this

Dear You,

This is an intervention.

Calm down. You are a good, rational person. Yes, I know you are capable of solving your life’s problems and leaping over obstacles that the universe has thrown your way by yourself – but doing that all by your lonesome is very hard. Your life would be a little bit easier and much happier if you would let someone help you help yourself. Let me be that someone.

Here is what I want to do:

1. I want to come into your life.
2. I want to see what you love.
3. I want to help you see what you love if you don’t already see it.
4. I want to help you do what you love by removing the obstacles in your way.
5. I want to know that you are happier for finding and/or doing what you love.
6. I want to feel the world becoming a better place as a result of another person being happier in it.
7. I sort of want you to intervene in another person’s life too, but that is a decision that you would have to make yourself.
8. I want to respect you and any decision or non-decision you make regarding #7.
9. I want to feel good about respecting your decisions.
10. I want to feel the world becoming a better place as a result of my actions and the respect I have for its inhabitants.

What do you want to do? Please let me know at chachachip.blogspot.com or via email at chachachirp@gmail.com .

Sincerely yours,
Cha Cha

etp vi / collaboration

We Didn't Read the Sounds

[Ghosts live in the hallway.]

I read a story about a hallway. You were in it. Me too.

I hate hallways. They separate rooms.

No. They join them. Weave them. You don't like weaving, do you? I like weaving. Once when I was young I wanted a woven bag - my mother wouldn't buy it for me, so the artist gave it to me.

It was weird.

I wonder - had I been crying? Did I scare away the better customers? Did she try to get me to leave?

I remember the wildflowers in Dallas.

[ping
ping
ping
ping
ping
ping
ping]
*I don't know how to format this into two columns.

My bad temper
clears a room with a switch.

willow wallowing
I sweep everything onto the floor
crunching into fine bits
the frustration of numerous complaints,

destruction of the day
the satisfaction of free movement,
length of arm uninhibited

the morning's many
'authorities of the human condition'
Criticisms so stupid
petty Fistpumps for offensive phantoms.

A word of advice volleys a backhand of teeth.
Blunt, clumsy
but shocking in the manner of deployment.
Boorish behavior of one, but
twice more repeated

oh, pudding academia
the gravity of cubed jello

wobbling masses
moved
by nothing less than earthquakes

I hear my friend rush hurriedly out the door.

etp sound Erica

Beginning
Reading the words I feel everything around me. Then I close my eyes and feel everything. What comes out? The sound of the ocean seems to permeate the entirety of San Diego. Dogs bark and parasailors brace the wind, trusting it to only take them higher into the musky clouds. I hear the cars go around everything. My wheel clunks into a pot hole. The tire thuds around more and more until the tire finally retains it shape. Engines keep curdling and buzzing. When was my last oil change?
Middle
In bed asleep, the walls have other sides to them. Ghosts live in the hallway. I still can’t hear their stories. They still refuse a frequency that no one besides a whale could make out. One side holds a window. The dogs barking remind me seven dogs live on our property and the children’s laughter allows me to know my neighbors. I know their happiness and youth. The anger that resonates through the streets from the couple next door fighting reminds me both are brief. Still, the heavy curtain lets me forget the sun. The drip drops of rain let me appreciate the value of a roof. I can hear the sound of my roommates having sex and experiencing orgasms; both fake and real. It tells me I need to get out of this room. There is a world outside, something behind the walls I love to be surrounded by. I get dressed, put on some makeup, and find a bar.
Tangent
I’m asleep. Not a light sleeper, but today was not a light day.
“CHARLINE FOSTER! PLEASE COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP OR ANSWER YOUR CELL PHONE!”
I’m instantly awake, not even sleepy.
“CHARLINE FOSTER! PLEASE COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP OR ANSWER YOUR CELL PHONE!”
I run out my room to the front window.
What could be going on?! Were there cops in the street? Who was Charline Foster? What kind of crime had she committed? Around here, I’d expect random drug dealing and perhaps some unpaid bills, but maybe it was a real criminal. A contract killer finally caught or some escape con or even the rapist that had been suspected of being about ten miles from here. Were they dressed homeless and disheveled? Were they scary and how many cops lay outside? Were there police dogs involved?
I see the window, hearing the words repeated again. I guess she still hasn’t come out.
“CHARLINE FOSTER! PLEASE COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP OR ANSWER YOUR CELL PHONE!”
An old lady with bare feet and a hair wrap saunters out. I can hear her complaints and annoying cries.
“Alright. Geez. I’m coming.”
She walks up to the twelve cops and five police cars and immediately turns her back to them with her hands behind her. She’s prepared to go. She’s prepared to be cuffed.
They cuff her. We go back to sleep.
“CHARLINE FOSTER! PLEASE COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP OR ANSWER YOUR CELL PHONE!”
End
And I’m going downtown. Cause my lady’s free. Going downtown. Gotta get in for free.
Tap taps tap.
Remember the movie taps? It had Tom Cruise in a rather tiny role.
Doors creak and I can’t help but hear more taps. Keyboards can get pretty annoying sometimes.
What sound does a body make when being put in a trash bag and dragged down stairs? Does it echo differently when the stairs are enclosed? Does the buzzing of the fluorescent lights soften the echo in any way?
I have heard that a punch sounds very similar to dropping a leather jacket onto the roof of a jeep. Or was it breaking lettuce heads. That one may in fact be bones breaking. I find I prefer authenticity in sounds whenever possible. Putting the sound of squealing pigs into the audio mix for the tornadoes in twister just doesn’t seem like a good idea to me. I now can’t help but associate Helen Hunt with pigs. An Oscar winner deserves better.
So what does it sound like for someone to drown? What does it sound like to suffocate from a pillow? Lately, these have become very important questions. Answers pending next week.

