juls

@julsmac.ca

801 Followers 628 Following

🪏 Spec writer, poet, gardener. UBC MFA candidate. Work in or forthcoming: Prairie Fire, The Malahat Review, The /t3mz/ Review, CV2, HAD, & more. Poetry reader for PRISM International 💫 ➡️ julsmac.ca

An apple pie sitting on a counter with four vent lines in the top and a slightly wonky crust.
A small copper tabby cat and a large black cat sit in the sun on a coir mat in front of a sliding door.
countless peach-rusty orange chrysanthemum blossoms with yellow button middles under a backdrop of more flowers and greenery.
A large box and a tote bag completely full with green, slightly red apples, sitting on a gravel path.
A wood-framed painting featuring a snow-covered mountain (Cascade, Banff, Alberta) seen from the highway. Dark pine trees frame the highway and the sky is a cold blue.
A carton of a dozen eggs of varying shades of brown and sizes. A jar of dark red jam sits beside them on the counter.
A table full of tin foil plates of apples of all shapes, colours, and sizes - red, green, gold, and brown - and chopped up slices. A few people stand in the background admiring and tasting.
A tall bright green cosmos plant with white, delicate flowers. Behind and surrounding are orange marigold blooms, and in front, a single light purple bergamot blossom, all under a grey sky.
Big Al, a black cat with white paws and pink bean toes, sleeps awkwardly sideways on a grey couch, facing away from the camera.
A periwinkle sky in sunset. A wind streaked pink cloud sits against a darkening blue sky. Dark islands and pine trees are silhouetted against the gold light of a sun just set, and the water between them mirrors the sky.
Text reading: It will be noticed that the terms 'artist' and 'craftsman' are used interchangeably since, in the traditional Islamic world, they were one and the same thing - the root meaning of the word 'art' being skill. The division between so-called 'fine art' and craft is an entirely modern one and very misleading, implying that there is no craft involved in making art and no art involved in making craft. A gardener has always been both an artist and a craftsman - as all traditional artists/craftsman were: making something beautiful and meaningful with great skill and knowledge, love and humility, acquired over years of learning and experience. The skill can never be dispensed with and can only be acquired through dedication, practice and love.
A great horned owl, with its classic “ear” tufts, sitting in a pine tree in dappled light, wide eyed and staring at the camera.
An orange cat with green eyes sits in shady grass under a butter yellow lawn chair.
A Garry Oak tree against a smokey sky. A cute raccoon pokes his head out from where the trunk branches.
A yellow house with a sloped roof in the morning sun, at the end of a gravel road lined with white wildflowers and olive trees. The house has three balconies spreading the whole width of the building, some lined with plant pots.
Below a staircase surrounded by yellow and tan buildings, a black and white lounging cat looks up at a sparrow, mid-flight under a blue sky above.
Byzantine-era ruins taken from outside a courtyard. A tangle of open archways, red-tiled rooftops, and small arched windows of a church.
Looking down at the ruins of the Temple of Apollo; 5 half-pillars and one finished, on stone. Behind it cypress trees and a looming rocky mountainside beside the valley.
The dusty, dirt and stone stadium at Olympia under a hazy blue sky with a lush green background of cypress trees and hills.
The Carytids, sculptures of women serving as pillars on the Erechteion in Athens, Greece, pictured under a blue and cloudy sky, with a foreground of pine needles.
A fountain ends in a white trellised alcove, shaded by cherry trees full of pink blossoms. Inside is a statue of a bird and orange tulips.
A screenshot of a word document: “You don’t want to do that, do you?” “What, fly? No,” Mari lied, “I have no interest in that.”
A large orange hermit crab standing in the sand in an aquarium. Behind him are rocks.
A harbour at sunset. In the background, a blue sky darkens gold. Mountains in the foreground are going hazy lavender in the light. The water between small islands is calm. Closer to camera, a white boat sits at a dock.
A black bookshelf corner. Books like Stephen King’s On Writing, The Elements of Style, and Thanks, But This Isn’t For Us are stacked atop each other beside a series of zines and poetry books.
