“not even debate” by Sasha at Terrace Beach

Friday October 12, 2018
9:38am
5 minutes
From a quote by Richard Wolff

Jennifer doesn’t enjoy debate, but Paul does, and so they do, because that’s how things go. Jennifer enjoys conversation, and avocado and cucumber sushi, and sleeping in socks. Paul enjoys debate, reading the New Yorker with a cup of lukewarm black coffee, and running uphill. Jennifer thinks that Paul is bizarre, and that’s one of the things she loves about him. Paul thinks Jennifer is simple, and that’s one of the things he loves about her. Paul instigates debates and Jennifer resists and refutes and then engages, because that’s what he wants, and she wants to give him what he wants.

“there are still shoelaces to be tied” by Julia at her desk

Sunday April 8, 2018
11:15pm
5 minutes
Ten Seconds for Each Year
Fernando Raguero

Wait till your eyes run out of juice
try typing that letter to your friend
see how many times you nod off in the
middle of a good sentence
tell her: there are stillllllllllll swppp
tell her: you are so eeeeeen qqQ hip
She will really appreciate that you didn’t
make time for her earlier in the day
that you were saving up all your creative
expression for the moments in between
sleep and almost sleep because that’s
when all the best ideas come through
tell her: that thought you had about
the cactus and the kiwi eloping
tell her: neck kink and unlimited yawn
tell her: fall onto the bed mascara
still holding all your eyelashes together
Don’t forget about the roasting pan in
the sink or the shoes out in the foyer
or the wet hair drying slowly on your back

“is there somewhere else she could go?” by Julia on the 7 bus


Friday June 30, 2017
5:30pm
5 minutes
overheard on the 7

Bobby smoothes down the peach fuzz under her chin to calm down. When she was new to school in the 6th grade two of the good looking boys used to tease her about it. She had no idea they were doing it. For some reason she always instinctively reached for it when she needed to feel close to herself and to her inner child.
Maxwell is banging every pot and every cupboard door but refuses to say anything. He is very aggressive about his passive aggressiveness. It is clear he doesn’t want Bobby’s younger sister, Hannah, to stay with them over the long weekend. He doesn’t think he should have to share his living room with anyone.

“let us communicate” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday October 18, 2016
6:29pm
5 minutes
From the back of The Sun

Henry builds forts out of pillows and blankets I always thought we’d use for company. When he started sleeping downstairs, in the basement, I thought it was because of the snoring. He felt bad for waking me, he said. When I finally went down there and saw his forts, I wondered if something else was going on. It took me awhile to get up the courage to talk about it. We’re both introverts. We prefer quiet dinners, reading side-by-side at the kitchen table. Sometimes I wonder if we’ve even spoken to one another that day. At least we texted about who was going to bring Bigsby to the groomer, I’ll say.

“take her children to church” by Julia at her desk


Thursday June 4, 2015
1:01am
5 minutes
Vogue
October 2014


She wakes up early in the morning, before the sun does, before the man does. He sleeps like a bear anyway. He wouldn’t notice if the house was on fire. He wouldn’t notice if his testicles were dipped in hydrochloric acid. For the record she has considered both options. She decides on sneaking her babies out without causing any physical pain. She doesn’t want to add to her little ones’ suffering. God knows they’be been through enough. She dresses her sleeping children as best she can. Georgia’s eyes flap open and she knows if she’s to wake anyone, Georgia’s the best one. She loves secrets. She’ll be good at helping her get the other two ready. She doesn’t even worry about the snoring bear. Georgia is quiet but she is curious. She puts her fingers to her lips and smiles with her eyes.

“What can I do for you?” by Sasha on her couch


Monday March 2, 2015
10:21pm
5 minutes
From a Pattison subway ad

He sits too much.
He knows this is true.
He eats too many chocolate chip cookies.
Hard to resist.
Hard to resist.
Betty forwarded an email article about “Standing Desks”.
Maybe he should get one of those.
His doctor says he has high blood pressure.
No more egg yolks?
No more custard before bed?
He goes for a walk or two and then thinks:
I’d rather be sleeping.
He reads a few passages of the Bible…
(Betty highlighted them and tagged the pages with post it notes)
He decides he’s going to take Betty on a date to the Planetarium.
“Why would we look at fake stars when we can look at real ones?” She says.
He hadn’t thought of that.
Damn.
He takes Betty on a date to the park and he brings a blanket.
“Why did you bring this blanket? It’s going to get dirty!”
Betty drinks all of the hot chocolate.
“It’s cold,” she says.
It’s cloudy so they don’t see any real stars.
He kisses her, though.
That hadn’t happened in awhile.
A kiss that makes them both remember a time before the toilet seat being left up.
A kiss that keeps them warm, inside out.