etp vi / emily / sounds

etp vi: sounds

20 fevrier 2009, 10:56 a.m.
explosion
-
me
on the march
on the walk
:
mom
!
i do all of my work
all of the time
-


-
bang bang bang
shoot shoot shoot
you told me to put up a target
to scare away others
but you only scared away yourself
-
reload
-


7:07 pm sunday feb 22
the sound of actors
clapping for other actors
makes me want to die
sooner

-
8:45 or 9:15 am, monday feb 23
you know what sucks?
the sound of clicks that won't be answered

-

are you the jealous type?
oh yes you are.
call me again, why don't you.
why don't you?
-
i should listen to you more
-
i should talk less
-
no
-
you should talk more
-
no
i should be myself
you should be yourself
and we should avoid each other
-
also
i should never write poetry
(not even of the prose variety)
-
6:03, feb 23
HONK!
things i ran into today besides you
(in order):
a fireplace
a toilet (an ex-boyfriend)
-
memory:
last week, i stood up to a television.
-
7:46 pm, 23 fevrier
you called without asking!
but,
i was asleep.
don't call me when i am asleep.
when i am asleep, i sound very annoyed on the telephone.
i sound like i want to be sleeping instead of talking to you.
this is not true.
i would prefer to talk to you.
don't call me when i am asleep.
-
8:42 pm, 23 fevrier
ooh you emailed me.
after you talked to me (when i was asleep).
good boy.
i coo to you.
you're very smart.
-
10:02 a.m., 24 fevrier
whispered words in another tongue
of another love
why won’t you be like that?

she is
she rips out my heart too

I want to talk
I don’t want to talk
you should never tell a girl that she talks too much
(i shouldn’t be a girl anymore)
because then she will shut down in class

I want someone to make a video of a poem that I write
but I don’t want to write any poems
-
whoops
-
look at me
-
this is not what i want
this is not my beautiful chair
-
hey
don’t talk into the floor.
I think you should not talk into the floor.
-
to order my mirrors
and turn them on you
make you happy?
no
this would only make you sad

sometimes i wonder
if you have to get sadder
to get happy
again
maybe
for the first time
-
hey
why don’t you give up
and go back to your farm
-
memory of
a verbal slap
and a slap pat at
on your shoulder
both of which are funny
both of which you deserved
both of which make you sad
-
I need to learn Spanish
so that I know when
Medusa is coming down
-
memory
when there’s nothing left to burn,
you have to set yourself on fire.
that's what you told me
and that’s what i told you
i’ll tell you.
-
11:22 a.m., 24 fevrier
achoo
achoo
achoo
ACHOO
don’t worry, it’s normal.
thank you.
I’m going to get some water.
-
sometime in the last half hour, 24 fevrier
wheels turn
i burn
-
a candle
-
that's a good idea
-
here are some recent ones that weren't:
you,
you,
you,
you,
you
(a toilet,
a marine,
a reverse wingman,
an overlap,
an other)
-
2:02 p.m., this was also a bad idea, this is a construct, this is a construct that i
am starting not to like
i need something to work out
in
-
ping
            ping
ping
            ping
ping
            ping
ping
            how many emails does it take to have dinner with you?
-
3:44 p.m.
explosion
-
psssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhsssssssssssssss
apparently, i am not allowed out of the house without kombucha exploding on my sock.

etp v (revised) / emily

I Think That This Will Explain a Lot

by Emily Star

Things I Didn't Tell You About When We Weren't Dating:
Recipes for Disaster (Areas)
that was the worst party I have ever been to, and it was in my apartment
terrible parties that I throw in my apartment
My Favorite Joke

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Dear Future Emergency Contacts,

I am in rehearsal for, oh, roughly, 35 hours a week. I also have school. I also have to go to the gym so that I can survive being thrown around onstage for 35 hours a week. On Monday, for the first time since January 1, 2009, I had a day off. On January 1, 2009, I had had my first official date to a still-married man that I had met and kissed several times on Christmas Eve and the early morning hours of Christmas Day 2008 in a gay bar.

