“a weak spot” by Julia on Amanda’s futon

Thursday December 28, 2018
11:48pm
5 minutes
Golden Ray of Chemo
Fawn Parker

I didn’t believe you when you said today was Thursday. I see that it is now but earlier I thought you were going out of your way to try and trick me…

I do not like to be tricked.

I must have been caught up in yesterday or seven years ago when the city summer fried all my people reading skills. Maybe it’s from all the medicine. All the weed. All the nights spent trying to quiet my dreams.

The night before last I didn’t smoke and my nightmares came back like quick sand or an overripe banana. I dreamed I was being made to fight another woman and everyone watched when I won.

I wasn’t ready for Thursday. One more day closer to seeing you or seeing me and neither feels easy.

“The pleasures and perils of a drug-altered mind” by Sasha at JJ Bean


Thursday May 4, 2017 at JJ Bean
2:16pm
5 minutes
Vancouver Sun
Thursda May 4, 2017


Karla wears pink heart-shaped sunglasses. Sublime is playing on a beat-up boombox plugged in on the porch. Adi’s backyard sprawls long and wide, pimpled with dandelions. I’m not quite scared, but I’m not quite excited. I wonder where he got the weed, and if I’ll become addicted. How glamorous. I wonder if I’ll cough or my eyes will turn red. I wonder if we’ll laugh more than usual. Bare legs scratched by the grass, he lights up the joint and we pass it. Karla always knows what she’s doing, or is a very good pretender. I am a bit more bumbly, a bit more rosy-cheeked, a bit more novice in general. I do cough. I don’t feel high. I wait and wonder what all the fuss was about. “Lots of people don’t feel it their first time,” Adi says, laying back and stretching out, skinny legs sticking out of his cut offs, arms long. The clouds move like water. Karla puts her sunglasses on me.

“The pleasures and perils of a drug-altered mind” by Julia at JJ Bean


Thursday May 4, 2017 at JJ Bean
2:16pm
5 minutes
Vancouver Sun
Thursda May 4, 2017


My aunt Barb tells me that she wrote herself a note when she “wasn’t straight” about how the “negativity is too loud in her head” and “cutting through all her good thoughts”. We (the family, collectively) got her into medicinal marijuana after her husband passed away last June. We wanted him to try it but he refused to smoke the stuff even after we showed him all the videos of people his age trying it. Barb is in love with it. She calls me at least once a day with her “new thoughts”. Yesterday she told me that “the sky is trying to kill her” and that she “would go but there is laundry to be folded”. In a meeting with the cousins, we secretly discuss Barb’s usage and pat ourselves on the back for helping her out. Then her daughter, Dina, raises her hand timidly. “My mom says she wants to try crack next!”

“but also for the people in the neighbourhood” by Julia on her couch


Sunday November 15, 2015
10:12pm
5 minutes
from the Union Gospel Mission calendar

Karen sat patiently by the phone willing it to ring and wishing that it had already. She had, earlier that week, applied to be a member of Neighbourhood Watch and was told that all successful applicants would be contacted by Friday at the very latest. Karen didn’t have anything else particularly pressing to do since she fell ill two months back. She wanted to fill her time with meaningful activities since she wasn’t fit enough to return to the grocery store. Emirel said she might have overextended herself there anyway, coming into help stack and pack when she wasn’t even scheduled to work. Karen wanted to do something other than tend to the plants she had been growing in her laundry room. She didn’t think she’d have a very strong harvest the first time around, especially because she had been relying on various youtube videos to teach her how to grow a crop of marijuana properly. Karen got bored easily. She wanted to have at least two things to watch, if she could help it.

“I’ll mesage in a bit” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday September 17, 2015
10:20pm
5 minutes
from a text

“You’re like an antidepressant,” Ruby says, matter-of-factly. She usually plays her cards closer to her chest but with Syd everything is different. Syd smooths out Ruby’s unruly eyebrows using his pointer fingers and smiles. She rolls a joint and they hand their bodies out her bedroom window, blowing smoke rings. Syd gets his weed from a guy in the mail room at work. Ruby thinks that’s really funny.

“In the 1950’s the word” by Sasha in Lighthouse Park


Wednesday May 13, 2015 at Dark Horse
2:46pm
5 minutes
The R-Word
Heather Kirn Lanier


When she makes the bed she whispers, “corner’s tucked, sheets flat, duvet fluffy.” She hears Bill leave for work and, as the door locks she quietly calls, “Goodbye!” Gwen waits until eleven, once the dog walker has come and she’s had second cup of coffee to get out the watercolour paints. “A small jar of water on the left, paints on the right…” A whisper, like a feather on her neck. A joint hangs from her lips, but she never lights it. She breathes in quickly, tasting the sweet perfume. Bill has a medical license for his Glaucoma. He leaves joints already rolled in a small ziplock bag in the spice cabinet. She takes them in her mouth, each one, when she paints. “Shhh, little angel,” and a flick of red.

“Serve.” by Sasha on her couch


Monday, September 23, 2013
12:11am
5 minutes
www.foodnetwork.com

Ya know Ian? Ya know Ian who lives over der by dem pines? Ian killed his wife. I’ll tell ya the story but you have to promise that ya won’t tell no-one. I don’t wanna be that kinda gossip, ya know?

So. Story goes, Ian is a shady kinda character. He has a grow-op in that basement. We’re not talking a few plants, we’re talking a whole operation, a big ‘ol operation, with the lights and the special liquids and whatever. He had this girlfriend, Caroline, and she was around for longer than any of the other ladies. Ya know those meth head ladies? With the real bad teeth and the scratchy faces? Lotsa those ladies. Story goes that Caroline had finally had enough, she was tired of his wily ways, she was trying to get clean. She left Ian and started goin’ with some hotshot guy in Kingston, some guy who was the president of AA and in a biker gang or something. Story goes, Ian tracked down Caroline, who was cleaning out a camper on this new hotshot’s property. He shot her. Right in the head.

“You can grow” by Sasha at the AGO


Thursday, September 19, 2013 at the Art Gallery of Ontario
6:12pm
5 minutes
From the front page of the Toronto Metro Wednesday, September 11, 2013

I listen with my ear against the wall. They’re talking about Betsy and how she’s smoking weed and having sex with strangers. They seem more concerned about the former than the latter. I’m more concerned about the diseases inside her, all over her, the hands touching her, the tongues tasting her, the faces pressed up against hers. I haven’t had a real conversation with Betsy since she started hanging out with the Gases. That’s what they call themselves. I don’t get it. They must have told her something about how I wasn’t cool enough, I wasn’t bad enough, I would try to tell her what she was doing was wrong. Betsy and I are only seventeen months apart but you’d never know it. At least, not anymore. People used to think we were twins, but when my hair turned curly and I got glasses, they suddenly thought I was babysitting.

“genuine liquor bottles” by Julia in her bed


Friday June 7, 2013
2:27am
5 minutes
Fall On Your Knees
Anne-Marie MacDonald


Okay so you were high when you got home, and you said som truthful shit. I know some things about you and one of them is that you cannot tell a lie when you’re flying high. You also like to rhyme and I know that shit rubbed off on me early on. You like to tell it how it is and rub me like you know I’d be dead without it. Pressing your hands into my arms and my neck so that I relax, you say, give me your whole body, and I know it means because you want to ease me, please me, tell me that the truth is out and ready to play. But because of all that and your need to say every thought that comes into your brain, when you told me I should marry you, I knew that it was true. That it was genuine. I didn’t tell you yes or no because though you can’t tell a lie, your memory recall of a stoned night’s adventure is absolute shit.