“Inspired by the natural wonders” by Sasha on the pullout at the Angel’s Nest


Thursday January 1, 2015
11:21pm
5 minutes
from an Old Mout Cider pint glass
The trees are doing their belly dancing.
The ferns tickle the moss and the moss tries it’s best not to laugh.
The moon (the light) reflects off the dewy downy forest floor.
Quiet.
Quiet.
You turn away from me and I tuck my toes into yours.
The wood stove hums ancient wisdom of fire and following through.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass of the sliding door.
Simple.
My hair is longer than I realized, far down my back now.
You like it like this.
I look into my eyes, beyond my eyes and the forest waits and waits and waits.
You make a small sound that can only be described as a “coo”.

“Pure Life” by Julia in the car


Thursday July 31, 2014
8:44pm
5 minutes
the nestle water bottle

She was PURE LIFE. PURE JOY. I held her for the first time and I DIED. I MELTED. I wanted to stay seated on that wicker rocking chair that didn’t rock anymore FOREVER. FOR HER. She was honestly the best moment of my life. She was PURE LOVE. PURE HAPPINESS. I wanted to build a bubble of warmth and love around her fuzzy little head and hold her until she was too big to want that. That way I could pour all of my undying love into her bubble and feed her with is so she would know how special and worth it and truly unequivocally loved she was. This little thing without opinions of the world yet, without the sadness, the jaded crispiness that comes from getting left behind, or getting told you’re ugly, or getting felt up by a stranger at a sleazy hot dog stand one stupid night in Sacramento. This little thing without pain, and without anger, and without wanting so much that the world seems so unwilling to give. I would have shown her that all she needed to do was sleep there and giggle sometimes and hold my finger. I would have loved her the way I needed to be loved.

“microcosmic model” by Julia on her bed


Tuesday April 8, 2014
10:50pm
5 minutes
Freeing Shakespeare’s Voice
Kristin Linklater


I guess Steve was talking about humans and their relation to the universe again, and I guess I got bored because I fell asleep a little bit the way I do when I watch movies after 10pm. I can usually make it to 11pm on weekends, but it depends on what kind of a day I had. It’s not my fault that Steve’s mid section is the perfect pillow, or that his breathing patterns lull me into an eternal and blissful sleep. In fact, Steve likes it. Well, he likes when I sleep on him, not when I fall asleep during movies. He only really likes it when I sleep while he watches the News so that when he tells me what is going on in the world, I always agree with his opinion because I never hear any other ones to make an informed decision. Steve actually wants to talk about the movies, about the plot, about the characters. He’s into that stuff. Maybe because he’s an artist and he really likes things he can see himself doing later on in his life. You know, if he understands this movie and this story arc and this conclusion, then he’ll be able to make his own someday. I didn’t mean to fall asleep while he was talking about his worldly theories. That was a special case cause I had just finished running the half marathon and my body was in absolute shambles because I pushed myself really hard.

“I was standing beside his bed” by Julia at her desk


Wednesday April 2, 2014
11:33pm
5 minutes
The Great Gatsby
F. Scott Fitzgerald


When Lee was a kid he used to sleep walk into our parents’ bedroom every single night and scare the shit out of them. I mean, I’m laughing about it now, and even dad is, but mom never got over it. She used to think he was going to murder her in her sleep! I’m laughing right now just thinking about it. Just thinking about Lee walking down there like a zombie, and just standing there over their bed. He could have chosen dad’s side, but he always went to mom’s and she was a light sleeper. He’d stand there, and his eyes would be wide open, and he’d lean into her, and just sway back and forth! I’m dying it’s so funny. I’m so SO relieved he never did that to me. I wouldn’t have made it! And now me and my dad, we laugh so hard at my mom, who every night would beg my dad to lock the door so she could sleep, but would lose, and would have to get woken up by Lee’s big bulgy sleep-wake eyes! Then one night, I know, this is so bad, but she locked the door without telling my dad, and Lee slept walked into the yard and stared at her through her bedroom window! It’s so bad, you can’t even write this stuff. Mom was so scared. She didn’t like being left alone with him even in the day time because she thought Lee was possessed by the devil! She made my dad take him to a sleep clinic to see why he had the urge to only stare at her.

“It’s time” by Sasha at her desk


Wednesday, August 28, 2013
8:44pm
5 minutes
The membership renewal card from National Geographic

When you turned out the light, I lay there, eyes open, trying to find the hole in the ceiling. I knew that that this time, usually, I could see a star through there. Spring had gone and sprung, and it was the first warm night, the first night when I wanted to sleep on top of the down duvet. You were under it, as always, sweaty, but happy as a clam in his shell. I looked and looked, until my eyes stung from searching. No star. I got up, the droop of my naked breast catching the eye of the streetlamp peeking through the blinds. You stirred, and I stopped in my tracks. You made a small moan, and I turned to see the soft curve of your nose, the tip of which is one of my favourite things to kiss. I tip-toe into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water from the glass jug in the fridge. I hear our neighbours laughing. She shrieks and he tickles, or at least that’s what I imagine. I creep back into the bedroom and step over you, careful not to squish a knee or an elbow. I settle into my pillow, that sacred spot between you armpit and your shoulder.

