in my teeth and carry it to shore.

I would wonder when I saw other seagulls in the weeks to follow if perhaps it was you or a new friend.

“Rainfall warning” by Julia on her couch


Thursday November 12, 2015
10:31pm
5 minutes
from the weather network

Hasn’t stopped raining for weeks. Grant called last night to tell me he was sorry and wished he could have stopped by more. I told him not to worry, there were enough people coming by the house to make sure I was getting out of bed. He asked if Mary-Beth made he famous Parmigiana and I said yeah, for the third time. Hasn’t stopped raining since. When I found out, Grant was on his way over to drop off a pair of winter gloves for Owen so he was there when it all hit. He gave me a long hug and told me it was going to be okay. I didn’t let him leave me that night and he’s still acting strange about it. I don’t know why he feels bad, nothing matters anymore. I’m the one who has to live with it, and all I know is life is pretty short so nothing fucking matters. Hasn’t stopped raining for weeks.

“with the theme of fear” by Sasha at the table at Pascoe Rd.


Monday November 9, 2015
1:17pm
5 minutes
ionmagazine.ca

The night she dies I get a text from a bartender
I sometimes fuck
I wash my
face I get on my
bicycle and I go to
his house
On the way
Somewhere east of Dupont
My chain falls off
I can’t stop the tears
Can’t stop the oil from getting
on my dress
I arrive too close to morning
too far from my father
He lights a joint and the promise
I made to myself not to tell him
Undoes like the clasp of my bra
Naked I’m a puddle of chipped nail polish and
missing
He’s a father so he knows
how to soothe
He rubs my back until I’m hiccups and
when we fuck he’s gentle
he knows just how to look me
in the eye
I leave before I can feel grosser before
I can taste the tinniness of shame
My tongue heavy in my mouth I sing
under my breath
Up the hill on the way
home

“I know I wouldn’t change much” by Sasha in Buchanan E


Thursday October 8, 2015
5:18pm
5 minutes
Vancouver Metro
Thursday, October 8, 2015


If you were here or
I was there
the sun would still be setting
all pink and gold
If you were here or
I was there
the leaves would still be falling
all rust coloured bold
If you were here or
I was there
the crows would still be calling
flying towards the west
If you were here or
I was there
The phoebes would still be curled
together snug in their nest
If you were here or
I was there
the night would still be coming
breathing dark on the sky
If you were here or
I was there
winter would still be on it’s way
and I’d still be asking “why”

“My flight was $10, 200″ by Julia at Souzan’s apartment


Friday September 18, 2015
9:40pm
5 minutes
overheard at Parallel 49

You let me fall asleep on you while you do you and read the newspaper or something
Catch the race or something
Eat a cob of corn or something
I nestle in there onto the soft of your body
Ready to greet sleep
Ready to find ease
And I do this so I can feel your heart beat without asking to
And I can breathe into the space of the folds of you while you carry the weight of me
These are my favourite moments
The world stops for me and continues for you
I die a thousand happy deaths laying there in your middle
And you go on living in the comfort of me lifeless, but content

It’s been one whole year without you and I don’t have a squishy home to lay my head
It’s not the same as it was
I cannot fall asleep on myself and float away
I don’t know where you are
I consider paying an unearthly sum to find you
A flight to the good old days may just cost me ten thousand dollars
Or ten thousand tears

“Our favourite woman is missing!!!” by Julia at Valens Restaurant


Tuesday, June 30, 2015 at Valens Restaurant
10:02 pm
5 minutes
From a text

I wait for Dany to close the door fully before I utter a single word about Cynthia. I hear the click. Dany waits at the window watching Mitchell get into his car. She makes sure he drives away then she slowly turns around.
“He’s gone.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Watched him drive off. ”
“I don’t think she’s dead. ”
“Don’t say that. I knew you were going to say that. ”
“Hear me out, Dany. I’ve given this a lot of thought. ”
“I don’t like that she could be alive and wouldn’t tell us. Or wouldn’t even tell her own brother. ”
“That’s just it, Mitch can’t know about her. No one can. ”

“saying she is lost” by Julia on the 505 going west


Monday, April 27, 2015
11:49pm
5 minutes
from Hopelessly Hoping
Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young


Do you remember those days we would show up to a concert wearing almost the exact same thing? I don’t know if you got a kick out of it but it was one of my favourite things. Did I not tell you that? I loved when we’d dress alike because it meant we were spending a lot of time together and our styles were merging because that’s just what happens when people are connected by heart strings. I liked most how it was unconscious or subconscious or whateverconscious because that was more proof that we weren’t even trying to be similar, we just were. Anyway, I guess all that to say I miss it. I miss you. I don’t even know where I am half the time and I’ve realized lately it’s because you’re not here anymore. You used to anchor me to the earth; to myself. I knew more about the world when you were around. I knew more about magic and wonder and rushing out of the house just to meet you at whatever corner so we could talk about writing or the painfulness of falling out of touch with ourselves.

