and all the sheets drift jazz” by Julia in her bed

Sunday September 2, 2018
10:51pm
5 minutes
Bad Boy’s Slut Song
Nick Comilla

I told him I didn’t like jazz. Said the music made
my brain feel like a loaf of bread left sitting. He wanted to convince me that there is some good jazz. He said he knows the kind I’m talking about: elevator, supermarket. I said yeah but it disrupts me on a cellular level when it’s bad. I don’t trust people who say they like jazz. Like why.
He told me he liked jazz and I would have to stop generalizing. Like do you leave someone over jazz? As in can’t support someone who loves it or can’t be with someone if they can’t get with it?

“all-new, feature-length” by Sasha at Jericho Beach

Sunday August 5, 2018
1:30pm
5 minutes
Teamsters and Tutus
Simon Lewsen

Do you ever hear the soundtrack of the movie of your life playing? Do you ever imagine the Norah Jones, Gypsy Kings, Tori Amos, TLC, Marvin Gaye… It happens to me most when I’m on public transit, usually a train, occasionally a bus. Looking out the window and there it is – the music.

What’s the song that plays the most in your head?

Have you ever been to a concert and thought, “this must be what heaven is like?”

Have you ever heard the quote, “Without music life would be a mistake”?

I once thought that if I didn’t have music I might shrivel up and fade away. I don’t think that anymore, I’m in a better place, but I get it. I get that.

“Getting lost in the dark is my favorite part” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Thursday June 28, 2018
9:56pm
5 minutes
PYNK
Janelle Monáe

I know how the story ends, or at least I pretend that I do. Cello music plays. The lake is like glass. It’s dusk.

Getting lost in the dark is my favourite part. What’s yours?

Solo piano on the record player.

I know how the story ends.

Closing my eyes and seeing the night sky, seeing Jupiter, the full moon, Orion’s Belt.

A loon calls.

Where do we put our grief down when we’ve taken it far enough?

Hurl it into the water and watch as it floats on the surface and then sinks?

Bury it amongst the pines?

Hope that someone, a stranger, might tap me on the shoulder and say, “Would you like me to carry that for you for awhile?”

“spilled cola, coffee, and cigarette ashes.” by Julia on her patio

Sunday June 17, 2018
8:44pm
5 minutes
The Best Lack All Conviction
Jacob Scheier

We have come out here to avoid our inside lives
the ones that get sticky on the couch
or forget to take out the recycling again
(mistakes and impulse decisions piling up on each other)
(A bitter taste from the cruel beach wind on your tongue)
The woman across the alley way is telling everyone the same story
“The government something and now he’s outta there”
Neither of us can catch it
But we watch like she is the movie keeping us silent and side by side
She knows she can be obnoxious and has repeated that too
The air is perfect
The sky is purple and pink and orange on my side and
blue and lime green and red on yours
We light up and pass the joint without words
I’ve got the ukulele and you have your guitar
It’s so nice here outside our inside lives
It feels like the sun is still kissing our shoulders
It feels like my body didn’t just give out on me an hour ago
I crave coffee now and I never used to
You love that about me and I love that you love that
Outside, looking down at the man trading his time for our bottles
the gas fumes wafting up through the patio floor
Inhaling our new air and some of the neighbours’ below

“The process is afterall like music,”by Julia at the BC Women and Children’s Hospital

Friday April 6, 2018

9:54am

5 minutes

Käthe Kollwitz

Miriam Rukeyser

I am not over here laughing at you

If you think I am laughing at you

Not smirking at the thought of you grovelling, not turned on by your comeuppance

The memory of us swells like a song that is trying to teach me something

To ride the wave, go up, come down, stay down, stay down, and again

It is not one of those scores that gives it all away at the outset

You don’t get ahead of it because it keeps changing, twisting, turning, forcing me to touch each tendon, pulling and pressing

The resolve comes after the rise, the fall, after the shift, after the decision

And it is not the kind of music that I can dance to joyfully

It begs of me

It bruises

“bellies full of unborn air” by Julia on her couch

Monday February 12, 2018
1:40pm
5 minutes
Mannequins
Emily Davidson

There is poetry in everything
Sadly singing
Love songs slowed down
A harmonica player on the curb
ushering out guests from the drink heavy bar, the heart heavy
We are bellies full of unnamed protests
our oceans only clear where the sky is
crossing the street as if we were still in another country
the one we learned to walk in
eyes forward, hands clasped, unafraid
Sundays turn into Sundays last
when the news comes in
another flight this evening
taking him away

“It’s the nicest gift anyone’s given me” by Julia on her couch

Monday January 15, 2018
10:39pm
5 minutes
Fetters
Madeline Sonik

I still remember it even though I don’t really like to remember her.

I didn’t get into chamber choir when I was in the eleventh grade. I couldn’t read music but I could sing by ear. I was good. But I wasn’t good enough when it came to clapping out the bars. I had never felt more alone. Mrs. C had a look of pity on her face. I was sure I would never sing again. The next day K brought me a hand-bound booklet of music-reading printouts from the internet. She told me not to quit. I was moved beyond words. My friend believed in me even when I thought it was impossible to prove myself. The day after that I got the courage up to go and talk to Mrs. C and tell her that I would work hard and that even if I couldn’t read music, I belonged in the choir. She relented and let me in. I don’t remember now who gave me the idea to plead my case, but I will not forget that music booklet: the holes gathered by the cutest little sewing thread. When I think of her in my life I try and remember that version of her. I try not to let that part get swept away with the others.

