LLED Writing 2018

XIE, KERRIE Assignment 3 published writing

Here’s a link to a Google Doc of our script. Preet reworked the first 5-6 pages and I reworked the last pages.

“Gave Us the Stars: An Epic Space Saga in 17 Acts”

Original microfiction/found in my iPhone’s Notes app:

Child takes shower that’s too long.
Fingers get pruney.
Child turns into a prune.

///

Multimedia??? experience: http://spamtams.tumblr.com/

///

Analog children’s literature story below (~10 min. read):

Pruning
by Jessica Tam

I met my brother today.  Continue reading →

CFI- Crime Fragrance Investigators

Co-Written by Aimee Siviter and Lindsay Curl

Performed by Aimee Siviter and Lindsay Curl

This is a ‘podcast’ or audio documentary, but it is probably also an audio collage. It tells the story of an old engineer from Bengal, who tells his story of immigration from Bengal to British Columbia in the mid-60s. It’s my intention to use this as part of a larger project that might help to educate educators about immigrants and some of the obstacles they face (and have historically faced) as, in many cases, displaced persons seeking liberty.

Here it is:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1emfdTd5eS-10RN7EF9wjGht9EHPYX05b/view?usp=sharing

I am five years old.

I draw hearts on everything. I draw hearts over the I’s in my notebooks, I draw hearts in invisible ink on my skin, and when we go to the paint your own pottery place, I paint four nested hearts.

I love pink even though I’ve already learned to tell everyone green is my favorite color, I love the Nancy Drew books I’ve just started to read, I love skating, I HATE skulls on clothing, and I only play with girls.

No one tells me there’s anything wrong with this, but they do tell me I’m a boy and boys behave differently, so one day I see a boy in my class play-kiss his “girlfriend” and I kiss my friend’s shoulder and she hates it and I hate it and it feels so wrong it turns me off of sexuality for the next 15 years. For a while I think this is because I’m not into girls, but it turns out that I definitely am. I’m just not a boy.

I am seven years old.

I tell my parents I wish the boys’ section had prettier clothes, and I tell them I don’t want my hair cut, but they don’t get the hint. I don’t know what to say, because to me “I’m a girl” still means what my parents told me it meant, so I don’t give them the only words they might have understood.

Instead I stand in front of a mirror and cover my crotch and pretend there’s nothing there (nothing because I’m seven and I have no idea what a vagina looks like), and if I squint hard enough I can almost make myself believe I’m pretty.

I am ten years old.

My school puts on a production of Robin Hood. We each write down our role preferences and I have Maid Marian and her lady in waiting as my one and two. I get Robin. I’m supposed to be happy, and I guess I mostly am. I’m old enough to know that Marian was a pipe dream anyway.

I am thirteen years old.

Everyone tells me that puberty is awkward and scary and awful, so when my skin starts getting rough and hairy and my voice deepens and my chest seems to cave inward rather than growing, I assume that everyone else is equally uncomfortable and the discomfort will resolve in a couple of years.

I am fifteen years old.

Spoiler. It doesn’t.

At this point, my adolescence is pretty typical if, like me, you’re willing to look past the body thing. I go through a photography phase, I stay on Skype until 3am talking about Pink and Daughter and Avril Lavigne with my best friends, and I read paranormal romance books like they’re going out of style, which looking back on it they definitely were.

I am eighteen years old.

I have always made faster friends with girls than boys, but that doesn’t matter during roommate assignments. I’m with all guys, of course, and it sucks (story for later), and I have begun to toy with the idea of coming out. I tell my friends to stop calling me handsome or masculine. I let my hair grow long, I start wearing the highest heels and deepest v-necks the men’s section will allow, and I feel my heart swell every time someone addresses me as “ma’am.” I fall in love with the fashion sense of a person I think of as Andrej Pejic, and I think I could maybe love my male body if I could just look like “him”, and then I discover that she has recently come out as a trans woman named Andreja. For the first time, I think of trans women as something other than the crude caricatures I’ve seen in movies, and I feel like I’ve finally found the words to express myself to my parents. Then my sister comes out.

I am twenty two years old.

My sister is comfortable in her new social identity. I am still uncomfortable in mine, so, hesitantly, I dress for the first time how I would if there were no constraints on my femininity whatsoever. I look in the mirror and I break down crying, crying out of pity for the girl who wore boys’ clothes and avoided her reflection, crying out of joy for the girl who at twenty-two finally recognized her own appearance, and crying out of excitement for the woman that girl might one day allow herself to be.

Anyone with this link can listen to the podcast we created for this class. I will give some background about the podcast in class tomorrow; yeehaw.

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1P8Uv9f4Vg2VwFhe5PKFQIbtTVIitgT6L/view?usp=sharing

By, April Parchoma
Dec. 4, 2018 Version

she pulled the forest floor
and told me to eat
the very best medicine
of the very best leaves

her strength sweet as berries
her truth as unknown
stories gnawing at the roots
where the shadows had grown
all over the blood of a generous heart
now it was their turn
to tear her apart

a scarf tied to a tree,
tossed in the wind
a prayer and a hope
for the kind parts to win
cleansed by a lake, a walk and a swim
memories subdued
they went softly to dim

too gentle to leave
this life well and good
with that big love given
to run out o’ the woods

on a heart full of promise and
a head full of dreams
she couldn’t quite face
the world cruel and mean

those drunk hands caused all the fray
they wrapped around her neck
and told her to obey

believing she was strong enough
to live through the day,
she up and married to just run away

into the arms of Justice
on the wings of truth
she fought with the best
and lifted up the youth
calling to connect
source to the stream,
continuing to sew
the reap of their dreams

in the end
the absent hands appeared
again and again
mountains of sorrow
rushed toward the fear
her kindness endured
when confusion appeared

calling her to look
deep into the pain
she couldn’t, she wouldn’t,
go there again

the fuse is short,
a shield to her heart,
unfolding a path
outstretched in the dark

where the shadows fade
into the long night
to care for the medicines
in the moonlight

