“pulling its guts out” by Julia at her desk

Tuesday April 16, 2019
7:32am
5 minutes
Identify Hunt
Elaine Bougie

It’s no secret I like poppingsquishing pulling the guts out of my woundsand forcing myself to take a lookI always take a look and that’s problemonumero uno. Here’s me, I am me here in the bathroomand all I have to do is brush my teethand wash my face to get out of here aliveBut the first thing…It’s no secret.The first thing is I take a look.And as I’m looking, a thing I could have savedby not looking finds a moment to show itself.Little forest of peaking heads, white,sore, clustering together to ensure the increaseof attention on them.They, if I’m being honest, are usually molehillsuntil I take a pincer claw and blast theminto mountains. I have done this before,cast this unnecessary spell as if the biggerthe better. I do believe in being big as beinggood but this is not the softest of transitions.Look! Quick! She’s defenseless! And for her next trick, she will destroy a perfectlyinnocent face…

“WANTED” By Sasha on the Gulf Islands ferry


Sunday October 12,2014
5:28pm
5 minutes
from a gelato advertisement

Her skin is breaking out and she’s blaming it on the Chinese take-out. “What the fuck, Evan! We need to start eating vegetables!” “There are vegetables in Chow Mein!” Evan doesn’t know what to say. He’s doing his best. She resents his hat, his asshole hat. She resents his bad breath, and his hair loss, and his teeth, and his Facebook habit. “I’m going to get some spinach. We’ll eat spinach every meal of the day, honey…” She gazes at a zit the size of Olympus (to her, to you or I, it’s the size of an ant body). She looks herself in the eyes. Back to the zit. Back to her eyes. It’s a strange thing, gazing in your own eyes. It’s a strange thing, gazing into the eyes of a man you think you know, named Evan, who secretly pulls out his eyelashes and eats them.

“I said karate and she thought I said karaoke” by Sasha


Monday June 9, 2014
2:03am
5 minutes
overheard on Bloor St.

The pick. The lick. The squeeze. The result…
The explosion.
The satisfaction.
The body’s imperfections.

I never had really bad acne, but I had, like, some pimples as a pubescent. Mostly little guys, a few whoppers. “You’ll make it worse if you pop them,” I heard that voice but I ignored it. There was nothing better than the two fingers pushing in, pumping out the bad stuff, the dark stuff, the white stuff. Sometimes at karate, I would get distracted in the bathroom, picking and popping, and Veronica would come in and say, “That’s disgusting.”

I felt bad for the guys with really red volcano pimples. No amount of tea tree oil can really help that.