“Food is more than what we eat” by Julia at her desk

Sunday October 28, 2018
10:09pm
5 minutes
Dishing on Destinations
Sarah Musgrave

I have been saying it lately, feed me something that will stick to the ribs
let it be meat-thick and full of lessons I could keep my shelves lined warm

I have been asking for more and taking less
Telling them what they put in their pill casings ends up at the bottom of the barrel anyway
the bottom of your best intentions

I have been eating less and craving more, making room for lessons that aren’t going anywhere
And saying to my guts don’t worry this is worth tasting
hold on for dear life and try not waste it

What we put in our bellies to keep us going, food for thought
are we thinking?
Soul food to bring the soup to boil and simmer there
simmer simmer there

“Where it pours bean green over blue” by Julia walking home

Friday June 22, 2018
11:26pm
Daddy
Sylvia Plath

I thought I saw you walking toward me
You had headphones on and you were walking a bulldog
You don’t have a bulldog so I knew it couldn’t be you but the face and the beard and the eyes were yours
The same sadness was not doing a very good job of hiding there in the corners
I almost reached out anyway
The whole thing has got me blurry
Seeing you on neck of other men wishing
Watching you look at me like we both know that you’re not in this city but your soul has been hopping
I almost reached out
I almost touched the you that wasn’t
In this way that I do

“soothingly soft” By Julia in her bed


Saturday February 4, 2017
12:51am
5 minutes
from the facial tissue package

The soul, I imagine is butter smooth and custard soft. It is graceful. The soul is an aerialist. The soul is tender wise and Meryl Streep. The soul is firm but lovable fifth and sixth grade teacher. The soul, is upward direction, launched and soaring, silk scarf decadence in flight. The soul is skin milk and honey.

“An often overlooked side effect” by Julia on her couch


Wednesday January 25, 2017
12:04am
5 minutes
from a tweet

I guess you’d dismiss the tears if you saw them
mistaken them for fears of feelings of the sort that don’t garner recognition
Aren’t they our body’s most tuned in sensor?
I want to know what they say about crying in places that aren’t here
I want to know which animals cry and what that means
I want to know why I cry when I cry differently than acceptable or out of
Nothing in particular
What am I doing with so many feelings released from the gum ball machine that is my control panel
My heart
My soul
My something
Something that gets flooded
Something that can be broken
Something that exists more than just to fill buckets

“my drunken soul flies” By Julia at Bean Around The World


Tuesday July 26, 2016 at BATW
6:53am
5 minutes
from the write up on the painting “Ascend”

Heaven forbid I tell you how I actually feel. I say that under my breath because I’m too afraid to say anything about how I actually feel with full voice. What the eff. Where did that start? When I was a kid? As everything in this life does? I had to do what you did when we were young because I wanted to be you and the only way I knew how to be you was to do what you did or what you wanted. That made sense. I was looking for lightening. Wasn’t about to spend three to five years wishing I was you without trying to make it so. I still want to be you on most days. You were older than me then but now you’re a painting. I see you still: beautiful and still. You’re not going anywhere and I don’t have to run to catch up to you. I don’t have to hold my breath and count to three because you’re not running away from me. I am a mess. It makes sense that I would want to live your life and not mine. But I still can’t tell you how I actually feel. Because my soul is drunk on doubt and it flies high when it’s left to its own devices. You are still the moon, and I love you for that. The shiny thing in my sky that makes me want to open my eyes and see…

“enables you to become the master” by Julia at her desk


Friday May 13, 2016
11:05pm
5 minutes
The Curl Keeper Bottle

I think it has to deal with inside learning. You know what I mean when I say that? Inside learning? The act of getting to know yourself from the inside out. It sounds a bit out in left field but it is quite an easy concept if you just put it into your own words. I’ll try to explain myself: you look at a mirror every single day right? You know where your eyes are on your face, you know where your nose is. You know how your hair frames your forehead. But you don’t know what emotions are friends inside yourself. You don’t know how hate likes to attach itself to confidence and how love is always being eaten by fear. We need to understand how these feelings connect inside us. So we can become a master of ourselves. So we can learn truths on our own. So we can keep studying our souls with the intensity of learning a new language. That’s all it is, really. Learning how to speak our internal language.

