“half-way dressed” by Julia in R’s studio

Wednesday May 15, 2019
7:20am
5 minutes
Peer Pressure
James Bay Ft. Julia Michaels

There’s a sugar cube in your voice
All the words you don’t say
you’re humming to me, baby, I can feel it
and I want you to want me this way forever

There’s nothing I’d rather do, skin on skin
with our built in heating system
want to keep our sweat kissing forever, babe

This shirt is leaving after this sentence
yours on the floor like they’re keeping each other company
I want to hear your heartbeat in my sleep
clock strikes another minute spent in
this moment wanting only you

Take my mouth and fill it with your favourite
song, sing into my tongue with the slow
burn you’re famous for
If I could find this in the afterlife
I would take you with me and leave everything
else behind, babe

Take my smooth and find your place in it
I’ll be waiting
I’ll be right here in it

“all-new, feature-length” by Julia at Amanda’s place

Sunday August 5, 2018
7:24am
5 minutes
Teamsters and Tutus
Simon Lewsen

it’s the movie of our lives
the stop and go the faraway
the you call me in the morning on your way to buy peaches from the market
the me call you back before the family reunion and the butter tarts
the mesaages of sweet when I wake up and you still asleep
in another time zone
the missing you from here
and I point to my heart so you know exactly where here is, where here lives in me, where I carry you
it’s the meeting at a wedding two summers in a row
a new suit and a new pair of heels to show our loved ones
look, we’ll say, we’ve done all this growing
and the credits won’t because the movie isn’t over yet
it’s only just beginning
it’s only taking shape even after all the years and tears and open wounds
and still we both look at each other and say, I’m into this so far
this is going to be a good one
I can tell

“boys can be dangerous.” by Julia at the studio

Monday, March 19, 2018
3:57pm
5 minutes
Undue Familiarity
Ellen Collett

It is under the covers of this empty bed where I feel the most like nothing.
Where are your knotted legs to wrap mine around?
Where is the soupy whisper in my ear telling me I am good enough already?
Boys are so damn dangerous
when you let them love you so good
the lack of them creates chaos in the sweet stream
A kink in the neck now from piling up your pillows
it is my back, desperate
to be held by something other
than this muscle spasm, kidnapper and cruel one
I rub the void between my legs until sleep takes me
I wake up wet from the dream that I said I’d meet you in
I used to think I slept better when you are gone
but when I let you love me so good
the sheets change all of their demands

“Before Tampa” by Sasha at the Diamond Centre


Friday February 10, 2017
3:41pm
5 minutes
The Edge of the World
Connie May Fowler


Before Tampa there was Santa Cruz. Before Santa Cruz there was San Jose. Before San Jose there was Seattle and that’s where the story really starts. I was busking full time and would go warm up and use the bathroom at the bookstore on 10th Ave… It was a cold winter that year, and my finger tips would turn blue after two hours of playing. I saw Greg. He was a cashier. I didn’t have a thing for ponytails or anything. He was too short, he looked dumb in his running shoes. It’s not like I believed in love at first sight, not prior to that moment. Greg didn’t notice me, not for weeks. I realized that I was going to have to buy something. I picked up a copy of Crime and Punishment from the discount bin and brought it up to the cash.

“that you already know and like.” By Sasha on the 9


Monday February 22, 2016
10:16pm
5 minutes
gnoosic.com

I arrive at his apartment above the bike shop, with the deck that looks like a pier and the tiny plastic, dancing monkeys on the old reel-to-reel, with the roommate that is only a voice on the other side of the door, who I’ve never actually met. Ben meets me at the front door, shirtless in old grey sweat shorts and a brown hat. He whispers in my ear when I hug him,

“I’m really high right now”.

Ben has recently broken up with his girlfriend of five and a half years, Sonja. She’s in Paris doing an internship at a gallery. I imagine her to be really beautifully, thin, knowing an a whole lot about Marina Abromovic and fancy cheese. Ben speaks of her often. He clearly still loves her. I know what he’s doing, replacing the woman’s body beside him in his bed. I wonder if I’m the only one.

“Have a beautiful night, beautiful.” By Julia at Nicole’s desk


Tuesday August 26, 2014
12:31am
5 minutes
Overheard on the streetcar

On our night in the woods we drank the blue stuff and turned the yellow stuff into powder. We clinked our glasses, and our thumbs, and we tilted our heads back to send the gift down-offering up an opportunity to our souls (we were looking for some peace of truth, whichever came first). The stars twinkled in sequence, telling a story, singing a song, drowning in ecstasy and not waving or struggling to stay above the tide. The moments lasted as long as they should have-the romance elongated, the touch softened. Our tongues traced tiny hearts on each other’s belly and we prayed with the night’s temple lit on fire from our commitment. We spoke only with our eyes and I said, Forever, and he said, Yes please.