I did not know that he was still married when both a) he kissed me and b) I agreed to go out on a date with him. On said date, I think we both wanted to kill ourselves and/or each other, since a) he thought I was 25/26ish, I am not, b) I thought he was divorced - he is divorced from his first wife, but not his second, and c) he has two children, ages 6 and 8, if I remember correctly. As soon as I could get out of the bar in which said date was taking place, I hung out with a guy with whom I had had a somewhat contrived, early New Year’s Kiss around 10:34 pm on December 31, 2008, because he had somewhere else to be later, and I was having an impromptu New Year’s Eve party in my apartment.

So late last week, I realized that I should definitely be around some good people that I know, not some random guys that I don’t know, on my first day off in a long time. I know a hearty bunch of good people. I like to consider myself a good person, but I do have some terrible qualities (examples: leading a life wherein I only have a day off every month and a half, inviting guys that I'm not dating to come over and hit on my roommates). In order to be around the highest number of good people on said day off, I decided to have a Gathering at my apartment. I am referring to this gathering as a Gathering in this story, and annoying everyone with an ounce of good taste, because that is what I did last week. I am a vegetarian, but some of the good people I know are vegan, some are vegetarian, some are lactose intolerant, and most of them are picky. Also, I have a friend who is allergic to wheat, soy, bell peppers, garlic, onions, dairy, most household cleaning products, and several other things that I try to remember but usually don’t. She has zero tolerance for alcohol. She feels sick and tired a lot, particularly at inconvenient times. For example, she did not come to my impromptu New Year’s Eve party because she was feeling ill. A few days ago, her doctor discovered that she has elevated levels of mercury in her blood. Mercury poisoning. Like Jeremy Piven.

On most days, all I have to do to feel better about my life is be happy that I am not her.

So I decided to appeal to the lowest common denominator and make delicious vegan food that everyone would enjoy. I would make tomato orange fennel soup without veggie broth or onions so that my allergic-to-the-world friend could eat it, Fall in a Pot (sweet potatoes, red lentils, green apple, tomatoes, lots of dark leafy greens, curry spices), and an edamame carrot couscous thing with kumquats and olives. When I was about to start chopping the fennel for the soup, I received some terribly sad news that related to a presentation I had to give the next day in class and my past life as a sad person, and I had to deal with it. Then I was way behind on making soup. So I called my emergency contact, and asked him to come over to the Gathering and hit on my roommates while serving as my can opener. If I explain why that is funny, I will not finish this story in time for rehearsal. He laughed and said he would be over as soon as he finished working in his garage, which contains several motorcycles that require constant care and attention.

While the soup was simmering, I started making the rest of the grub. I was somewhat distracted and mistakenly put edamame in the Fall in a Pot, because that is what I usually do even though I told myself so many times to put the edamame in the couscous thing, not in the Fall in a Pot. Then I realized that I am not my mother, nor (name of one of my roommates, let’s call her Marsha), as I am not a perfectionist. The red lentils weren’t going to go bad – was I really going to give myself shit about red lentils?

No! Of course not.

Then Marsha came up to me and said, “Emily, (name of boyfriend, let’s call him Martin) and I need to eat something with meat in it.” Inside my head, I very quickly noted the fallacy in this statement: perhaps she and Martin were hungry, but I was in the process of making three huge pots of gorgeous vegetables, two of which contained significant amounts of plant-based protein, so unless Marsha had recently become concerned about whether or not she and Martin were getting enough Iron, I’m pretty sure she could have eaten, oh, I don’t know, some of the food that I was almost finished making alongside some of the leftover chicken and potatoes roasted in goose fat that she had in our refrigerator. One half-second later, I cheerfully replied "Sure!" as I moved the soup, which realistically was ready to cool before it went into the blender, to a different counter, and shuffled the couscous thing and the Fall in a Pot onto the smaller burners of our communal stove.

Then Marsha began to make the saddest, most beautiful chicken pot pie I have ever seen.

