“it was a God that acted through me.” By Sasha on her balcony


Sunday August 27, 2017
12:04pm
5 minutes
Disgrace
J.M. Coetzee


Some days she forgets why she’s trying
why she’s waking and walking and eating and fucking
Some days she only rises to piss and eat a rice cake
over the sink
Some days she lets the phone ring even though she knows
it’s her mother and she misses her mother and she wants
nothing more than to speak to her mother
This is one of those days
This is one of those days
She peels an avocado and bits of green flesh get
on the sheets and shit she didn’t want to make
more of a mess.

“improve life for their families.” By Sasha at her desk


Wednesday January 4, 2017
2:10pm
5 minutes
From a Kiva.org card

Kevin starts blowing glass in his sleep. Tom isn’t sure whether he should chain him to the bed or let him, which is a greater risk. At breakfast Kevin wonders how he has burns on his fingers. Tom pours more orange juice and kisses him before putting on his jacket and going outside to warm up the car.

“I’m not sure moving the studio into the house was the best idea,” Kevin minces garlic later that day, before dinner. Tom opens a bottle of Merlot. “Why’s that?” he asks. “I keep dreaming about work,” Kevin glugs olive oil into the cast iron pan. “It’s like I can’t escape… And then when I do go into the studio, during the day, my stuff is shit. Really. Total shit.”

“The Arts Factory” by Sasha at her desk


Monday November 21, 2016
11:36pm
5 minutes
From an Eastside Culture Crawl postcard

I am going to build you a factory, Johnathan. It’s going to be big and beautiful and on every floor there’s going to be artists making the wildest stuff you’ve ever dreamed of. Pottery pigs and blown glass pinatas and burlesque dance routines by the old folks! All the things you fought so hard for… If we don’t have hope now, when are we gonna? I promise you, by next birthday, you’ll have your factory. And you studio? With the biggest windows and the highest ceilings and walls all white-washed alabaster… You’ll paint when you see in your dreams. You’ll paint the red oceans and the bubbles holding whole worlds inside. You’ll paint it all and we won’t worry about selling anything. We’ll give them away! If you want, of course. You’ll give them away to folks that really that kind of light in their lives.

“Happy Mother’s Day” by Sasha in Horseshoe Bay


Sunday May 10, 2015
8:33pm
5 minutes
from a sign at the florist

spit up on the front of this goodwill shirt
i don’t have much of it
goodwill
so tired i might puke too
flowers
i don’t want flowers
i want sex and a steak and in that order
if you really knew the way to my heart
you wouldn’t have given me this creature that cries all the time
and bites my nipples so hard that they bleed
i’ve gotten fatter than i’ve ever been
your gaze like a canon ball
the beauty you once fell for
gone
like the cat
poster on the tree at the end of the street
my body
all stretch marks and cellulite
my face
all frown lines and bags under my eyes
“diamonds” you used to say
diamonds
twinkle twinkle little star
how i wonder what you are
where you’ve been
i’m not sure about this creature
whether he’ll turn out alright
i’m not sure about how tiny his toes are
puts me off

“a wonderful future beckoned and winked” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday March 5, 2015
10:41pm
5 minutes
The Fig Tree
Sylvia Plath


Kimmy’s got new gold hoop earrings and she’s all “TRA LA LA”
Not the best speller nope nope but she’s got bling for days
“TRA LA LA”
Makes a mean tequila sunrise
Shake shake shakin’ it up
Until we’re turned inside out
And orange juice is the right way
Morning is the right way
Kimmy leaves a trail of cigarette butts with
coral lipstick kisses
“TRA LA LA LA”
Going down to Hollywood for pilot season
Gonna get a job in the movies
She’s got her leopard print tights
She’s got her striped bikini
She’s good to go
“TRA LA LA”

“a little bit of this” by Julia on the overground


Friday January 2, 2015
6:34pm
5 minutes
from a St. Germaine song

A little bit of this reflective thing going on. Thinking about my year and how I’m a bigger person in every sense of the word now. A little bit of this inward gazing thing happening. Wondering about the me I was last year and how I would have written a list of resolutions and lists and things to myself so I would remember everything. Now I don’t tell myself what I’ve done, I apply it. I practise what I’ve learned by living in my real life and being true to myself moment by moment. A little bit of this active curiosity thing going on. Pressing myself and all my experiences into each page of every notebook I fill, like a soft flower being realized forever by its imprint. I have blossomed and discovered and challenged and overcome. It was what I had been waiting for my entire life.