Original Version
March 2018

She pulled the forest floor
and told me to eat
The very best medicine
Of the very best leaves

Her strength sweet as berries
And her truth as unknown
The stories knawing at the roots
Where the shadows had grown

All over the blood of a generous heart
And now it was their turn
To tear her apart

A scarf tied to a tree,
Tossed in the wind
A prayer and a hope
for the kind parts to win
Cleansed by a lake, a walk and a swim
The memories subdued they went softly to dim

Too gentle to leave
this life well and good
With that big love given
To run out of the woods

With a heart full of promise and
A head full of dreams
She couldn’t quite face
The world cruel and mean

Those drunk hands caused all the fray
They wrapped around her neck
And told her to obey
Thinking she was strong enough
to live through the day
She up and married to just run away

Into the arms of Justice, and the wings of truth
She fought with the best
And lifted up the youth

Calling to connect
The source to the stream
Continuing the sew the reap
of their dreams

In the end
the Absent hands appeared…
Again, again and again…

Mountains of sorrow
Rushed toward the fear
They called her to look
Deep into the pain
She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, go there again

The fuse is short
A shield to her heart
Unfolding a path
Outstretched in the dark
Where the shadows fade
Into the long night

To care for the medicines
In the moonlight…

John Oliver Secondary Audio Podcast Script

(Please note that this instillation is meant to be listened to on the steel bench by the back barn of the Drama room at John Oliver Secondary School.)  

She sits comfortably with her left arm gently caressing the warm black steel of the park bench. She wears loose fitting yoga pants, but they aren’t Lulu Lemon or Nike or even Adidas … they are a local brand that uses only recycled material, but they hug her slim thighs perfectly. Her sandals are confortable and her lose fitting shirt hugs her curves. Her long brown hair dances effortlessly in the wind as she sits calmly on the bench. Her entire body weight given to the hard plastic. But it doesn’t hurt her sit bones the way it might for you and me. In fact she doesn’t notice as her weight is perfectly spread out along the seat. She looks down and notices the way that the paint has worn away from the steel park bench, and questions how many palms it’s taken to get it to that state of varnish. She is made uncomfortable by the idea of the led entering the palms of the hands that they have, and she wonders if the air is now polluted with the toxic waste. She looks past the armrest and notices the woodpecker, gently burrowing his beak into the side of the yellow barn across the field, and wonders how long he has been there working on this goal. I didn’t even notice the bird or hear the sound, let alone think about what the birds’ thoughts might be. Did you?

You and I just sit, continuing to breathe as deeply as we can and not think about the breeze on our faces and how its blows a bit colder than what we would find to be ideal.  We have adjusted several times in our seat, stopping our butt cheeks from becoming numb. But not her. She could sit here for hours, even after this podcast is complete.

She is different from me. And maybe from you. She managed to get through the last few minutes without thinking about what will come next, without looking at her phone, or even wanting to, without planning out her next move, or reflecting on the last. Wondering if she left the oven on, if she is dressed appropriately for the entire day, the errands she has to run on her way home, and the friend she is meeting up with for drinks with later tonight.

But I have done all of those things twice over…

I have already gotten my phone out of my bag and checked my messages five, maybe six times. I’ve been thinking about the last 4 hours, and planned out the next eight. But see I am all about efficiency. Getting as much done in the least amount of time as I can. So I can get little bit more out of my day. I got down here at 2:45, on my way I picked up a wrap from Choices market so that I don’t have to waste time cooking when I get home, and I can go straight to doing homework while I watch the good wife which I recorded cause I can’t waste time on the adds. I have meal prepped for the next seven days and I keep Ziploc baggies of on the go granola bars in my bags for the days where I PLAN to sit at my desk through lunch. Usually I will take my laptop to the gym, to ensure that I can continue reading and writing for work during my scheduled workout period. And I am not alone.. there is a reason for TV’s at the gym. For those like me who need a constant distraction. Who are moving through the motions to gain the quote on quote benefits without ever really feeling anything in the present.  I go everywhere in a rush, at a great speed, even if I relax – it’s for a planned, scheduled relaxation period time.  My every minute – from waking to sleeping is accounted for.

Maybe that sounds hectic and crazy, but I am sure I’m not alone in this mentality.  Maybe there are people like me?  Maybe you are one of them?

But not, her.

She is patiently waiting, and listening. Sorry not waiting… because there is nothing to be waiting for, she is just simply are here, to listen.  She is an observer and she lives life from moment to moment.  So I invite you to just sit. For the next thirty seconds, that is all.  To observe as much as you can from where you are sitting. Try to notice what you observe and allow our mind to wander if it is straying in the trajectory of an observation.

30 Second Pause.

What did you see. What did you observe? Did you mainly see pictures painted by your minds eye or were you really seeing the place that you’re in.

She sat here. She saw… everything for what it truly was. She doesn’t think about the future, she doesn’t question the past, she just is…

Over the past few years, the idea of meditation, the calming of the mind, and most importantly, the stepping away from technology has come to the forefront when discussing anxiety and depression. It’s funny because at the same time, the number apps that have been created for meditation, exercise, and mindfulness have also increased. This seems contradictory to me. None the less, I find myself here, making a podcast, for you. I guess she wouldn’t need a podcast, an app, hell, even a phone…

I have never met HER… have you?