Let me tactfully explain: Marsha thinks that Martin does not love her. Whenever she thinks this, she makes something that she thinks they will both enjoy eating. On some level, Martin enjoys having Marsha make food for him, but each time Marsha tries to improve their relationship by making food, they both get a little bit sadder.

At one point, Martin came into our dining room and said, in a voice that I thought was funny but Marsha probably hated, “Mmm. I love chicken pot pie!” To which Marsha replied, “no.” “What, honey?” asked Martin. Continuing in a voice hovering closer to under-her-breath than appropriate cocktail party volume, but loud enough for both of us to hear, Marsha said, “you’ve never loved anyone.” Then I pretended to go find something, maybe the bathroom, in my room.

I could go on.

I could go on for a very long time.

But I am going to skip ahead.

My emergency contact realized sometime after he said he would come over that he could not, in fact, come over, because, and I quote, so this is not plagiarism, he is “a terrible person consumed by hatred so [he has] what’s coming to [him],” ie., spending the evening being sad and alone in his house instead of happy and with good people in my apartment.

He wasn’t the only person that didn’t show up to the stupid, really, very stupid Gathering, but he was the only person that I actually cared about seeing on my first day off since January 1, 2009, so, yeah, I was a terrible hostess. I forgot to offer anyone leftovers, and even though everyone there hated that Marsha and Martin plunked down and started watching reality television and turned off my carefully-selected music, I was too sad and exhausted and, eventually, inebriated – it does not take much, and I had had a room-temperature corona cut with cold diet root beer and some cheap champagne – to care.

Let’s see, what else…

Here was my favorite joke before Tuesday that I would tell my emergency contact all the time:

ME. There’s always a pony. (fake throat-clearing noises).
EMERGENCY CONTACT, in monotone, begrudgingly. Why is there always a pony.
ME. Because there’s so much shit!

Then, after my presentation, we watched a video of a pony dying.

The End.

ETP V Collaboration

I Think That This Will Explain a Lot

well what did you expect, I am in rehearsal for, oh, 35 hours a week.

YOU'RE KIDDING

so late last week, I realized that I should definitely be around some good people.

BUY FRIENDS! BUY RELATIONSHIP! MAKE IT DRINK!

POUR WINE DOWN / INTO / OVER IT

AND FLOAT IN THE MOST AMIABLE PURPLE CONTENT

--IT COULD BE WONDERFUL!

some of the good people are vegan

most of them are picky.

APPEAL TO THE LOWEST COMMON DENOMINATOR

AND MAKE DELICIOUS VEGAN FOOD THAT EVERYONE (WILL) ENJOY!

cup - CLATTER - cup - CLATTER - dish - CRASH - (SHOUT!) - spoon - THUD - 

fork - CLANG - steak knife - close, but CLANG - (YELL!) -

pulled tablecloth - CLATTER -upturned table - BOOM - chair - THUD -

I called my emergency contact, 

He laughed and said he WOULD BE OVER as soon as he FINISHED working in his garage

which contains several motorcycles that REQUIRE CONSTANT CARE AND ATTENTION.

[my propensity for violence]

-the saddest, most beautiful chicken pot pie I have ever seen.

I Ask If I Can Sleep With Anyone Else

Get A Little Bit Sadder

I think that we watched a video of a pony 

Dying.

etp v / emily

I Think That This Will Explain a Lot

filtered by emily

Possible Titles:
Recipes for Disaster (Areas)
that was the worst party I have ever been to, and it was in my apartment
terrible parties that I throw in my apartment
Pony
Pony Up
The Dead Pony Society
Public Displays of Emotion of the In-Class Variety
If you can’t tell shit to other writers, who the fuck can you tell?
My Favorite Joke

Dear Class,

I am in rehearsal for, oh, roughly, 35 hours a week. I also have school. I also have to go to the gym so that I can survive being thrown around onstage for 35 hours a week. On Monday, for the first time since January 1, 2009, I had a day off. On January 1, 2009, I had had my first official date to a still-married man that I had met and kissed several times on Christmas Eve and the early morning hours of Christmas Day 2008 in a gay bar.


I did not know that he was STILL MARRIED when both a) he kissed me and b) I agreed to go out on a date with him. After said date, when I think both of us wanted to kill ourselves and/or each other (he thought I was 25/26ish, I am not; I thought he was divorced – he is divorced from his first wife, but not his second; additional fun fact – he has two children, ages 6 and 8 if I remember correctly), I hung out with a guy with whom I had had a somewhat contrived, early New Year’s Kiss around 10:34 pm on December 31, 2008, because he had somewhere else to be later, and I was having an impromptu New Year’s Eve party in my apartment.