A shoulders-up portrait woman with tawny skin, brown eyes, and long black-brown hair. She has a single sparkling dangly-star earring. A slate blue cloak sits around her shoulders and is pinned with a silver clasp.
A large black cat, brownish in the sun, sleeps on a coir mat just inside a sliding glass door. Outside on a stone patio are a smattering of plant pots and greenery, through which a grey cat sits and stares inside.
A room in golden hour sun. A bookcase full of books has lush green plants atop it. A desk sits with a laptop and a second monitor, bordered by speakers. A brown leather IKEA chair sits in front. Books and journals are scattered about.
A screenshot from Microsoft word: "Well, well," Rivia says. I must have known he was beside me, because I don't jump. "What a treat to still be surprised." I look sideways at him. Rivia smiles and puts a hand on my shoulder, just like earlier. "You have a knack for this, you know." I sputter out a laugh. "This?" "Death," he says.
Kramer - a tall man with wild dark curly hair, and George - a shorter man, balding with glasses - from Seinfeld, sitting in a diner booth. Kramer: Do you ever yearn? George: Yearn? Do I yearn? Kramer: I yearn. Oh yes, yes I yearn. Often I, I sit, and yearn. Have you yearned? George: Not recently. I crave. I crave all the time. Constant craving. But I haven't yearned.
A screenshot of Word. "Are you only being nice to me because I threatened to kill you?" he asks, sitting across from me at the kitchen table as the skylight shines red with sunrise. "I thought we were talking hypothetically?" I bluff. Kind of. Sip my own coffee, made like he has it, because I think that might have him like me more. "Hypothetically threatened to kill you," he amends, licking froth off his lips as blatantly as one can. I stare for a second. In truth, I'm thinking about Valentine, but Sivir smirks anyway. I nearly forgot how much he loves being watched. "Well, keep it up."
A gazebo with multicoloured bunting sits under a partly cloudy sky, beside other decorated tents. A band of students is under the gazebo with guitars, and one person is at the drums. A small crowd sits on a picnic table in the foreground, watching the show.
Greta, a copper tabby, with green eyes. She’s half upside down atop a cat tree in the sun, looking at the camera.
a tall, vintage-style writing desk with a glass cabinet at the top and a plant inside. The desk portion is pulled down and on it is some paper and a pen. Bottles of fountain pen ink, pen cups, and miscellaneous stationary are stored inside the desk. A table lamp and a teapot sits off to the side.
Sasha Velour staring with distaste at a phone screen being held out to her from someone offscreen.
A bright pink cherry tree in bloom strikes out from green shrubbery under towering fir trees and a blue sky.
Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle, a man with shoulder-length blue-black hair, a white dress shirt, and black pants, crouched over a wooden floor where he’s writing a spell in chalk. The spell has been modified to show that S symbol made out of connected three lines like ||| stacked atop each other that many kids drew in elementary.
“So, I ruin you,” I conclude. “No. There’s nothing to ruin,” he protests. “I want there to be.”
A photo collage. From top left to bottom right: A garden in the Alhambra, as seen through a window; a fountain sits in the axis of a courtyard, surrounded by tall trees. The back of someone's shoulder; tan skin with a few freckles and water droplets. A cold cocktail sitting in stark lighting with two dried orange slices on top. A lake leading to a temple-like statue at the far end, bordered in trees. Two grey birds sitting in purple jacaranda blossoms under a blue sky. A walkway covered by green trellis, interrupted briefly by a small fountain. A green boat sitting ashore under draping willow branches. A hand and leg seen from underwater, facing towards the sun filtering through the waves. A green bordered window, open to a view of trees and foliage.
A screenshot from a word processor which reads: He's agreeing with me, though it's unsatisfying. Even with my success in finding a new job, I'm plagued by the suspicion that something is fundamentally wrong with me, and worse still, the certainty that plenty is. For example, being in a garden full of ghosts, talking to someone who isn't human, and still hoping, despite everything, that it will work out - or better yet, be good for me.
A screenshot of a text message from Terry, where he’s sent a thinking emoji and a screenshot from a discord message from Juls including a typo of tomato apostrophe s. The receiver has replied with two capital WOW in response.