“There were times when nothing played back.” by Julia at the VPL


Wednesday April 25, 2017
6:13pm
5 minutes
What It Is
Lynda Barry


My sister and I used to make up songs about jello and school and Days Of Our Lives. We’d improvise them with our neighbour and choose funny nicknames and put on terrible accents. I still remember my big one. I am proud of the word play. I am proud that at 9 I was already writing songs.
wiggily jiggily wiggily jiggily wiggily jiggily wiggily jiggily
Jello can be very jiggily
jello can be very wiggily
jello can be very very cool
jello can be all sorts of flavours
jello can be all sorts of colours
Ooooooooh–
(here’s where I bopped my sister on the head and told her not to take a solo because this was MY song.)
Strawberry, cherry
lemon, or lime,
jello can be very fruity
or even the pudding kind
wighily jiggily wiggily jiggily

(I didnt say the songs I was writing were good.)

“I had to let her know” By Julia in her bed


Tuesday September 13, 2016
11:18pm
5 minutes
from a Facebook post

Words unspoken turned into her next studio album
I wished she would have thanked me in the liner notes
Some of her best songs were un-fought wars about me
And some of her most beautiful lyrics
Were silent wishes tucked away and forgotten
I would have liked to explain myself
I would have liked to be understood before the divide instead of because of it
Too many resolutions gleaned from the backs of our sleeping heads facing opposite walls
And all the haunting melodies I will hum to myself forever
now that they are stuck inside my dreams

“We should be there by then” by Julia at her dining table


Wednesday, July 27, 2016
7:23pm
5 minutes
From a text

Reese made me throw out my slushie before I got in the car and I wanted to strangle him for the next six hours as a result. I thought it was stupid of him to be a dick to me as I was the only thing keeping him from driving off a cliff. But whatever. It’s like, maybe if you would drink some slushie I wouldn’t have to throw it all away just so we don’t risk getting your stupid car dirty. It wasn’t even going to happen again but Reese holds grudges, like woah. Like woahhhhhh. So. Whatever. I threw it away. But then I sat with my arms crossed the whole time because car tension really messes with a driver’s head. Especially Reese because he holds grudges but he also holds on to guilt. When he’d ask me to change the music, I did it and everything. I’m not a monster. But I took my sweet time and I made him wait for it. And if he got hungry I would give him a chip or or a piece of cheese, but then pretend to fall asleep in between bites. I don’t know if I wanted an apology or if he was waiting for me to be sorry that I was trying to have a little fun on this road trip, but whatever. I think we both lost or something.

“I balance unlaced shoes” by Julia at Starbucks


Thursday June 23, 2016 at Starbucks
6:53am
5 minutes
Circling Before Landing
Mariene Crookshaw

Man puts on the radio, turns the dial so slowly
slowly
we hear bits and pieces of moments
and conversations
and music
and static
and we wait until he finds the station
he likes
he can put up with
that won’t make him crazy
He is responsible for us now
he keeps our spirits
in the switch of the dial
in the palm of his hand
In the corner
by the only
window
there is a bony girl in green and black
striped pants
who holds a paper
airplane up to the light
that was here yesterday
she is holding on
for
her turn
to dance
but the music doesn’t stay
the crackling continues
Her mother is lying two feet
away from her
her belly robbed in the
middle
of
the
night
the blood is slowing now
her eyes remain open
pointed at the ceiling
longing for
escape

“Preach” by Julia on the 99


Thursday May 26, 2016
11:25pm
5 minutes
Overheard on the 99

Mickey and I were laying in her bedroom listening to Eminem and painting our nails. Her mother had called us once to come down for breakfast but we weren’t hungry because we had just finished a pack of Oreos and a pack of cigarettes. Mickey’s mother always smelled of canned ham but she worshiped on Sundays and Mickey wasn’t supposed to miss it. Mickey told me it didn’t matter, let her keep calling until that woman strains her voice and has nothing left for Jesus. Mickey’s mom had 3 other kids to get ready before service so she didn’t call on us as much as I thought she would. Mickey was already putting on her plaid vest with the fur and opening her window so we could bust out the heavy Sunday green. Mickey glanced at me from over her shoulder, a cigarette stuck to the dry part of her lower lip. She said “you’re lucky your mother doesn’t bug you when you’re just trying to have a good time.” I laughed for a second. Then I told her, “you’re lucky your mother is alive!”

“American singer-songwriter” by Julia on her couch


Friday April 15, 2016
8:55pm
5 minutes
from a Lenny Kravitz Google search

Performing in the bar, local bar, playing to crowds who love it, come back each week, bring their friends, become family. That’s what I really want. I don’t need stadium. I just want to entertain and share my music. I don’t care if I’m not rich. I’ll have artistic needs being met. I’ll get to share an experience, make people happy, help the bar make a bit more cash that night, drink for free. That’s it. I’m far from it. I’m not a flake or anything; I know that I’ve got a long road ahead of me before I can be that ready. I’m not delusional. It’s the dream though. I don’t necessarily envision it with a band or just me and my guitar. I don’t play the guitar yet. Doesn’t mean I can’t learn. Never too old to learn something new.