“I love failure!” by Julia at her dining table


Thursday February 18, 2016
9:06pm
5 minutes
from a text message

I love failure. I do. I didn’t before but I love it now. Like a long lost sister, or a cousin you used to fight with. I think before there was this understanding that I could make it pretty far in this life without actually leaping, jumping, risking anything. I think I wore a lovely outer mask that said, I am confident I am going places, but on the inside a traumatized child had the fear of how much longer were we going to play make believe. I think, now, maybe for the first time, I can hear both voices at once. Things are suddenly less hard than they used to be. Because living truthfully and unafraid of being wrong? That’s the most freedom you’ve ever felt. Because it connects you with the spirit of your surroundings, the integrity of your self-love, your deepest soul. It’s such uplifting necessity. I do not understand now how I thought feeling confined in my skin, trapped in all my conjured narratives, was easier than letting anything go; than lightening my load; being kind to myself.

“No not that fake smile!” by Julia on the subway going west


Friday, August 21, 2015
1:16pm
5 minutes
Overheard at a bus stop

Biddy and me make a pact to bleed each other’s blood and wear each other’s smile. I want to marry Biddy so I can be around her all the time and let her light wash over me and catch me in all the right moments. Biddy plays the violin and when she does the whole world stops. I do all the humming and Biddy plays so I can feel. She tells me that I’m most me when I open my mouth and let my heart sing out. She tells me she can see me growing into the person who’s taking better care of me. She tells me I’m the kind of woman who becomes more beautiful with age and experience and confidence and time. It’s my idea to combine our life force and Biddy smiles with her whole face because she loves all of my grand ideas. She snips a lock of her strawberry blonde curls and wraps it around my finger to remind me that we’ve got each other’s soul close by.

“One male one female” by Julia at her desk


Wednesday March 11, 2015
2:38pm
5 minutes
from an online acting breakdown

It was everything and nothing
One male
One female
She cradled his heart gently in her palm
He unraveled his entire soul at her feet
Everything
And nothing
One male
One female
She held his sobbing head
On her lap
In the dark
He poured out his deepest secrets
To the folds of her jeans
To the softness of her thighs
Everything
And nothing
One male
One female
She waited until he was able
He held tight to her patience like a wounded bird

“Pain has been described as a gift” by Julia at her desk


Monday February 23, 2015
3:06pm
5 minutes
alive magazine
February 2015


I’ll be there when you need somebody
Hold you close when your heart’s been hiding
I will tell you what is inside my bones
Until you feel safe again again
I’ll be near when your strength is over
Pick up the pieces of your broken soul
I will sing to you until you sleep easy
But what do I do when you don’t come to me
Can I sit alone and wait for peace to be
You don’t always want something that you can see
You think you’ve got it covered
But that’s when I believe
You need me
I’ll reach out even when it’s lonely
On the edge of me waiting hoping
I will stay here all night if I have to
Do it again the next until you feel moved to
let it go and build a home again again
Don’t worry I won’t give up
Don’t worry I won’t let it hurt you anymore

“Questions about living” by Julia in the oZu Theatre


Thursday September 18, 2014
12:49pm
5 minutes
a Word document

Oh those are the big ones and the best ones and the hard ones and the important ones. Those ones that keep you up at night… “When will my mind grow an extra pair of hands?” “When will my soul sprout wings and soar?” “When will true silence stop breaking my heart?” “When will the truth stop stirring my spirit?”
Those ones with the capital W and the agonizing honesty. Those ones with the empty lined paper begging to be filled. Those ones with the armour melting at the seams.

