“Well you have lost 3 matches in a row” by Julia on her couch

Wednesday June 19, 2019
7:20pm
5 minutes
overheard on an unknown internet compilation

there have been few fights
few fights, but still fights
small fights, few, but still
nobody is perfect
nobody is always right

the dishes in the sink
the ones that say I was home all day but didn’t do these
the ones, revealed later, were left on purpose for someone else because it was up to someone else to wash them

a little fight
a little snarl
a curl of the lip
a growl
a growl?
an almost hit
a growl?

one of us does some eye rolling and one of us catches it
one of us Calls The Eye Rolling Out
the other says no more talking about this is necessary because I am right

sorry because someone is right.

it does not feel good to be right.
it never has.
it does not feel good to be wrong but this stings.
and I am right.
I know it.
everyone knows it.
but it is not good when winning feels like losing.

I wish I didn’t almost hit.
I wish I didn’t growl.
I mean somebody growled and I wished that somebody was more patient instead.
if somebody were really right maybe they would have said less. growled less.

“A master-beggar art thou.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Tuesday January 8, 2019
10:04pm
5 minutes
Kim
Rudyard Kipling

I make you cinnamon buns. I let the dough double rise and listen to Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. I make the filling (butter, cinnamon, sugar, salt). I make the cream cheese frosting. I whisper that you’re my little darling, and these buns are my little darlings, and in the quiet of this Saturday night, the world is my little darling. I’ll bring you the buns tomorrow morning, after I bake them, while they are still warm. You’ll be surprised to see me, but I’ll be holding a tray of the best damn thing you’ve ever smelled so you won’t be able to send me away, to refuse me, to ask me to go. You’ll invite me in. Coffee will already be brewing on the counter, in your red french press.

“Nothing ever ends poetically.” by Julia on her couch


Sunday September 4, 2016
9:26pm
5 minutes
from a quote by Kait Rokowsky

Reese couldn’t believe her luck. She used to play the lotto crosswords with her grandpa every Sunday after church. They never won anything. Reese’s grandpa made sure not to show her how upset he was when they missed yet another chance at “hitting the big time” and she had always gotten an ice cream out of it anyway. It was their thing. Their ritual. Before each scratch he’s rub his hands together like he was about to roll the dice. It had been a year to the day since he passed away. Reese couldn’t keep herself from buying a scratch card in memory of him. She rubbed her hands together just like her grandpa did. She smiled down at the scratch card as tears filled her eyes. She had won three dollars.

“not quite ready for viewing” by Julia at her dining table


Monday May 2, 2016
9:45pm
5 minutes
from leoawards.com

Miriam is working on a masterpiece she is not quite ready to show. She has been behind the curtain for 7 years and she is inspired every day to try and improve it, to make it better, to make sure that it’s perfect. She is getting so good at making the mistakes go away that the masterpiece may soon be on display without flaw and will of course be appreciated more. Miriam does not consider that people waiting for her to complete this masterpiece will have many expectations. She does not let that bother her as she is preoccupied with ensuring that her art is living, breathing, and winning. It must win what ever ribbon is awarded to the winner of the production of a masterpiece. Surely a blue ribbon for dedicating so much time to one thing because there was a vision? Miriam could use a blue ribbon. It’d be nice to be reminded why she stays inside creating without ever showing others her work. Must be a reason why she never feels like it’s good enough to offer.

“Welcome to the playground of the future” by Julia on the 505 going west


Sunday March 29, 2015
6:37pm
5 minutes
A TIFF kids TTC ad

Join me on the moon
and we’ll shoot spit balls down below
trying to hit the people in love
the ones who tongue kiss at the bus stop
we’ll laugh and we’ll touch our skin together
we’ll weave a human bracelet out of our heart strings
we’ll tie them together so when one of us moves
the other gets tugged along
back and forth
we seesaw with our metaphors, two points of equilibrium
I’ll bake cookies for the occasion
buttery ones with some kind of special chip
not chocolate though cause what’s the point?
I’ll save you a spot right beside me on the mountain
and we’ll send paper airplanes of our promises to each other
down below so somebody else may see
just what I mean to you
and just what you mean to me
on my list it’ll say To Hold Your Face In My Hands Once A Day
on yours you could put something along the lines of
To Smile From The Core Of Me Whenever Possible
And we’ll have designed the rules to our very own board game
Making sure that number one is We Both Win Always Always