“Their smiling faces touched” by Julia at her dining room table


Monday March 16, 2015
5:47pm
5 minutes
Still Alice
Lisa Genova


In the window fog she traced his name with her pointer finger and drew a heart around it. Finding herself rereading the same last paragraph of his letter over and over again, she knew she wasn’t going to rid herself of his memory with any ease at all. She stopped herself for an instant, glanced out into the passing world outside her moving train, and came back into the present moment. She had been talking about him as if he had not only left her, but left this earth all together. Then, a tiny ember of hope flickered inside her. He wasn’t even gone, just away. Just away from her. His final words to her,the ones she’d been revisiting each time without effort, were suddenly so clear to her: “In time we fade and in time we’re built anew.”

“She hasn’t been back since” by Julia at her desk


Thursday November 27, 2014
5:42pm
5 minutes
Summer Dress
July Talk


The city’s all lit up at night now
There are lights hung from the tree tips
There’s that feeling in the air
It was her favourite and everyone knows that still
It’s probably the hardest part of everything
Seeing her face in the snow
In the ice rinks
In the candy canes
So what do we do now?
Wait
Drink tea?
Coffee
She’s not coming back so we have to make a choice
Keep living
Trying
Keep smiling
Remembering
When it’s hard that’s when she’s closest
So with that we can make a fresh attempt
When it’s hard
When it’s hard and beautiful out
When people look happy

“Select your inbound journey” By Julia on Nicole’s balcony


Monday September 1, 2014
3:38pm
5 minutes
raileurope-world.com

I wrote you a note
And I left it there
In the pillow case on my side
So you’d feel my dreams when you held it tight

And you could say goodnight to me

I wrote you a note
And I left it there
On the back of a bottle of wine
So when you were toasting to us

You could take an extra sip for me

I wrote you a note
And I left it there
In the drawer with your passport and socks
So when you got dressed in the morning

You could put on a piece of me

I wrote you a note
And I left it there
On the bedside table where you’d see it
Right before you fell asleep

I left it there so you could read me

I wrote you a note
And I left it there
In the case of your favourite film
And when you’d open it up to watch it alone

You’d feel like you were watching with me

I wrote you a note
And I left it there
In the basket of all your pens
With a box of envelopes, to remind you, dear

That you could write for me

“INSERTED” by Julia on her couch


Sunday August 17, 2014
10:19pm
5 minutes
from a receipt

I haven’t known what day it is since last week. That’s not usually like me. I usually know dates and times and names and faces. Lately I’ve been forgetting. I can’t tell if it’s later in the week or earlier? I can’t tell if I have something I need to get done, or not? Maybe because I’ve been doing nothing for so long it suddenly feels like there’s no way I could still be doing only nothing. Haven’t I scheduled some amazing plans yet? Haven’t I figured out something great to do with my time? Surely I’ve missed something! But that would be even worse, knowing that the one and only time I did have plans, I forgot to write them down, or just got the dates confused and ended up doing something mundane instead! Maybe it’s a defence mechanism so I don’t have to go ahead and deal with the dates I know are approaching. August 21: our last night. August 22: our last day. August 23: The first day without you in months. August 24: the first Sunday without cuddling you in the morning because we made sure to observe No Alarm Sundays every other weekend.
I don’t know what day I’m on because I’m in preparation for a longing that can’t be cured simply just by making other plans..