“It’s almost like cheating.” By Julia in the Poet’s Room


Thursday September 11, 2014
12:15am
5 minutes
from an interview with Emma Healey in papirmasse

You don’t know who’s watching in a place like this
In an open space surrounded by people who seemingly don’t care one way or another
You can never be sure
You can never really know if you’re interesting enough to just one person
Or if your actions can go unnoticed
And your lips go unread
You might wear a smile just in case
You might bite your thumb nail in an attempt to look pensive
You might be completely naked
Loneliness written right across your forehead like a stamp
Extreme longing dripping from the nape of your neck as you pass your hand through your hair
Someone might see those things
And how beautiful you’d be if in those instances of unedited sadness
Having someone catch your soul in the air when you think no one’s looking
Those seconds of hiding behind nothing at all

“Men can be really great allies” by Julia on Nicole’s couch


Wednesday August 27, 2014
6:08pm
5 minutes
The Georgia Straight

Of course he’s standing beside me on my wedding day. He’s the best man I know besides the man I’m marrying so why wouldn’t I have him? I’m not going to make him wear a dress, that’s so stupid. He’s going to look sharp in his suit and he’s going to only take attention away from me for a little bit at the start of the day because he knows how to rock a suit better than anyone else will in that entire room. I’ve known him since I switched personalities. I was one person before we met and then when I found him, I shook his hand and accepted the deal that I would be this person now. I was always this person just now I’d be her all the time and out loud and acceptance and love and tenderness for her or whatever. He enforced my soul with his and we danced a bit, probably to Mariah, or Ciara-hips out, sweat dripping.

“the endless sky of Manitoba” by Julia at The Cabin Coffee in Bemidji, MN


Monday Aug 4, 2014 at The Cabin Coffee
11:18am
5 minutes
a quote from Joe Lawther


Oh I know I’m far from home
And I’ve got a long way to go
But I’ve been here a while and I say the same thing
There is so much to see
Endless possibilities
I have held on to the limitless feeling
Oh I’m under under under
Looking up to something bigger than me
Oh I’m under under under
Can’t keep my eyes on anything but
The endless skies of Manitoba
I can’t think straight
I just dream all day
I’ve been here for a while and I say the same thing
My whole life is this
Reaching for its bliss
I have held on to the limitless feeling
Oh I’m under under under
Looking up to something bigger than me
Oh I’m under under under
Can’t keep my heart on anything but
The endless skies of Manitoba
The endless skies of Manitoba
Stretched as far as I can go
looking each and every way and I can’t find my soul
Lost in some vast field under the bright calm blue
I’m far away from home but I’ve found my truth

“washroom of the bar” by Julia at Sambuca Grill


Thursday February 27, 2014 at Sambuca Grill
2:55pm
5 minutes
spiderwebshow.ca

I go down, I slip down to the washroom of the bar so nobody notices me. So nobody realizes I’ve gone. I need some alone time and I can’t have that here with these people drinking these cocktails eating these dirty fingered bar nuts. I bring with me my flirty lipstick. I leave my phone in my purse hung over my chair. I don’t tell anyone to watch my stuff cause I don’t want anyone watching my anything. I go down, I slip down to the washroom of the bar so I can look at myself in the mirror and give my head a break. I need to see myself sometimes when I’m in a crowded place. When I’m so busy smiling and listening with my whole face that I don’t remember what I look like. I don’t remember what my soul looks like. I’ve got my flirty lipstick. I can hear the bass, I can hear the shriek laughter, the bartender breaking a second glass. I escape. I escape it all. I get into the washroom. The washroom of the bar and I want to stay here for a bit. I finally understand why they call it a ‘stall’.

“300 pages” by Sasha on her bed


Wednesday January 8, 2014
2:21am
5 minutes
from the cover of an old notebook

When he wears those red pants I want to die. In a good way. I want to melt into the floor so that he can mop me up. With his red pants. Which means, he will have to remove them. Shiiiiiit. And then. Then. Then I will see his underwear. His boxer shorts that his mother probably got him for Christmas when he still went back home. They’re navy blue with small bunnies. From far away it looks like they’re horses. But they’re not. Bunnies. When he’s mopping me up, the puddle of a soul and a Joni Mitchell album, the doorbell will ring and he’ll laugh because he got caught with his pants down. Again.