“Action plan” by Julia on the 99 bus


Thursday February 11, 2016
11:08pm
5 minutes
from a sign at Commercial-Broadway station

Okay let’s stay on this path let’s pick all the berries and watch the sunset from here cause it’s safe here under the canopy of jungle under the protection of soft light let’s pack our tiny bags full of notebooks and truth juice to sustain us but not delay us to suspend us but not limit us we can sip sparingly and save some of that for tomorrow and when we get to tomorrow let’s write a new song about the afternoon or turn dusk into the chorus we can sing it out cause we know the words and bang on the drum of our chest cavities to keep the rhythm going to keep the music alive let’s stay on this path and pray to the star gods to keep us happy and in love in case tomorrow’s tomorrow surprises us.

“he couldn’t explain or understand.” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday February 4, 2016
10:16pm
5 minutes
4000 Days
Warren Fellows


Michael smells like mustard. Maxin smells like broccoli soup (and not the cheesy kind, the vegan kind, with cashews instead of dairy). Moses smells like burnt hair. Mel smells like dirt, but healthy damp dirt, but dry dirt. That’s just the “M’s”… I could go on but I won’t. I save you that particular pleasure.

“I like the part with the guitar solo and that’s pretty much it,” Zach says and he means it. He hates the rest of the song. I only played it for him once, so maybe it will grow on him. Maybe on Wednesday he’ll love it, and want to put it on repeat on his iPod shuffle (if that’s even possible). I’m guessing that’s probably what’s going to happen.

“You wanna build another house?!” By Sasha on her couch


Tuesday December 8, 2015
11:49pm
5 minutes
overheard at Arbutus Coffee

I want to love you wide open
an avocado pit in your centre that leaps
out of my hand
I want to love you until you’re spread thick on toast
butter knife dull
When you breathe I see your future on the window pane
It’s here
with me
It’s there
with the waves and the million dollar sunset
I want to love you wide open

I want to build you a house out of music
Ray Charles and Frazey Ford
Otis Redding and Ani DiFranco
I want to live in those harmonies and
those soul grooves
with the bass line as our walls and the horns section
as our ceilings

“Thin love ain’t” by Julia at her desk


Monday, October 12, 2015
1:43pm
5 minutes
from a quote by Toni Morrison

Thin love ain’t worth the pain
Not worth the heartache
Not worth the shame
Thin love ain’t worth it
Thin love ain’t…

This is the remix to the song I’ve already sung
Do you hear me better now?
Half-assed lazy forget about each other shit
Sleep in the same bed, wake up in different moods
Do you hear me better now?
We each put a duke in and you pick your own
We were rigged to suit you better
Are you listening to me now?
We were wired up with the hardware that you recognize
I’ve said it all before
I’ve danced to the same tune filled with synonyms and a rhythm that tricks me into thinking it’s poetic.
And it’s not.
It’s not poetry at all.

“Be aware.” by Julia at Souzan’s apartment


Monday, September 7, 2015
7:56pm
5 minutes
from a residential security poster

There’s a little cat that visits my apartment every night. Late. When everyone else in the world has gone to sleep except him and me. We’re up doing god knows what: prowling the streets, wishing there were more cheese puffs (respectively). He’s black and white and has on tiny speckle of grey right on his nose. He’s cute, but he’s confusing. Why does he visit me so late and isn’t there something he’d rather be doing? I sit out on my porch smoking Belmonts and making up video game style music. Usually I just hum it and it passes the time. But then sometimes this cat comes and I pet him, or I bring him out some tuna, or whatever I have. Some nights he brings me things too. Like last night, he came by around 4, usual time, and in his mouth he was carrying an ambiguous and bloody carcass. He dropped it at my feet. It’s still there now.

“No not that fake smile!” by Julia on the subway going west


Friday, August 21, 2015
1:16pm
5 minutes
Overheard at a bus stop

Biddy and me make a pact to bleed each other’s blood and wear each other’s smile. I want to marry Biddy so I can be around her all the time and let her light wash over me and catch me in all the right moments. Biddy plays the violin and when she does the whole world stops. I do all the humming and Biddy plays so I can feel. She tells me that I’m most me when I open my mouth and let my heart sing out. She tells me she can see me growing into the person who’s taking better care of me. She tells me I’m the kind of woman who becomes more beautiful with age and experience and confidence and time. It’s my idea to combine our life force and Biddy smiles with her whole face because she loves all of my grand ideas. She snips a lock of her strawberry blonde curls and wraps it around my finger to remind me that we’ve got each other’s soul close by.