“Love rocks” by Julia on her couch


Thursday August 14, 2014
12:22am
5 minutes
from a girl’s purple t-shirt

Oh they say that when they have it, when they feel it, when they see it
Oh they say that when they know it, when they own it, when they free it
Oh they say those things, light on and good intentions
Oh they say those things, dreams out loud and good vibrations
Oh they, the ones who don’t have to do the missing
Oh they, the ones who don’t have to do the air kissing
Oh they, the ones who don’t need to pretend
Oh they, the ones who don’t need to wait
Love
Talking about Love
Talking about what everyone knows what I’m talking about
Paul Simon on the open road
Something about the loss of it and a window and the winds blowing
Talking about Love
Talking about the same old thing that poetry was built on
Hand-written letters in the mail, sent with two stamps and a kiss for good luck
Oh they say that when they have it, when they feel it, when they see it
Oh they say that when they know it, when they own it, when they free it
Love
Talking about Love

“with MOSS FOLK” by Julia at Kawaii Crepe


Thursday August 7, 2014 at Kawaii Crepe
8:38pm
5 minutes
from the Wooden Shjips concert ticket


I’ve been sitting here with a patch of dead skin in my hands. I thought you would have noticed that my legs were peeling because some of the shapes looked like your favourite states: Minnesota, Alabama, Missouri. You didn’t say one thing about it, so I kept slowly detaching the snake-like-shreds, trying to keep them as long and intact as possible. Like orange peels. Like the backing of a press on tattoo. I guess I was looking for some attention, or to prove to myself that you cared about me and my well-being. I wondered if you wondered why I had burnt skin to begin with. If you thought to ask and discovered that I scalded my legs in a hot bath, if you’d wonder why anyone would think to take a hot bath in the middle of July. I don’t usually do that kind of thing. It just sort of happened as a result of my endless time alone and my desire to feel like anything but myself. Granted, I did feel a little like Virginia Woolf. I wondered if you’d wonder about that part…

“That’s very interesting” by Julia on her couch


Monday, July 21, 2014
11:18pm
5 minutes
Overheard at ideal coffee


She was a mad hatter
her feelings didn’t matter
she was a mad a mad a
and when she danced
the world was romanced
but she didn’t believe it yet
her feelings didn’t matter
she was a mad hatter
a mad, a mad was, a mad was
He always did stray
When she looked the other way
His mask a good looking one
And they would talk
But not have much to say
their costume a convincing one
She was a batter
her feelings didn’t matter
she was a bat a bat a
And when she sang
The whole world came
but she didn’t know how to believe it yet
He always did lie
It was his alibi:
He really just enjoyed telling it.

“Feed your creative juices” by Julia on her couch


Monday, July 14, 2014
11:43pm
5 minutes
from a pencil case


First things first-hi, how are you, don’t answer that, are you well, don’t answer that. Second things second-did you return that dvd to that damn store that is always trying to take our life savings, don’t answer that. Seconds things should maybe be first things. Whatever. Hi. How are you? Respect, respect. Did you-okay, sorry. I’m a nag. I was born that way. I have a lot of questions, mostly about things I suspect you’ve failed to do so asking really doesn’t change anything, but god, yes, I want it to. I was born that way! It’s in my blood, my ingrown hairs– Well, if I had ingrown hairs. I know what you’re going to say, blah blah, nobody will want to marry me if I have scars all on my arms, but I don’t have ingrown hairs because those things, those itty bitty life problems are now solved because I wouldn’t settle for leaving them where they belong. I am acutely aware that I have nagged my ingrown hairs so much so that–hi. Hi! I’m sorry. First things first! Rewind! Hi. I’ve missed you. Did you clean the litter box? OH MY GOD. WHO AM I. Don’t answer that.

“There is absolutely no subletting” by Julia on her couch


Thursday, September 26, 2013
5:50pm
5 minutes
The City Of Toronto Permit Policy

Okay so you’re moving? You’re just up and leaving? Didn’t you think about what I would have to do? Fucking course not. You’re a selfish dick. You could have warned me, at least, that you wanted to move. That you wanted to travel. Like, now I’m stuck either paying all the rent, or finding a roommate, which I know you know sucks ass. You have to leave me your throw blankets now. And the microwave, and the coffee table. I don’t think you get a say, sorry. Selfish people need to be accountable for their actions. What do you mean “not a big deal” ? Huh? Are you fucking kidding me? My best friend is LEAVING THE COUNTRY for an undetermined length of time and you want me to calm down? How about, WHEN WILL I EVER SEE YOU AGAIN? Or, Hey, just a head’s up, you might want to get all your shit-ducks in a row cause I’m about to DISORGANIZE THE FUCK OUT OF THE ONES THAT ARE ALREADY TRYING TO LINE UP.