“I remember” by Julia at the TUA Artists’ Retreat at the Fringe Creation Lab


Sunday, August 25, 2013
2:02pm
5 minutes
From the writer’s workout warm-up

I remember the feel of your morning skin more than the taste of your kiss. It’s something that eases me, that keeps me from spinning into the unknown. You lay there, sleeping, mumbling something to me or yourself, about me, or yourself, and I know you. Your skin: cool from the ever-blowing fan because of the air conditioner we never ever purchased. Your skin, inviting and honest, cloaking your masculinity, your desires, your rage. I remember that feel, that cool sticky skin feel, when I hate you. When I wish you never told me you loved me. When you break my bracelet because you can’t help yourself but play with the dainty things that are strewn across the dresser we share. That’s when I crawl back into those pretty morning moments, and I’m still, laying there behind you, counting your freckles and believing that I could not want for anything but this.
Your heart, a beating, living thing beneath the skin. I’m intrigued by its rhythm and the secrets you hold close but only let me see when you’re sleeping away. I remember.

“There’s kind of a weird thing about dogs and babies” by Julia at Grange Park


Thursday, July 25, 2013
6:14pm
5 minutes
overheard by Sasha on the Cafe Pamenar back patio

And when you have one you have everything you thought you always wanted. You stop singing in the morning. You stop crossing off days on your calendar. You just don’t need to do any more planning because when you have one the planning goes out the window. Your hair blows in the wind and you no longer think of that time you rode in a yellow convertible on the 401 and thought you were badass. Now it blows and you let all the lose strands wrap around your eyelashes and say “well this is it now. Why bother.” You feel empty inside because before you had all these great ideas and great moments you were waiting to wear your perfect outfits for. You can stop shopping now. You can stop going to the Trevi fountain in Rome and stop wishing on pennies to bring you happiness. There’s kind of a madness you feel. It’s hard to detect because it creeps up on you when you’re sleeping like a bed bug and integrates itself into your brain and you don’t know if it’s a dream or if it’s not until you wake up three years later and you notice your mind is different than it used to be.
You have everything you thought you always wanted. Did you know that? It’s true. It rings loud like wind chimes.

“That was my first personal encounter” by Sasha on the couch at Knowlton Lake


Saturday, May 18, 2013 at Knowlton Lake
3:31pm
5 minutes
Some Freaks
David Mamet


When the roosters wake you up you won’t be irritated. You’ll be grateful. You didn’t set the alarm clock that you found at Honest Ed’s, painted with a pink cat. You’ll be confused because you live in the city, in the heart of it, and you never expected a rooster. It will reminds you of your grandfather’s farm, sold to a contracting company who would raise a whole subdivision in four or five years. It reminds you of the smell of the manure, and the bales of hay and the apple orchard. You decide you won’t get out of bed today. You call in sick, to a manager who you don’t respect, not on principle, in a “stick it to the man” sort of way, in the way that you might choose to hate any manager because really you are completely capable of managing yourself. You don’t respect him because he’s choosing to be with Emily, from Finance, who just turned twenty. He left his wife for her. He’s forty two, with a preteen daughter and autistic twin boys who couldn’t be more than eight. He smells like a mowed lawn. You used to like that smell. Not anymore. You call this manager and you tell him that you’re not feeling well. “A mental health day, perhaps?” He scoffs. It’s a migraine, you whisper, for effect. You hang up the phone and listen to the rooster. You pull the covers over your head.

“15 people lost limbs” by Julia at Starbucks


Friday April 26, 2013 at Starbucks
11:55am
5 minutes
The front page of the Metro Weekend
April 26-28, 2013


It was a nightmare the day she lost her left arm. A softball player since she was big enough to hold a stick and swing it at tossed pebbles at the end of her driveway. Marissa was the catcher for her team. It would make more sense to address that first, but she’s sensitive and doesn’t want everyone in the town to pity her. Marissa was in a car, driving, sleeping, driving. She woke up on the wrong side of the road once and was shocked so intensely she swore she’d never drive tired again. She had been on her way home from the big away game. It was the playoffs. Her team had won, Everyone was celebrating. Marissa didn’t drink, she even took a nap before talking on the three hour drive. She is still confused about what happened. How it happened. How she ended up in a ditch with her arm out the window–crushed beyond possible repair. She woke up in the hospital with her teammates all around her crying. She hadn’t even looked at the damage yet. But, she knew. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, she thought.