“She locked me in a room until I said a password” By Julia at her desk


Friday, August 7, 2015
12:03am
5 minutes
from a story on The Moth

Come on Sid, I said, face buried into the wall. I’m right here. Right beside you.
I don’t want to come out, she said.
You don’t have to, I told her. Don’t do anything you don’t want to do.
Do you hear that? She asked me. Whispering just loud enough to make out.
What do you mean?
I didn’t hear a thing.
The music. It’s beautiful..you don’t hear it?
Describe it to me, I said, leaning my head back toward her.
It’s like a snowflake, dancing, and spinning, and falling softly on a bed of rose petals.
Beautiful?
Yeah. You should hear it, Ray.
I’d like to.
You’d truly feel it, she said.
It’s okay, I told her, don’t worry about me.
It’s not something I can keep, she said.

“wrote a long great piece” by Sasha in her bed


Friday, July 17, 2015
11:57pm
5 minutes
A tweet by Sheila Heti

Sky dancing stories across your cheeks
Light like fingerprints
Eyes are heavy with the week
Open and close
Open and close
Whistling a tune for a new song
Arrived
A shooting star
Picking chords
Cherries
Callouses prove it
Harmonies don’t come easy tonight
It’s work
Kneading the dough
Waiting for it to rise
Patience
YouTube videos
In the oven
Crust turns golden
Sky dancing stories across your cheeks
Sun so high for evening

“Northern Adventures” by Julia at her desk


Wednesday, June 10, 2015
11:03am
5 minutes
from a pamphlet

Taking a road trip in September to a new place a new hideaway a new home and you’re gonna drive and I’m gonna pick the mixed CD and you’re gonna say “look at that view” and I’m gonna take a photo of it in September when the air is still warm and the trees still green that’s when you promised me first and that’s when I said yes I’ll do it I’ll follow you if you lead me to the best parts of me if you show me I won’t be missing anything here or if you just keep loving me the way you do I’ll go with you anywhere and then one day when we’ve seen the world we will curl up in front of the slideshow of our lives and be perfectly content we only have to wait until September that’s when everything good can begin to be born and develop and flourish and nourish and save us

“Dessert is an apricot tart” by Sasha at Harvest Community Foods


Thursday 21, 2015 at Harvest Community Foods
3:02pm
5 minutes
SAVEUR magazine
issue 152


Maggie listens to the Cranberries. “Zombie! Zombie! Zombie! Zombie!” She doesn’t make eye contact on the bus, but sings along, like a bee buzzing, not loud enough to disturb, just loud enough to wonder. She wears a light blue T-shirt that reads, “I’ve got a heavenly body”. She wears it ironically. Her cell phone rings but she ignores it. The display broke seven months ago and she never knows who is calling and she never knows if she wants to speak with them. It’s probably the bank. Or her mother. She gets off at Main St. and walks north, towards the water. She starts the song again. “Zombie! Zombie! Zombie! Zombie!” She sees Neil but pretends that she doesn’t. He stops her. “Maggie, hey!” She reluctantly takes off her headphones. “Oh. Hi.” “What’re you up to?” “Oh, just on my way somewhere…” He furrows his brows. “You’ve been avoiding my phone calls.” “I don’t really believe in phones. I never answer mine. I don’t even know why I have it…” She takes her phone out of her purse and throws it over her shoulder. Neil laughs and then looks worried and runs to pick it up. “You broke it!” He says, accusatory. “Why do you care?”

“A rare chance” by Sasha at Culprit Coffee


Tuesday May 5, 2015
10:20am
5 minutes
A Friends of Chamber Music brochure

“It’s a rare chance, Al,” Clare says, painting the big toe of my right foot. “I think you need to go for it…” Her hands are cold and I think about when we met, tadpoles in overalls and baseball hats. “I just can’t imagine going so far away, it seems so extreme…” “You’ll be fine,” she blows on my toes and I laugh, pulling my foot away. “That tickles!” “Don’t jerk around! You’ll mess them up!” She furrows her eyebrows. “What time is the concert tonight?” “I thought you said you’d bought your ticket?” “I…” “Claire!” “I’ll get it at the door!” “You’re just waiting to see if something more interesting turns up. I know you.” “I am certainly not doing that… My credit card was cut off, I, I can’t book anything online and I didn’t want to ask someone to cover for me…” “Shit. Sorry.” “It’s okay.” “I’ll ask again about getting you on the guest list?” “I’m happy to pay…” “I’ll ask again.”

“I haven’t messed with or taken anything at all today.” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday March 20, 2015
10:58am
5 minutes
Black Butler
Yana Toboso


I like it when I’m spinning and the only way I can get that feeling is on a tire swing or with a shot of – … Never-mind, I mean, I don’t wanna upset you. I haven’t messed up or taken anything at all today. I pinky swear. I got that flame inside though… Needs more kindling. There’s a soundtrack, right, constantly playing these chords on a piano and I can’t keep it quiet because then, I mean, I hate it, but if it was quiet I’d think I was dead. Or dying. And clapping hands… To the rhythm of a march. My father was in the army right, so maybe it’s one of those memory that isn’t yours things. Maybe it’s one of those… I’d be more comfortable if we could go down to that little park around the corner so I could swing for a bit. Wouldn’t be so twitchy.