“you can ride on its back” by Julia on her couch


Thursday, January 2, 2014
2:10am
5 minutes
The Yak
A poem by Hilaire Belloc


It will take you where you want to go and you wont even need to say the name of the place…it just knows. It’s part of you, but you don’t have to recognize that if you think it takes some of the romance out of the situation…like explaining that a shooting star is really just the visible path of a meteoroid as it enters the atmosphere, becoming a meteor. Sort of takes the wind out; sort of brings it back down to earth in the same way..
But that’s why it works. I just want to be real about it, let you know what you should know.
It’s part of you and so it knows better than anyone else. But forget it, we don’t have to discuss this kind of thing anymore. It’s not really necessary. It’s just extra, in case you’re curious about self-actualizing at all…not that you have to be. But. You see, I’m nervous. I can’t quit day dreaming about being there for the first day you meet yourself. It’s like hearing a baby say his or her first word, and that first word being ‘mama’. It’s life-changing. And I’m just excited for you when that happens. When your world takes off. It will take you exactly where you want to go.

“Physically he had changed” by Julia at her desk


Friday May 10, 2013
5:20pm
5 minutes
The Boys Of Summer
Roger Kahn


What makes a beautiful moment? He wondered, out loud, maybe.
Was it the way her hair softly fell into her eyes when you were looking deep into them…then the wind came, and you just had to smile? Was it the only time in the day where you felt true silence but that’s because your heart was buzzing so consistently that it felt like nothing at all?
He kept his eyes focused on his feet, shuffling back and forth, back and forth. If he lifted his gaze for even a second, he knew it would be the end of him. She wasn’t standing in front of him then, but he imagined her there. He got shy in his arms, his legs, his mouth.
I love you. He said, out loud, for sure this time. To nobody; to the soft breeze. To the sunset.
I love you more in this beautiful moment than I ever have.
His fingers formed a knot with each other, his knuckles popping out in all kinds of weird formations. He was different than he was before he met her. He was physically different, changed even, and he was very much okay with it.
You’re the only one. He sang, out loud, and internally.
Now that he knew her, he didn’t want to revert back to anything that he used to feel or think before this. Before this beautiful moment.

“Everything is all right” by Julia on her couch


Sunday, March 17, 2013
2:34am
5 minutes
Dharma Bums
Jack Kerouac


She sits by the window reading her favourite book this week for the second time. It’s about mystery, and passion, and deceit. Her book, that is. It’s a good one because it makes her stop to think about what it is she actually wants. Relatively speaking, of course. She wants daisies to be brought in bunches. She wants an impromptu car ride to the hill, or to a swimming pool where illegal night swimming happens every Thursday. She gets caught up in it all. Yearning for Mr. Abbotsford to casually ask if she’d like her lawn…mowed Or her sidewalks…shoveled. Mr. Abbotsford is the closest thing she has to The Gardiner. The Contractor. The Mailman. All of these dream-boat men exist in her book, but in real life she has to take care of her own yard. Not so glamorous when the fantasy gets squandered by reality. She keeps her nose buried deep in the pages, afraid to look up. Afraid to get anything done.

“$1.79” by Julia at Ossington Station


Thursday, March 14, 2013
9:54pm
5 minutes
Receipt
Second Nature Natural Foods


Ha ha, she says as she scrapes the back of my teeth. This is where your soul is. I have my mouth ripped open by a girl that likes to experiment. Do you like my lips? She asks. What am I supposed to say, I can’t talk. Mmhm, I say. Mhm. She says you can touch them if you want to. Nuh Uh, I say. I don’t want to touch her at all..
You have 56 cavities, she tells me. All of them are from candy corn and licorice. I nod slightly. She’s right. How did she know that? I feel like we’ve been friends since birth.
No way..
You have cavities? I ask? Except with her hands in my mouth it sounds like, yerr ahh avaheees? She smiles.
She does. She shows me. From candy corn too, she says. From candy corn and licorice. I smile through spread lips and a bucking tongue. Good. I think. We’re the same.

“ho-hum classic.” by Julia on the 510 going north


Wednesday, January 9, 2013
11:40pm
5 minutes
Wellman’s Chrestomathy of 22 Answers

In a series of letters my father wrote my mother (in German) before I even existed, I have seen the beauty of the world the way it was meant to be viewed. My father, utterly and almost desperately in love with my mother, was the one who began their romantic correspondence. He sent the first letter and pressed a daisy into the pages for her. It was incredible. Not that it would be so out of the ordinary for a man to write to a woman, but my father, a man of seemingly few words, even at the best of times, was so eloquent and impassioned in these letters. So poignant, so brave.
Each one made me cry and that’s saying something. Perhaps I wasn’t seeing the world and all its beauty, but the way the inner workings of a man’s heart are so intricate and inspiring and through that, the world is seen in a different light. He was never a poet in the life time in which I knew him. But these letters would shock anyone literate into clutching their heart out of the sheer emotion and catharsis that he achieved through his muse: my mother. Her letters never seemed to intrigue me in the same way as his; her penmanship almost too perfect to be considered poetry..