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Screen Shot 2015-02-21 at 12.15.18 PMHello!

The lovely people over at The Blasted Tree have been kind enough to publish my new chapbook, Everything All At OnceIf you are interested in purchasing a copy, I’ll be selling some around Toronto and they’ll also be up for sale on The Blasted Tree’s online store here for $5 plus shipping. If you’d like to meet up for one, shoot me an email at laurrojasz@gmail.com!

Your support means the world! If you’ve ever taken a minute to read what I’ve posted or even browsed through my archive of writing, thank you. If you decide to buy a copy, thank you. I mean it from the bottom of my lil’ heart.

Make sure to take a minute and check out all the other authors currently featured on The Blasted Tree! Their initiative- providing the world with accessible, up-and-coming authors and selling their physical works for an affordable price- is something I feel like we can all get behind.

Hope all is well with you, wherever you are.

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prose

a multitude of things

I want to instil serenity, calmness, fond memories, childhood nostalgia, the feeling of your first family camping trip, talking to your mother on the phone for an hour, leaving the city with someone you love at age twenty, being young and wanting to travel, the feeling of saltwater air on your fresh, summer skin, the colour palette of a beach umbrella, being aerodynamic- a sailboat on a clear lake.

… I could really go on forever. The memories that live vividly inside you but exist somewhere else altogether, feeding pigeons at a park with leftover bits of your lunch, some sort of clenching heartbreak, the one time that it happened. Lists that compile multi-sensory experiences like this one, dim, orange lighting in a bedroom but white walls and breezy, wide-open windows everywhere else. Natural light and foliage, plant life, horticulture for beginners, putting your feet up on your paint-splattered, etching-carved, black-marker-stained desk after a long day like this one, drinking something comforting while you walk somewhere familiar (or unfamiliar and strange and new), these ranting moments of fire-bellied inspiration, not being inspired by any one thing in particular but rather by everything, all of it, being inside this place on a snowy Thursday while your body fights to stay awake and you feel like childhood emerging into adulthood, quiet memories pulling you at the same speed as your riveting heart ready to leave, to leave, to leave.

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prose

there is nothing to worry about

time is not a constant but rather an earthly variable that can fluctuate depending on your relative positioning in space and also depending on your hopes and dreams and fears and the way you feel at this very moment and the things you long for and the people you miss and the memories that make you ache along with the ones that move you and remind you of salty ocean water and open-mouthed kisses and make you beam like a lighthouse by the atlantic sea

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poetry

all around me all over

an entire lifetime of adventurous wishes
those sculpted rows of powdery rock
the moments of finite stillness that move so suddenly, ache so suddenly, and suddenly it feels so much like a new year in the middle of summer. two chances to restart, two people to be in a year.

last night was soft almost-dawn chilly august
a moment of everlasting twenty one
everything reaching cold bits of wet grass under bellies and feet
3 am sprinkler wake-up call
dousing our moment of bliss and carefreeness

“carefreeness” ———– “carefreeness”

childhood lighting up the stretch between crossed legs
illuminated like the sweet midnight west
the glow of a clock tower some sort of mechanical mother,
a moon of moving parts

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poetry

wherever you’re going

things I will carry with me:
your lips and your skin,
the smell of the country, your room at dawn, dusk
midnight together
golden moments of evening sunshine
the way your voice sounds when speaking of crystal coves
that grow like living creatures
at the furthest ranges of the sea,
(unfamiliar depths leading to hidden artifacts and ancient cities made of marble and dust)
holding my breath for eternity
while trying to feel a little lighter at surface level
the ocean at 2 pm
9 pm
5 am

(even though i’ve never seen it)
the wolves of the outskirts, the mountains, the beach
trampling on sand dollars and smooth bits of muted glass

oh, time is such a constant
and i’m constantly waking up early enough
to catch a glimpse of the moon as it looked yesterday

“a different view at last”

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