“landed immigrants” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday March 13, 2015
4:09pm
5 minutes
from http://www.banffmediafestival.com

We have finally found the rainbow and it’s better than we’d heard
The blue tastes like french fries and the yellow
is smooth like velveteen rabbits
We have finally learned the secret and it’s gentler than we’d assumed
The Lost Boys know their times tables!
The ketchup has magic in it!
The library door is never locked!
We have finally burned the glass and it doesn’t shatter like we’d guessed
Friendship bracelets keep the moths out
Your grandmother is rolling cigarettes and blaring Edith Piaf from her
imaginary record player

“can’t go a day without” by Sasha at Kits Beach


Monday March 9, 2015
4:21pm
5 minutes
from a comment on YouTube

A small song

I can’t go a day without cracking my neck and my knuckles.
I can’t go an hour without clenching my teeth and craving coffee.
I can’t go a minute without deep breaths and laughter.
I can’t go a second without you you you.

I can’t go a day without peanut butter or yoga.
I can’t go an hour without laughing at the wrong time.
I can’t go a minute without heartbeats and a smile.
I can’t go a second without you you you.

“gals give some sneaky hints” by Sasha on the plane flying West


Tuesday February 24, 2015
6:35pm
5 minutes
blog.muchmusic.com

Don’t get your back up all hunchy
I’m not tryna make a big mess
I’ve got this cat’s cradle across my body
And you’re fighting fighting fighting
The war-cry was the radio
Set to a station I don’t like
The advertisements are the liquor
Ouch ouch ouch
Paper-cut across the boundaries
Blurry and sweaty and new
Ouch ouch ouch
No one’s bleeding
It’s going to be alright
Eventually the clouds change
Yup
That always happens
Eventually we change
Yup yup
Ouch ouch ouch
That always happens

“tenaciously committed” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday February 10, 2015
7:15pm
5 minutes
Howlround.com

“It’s okay,” he says. “You aren’t expected to understand this. It’s very advanced…” In his gentle knowing, it’s as though he hopes we might get there, at least before he leaves. “When do you go to Berlin?” Marta asks. He smiles. “Ten days.” “And we are supposed to learn everything from you before you leave?!” Henry looks emotional. He smiles again. “Of course not… It would be impossible. Relax, all of you, I’m feeling tense and you know what happens when I feel tense…” We wait, breath caught in our throats. “I lose my train of thought more easily! I become highly forgetful!” His accent makes his “f” sounds like waves. He looks at his watch. “We’re already over time, if you have someplace to be, please don’t be late on my account.” None of us move a muscle. “Well, in that case,” he raises an eyebrow, “let’s move on to the concerto…” He raises his violin to his shoulder.

“These days it’s hard to get a decent haircut” by Sasha on her couch


Friday December 5, 2014
10:54pm
5 minutes
Kinfolk Volume 13

She’s so sweaty but she doesn’t want to take off her sweatshirt because it will bring too much attention. She’s only wearing a sports bra underneath. She tries to go back in. The bouncer, must be seven feet tall, three hundred pounds, “Nope… Can I see some ID?” “My coat’s inside, I’ve been inside, you let me in before.” “I don’t remember you…” “Are you kidding me? I’ve been dancing for hours, look at me!” “Call your friends and get them to bring you your coat and show me your ID.” “My friends left an hour ago…” “Well, shucks Princess, I don’t know what to tell you…” She starts to say something then stops herself. She gives him the finger. She goes around back to the alley.

“All of it, kid.” by Julia on her bed


Saturday November 22, 2014
3:06am
5 minutes
From a first draft of a screen play

-You like Ray Charles? You like that song he pours his guts into?
-Georgia?
-Yeah, beautiful right?
-Yeah, the best.
-Everything is the best.
-Right now, yes. Let’s die like this.
-Dance for me first. Before we die happy and perfect, dance as if Ray Charles put music in your veins
-Like this?
-Mmm, yeah, like a little bird, flying high and from the inside out.
-I’m your little bird.
-I’m your biggest fan.
-Mmm.
-Let me lick you. You have no lines on your face. The smoothest skin, no lines at all.
-I’m young and I’m yours and I’m a little bird with Ray Charles blood.
-Mmm, yeah. We can die now.
-Some water first?
-Yeah, you drink then let me taste it from your lips.
-Feed you life…like little birds do…
-Yeah, you dance and feed me, little bird, little bird.

“any kind of company” by Julia at her kitchen table


Tuesday July 29, 2014
4:37pm
5 minutes
wikipedia.org

She swept the living room floor for the third time that morning. She somehow kept stepping in sand, which she thought she had fully cleaned the day before. She put on The Dirty Projectors and made sure to press repeat every time Impregnable Question came on. It felt like the perfect song to listen as she was feeling alone, yet didn’t want to fall too far into a problematic state. This was after eating the raw cookie dough from the tube and drawing a sketch of a bat wearing a clown nose. Every time her phone rang, she leapt from her sprawled out on the floor position to see who it could be. Telemarketing usually. The occasional scam rewards program from Cruises R Us. She was desperate for any kind of company. Any kind that would require a conversation, the outpouring of her emotions and her opinions, and perhaps a hug that would last at least six seconds to ensure a proper connection was established.