So late last week, I realized that I should definitely be around some good people that I know, not some random guys that I don’t know, on my first day off in a long time. I know a hearty bunch of good people. I like to consider myself a good person, but I do have some terrible qualities (example: leading a life wherein I only have a day off every month and a half). In order to be around the highest number of good people on said day off, I decided to have a Gathering at my apartment. I will continue to pretentiously refer to this gathering as a Gathering for the rest of this story, and annoy everyone with an ounce of good taste, because that is what I did last week. I am a vegetarian, but some of the good people I know are vegan, some are vegetarian, some are lactose intolerant, and most of them are picky. Also, I have a friend who is allergic to wheat, soy, bell peppers, garlic, onions, dairy, most household cleaning products, and several other things that I try to remember but usually don’t. She has zero tolerance for alcohol. She feels sick and tired a lot of the time, particularly at inconvenient times. For example, she did not come to my impromptu New Year’s Eve party because she was feeling ill. A few days ago, her doctor discovered that she has elevated levels of mercury in her blood. Mercury poisoning. Like Jeremy Piven.


On most days, all I have to do to feel better about my life is be happy that I am not her.

So I decided to appeal to the lowest common denominator and make delicious vegan food that everyone would enjoy. I would make tomato orange fennel soup without veggie broth or onions so that my allergic-to-the-world friend could eat it, Fall in a Pot (sweet potatoes, red lentils, green apple, tomatoes, lots of dark leafy greens, curry spices), and an edamame carrot couscous thing with kumquats and olives. When I was about to start chopping the fennel for the soup, I received some terribly sad news relating to my group’s Dictee presentation and my past life and had to deal with it. Then I was way behind on making soup. So I called my emergency contact, who I am not dating (even though he thought, at the time, that dating each other eventually would not be the terrible idea that I thought and now we pretty much both agree it is), and asked him to be my can opener. If I explain why that is funny, I will not finish this story in time for rehearsal. He laughed and said he would be over as soon as he finished working in his garage, which contains several motorcycles that require constant care and attention.

While the soup was simmering, I started making the rest of the grub. I was somewhat distracted and mistakenly put edamame in the Fall in a Pot because that is what I usually do even though I told myself SO MANY TIMES to put the edamame in the couscous thing, not in the Fall in a Pot. Then I realized that I am not my mother, nor my roommate, let’s call her Marsha, because I am not a perfectionist. The red lentils weren’t going to go bad – was I really going to give myself shit about red lentils?


No! Of course not.

Then Marsha came up to me and said, “Emily, (name of boyfriend, let’s call him Martin) and I need to eat something with meat in it.” Inside my head, I very quickly noted the fallacy in this statement: perhaps she and Martin were hungry, but I was in the process of making three huge pots of gorgeous vegetables, two of which contained significant amounts of plant-based protein. Unless Marsha had recently become concerned about whether or not she and Martin were getting enough Iron, I’m pretty sure she could have eaten, oh, I don’t know, some of the food that I was almost finished making alongside some of the leftover chicken and potatoes roasted in goose fat that she had in our refrigerator. One half-second later, I cheerfully said “Sure!” and moved the soup, which realistically was ready to cool before it went into the blender, to a different counter, and shuffled the couscous thing and the Fall in a Pot onto the smaller burners of our communal stove. Then Marsha began to make the saddest, most beautiful chicken pot pie I have ever seen.


Let me tactfully explain: Marsha thinks that Martin does not love her. Whenever she thinks this, she makes something that she thinks they will both enjoy eating. On some level, Martin enjoys having Marsha make food for him, but each time Marsha tries to improve their relationship by making food, they both get a little bit sadder.

At one point, Martin came into our dining room and said, in a voice that I thought was funny but Marsha probably hated, “Mmm. I love chicken pot pie!” To which Marsha replied, “no.” “What, honey?” asked Martin. Continuing in a voice hovering closer to under-her-breath than appropriate cocktail party volume, but loud enough for both of us to hear, Marsha said, “you’ve never been in love before.” Then I pretended to go find something, maybe the bathroom, in my room.

I could go on.

I could go on for a very long time.

But I am going to skip ahead.

My emergency contact realized sometime after he said he would come over that he could not, in fact, come over, because, and I quote, so this is not plagiarism, he is “a terrible person consumed by hatred so [he has] what’s coming to [him],” ie., spending the evening being sad and alone in his house instead of happy and with good people in my apartment.

He wasn’t the only person that didn’t show up, but he was the only person that I actually cared about seeing on my first day off since January 1, 2009, so, yeah, I was a terrible hostess. I forgot to offer anyone leftovers, and even though everyone there hated that Marsha and Martin plunked down and started watching reality television and TURNED OFF MY MUSIC, I was too sad and exhausted and, eventually, inebriated – it does not take much, and I had had both a room temperature corona cut with cold diet root beer and some cheap champagne – to care.