Princess Mononoke
Love That Dog by Sharon Creech
A photo of a house’s front entrance. The house is white stucco with navy trim and a red door. Baskets of colourful flowers decorate the outside and along steps leading up to the door. Everything is shrouded in fir tree branches. The caption reads “home” and is dated July 26, 2012.
Rows of olive trees under a pale blue sky. Serif text on the image reads an excerpt from the book which is too long to post into this description (wordcount limit of 1000); it details a first-person protagonist describing a setting that reminds him of Hadrian's Villa. He is surprised by his memories. At the end: "The wind pushes at my ankles, urging me forward. I take another step. The man in the pool surfaces. Waist deep, he shakes water from his hair, wipes the wet from his face, and starts to look over his shoulder." ALT A 3x2 collage of text and images. The three images are a stone house with a bay window and buttresses tangled with ivy and vines, a small stone structure with a domed glass ceiling surrounded by various coloured rabbits, and a steep outdoor staircase featuring a rill of running water down its centre. Tropes n' themes: -over the garden wall / spirited away reluctant hero dealing with the unknown (and death) -bigger on the inside -selfishness vs. selflessness vs. sacrifice -the nature of escape -the second death for fans of: -queer romance and joy, like in house in the cerulean sea -a setting rich with mystery & its own character, like in the last tale of the flower bride or piranesi -character-driven stories like in the invisible life of addie larue niche inspo: -monty don’s gardening series -the great gatsby in a garden limbo -”careful what you wish for” / monkey’s paw -the boy and the heron: “forgetting is normal” -wallace stevens’ nothingness ALT October 17, 2024 at 9:44 AM Everybody can reply 2 reposts 1 quote 10 likes Write your reply juls ‪@italicised.bsky.social‬ Home Search Notifications Chat Feeds Lists Profile Settings New Post Search Following Discover Popular With Friends #AmQuerying (Writers) #WritingCommunity Novelmber+ More feeds Trending 2025mmm Severance Silent Hill f Manchester United DC x Sonic Trump Tower Feedback • Privacy • Terms • Help A 3x2 collage of text and images. The three images are a sto…
A text message screenshot where the sender has written “Store your jacket next to the peaches today and they’ll cancel out” and the receiver has replied, “I gotta carry a Zeroni up a fuggin mountain first”
Two cats on a bed in focus, loafing beside each other and facing the camera. One tuxedo cat with a crooked white moustache, and one copper tabby with a suspicious look in her eyes.
Page of a copy of Contemporary Verse 2 with a poem. It reads: Juls Macdonell, "liminal strip mall mems." listen. the last thing I need is to bring out a thesaurus when my asthma inhaler's run out of puffs. how to describe twenty jumpsuits covered in oil? it wasn't sexy like that jason statham scene, it was me choking alone in a room for 8 hours. the air across the parking lot walking to taco bell was so good, calgary could have been the middle of the ocean. back then my allergy meds tasted like cherry and the curtains were blue so call it like it is: sad bitch disease pisces moon motherfucker can't handle long words, even drenched in oil. maybe if I were a capricorn god knows I wouldn't have spent and eaten instant gratification slipping like the suction on the "back in 5 minutes" sign on the door at the dry cleaner's where you and me stole the R from the "shirt" in "shirt laundry," lost in the sauce of four-letter words and fries supreme. but I was born a week early and this half-man half-human half-woman half-animal doesn't want a chemistry lesson in his stomach, never mind a poem, okay, I just want to know why pasta water should taste like the ocean, and what the author meant by the ocean was blue.
A tuxedo cat with green eyes and a crooked white moustache lays over the gap between a cat tree and a windowsill.
White, pollen filled blossoms on dark branches
A screenshot from Spotify wrapped saying “You listened for 210,247 minutes this year. That puts you in the top 0.1% of listeners worldwide.”
A text chat beginning with a picture of a locked laptop screen asking for a password. Underneath reads “Password hint: yes.” Terry: Fuuuuuuck Terry: Password? Juls: You don’t remember??? Juls: No Juls: With capital p or not Terry: No idea Juls: Why do you do this 😭