“your your ene me” by Julia at Jess’ kitchen table


Tuesday January 20, 2015
11:21pm
5 minutes
from Hairspray Queen
Kurt Cobain Journals


You’ve got that “I have to win” look in your eyes.
You don’t know how to not have it. Need to.
Want to.
Get to.
You do.
You’ve got that thing.
And it’s not just a look.
And it’s not just an idea.
It’s a desire, carnal, tangy.
It’s deep down.
Deep deep down-
Ocean blue black, immaculate.
Where you keep all your truths-
Where you let them wear sea pearls and dance together in the dark.
Win it.
Win this.
Fighting to win.
Fighting to fight.
Cause if you lose it-
If you ever give up on that look in your eyes-
The one telling you to rise up and take it
earn it
deserve it
own it-
Then you’ll be dark, midnight waves.
You’ll be deep dark like the hidden-
And imagined.

“Start a group play team” by Julia at her parents’ kitchen table


Saturday January 17, 2015
11:32am
5 minutes
from a lotto 649 ticket

We’ve got a good team
We fight the bad guys and we cuddle a lot
We make jokes about the mean ones and we tap forks before we eat
We make sure no negativity gets in and we play catch in the park outside our house
We build barriers so no harm can enter and we kiss like two puzzle pieces that were meant to complete the other
We don’t leave the bedroom cause it’s safer inside and we double dip our honey hands into the bag of liquorish chews
We’ve got a good team
We laugh and we live and we squeeze and we breathe
We do it together and no one can stop us
We do it together cause we know winning is really only happiness and happiness is winning

“successfully completed” by Julia at her desk


Sunday April 28, 2013
10:23pm
5 minutes
A Smart Serve Card

a hundred dollars.
a hundred dreams. waiting. waiting. waiting.
buy me a little car?
not real.
plastic, please and thank you, no i don’t need to see your receipt.
i hate you.
i hate your money.
you can’t give me love without a couple coins.
your change is no good here, little boy, little girl. oh no, both of you?
i can’t tell you enough times.
your savings are depleted.
your bank account is ruined.
you’ve successfully completed the course on how to fuck it all up.
you passed! you’re a genius and deserve a medal.
gold.
silver.
bronze.
i won these all in elementary school.
i competed for the teacher’s approval. won it. won mrs. williams’s love and she bought me an everything bagel, toasted with cream cheese.
winners.
buy me a little car?
not fake,
real, please and thank you, yes i do need to see your receipt.

“A Bite of Flesh” by Julia at Rustic Owl


Thursday, December 13, 2012 at Rustic Owl
12:30pm
5 minutes
Bone Dream
Moira MacDougall


Starting talking in her sleep. Started racing through her dreams as if she were going to win a medal. This one, not this one, this one, not this one. She was trying to reward herself for the good ones. She was firing on all cylinders to remember every part.
She thinks back 20 years to the one where a witch tried to steal her nightgown with a bow right off of her back, then the one where she dreamed her mother had turned into her father and they were both shaving their same face side by side at the bathroom sink. ‘A nightmare’ she mumbles out loud–only it comes out as “Monster mayhem” or something like “Mrs. Gangl’s teeth” because she’s entranced. She screams at one point-at the dream where she locked the neighbour’s 1 year old in her playroom and waited on the outside till she heard him cry. Then when she opened the door, he would hug her because he was scared and didn’t want to be alone. She screams because that was not a dream. It was a reality. “What is it doing here?” She mumbles again—manifesting itself out loud as “No, Anthony.” She kicks her legs, her body convulsing. She’s almost at the end now. Almost at the morning. Almost at the sun rise.