Let’s see, what else…

Here was my favorite joke before Tuesday that I would tell my emergency contact all the time:

ME. There’s always a pony. (fake throat-clearing noises).
EMERGENCY CONTACT, in monotone, begrudgingly. Why is there always a pony.
ME. Because there’s so much shit!

Then, after our presentation, in which I inappropriately alluded to my personal life several times, we watched a video of a pony dying.


The End.

dictee to me

cover. filmic landscape.

next page. chalk.

title page. title page.

dedication page. dedication.

next page. wonderful sappho quote.

next page. muses.

24. picture. of mother?

26, 27. chinese calligraphy.

39. picture of men being crucified and other men watching.

40, 41. handwritten notes.

44. portrait of mother.

54. chinese calligraphy. fairly certain that it is different.

59. photograph. of mother?

63. diagram of body. for acupunture?

74. diagram of voice.

78. map of korea.

93. photograph of woman. in renaissance getup?

119. photograph. close-up of woman playing joan of arc on film?

122. picture of the masses. what do they want?

134. full page photograph. scientific? of skin?

138. painting/drawing of being holding theatrical mask. man or god?

142. typewritten letter to mrs. laura claxton.

146 - 148. handwritten letter to laura claxton.

154. more chinese calligraphy.

166. filmic landscape. statues. no, trees. no. statues.

back cover. photograph. women or children?

collaboration IV: today's editorial

1,000 years no one can stop
a six-mother with plugged-up fallopian tubes okays eight more.
Call it an unfortunate accident
(but it's alright so long as both parties are filled out in layers of cool cotton and polyester- because what's a little more fabric?).
Old lives that could have been stopped.
Some people wonder Incredulously why a doctor would do so and why a woman would do so Well some people like big some people like big families others like like big paychecks and some people like to lessen the load but when they asked her she said she said no--
I tried
and no one knows the better.

JC / emily / etp iv

dear father,
father
father joe

turn the corner and
strike me down

stop the car, stop the car, stop the car

i'd be under

call it an unfortunate accident

i tried

face-to-face

Climate change has a firm grip

1,000 years no one can stop
slow oceans only hope
carbon dioxide daze that's not a hundred year nap
1,000 year slumber
no maize
no wheat
no land
1,000 years no one can stop
old lives that could have been stopped
old decisions
new water lines

hope the polar bears enjoy the zoo

Non-Fiction to Verse: It is Ethical That it is Unethical That it is Ethical That it is Unethical That

It is ethical that it is unethical that
it is ethical that it is unethical that

A six-mother with plugged-up fallopian tubes okays eight more.

Rarely eight live, they say, rarely eight little bundles of

pink flesh and heart and-- rarely eight survive, they say.

But thanks to modern science…Well some people like big

some people like big families others like like big

paychecks. Some people wonder Incredulously why a doctor

would do so and why a woman would do so Well some people

like big some people like big families others like

like big paychecks and some people like to lessen the load

but when they asked her she said

she said no.

etp 3 collaboration

You walk around the earth and I know
you are there but we won't talk to one another again.
You brought it -
you, the last time
you were here.
You gave up on me then.
You, so I would have an excuse to throw
you out. But
you won't,
you're too strong.
You didn’t just -
you’ve got a tongue on
you.
YOU HAD A WHOLE FUCKING SHITLOAD OF THINGS TO SAY AND WE HAD A CONVERSATION!
You were articulate.
You left years, decades ago.
You haven't left.
You. Here.
You. Can't touch or even imagine what
you looked like when
you were here. I know
you were here. Don't know when. Don't know what happened or why
you had to leave.
You looked like - I wonder how
you felt - how.
You liked to celebrate your birthday.
You ever come back? Will
you ever tell me?

Hallways that hold so much

Here. 

There. 

It doesn't matter what's around. 

You left years, decades ago. 

Still, somehow I can tell you haven't left. 

I still feel you here. Your presence, burns bright. Flames and sparks just seem to burn me. Still I need a jacket to make it through the cold nights and sometimes days. Heat never seemed to keep well here. If only it were summer. Its winter.

And still I can't see you. Can't touch or even imagine what you looked like when you were here. I know you were here. Don't know when. Don't know what happened or why you had to leave.

I wonder what you looked like. I wonder how you felt. How you liked to celebrate your birthday. What was your name and favorite color? 

Will you ever come back? Is there something I can do to help? Will you ever tell me? 

I can't stand your presence. 