“mostly tiny sungrazing comets” by Julia on her couch


Wednesday, July 16, 2014
11:46pm
5 minutes
from the Sun Wikipedia page


And we lay there in the grass, picking bushels of it out of the earth to sniff them, or to play them like flutes in the middle of the night. We waited for the sun to pop up again. We were waiting on its predictable rotation. The way we wait for a mother’s call, a friend’s best wishes when we’re near the death of someone close. We wait in the stillness gazing up at the sky, wishing for the night to retire gracefully to its bed so we could watch the warming of the sky take over. And we lay there in the grass, picking moments to kiss each others’ hands and necks and lips. We played those moments over and over again in our heads, recognizing the opportune times to touch one another not out of obligation but out of necessity. The orange was peeking up from beneath a distant hill as we wished.

“(Warning: This is going to be personal)” by Sasha in her garden


Tuesday June 24, 2014
10:25pm
5 minutes
mytinysecrets.com

Dear Jenni,

How are you? How’s Nashville? Are you a big star yet? Haha! Candice said that the two of you Skyped on Sunday and that you found a really nice room in a big house with some other singers. LUCKY! Really, though, I’m glad to hear it’s going well for you.

Okay. Warning: This is going to get personal. So, Steve and I finally talked last night. Oh my god, Jenni, it was crazy. We were at Candice’s and her and Topher were on the roof doing who know’s what and Steve and I were left alone in the backyard. He initiated it. Crazy. Totally crazy. He was like, “So, I guess we should probably talk about everything that happened and how I was a total dick to you when you really needed me.” Those were his exact words, I’m not even exaggerating or anything! So we talked and he said that he feels really bad for not showing up for me or coming to the appointment or helping to pay for it. I didn’t play it all cool style like usual. I was totally crying and it was okay, he was okay about it. We hugged and he kissed my cheek and he said that he really wants to support me from now on. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? I don’t think we’re going to get back together or anything. I just think we’re going to be friends… But you never know.

“Call it what you will” by Julia in the motel in Sault Ste. Marie


Thursday June 12, 2014
9:55pm
5 minutes
A song by Joe Pug

Caroline and Eddy had been driving for what felt like days. Eddy had begun to smell, refusing to put on deodorant because he said he was on the “open road” and if he couldn’t smell like the earth here, then he didn’t want to be alive. Caroline was battling her car-colepsy and told Eddy that if he was going to take pictures of her sleeping with her mouth wide open facing the roof of the car then he better not post them online or she would punch holes in his tires and make him drive back to Sugar Lake by himself. Eddy didn’t care about Caroline’s sleeping habits, or her poor taste in music. He didn’t care about anything except for getting really far away from everything he knew back home, and finally starting over without anyone knowing who he was. Caroline didn’t know about Eddy’s friend, Liam, with whom he had helped burry a curious large sack that weighed as much as an elephant.

“rock ‘n’ roll-tinged bar chatter.” by Sasha on the Queen Streetcar


Thursday May 8, 2014
4:03pm
5 minutes
Washington Flyer
May/June 2014

“I want you to come out to McIsaac’s,” my Dad said and I was confused because he didn’t drink and last I heard, he didn’t frequent dive bars to talk to girls my age. “Okay?” I said. “May 8th. At nine thirty… It means a lot to me, Allison.” He said. I usually play soccer on Thursdays but I was so curious that I asked Nadine if she’d take my spot. When I arrived, the bar was dim and the people there were older than I had expected. I didn’t see my Dad anywhere. I looked over to the far side and saw someone tuning a guitar, dressed in boots, jeans, a plaid shirt and a hat. I ordered a beer. There was a “tap tap” on the microphone and the chatter died down. My Dad stood under a single spotlight. He said, “Thanks for coming, ya’ll… Especially my daughter Allison Daisy. Light of my life.” I sat on a barstool and listened to my Dad play. I never knew he even liked country music.

“set a time, a location, and a few basic rules” by Julia at the Marriott in Providence


Monday May 5, 2014
4:01pm
5 minutes
Beautiful Trouble
Edited by Andrew Boyd and Dave Oswald Mitchell


We decided on a Sunday cause of that song–you know the one, it’s that mellow feel good one–Groovin’…on a Sunday afternoon….Really couldn’t get away too soon.
It just felt right. We’d meet on a Sunday, get in my car and drive to Nowhereville until the sun set and the breeze got too cold to have the windows down. And that’s when it started. I went to the meeting place, the gate that has all those twinkly lights still up from Christmas, you know, a few blocks away from her house. We didn’t want anyone to know. So the discreet pick up spot made it really fun. And also pretty hot. She was waiting there for me, her face buried in her phone, trying to look busy, trying not to look like she was waiting for anyone at all. Then I pulled up and watched her and I got excited and I got scared. And I got out of the car, and walked over to her slowly. And didn’t say one thing. I just kissed her. Grabbed her hand and led her to the passenger side. I opened the door for her. She said, Wow, you’re chivalrous. And I got shy and I said, I don’t know, you just make me want to be a better woman. Then she smiled and got into my little car. And she fiddled with the radio. And we were Groovin’…on a Sunday afternoon.