“Softness, protection, control” by Julia at her desk


Wednesday, August 7, 2013
6:55pm
5 minutes
from the macadamia oil bottle

Sheena was practicing her mindfulness. She was channeling light and focussing on dying her hair a magnificent shade of midnight blue by the end of the week. Her skin was soft, her eyes turned inward. Sheena was breathing slowly, thoughtfully. She had started meditating when Christopher died because it seemed like the only thing she could do without hurting herself. Midnight blue, and then maybe turquoise by December. She let her thoughts glide to Christopher and then back again, without punishment. She was allowed to miss him. She was allowed to see other men and be reminded of him. But that was not always easy. Sometimes she’d forget where she was or who she was and start hugging strangers. It was something, her therapist calmly told her, that was not okay. Sheena knew that anyway. She just couldn’t help herself on certain days.

“the blank screen” by Julia at Tarragon Theatre Courtyard


Monday, July 8, 2013
2:23pm
5 minutes
Overheard by Sasha on her way up the stairs

Dear friend (who shall remain nameless),

You have taught me a lot. Did you know that? I got in touch with my five year old self earlier today and realized some things:
1)It’s not my fault that I wanted to be exactly like my older sister (who shall also remain nameless)
2) I am okay just the way I am. AKA I’m enough, I’m enough, I’m enough.
3)You belong in my life and I miss your hugs more than you know.

It was like looking inward at a blank screen, trying to connect the dots of my past and make myself feel something. Trying to outline a reason for why I am the way I am. And then your face was just there. Glowing like a smiling fire, a tiny nightlight to keep me from dying while I sleep. You weren’t speaking but you were saying so much. Something about our band, and how we’ll start it up when you get back because we’ll compliment each other perfectly. You also alluded to having a silent walk in the park while you dog sit like we did last year and ended up having an impromptu summer of dreams that excluded, nor welcomed, anyone but the two of us.

“We are not captives” by Julia at her kitchen table


Sunday February 10, 2013
1:51am
5 minutes
Mud, River, Stone
Lynn Nottage


Getting a bit hazy in my head.
Had a million questions to ask before bed.
Wished you would have stayed.
Instead you just left.
There’s an empty space now.
Ow Ow. My empty space hurts now.
Where are you in this moment.
On a cloud, I hope. That would be nice.
It would be a shroud of doubt.
It would be nice.
I hear violins and I like them.
You never left a note like all the other men.
Didn’t know how to sign your own name?
That’s what I’ll tell people.
Fear of dyslexia and that is okay.
You won’t have an airport bar all to yourself in any other life.
So HA!
Ha! Things taste good when you’re not tasting.
Things taste good when you’re not wasting.
We are not captives!
You said that in your sleep once.
I listened, I wrote it down, I framed it, and put it on the mantle in the living room.
You never even saw it. Never noticed. Those were your words!
Getting a bit hazy in my head.
Had a million questions to ask before bed.
Wished you would have stayed.
Instead you just left.
There’s an empty space now.
Woah, woah, my empty space is singing now.
Songs of you, wouldn’t that be nice?
Wouldn’t that be something to tell your friends.
I can prove I’m enough.
Give me half a chance.
Come back and I’ll promise to do your laundry until we both fall down dead.
I’ll let you wash my hair the way you always wanted.

“cupcake” by Julia at Sambuca Grill


Thursday, November 29, 2012 at Sambuca Grill
7:19pm
5 minutes
The Lawblaws ad
on the back of NOW Magazine


I am dreaming of you in lace and leopard print. You’re jumping from a tall building and you’re sprinkling your carefree glitter over all of us.
I miss you so much it hurts and when I think of your face, it’s lit with a halo or something, keeping it warm, warming my hands. I dream of you almost every night and you’re wearing this beautiful scarf that twinkles when you dance. You are always soft and you are always smiling at me through your eyes. I see you in the face of the sunset, in the face of a laughing toddler. I see you as if you were designed to lead me through life and keep me safe. I see you in everything that’s beautiful. Your legs, your arms.
I miss you so much it hurts.
You’re the thing that keeps me wanting. That keeps me wanting to want. That keeps me in search of pretty and wonderful.
To talk to you feels like a cupcake temptation when I’m off of sweets for the month. I’m trying not to go back to my old ways but it’s not easy because you make it look so good.
I almost did it yesterday. I was closer to the sky. I was closer to anything than I’ve ever been.