In Other Words Side B by Cornish College of the Arts

20+ ILLUSTRATED OR GRAPHIC TEXTS 14 PIECES OF TEXT-BASED ARTWORK ALL DEPARTMENTS REPRESENTED 11% OF STUDENT POPULATION 9 PERFORMED WORKS OVER 50,000 WORDS 72 STUDENTS 5 PODCASTS 423 PAGES 1 FILM

= 1 ZINE OF SELECTED WORK 1

Sumaya Mulla-Carillo Artist Statement p 94 Jae Munoz Soy De (Place in Society) p 97 Anna Neumann Ocean p 100 Anna Nymus Thanks to Daisy p 101 Hannah Osgood Biggest Fan p 105 Kai Penaloza The Story of Qilin p 107 Marley Rae Collected Poems p 112 Kylina Rench The History of Women p 120 Architects Anonymous Megan Moore: Breaking Rules p 126 and Inspiring Connection Clara Ringle Foundations of Singing: Body p 128 Mapping Notebook Kayla Saltzman-Bravo Casey & Tate’s p 131 Colbe Schicatano Sherriff’s Handbook p 137 Leah Schiman Untitled Poem p 138 David Semon Stacked Up p 139 Bee Sen The Crow p 140 Emma Shafer Couch p 142 Anna Wolf Element p 143 Taren Sindorf Things My Mother Never Told Me p 144 Jenna Audra Smith Every Single Day p 145 Anonymous Here I am (2018) p 146 Meital Smith Manifesto p 147 Annie St. Marie Artist Statement p 150 Nina Swart Down Here p 151 Rachel Ka Ching Tang Hunger Recipe p 152 Janae Trotter Beginning Dance Again: A Lesson p 153 on Following Your Gut John Tyndall RED p 156 Meghan Varner Carousel Vignette p 161 Nicholas Vogi Addiction in the Suburbs p 164 Thida Wagner Art Manifesto p 165 Wilysha Walton Do You Ever Think of Me? p 167 Anonymous You Say Tomato, I say Murder p 170 James Washburn Briar/Rose p 176 Alyssa Woodbury Mindfulness for Beginners p 182 Afterword WAC Committee p 188

Sumaya Mulla-Carrillo 9/28/17 Artist Statement I believe in the exploration of effort. Striving to expand my full potential as artist, creatively, physically, and mentally, I explore the range of extreme exertion to complete relaxation. In movement, combining levels of effort throughout the body can create peculiar sensations that draw us out of habitual ways of being. Strong, light, heavy, quick, free, and sharp can all be simultaneous in my body. I believe in exploring all possible qualities of moving even if they do not come naturally and I find joy in exploring the unfamiliar. I believe we are always capable of more than we think, and through exploring effort I feel that I am discovering the persistent nature of humanity and the ability to constantly grow. I believe in the captivating qualities of opposition- that it is possible to be powerfully soft, simple but layered with complexity, and elegantly playful. To find these qualities, I break down my movement in many different ways. I do it slowly. I do it stopping in between every move. I do it quickly. I do it in reverse. I do it with my eyes closed. I hold on to what feels the most honest and I let go of the rest. This process of deconstructing and then putting movement back together helps me find the most satisfying and clear ways to dance. Analytical and emotional. Clear and ambiguous. Gentle and strong. This constant push and pull is a reminder that everything within and around us is changing and in motion. I believe in the innate intelligence of the body. As a dance performer, I rely on my senses to interpret and process the sensations that surround me. My body knows before my brain- what feels good, what is safe, what is risky, what to trust, and what to resist. The core of all my work is the physicality. The movement I am drawn to is honest, open, and full of clarity. It becomes a language that needs no translation through words. When I am dancing I am engaged in the practice of listening and learning with my whole body. I know this sense exists for all, and I invite all who see my work to listen to the echo of sensations within their own bodies.

BFA project Description I will be performing a solo choreographed by Molly Scott for my BFA capstone project. My project is rooted in the elements we are literally working with. These are the large stage at the Cornish playhouse, myself as a mover, and the original music by Jarrad Powell. I will be working with grounded and expansive movement to achieve a sense of authority over the large, empty space. All the movement created by Molly is based off of who I am as a performer and person. Throughout the process, I give her feedback based off of what feels natural in my body and what feels like it needs to be explored further. With her abstract movement as a starting point, I will develop and clarify it as much as possible until it becomes a language all on its own. I am hoping to collaborate with my choreographer on the development of movement and meaning in my solo. I want the end product of my BFA solo, as it appears on stage, to be a seamless blend of myself, the movement, and the music. In order to develop that much clarity, presence, and intention throughout the dance I will have to really break down the different qualities in the choreography to figure out how to match or contrast with the music, as well as to find the elements of opposition that can make my dance compelling.