“I believe that life is…” by Sasha at the CSI Coffee Pub


Wednesday March 12, 2014 at The CSI Coffee Pub
10:07am
5 minutes
A writing group warm-up led by Dianne

I believe that life is like a snail, dragging its own slime, dragging its own house, sometimes getting stepped on and crushed and sometimes living on a sea wall, undisturbed, for five hundred years.
I believe that life is connection to the dead and dying, the remembering, the saving, the fighting for what’s been lost and is not quite yet lost – the great plains toad, the whippoorwill, blue walleye.
I believe that life is words in black ink on a lined Hilroy notebook purchased for ten cents at Staples by my mother.
I believe that all there really is…
I believe that all there really is…
I believe that all there really is
Is love
And breath
And change.

I believe that it’s all messy, and music, all teeth and bone, all muffins baking in the oven, all indulgence, all balance, all now.

I believe that “life” is “now”. From now on, in fact, from hereon in, in fact, my “life” is my “now”.

“we loved with a love that was more than love” by Julia at her desk


Thursday February 13, 2014
10:16am
5 minutes
Annabel Lee
Edgar Allan Poe


And we knew it by the candle light that threatened to disappear
With kitchen slow dancing to a Sam Cooke masterpiece
And a couple loose kisses caught by whoever’s mouth was closest
And we knew it then
And we knew it then
The tile underneath our stocking feet
Inviting us to glide with the movement of each other
And a fistful of tickling hairs brushing across our cheeks
And we knew it then
And we knew it then
The night was our playground, our solace, our cure
Saving breaths for only when we needed them
Not wanting to disturb the peace our hearts had found inside each other’s chest
And we knew it then
And we knew it then
Holding dear those smiling eyes and those fluttering eye-lashes
With a whisper of eternity in the chorus of our love song
And a natural tendency to sink into the only moment that ever mattered
And we knew it then
And we knew it then

“should be the soundtrack” by Julia on her couch


Sunday December 29, 2013
12:33am
5 minutes
www.songza.com

Audrey had on her black flowy skirt
said she was in the mood for dancing
held a flower up to her face
went well with her complexion
put it in her side bun
made sure to spritz it with hairspray to keep it there
waited for Simon to get off work
had a bottle of sauvignon blanc chilling in the ice bucket
she didn’t know if she’d get to the dancing
she was hopeful he would notice what she was wearing
and then take her somewhere fancy just so it didn’t go to waste
the music was playing
she blasted the songs she wanted to move to
had the dial in her hand just so she’d be ready when it called her
couldn’t do a single other thing but wait
and groove
and slide her head from side to side with a puckered smile
Simon didn’t call
probably wouldn’t call anyway
her flower was the cutest thing she had worn in weeks
wasn’t feeling sexy before
wasn’t feeling like the effort would even matter
tonight she woke from a nap and a dream
it saved her a little bit
it showed her the sweetness that she had forgotten
she was doing this for her
she was doing this for Simon
she was.

“a broken-down piano” by Julia at her desk


Wednesday November 20, 2013
12:31am
5 minutes
from the Jared Leto Wikipedia page

If you look closely at him, you’ll see he’s one of those artist types. He plays with his fingers as if they were keys on a piano, trying to make music. Trying to express himself. He doesn’t draw, but he understands lines and colours better than anyone I know. It’s hard to describe someone with the capacity for “lines and colours”, I recognize that, but he really is. He’s never mentioned the word Art. I don’t know if he knows what it means. But he’s authentically him, and that’s more artistic than I’ve ever seen, and believe me, I’ve seen a lot of artistic people. He started when he was young. Very quiet. Very observant. He didn’t say much, he just took everything in, and breathed into it like a balloon, giving it shape and understanding. We wanted to put him in music lessons, but he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to do anything that wasn’t his idea even if we could see that he could benefit from it. He’d rather use his dreams to teach him anyway. He was so different like that. I worried when he was little that if he didn’t let us foster his gifts, then he’d grow up one day to be a broken-down piano…a beautiful shell with lots of potential, but without the ability to touch lives with its sound.

“when he was only 16” by Julia at Rustic Owl Cafe


Saturday, November 16, 2013 at Rustic Owl Cafe
12:36pm
5 minutes
Edge Studio DG Tour Script Selection

Learned how to play the ukelele to impress girls,
asked a lot of stupid questions he already knew the answer to,
refused to go to bed before midnight,
ate crepes at lunch, and dinner, on weekdays,
preferred to jam in the garage even in the winter,
warned his mother about him leaving someday,
dreamed in vivid blues and purples and reds,
spent Saturday nights playing Gin Rummy with his grandmother,
asked a friend to knit him a scarf for Christmas,
watched and re-watched The Sandlot,
ran away from home for one night only,
made a batch of cookies to bring to his teachers,
ran in the Student Council and became an Athletic Chair,
drove his father’s Toyota Corolla into the neighbours basket ball net,
sang in a choir at church for the last time,
prepared to-do lists on napkins, and hand towels,
avoided cleaning his room at all costs,
helped mow the lawn and water the rhubarb,
brought home the girl with the broken glasses out of fear.

