“Mandala-Image Dip” by Julia at her desk


Saturday August 31, 2019
9:36pm
5 minutes
Mandala
Margaret Collis

Okay is this our future? Me you and this baby
that we talked about having and then keep having
conversations about but only when the universe
decides to throw darts at us and prick us with
tiny messages from outside ourselves? Reminding
us that we are very much of the earth and on the
earth and of the people on the earth, not different
not unique, really, since aren’t those thoughts
my thoughts, and those words, yours? Didn’t I say
something like that yesterday or last month and
now, tonight, the woman in the play says the
same exact sentiment? Didn’t I write that play
one afternoon, one argument ago, one plea to
get married, one yes or no about the future?
Me and you and this baby that we’ve talked
about are all in the room now, not talking
about what might be true for them and us now
and in the future. This idea, this earth, we
are living on and in and for and it’s only
an idea, isn’t it? Only a fraction of what we
could be thinking about or acting upon, and the
actors tonight said the words. They said what
you’ve asked, and what I’ve denied, and everyone
in the room was crying so, is everyone having
this very same conversation? About the earth
and about the future and about babies and about
if we’re good people, or if we’re all lost…

“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…