“conducted his own laboratory experiments” by Julia at her mom’s dining table

Monday May 13, 2019
2:51pm
5 minutes
The Flouride Deception
Christopher Bryson

In the laboratory (kitchen) my mother is filling
the espresso machine with more beans.
She is on the phone with her sister in Italy,
speaking in dialetto and switching to English
when it’s easier to explain. I am conducting my
own experiment about which Animal is aligned
with my authentic essence and which medicine
I should take care to recognize as an offering
to the world who needs it. I am asking which
animals do I reject? I asked her earlier, and she
said snakes. In Italy there are snakes all over
the place. I saw my first one in the mountain town
where my mother grew up and where my nonna lived.
There are a few more experiments to participate in,
the animal of my family, the tribe that I belong to.
I’ll have to ask more questions, write down more
findings and one day draw a map with all the right
tree roots connecting. We all have a specimen to
study. Some inner worlds become one and when they
do I want to be able to notice them. I want to
vibrate buzz with the truth reflected around me. I want

to arrive and stay arriving with my heart out, collecting.

“We heard you loud and clear” by Julia in her bed


Saturday January 21, 2017
12:13am
5 minutes
from a text

I grew up in a cornfield
Nonna aproned in the backyard
Picking dandelions for supper
Knew all the kids on my block and sold drawings for pennies in groups of 2 or 3
We planted a sprig of pussy willow and it grew as wild and large as the entire porch
The people who repainted our bathrooms white with gold stars and moons had to cut it down because it was starting to grow into the house
We’d go for walks to the river in clusters of young
Not fully knowing which direction was the right one
The backyard was home to blackberry bushes and mint leaves
And to cousins and neighbours singing loud at the bonfire on summer nights

“Looking for a therapist?” by Julia on the subway going south


Sunday, April 26, 2015
1:49pm
5 minutes
From a PRS subway ad

There are feelings
Woah like the waves of the sea
And they’re big
Whoosh like the world shifting
Tectonic plates moving
And I have them
They’re in me
Whoosh waving through me
Around my bones
Keeping them cold
Keeping me far away from settling in
That’s the best way to describe
Whoosh
Wave
Whooshing
Is there a cure?
For the feelings that slosh around beneath my skin
Boom begging me to hold on tight
To wrap up my insides
So they stay good and out of contact
With all my major organs?
Does the doctor know this brand of illness?
Oh the waving
Whooshing
Sloshing sick-feelings landslide
Tsunami
and
Evolutionary jolting
Rocking my core
And shaking me from my roots?

“too damn cool” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday November 21, 2014
9:32pm
5 minutes
from an e-mail

Cool is the currency
Cool is liking that pink hat
Or… Is it?
Cool is
Cool is
Cool isn’t Celine Dion, he says
But when I was there
On the other side
The blonde haired dark skinned one
Low slung jeans
And sad eyes
Played My Heart Will Go On
With utter sincerity
Cool isn’t the painting above the toilet
Cool isn’t scrolling through your phone looking at picture of women in lingerie on Instagram
Cool is a judgement call
Cool is traded
Cool is coded
Cool is switched
Cool is that tree
Trees are cool
Effortless
Attachement (Roots)
Unattachment (Leaves)

“MADE IN ITALY” by Julia in her bed


Saturday October 25, 2014
3:05am
5 minutes
The back of a room spray

I’ve been feeling my roots being tugged deep down from within me. They reach reach into the ground and spread like a forrest fire on a mission. They dig and they wrap around the rocks below. They hold on tight so no one can pull them up. Not even magic can bring them to the surface, poking through the tops of the earth. I was born in this place many years ago. I know this because my heart sings when it hears the call of home. A singing heart is one thing to hope for in this life. Not all hearts sing. Some whisper. This one of mine likes a quiet hum to start it off, finishing with a lulling chant and a whoop every now and again. I was brought here once and made a promise to return. Threw my coins into the fountains, wished on bracelets and pizza crusts. It worked. I keep coming back. Like a cat through the window left open at night, crawling softly into the bed occupied by a lover.

“here’s the part where I encourage you” by Sasha in High Park


Friday, June 21, 2013
9:10am
5 minutes
http://www.joythebaker.com

My heart is a ten pin bowling ball
It’s heavy here
You couldn’t know that
But I want you to
I want you to anticipate the moment where the fingers release
The ball rolled down the lane
Strike
Strike
I see you wavering between wanting in and wanting out
Here’s the deal
Guess what
Here’s the part where I encourage you
Where I say
Sometimes it is muddy
And reckless to be driving so fast
But think about the common theme of all your favorite stories
Think
The common thread
The bright red in the tapestry
Is Love
You and I have Love
You and I have roots reaching down to the hot hot centre
You and I are safe