Biography Sumaya Mulla-Carrillo is a dancer, writer, and arts administrator pursuing her BFA in Dance at Cornish College of the Arts in Seattle. Originally from San Jose, California, she has been dancing for 7 years. Her training includes Cornish College and the Conservatory for Contemporary Dance Arts, as well as summer studies at the San Francisco Conservatory of Dance, Hubbard Street Dance Company, Vim Vigor Dance Company, and Velocity Dance Center’s Strictly Seattle. Through these programs, she has performed new works by Alex Ketley, Alice Gosti, Penny Saunders, Deb Wolf, Bobbi Jene Smith, and Mark Foehringer, and she has performed repertory by Kyle Abraham, Ohad Naharin, and Jose Limón. She held an Executive Internship at Velocity Dance Center in 2017, where she assisted the organization’s Artistic and Executive Director, Tonya Lockyer. Her academic writing about the politics of dance can be found online through Velocity’s blog, STANCE, and the Cornish College website.

Soy De ( Place in Society ) Jae Muñoz

I am from the dirt stains that cover my clothes from playing in the rain at the age of five. I am from el rancho where we grow our own source of agriculture and fresh milk. I am from the fiestas that last till 3am. I am from the walls that have been painted over countless times. I am from where houses are built by the people themselves in this small puebla. I am from bootleg brands because the people can’t afford the real thing. I am from home made food that carries a kick of spice and lime, that was made with love and no drive thru signs, that take as long as three hours to make just for you to enjoy. I am from where family shares a home on the same land. I am from learning lets move to where people say it's the promise land. I am from learning a new language while working at the same time, where people will grow impatient when we are trying our best to understand. I am from under age working, in the fields picking oranges to babysitting at some strangers house so I have a place to sleep. I am from taking countless trips back home and taking the risk of perhaps never coming back. I am from working two jobs to be able to afford an apartment. I am from where my parents first met, where they would dance till they sweat. I am from the beginning of continuing the family tree. I am from pushing through sick days and rich wounds my father thinks is no excuse for missing a single work day. I am from we’re coming with you so we can be closer to where there seems to be more work. I am from hard work, determination, and gratefulness. I am from our first house. I am from where my people think we are wealthy where in others we are low middle class. I am from the hand me down clothes passed down to me from my older sisters and then to my family in mexico. I am from two parents who never stop working. I am from parents who couldn't make it to the fifth grade, who had to miss school to help their parents. I am from three public elementary, middle, and high school. I am from being put into a ESL class because I was too shy to talk so I guess that meant I didn’t speak english.

I am from trying to push my culture away because I didn’t know where I belonged, where I was embarrassed to tell people how to pronounce my last name. I am from, “is the weather ok to go outside and play?” I am from the endless summer nights of freeing forgetfulness. I am from how we should learn to clean the house a certain way. I am from being given a name that has no significance to the family tree, but for reasons that could get me better chances into certain scenes. I am from studying hard and you’ll get that job that gives you enough money to live a great life. I am from are you sure that’s what you want to be? I am from a list of jobs that people will lean me towards that are all blue collar. I am from what makes me happy. I am from how will they understand this is my passion, my thoughts, my pure feelings. I am from learning not to be afraid to do things out of your comfort zone. I am from where I can’t be assured that I have a high chance getting into certain colleges. I am from having to work harder to get people to notice me; when I do get recognized or I made it into some show I call my mom right after just to let her know I made it in and cry. Because to me it feels like a dream. To own a studio and create what means so much to me. I am from embracing who I am no matter all the difficulties. I am from when I enter the store I am the one who will be perceived as a thief. I am from get out of this country you are useless to me. I am from listening to mothers come up to our house and asking my mother if anything happens they have full custody. I am from having my cousin call me to let me know where he is so if something goes wrong, so I tell him I love him because I am worried I won’t get a call back. I am from an uncle who hasn’t seen his kids in almost five years because he has to keep a steady income. I am from where it is impossible to get a green card unless you are wealthy. I am from where 19 pesos is equal to a dollar exactly. I am from where we don’t give up our dreams. I am from a father just learning to be. I am from a mother whose always been beside filming away at our small roles in classroom plays. I am from my father saying don’t act like me from his 45th birthday. I am from how long could you possibly work. I am from I’ll get you that horse just like the one you had in your early 30’s.

I am from i’ll make sure you both will have a relaxing life in the land you will return to once you know we’ve started our life. I am from don’t worry i’ll make you proud. I am from how can I get them to take me seriously- to tell them that I care so much? I am from I’ll give you my all, I won’t let you down. I am from not being afraid to ask for help to make a piece of artwork true. I am from countless hours spent creating in all the weird places that leave my mind trailing ideas. I am from what can I do to help others in anyway that I can to what can I do to inspire. I am from trying my best but not getting disappointed because i know it’ll go towards who needs it more than myself. I am from coming home on the bus after a long week and trying to be with family as much as I can. I am from when work gets in the way of spending time together as a family. I am from nothing gets communicated because they have their set morals and reasonings. I am from a Catholic Church. I am from my mother saying, “it made me happy you came.” instead of “are YOU happy you came.” I am from trying to understand why they think that way. I am from being tired of not being heard the same as others. I am from a culture that seizes opportunity. I am from a generation that continues its legacy to preserve our cultural identity. I am from how can I give them some sort of understanding of what it feels like to be me. *****( Categorize mother and father statements, family, and personal goals/wishes for parents, political.)***** Tues and thurs- later afternoon, lunctime