“What a liberty!” by Julia on the train to London


Saturday December 27, 2014
12:22pm
5 minutes
from Chocolate And Cuckoo Clocks: The Essential Alan Coren
edited by Giles and Victoria Coren


I’m stuck on a train with a surprise murderer from Vancouver island. He’s reading right now, don’t worry. But he just spent the last half hour explaining the plot of his book that he’s trying to get published. He doesn’t have an agent. His protagonist just so happens to be a surprise murderer from Vancouver island. He lives alone. So does his protagonist. He’s a lumberjack. Has access to an axe. Knows how to wield one. So does his protagonist. Captures a traveling circus that’s moving through town. Don’t know how to prove that both of them do it. But his protagonist does. Told me he’d watch my bag while I went to the bathroom. Didn’t trust him. Didn’t go. He doesn’t know yet that I don’t trust him. Too big of a smile trying to reassure me he absolutely will never kill me. I think surprise murderers have to practice that smile. Over and over and over again.

“we can remember everything” by Julia on the train to Parma, Italy


Sunday September 28, 2014
5:05pm
5 minutes
Writing Down The Bones
Natalie Goldberg


We can so we don’t think we have to try.
We do, though.
We have to try.
We don’t get memories for free.
We think we do, but we don’t.
Just a little work first…
Just a little active listening.
Someone says “with the whole body”.
Someone says that someone says that.
That’s why when we’re young we hold it all.
Because we don’t know how to turn our bodies off.
We don’t know how to disconnect our hearts and minds yet.
And we carry the trauma and we remember without trying and we have a reservoir of moments.
But now it’s different.
Now it’s harder to let it all go but keep it all close at the same time.
So we must.
We must try.
We must try to remember by listening with everything.
And slowly slowly, the images will come.
And when they do, the feeling will be complete.

“guest starring” by Julia on her couch


Thursday March 20, 2014
9:16pm
5 minutes
The opening credits of a TV show

Do you ever feel like you’re guest starring in your own life? I know that’s one of those loaded questions that make you think far more deeply about things. But I had this thought earlier this morning and I couldn’t shake it. I’m wondering if I am just passing through….
Makes me sound a bit like a ghost doesn’t it? I’m not saying I’m a ghost. Not even a little bit! Just gliding a bit above the ground of where my life is taking place. Kind of watching it from the outside with an understanding of the inside but without fully being able to get a handle on things. I feel like I’ve been paid to be present for one or two episodes of my life each day and then I’m free to do my own thing like sleep or procrastinate or complain. I’m not required to work that hard to maintain some semblance of consistency. Like the main cast does.

“guest starring” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday March 20, 2014
9:19pm
5 minutes
The opening credits of a TV show

I want to switch the order of the credits
Not that that kind of thing really matters
Well
At least
It doesn’t to you
It does to me
A little
But I hide it
Like an unswept onion skin
Under the stove

I want to switch the order of the credits
Not that credit is even relevant
You deserve as much credit
In what I make as
I do
Because if you’re doing the dishes
And buying toilet paper
And folding my underwear into tiny perfect triangles
I am
Writing
I am
Crafting lines and curls into words that I pretend I’ve made up

I want to switch the order of these credits
Because I don’t make anything alone
The couch helps me by holding me when I’m tired
The water quenches my insatiable thirst
The streetcar gets me there
And
Takes me home
The brown rice fuels me
You
You
You hold my face when I want to quit
And tell me it will be wonderful
You paint the walls of the world
And smile when I snap

“Smartass Acts Of Vandalism” by Sasha at her desk


Friday November 15, 2013
11:42pm
5 minutes
http://www.smosh.com

“Don’t be a timid little idiot,” CJ says, as he takes the can of red paint out of his black backpack. “Be a fearless fucker,” CJ says, like it’s as easy as Tic-Tac-Toe, like it’s second nature or something. I’ve been practising on a piece of plywood in the backyard since August. “Don’t over-think it,” CJ says, right up close to my ear. “Shut up,” I say, taking the lid off the can, listening to the silence of the city at this hour. I smell the adrenaline off of him, his high off of me, even though nothing has really happened yet. The wall stretches brick after brick. CJ steps back, finally getting the hint, finally giving me my space. I push the nozzle and my months of practise emerge like a butterfly, but in the shape of a man. He looks even fatter here than he is in real life, which is real fat.