Dara Arikian EPT#3

He stands

silently
guarded and
astute
in the presence of absent ambition
in the arena of unfulfilled expectation
a heroin face in
Working Man's attire
with blue-grey eyes that tell
and a mouth that needn't repeat

etp 3 / emily

You walk around the earth and I know you are there but we won't talk to one another again.

There it is, half-empty and fully loaded. You brought it with you the last time you were here - no, it was the time before that, and no one finished it. Usually it is hiding behind another, but there it is now, in my line of questioning. I don't think that either of us drank from it, we did not pass it from hand to hand and lip to lip. No, someone else poured some into a glass. Oh, how awful - it might have even been only a plastic cup.

I think you gave up on me then.

I wish some mold would grow inside you so I would have an excuse to throw you out. But you won't, you're too strong.

in-class exquisite corpse

I see three faces staring at me. Each part shows only the eye portion of the face. Each individual photo is placed atop the other. Three pairs of eyes, three brows, and three souls. 

The top one appears to be the face of a gorilla. He has dark skin, the way that gorillas tend to be colored. His brows hold heavy over his eyes, giving his face a pensive look. His eyes are dark and blend into the dark skin that surrounds them. Their shine is what separates them from the rest of his face. The pupils stare straight out of the paper, back at the viewer. The sunlight hits him rather strongly, but his heavy brows keep his eyes in shadow. 

The middle pair of eyes also come from some kind of monkey. His color is a much lighter brown, but his eyes are also matching his skin color and his brow is just as deep set. The light source makes his entire face much more visible. We can see that his light hazel pupils are staring to the side. 

The bottom pair of eyes come from a child. THe photo is fully and evenly lit, allowing full visibility of the child's light skin, thin eye brows and brown eyes. The eyes stare straight back at the camera.

ETP # 2

Experimental Piece #1: Collaboration

Start

Location Parkway Plaza WalMart

grabs a cart at main entrance WalMart and walks

- a youthful woman a and auburn hair streaked - wears jeans a
curvilinear back and a cap-sleeved diagonally across an unadorned
bag.



walks immediately toward escalator at cart “carts ” escalator and
ascend



Reaches escalator and and grabs cart.



- walks at a pace " Air ” scans containing various brands



hand, a black cellular (data ), and ear.



same cart; talks



"Air ” and stands cart. - hand; hand. away and grabs



places cart. and dials (data) walking aisle. walks back cart, reaches



hand, and back.



(hand) cart aisles.



- stands at endcap.



- face, and walk. sway.



a giant metal cage large balls:



Basic Ball



Character Ball



away and giant bars. grabs a and “basic ball,” cart, and a.


walks "Department” and at.



- Grabs



accessories aisle



Placemats



Chair pads



Table



and hand as reaches department.



- at a small.



- hanger a small Square Pants.



head scans and.



abruptly leaves cart .



reclaims cart



relocated at candles and. ajar. scans candles and candle, sporadically,
another hand waist.



paces back and.



arms, grabs a candle hand and take small.



at metal candle, and, candle hand, squats



- a candle hand.



-candle.



hands, face and candle again. candle and cart



walks back escalator, cart “carts" and.



five four tightly tied back high hold back pull back.



Actually



She stands in front of the cash register.



instantly. Repeat. resumes pose.



Her her, her. him.



taking. returning. something.



order. order better.

week 1 / emily / part 1

week 1 / emily / part 2

week 1 / emily / part 3

week 1 / emily / part 4

week 1 / emily / part 5

week 1 / erica

Watching the cashier at Hi Thai for a half hour at 11AM

She’s about five feet four inches tall. She’s thin, Asian, and female. She has a tightly tied back high placed pony tail of long straight black hair. Some silver colored clips hold back any excess small hair that the pony tail doesn’t pull back. Around her neck is a silver chair with a silver ring on it. Her casual black shirt looks faded from washing, but the neon pink pattern printed on the front is still quite bright. She wears no makeup. It’s just her smile, but only when customers actually approach her.

She stands in front of the cash register. She sits there waiting with her hands on each side of the register, staring out to the public, never really moving much. Not even her pupils. A customer comes up. Her smile turns on instantly. They tell her their order. She punches in some buttons on the register and tells them the total. They give her cash. She opens the register, makes change, and closes the register as she hands the customer their receipt and change. The next person in line comes up and she does the same. The next person comes. Repeat. When the line finishes she resumes her pose.

Her boss approaches her, speaking with her. She turns to face him. She immediately walks out from behind the counter and walks across the way to a customer whose order she had just finished taking. Now her wash faded neon yellow baggy long shorts and dirty white sneakers and white socks become visible. After speaking with the customer for a moment she walks back across the way again, returning to behind the counter. She tells her boss something, he nods in response and she resumes her normal stance behind the register.