“We’ve been expecting you” by Julia on the Greyhound


Friday December 6, 2013
9:00am
5 minutes
a Welcome To Toronto lamp post sign

Take off your winter sadness and leave it by the door. We don’t need that here. We don’t need that here. There’s a fire to warm your hands and a Italian mama’s lasagna to warm your soul. A reminder of the good old days. Of the ones where we were carefree and moved by every heart hugging melody that crept into our ears. Come in come in. We have extra slippers for your toes and cups of hot apple cider brewing. We’ve been expecting you for some time. Wondering which snow fall would bring you back to us. Wondering which moment to put on the kettle so we’d be ready ready. There are little ones in their beds who tried to stay up late just to see you. They’ll be happy to know you got in safe. They’ve been worried about you. Trying to decide what kind of finger paintings would be most useful to you. They did a variety just in case you were hard to please. You’re not though, are you? Because you’re home.

“A deliciously wicked pleasure.” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday, August 6, 2013
1:02am
5 minutes
ad for The Silent Wife
on the TTC


It’s a rocky road to somewheresville. Don’t know won’t care somewheresville.
It starts with a blurry line and ends with someone without a license free riding on the midnight highway.
With the windows down just a crack; enough to let the demons out. Enough to let the soul creep out and into the sky.
It’s a beautiful and and deliciously wicked pleasure. The path to uncertainty wrapped so tightly in a bow it suffocates. They would let that happen. Because it’s bigger than stopping it.
It’s a rocky road to somewheresville, with a stack of rebellions so high the Empire State Building starts to wince from anxiety. Toppling into the streets, the youth and the present all at once. The search is on for great and grand. The road is a rocky one…

“I do the illusion.” by Julia on her couch


Wednesday, April 10, 2013
1:07am
5 minutes
Women of Manhattan
John Patrick Shanley


I do the illusion well. I throw my hair in front of my face, sort of hiding the fear, the madness. There’s a spot on my forehead where if you shine a light directly on it, you can see what I’m avoiding. What I’m refusing to tell you even if I’m seemingly being honest. On the right side of my face is the mechanism, disguised by my eyebrow, designed to flicker ever so slightly every single time a dream of mine is being ridiculed.
My clothes are every day clothes. They are comprised of some fashionable items and mostly hand-me-downs. They hide what I won’t show anyone: a tattoo of what I really really want. The amount of money I think I should be earning. The amount of money I actually earn. The amount of money I dream about when I’m letting the grass grow green in my mind. My shoes, holding the soul…are lace ups, or boots, and the soul in each shoe is tattered and covered in band-aids from all the rubbing.

“benchmark of excellence” by Julia at Sambuca Grill


Tuesday February 19, 2013 at Sambuca Grill
2:34pm
5 minutes
A Jackson-Triggs bottle of Merlot

I met a man the other day, had an umbrella for a hat, had a cane for a baseball bat, had a smile where a smile shouldn’t be.
He told me two things: One, you are not alone. Two, if you really wanted to be full, you should eat something.
Said it with his interesting eyes, glancing inside of me without any effort.
I didn’t like his wisdom. I didn’t like his quirky way. I liked that he thought he had the right to tell me what to do…stranger…
He laughed at me when I shook my head, he said, oh dear, you think too much.
I think he’s right. There I go again. He told me that I was searching in the wrong garbage bin.
I think even then I said, I’m not into people’s leftovers.
He laughed again, he said, you thought about that. You were trying to impress me. You should care more about leftovers and less about your little wit. I was not trying to be witty, I was trying not to cry, but yeah, he was right, his umbrella face all yellow from the shadow. I was thinking too much and a strange man in a strange place was telling me what I needed to hear.
He told me more than one, two, three things. They kept coming like the words off his tongue turned to gold as soon as they hit the air.
I looked around myself and realized he was no longer there. He was not ever there, to begin with.
My soul is a man who wears rubber umbrella hats and knows what it is to be human…