“finally after 32 years I discover music” by Sasha at Holy Oak


Saturday November 2, 2013 at Holy Oak
1:15pm
5 minutes
Sheila Heti’s e-mail in “An email that’s an apology”
from We Think Alone, Week 18 by Miranda July


Finally, after thirty two years I discover music, and then my Discman breaks. You might be thinking, “oh, isn’t he ironic with his Discman”, but it has nothing to do with that. I’m lazy. I don’t want to transfer all of my Cd’s to my computer. Can you imagine how long that would take? Besides, no one is going to mug me for a Discman. A shiny MP3 player? People are stabbing for those things. Stabbing and shooting people. A Discman? No one bats an eye. I discover music because I start reading again. I know it might not sound logical that those two things are connected but it is. Words inspire sound. I read and I crave my ears to be filled with the up and the down of the saxophone or the double bass. Get into it. You understand more than you think you do.

“Led Zeppelin” by Sasha at Joe Coffee


Thursday, October 10, 2013 at Joe Coffee
4:55pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Columbia University

Molly is nineteen. She wears a black leather jacket lined with sheep’s skin, light blue jeans and red Doc Martins. Remains of last night’s red lipstick stain her lips. Her blond, shoulder-length hair is messy and falls just below her shoulders. She wears many rings on her fingers, some sitting above the knuckle. Chipped white nail-polish coats her short nails.

I always think about listening to Led Zeppelin but I just never get around to it, you know?! I feel mad at my Mom for never exposing me to the cool stuff. She only listened to, like, John Denver. She was absolutely in love with him. She tells this story, over and over, to anyone that will listen, like don’t bring it up if you ever meet her because she will for sure try to launch right into it… She went to, like, fifty seven of his concerts or something. But at one, down in the East Village, she actually met him. She waited by the stage door and he finally came out and… his hand was cold when she shook it. That really surprised her, because, he was like, sweaty from playing the show or whatever.

“the Devil who touched my body” by Julia at her desk


Friday May 3, 2013
2:11pm
5 minutes
Aleph
Paulo Coelho


It was magic, rushing through me, telling all my limbs to be easy, quieting my veins as it poured all the way into my heart.
The music playing in my mind was a beautiful electronic beat and kept me awake and dreaming.
I couldn’t tell you what I was wearing. Probably nothing as I tend to dance in my own skin when I’m trying to change the world. I bobbed my head and shrugged my shoulders, shrugging off the ways of yesterday and trading them for something a little more specific. Magic. Gush… it had so much more than temporary release, it lasted and lasted until I was making dust angels on my hardwood floor. Spreading my wings into the grooves I walk on daily. Let’s fly where we walk, tread lightly lest we wake our downstairs neighbours.
My headspace cleared and I knew what I wanted. From life, from God, from you, from books. Something tangible, something I could carry with me, enjoy forever. The change in tempo was nice. Not needing from others to feel alive. Pushing hard into a bruise to feel like it’s okay to get hurt. Using my cut finger to open a jar of pickles and let the scab peel off slightly just to watch the healing process all over again.

“When we came downstairs at 1 AM” by Julia at her desk


Thursday, April 18, 2013
11:43pm
5 minutes
In The Hills
Josh Weil


we are looking for a good man to play us a good song. we want to dance and we want to dance out loud. we want this man to spin us a record, a vinyl, a historical moment. we won’t be able to pay him. we don’t have any money. we come in and out of rooms like ghosts trying to cross over. we fail. the light is bright where we bring it. where is this man? the one who plays the music of our souls, connecting, lamenting, refusing to compromise. does he work at a tiny fish booth in Little Italy? does he have blonde highlights in his hair and a green ring around his pinky finger from a bad metal ring? he knows what we want. we know he does. we told him in our whispered dreams last may that we were going to need this in a year. it’s almost time. we don’t have much else in the way of options. we had our hearts set on the good man playing us a good song. we waited, even. for a year minus 15 days. we thought he’d bring the fish sandwiches to us, play the song, and smile with his eyes closed as we dance a promise out in big block letters that read J-O-Y.

“A radio was knocked off a table.” by Julia at Rustic Owl Cafe


Saturday,December 1, 2012 at Rustic Owl Cafe
4:13pm
5 minutes
Rapture
Susan Minot


Somebody stop the music? I can’t hear the music anymore and I’ve been sittin’ here almost an hour or two now. Could be three, to tell ya the truth! Ha! I swears I’m goin’ deaf in my left ear anyway. Maybe the music is gone but just in the side of my body that can’t hear. Maybe the music is in the right and I just needs to listen harder. Oh, who knows anythin’ about anythin’ anymore. Are we a bunch of rats just scrapin’ around for a couple of left over cheese bis on the ground? Or do we not need more than that to get by?

Nice place ya got here. It reminds me of them old wood cabins that look like they’d be real cold but they sure are warm enough to keep you sane! I remember visitin’ my Annabell’s cottage over a decade ago and I was prepared to shake my buns off that entire weekend. She told me it was about time I got myself up there to visit. I knew she wanted me there for the kids, first, but also so she could keep a watch on me. Now I don’t go around pretendin’ to be better than I am. I knows exactly who I am and I don’t need nobody to tell me twice. But, I can’t lie about feelin’ a bit inadequate when my daughter feels the need to keep her eye on me just in case I go off the deep end.