More time passes. Some people order. She kneels in to hear their order better, smiling all the time. They hand her a credit card. She takes it, swipes it, and hands them back a pen, slip of paper and their card. They sign the paper and give her back the pen and paper. She gives them their receipt and then turns around to fix the orders that have been made. She then grabs the recently prepared meal, looks at the slip on the paper and yells out, “Thirty.” Then she places the Styrofoam packed meal on the counter for its owner to pick up. She goes back to her behind the register demeanor. Waiting.

week 1 / dara

Start time 12:30

Location Parkway Plaza shopping center: WalMart

Subject grabs a lone, grey shopping cart at the main entrance of WalMart and walks into the store.

- is a slim, youthful woman with a slender figure and shoulder-length auburn hair streaked with blonde. - wears blue hip-hugger jeans with a curvilinear “X” design on the back pockets and a bright yellow cap-sleeved t-shirt. Slung diagonally across her right shoulder is an unadorned green messenger bag.

Subject Enters, walks immediately toward the escalator at the front of the store, pushes her cart into the “carts only, riders” section of the escalator and steps to her right to ascend to the second floor.

Subject Reaches the top of the escalator and steps off (first with her right foot, then with her left), turns to her left and grabs the shopping cart.

- walks at a quick-stepped pace to the “Oil & Air Filters” section where she scans the top shelves containing various brands of oil.

With her left hand, Subject pulls a black cellular phone out of her front left pocket, punches in seven numbers (data unknown), and brings the phone to her left ear.

Subject moves down the same isle without the shopping cart; She talks into her phone.

Lose subject 1 second

.

Lose subject 2 seconds

.

Lose subject 3 seconds

.

Lose subject 4 seconds

.

.

.

Lose subject 2 minutes.

Subject returns to the “Oil & Air Filters” section and stands directly in front of the empty grey shopping cart. - shifts weight to her left foot. Her left hand holds the cellular phone; She positions her right hand on her right hip. She puts her phone away (front-left pocket) and grabs two jugs of motor oil :

GTX Syntec Blend

5 Qt. 5 Qt.

High Low

Subject places both jugs in the bottom of her cart. She pulls her phone out of her front-left pocket and dials seven numbers (data unknown) while walking to the opposite end of the aisle. She walks back to her cart, reaches in with her left hand, pulls out the Syntec Blend jug and puts it back on the shelf.

(With phone in right hand) Subject pushes the cart 4 aisles down.

- stands at front endcap.

- touches her face, then turns and continues to walk slowly. Her hips sway.

She stops in front of a giant metal cage filled with large bouncey balls:

Basic Ball 2.57

Character Ball 4.97

She puts her phone away (front-left pocket) and reaches between the giant bars. She grabs a pink and blue “basic ball,” drops it into her cart, and rounds a corner of the store.

Lose subject 1 second

.

Lose subject 2 seconds

.

Lose subject 3 seconds

.

Lose subject 4 seconds

.

.

.

Lose Subject 1 minute

Subject walks to “Home Department” and begins looking at pillows.

- Grabs two long, white bed pillows

Subject moves down home accessories aisle Kitchen Towels

Placemats

Chair pads

Table runners

Subject coughs and covers her mouth with her right hand just as she reaches the children’s clothing department.

- looks down at a small rounder of t-shirts.

- clutches the hanger holding a small yellow Sponge Bob Square Pants shirt.

She tilts her head to the side, then scans rounders to her left and right.

She abruptly leaves her cart in the children’s clothing section.

Subject reclaims cart

Lose subject 1 second

.

Lose subject 2 seconds

.

Lose subject 3 seconds

.

Lose Subject 4 seconds

.

.

.

Lose subject 3 minutes

Subject relocated while looking at candles and mirrors. Her mouth is slightly ajar. She scans the rows of candles and candle holders, sporadically positioning one, then another hand on her waist.

She paces back and forth.

She crosses her arms over her chest, grabs a red candle with her right hand and pulls it close to her nose to take small sniffs.

She looks down on the bottom shelf at metal candle holder, and, with the red candle still in her right hand, she squats down on the shiny white tiled floor

- picks up a candle holder in her left hand.

- fits the red candle into the holder.

With both hands, she pulls the combined products up to her face and sniffs the candle again. She puts the candle and the selected holder into the top portion of the shopping cart

Subject walks back to the escalator, pushing her cart into the “carts only, riders” section and stepping to her right to descend.

Time: 1:10 PM