Anna Neumann

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Thanks to Daisy - a ten-minute play by: Anna Nymus Minimum set: a couch, a chair, coffee table with an ashtray and a small cabinet (or offstage space) from which to retrieve alcohol bottle and three glasses. List of Characters in order of appearance: Allan – Sue’s brother (age range 20’s to early 30’s) Zack – Sue’s husband (age range 30’s or 40’s) Sue (age range 30’s or 40’s) Officer Nike (age range 40’s or 50’s) Allan and Zack enter through the front door into the living room and Zack makes a beeline for the bathroom. (in loud whispers) Allan - That was a cow, man! Zack - That was not a cow. Allan - Then what was it? Zack - (we hear Zack peeing) It was an elk. Allan – Well… a female elk is a cow, but this was a dairy cow. Zack – (sigh of relief) It was a wapiti. (toilet flushes)

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Allan – A what? Never mind. It was a brown cow. That was Daisy you just killed. Zack – (reenters the room.) I couldn’t help myself; I’m lactose intolerant. (laughing at his own joke) Allan – Don’t be stupid. We have to go check, or at least call the cops. Zack - Are you fucking kidding me. We’re stoned, we hit an elk and we’re going to call the cops? It’s still a DUI you know. I could lose my license. Allan - That’s someone’s cow. Zack - Someone’ll find it, and they’ll have steak for a month. Allan - That was a big cow, Zack. Zack - Okay, two months. (stoned giggles) Allan - Sue’s gonna kill you. Zack - Your sister loves me. Allan - She’s not gonna love you very much when she looks at her front fender. Zack - Hey, it was your idea to buy weed off that guy. “Hey man, you got some pot to sell?” I knew you had a good gay-dar but didn’t realize you also had a pot-dar. That stuff is strong. (giggle)

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Allan - You don’t need a pot-dar, I could smell it on him when he walked by us. I don’t think he’s a pusher, he just sold me those two joints cause he thought I was cute. You can keep the second one. (takes a cigarette packs out of his jacket pocket and puts it on the coffee table) This is bad. This is really bad. That could have been a person. Shit. What a real downer. I’ve never come down from a high so fast in all my life. Sue - (shouting from the bedroom) Hey, what are you guys talking about. Zack, come to bed. Allan- (raised voice back) Sue. I think, you should come in here; Zack has something to tell you. Zack (whispering) What the fuck are you doing? Allan - She’s straight, she can call the cops. Someone’s gotta call the cops, or at least go look at that cow. Maybe it’s not even dead and it’s just suffering there on the side of the road. Zack - No. We’ve gotta get her stoned and then we’ll show her the car. Allan - No way. Zack - Way. Otherwise I’ll tell her you got me so stoned I had to let you drive. Allan - I didn’t. You wouldn’t! Sue - (enters the room) He wouldn’t what? (back to normal voice volume)

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Allan - Oh, nothing. We were just talking about… Zack - Farming. Allan doesn’t think I could be a good farmer. Sue - You, a farmer? Give me a break. What kind of farmer? Zack – Plants. Now that marijuana is legal in the state of Washington. I could be a marijuana farmer. Sue - You’re not even a good gardener. You kill plants. Allan – That’s not the only thing… Zack – We’re just kidding. Your brother over here scored us some amazing weed. You have to try a little, babe. Sue - No thank you. It’s after midnight. I was expecting you guys back around 10:00. Allan - No one leaves a gay bar at 10:00 p.m. Zack - (opens the cigarette pack and pull out a rolled up joint) Sue - You said you were going for one beer just to check out the place. So, how was “Olympia’s one and only leather bar”? Allan - The Man Joint is pretty sad, but there were a couple of beefy guys… Zack - That one guy with the chaps was hot on you. (Taking a bottle of Tequila out with three shot glasses)

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So what do you do when your stomach is tight and churning and burning and your head is so light-

you see that person who makes your heart strike a beat and you sum up the courage to approach them and speakyou smile at them from across the room and giggle and fiddle and check your perfume-

thank God you remembered deodorant today and you happened to shower and your clothes are okay-

no time is ideal to confess how you feel but now this is awkward as you stare and you keel-

over yourself as your feet lead the way to bridge the distance that keeps you away-

they’re sitting down with a coffee in hand- they look so cool and you look so bland-

halfway there, and you just might turn back but you’ve come so far and your friends might talk smack-

maybe they know or they think you’re a creep that you stalk them and love them and think they’re so neat-

but you can’t let your fear dictate how you act so you get to their side and put a hand on their back-

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when your eyes meet, all the fear goes away ‘cuz they’re open and kind and mean what they say-

they ask how you’re doing and how was your day and you stumble through words you don’t mean to say-

life’s great, it’s good, I’m living the dream-

I saw the show you were in and it was obscene-

but in a good way, oh God what do I mean? I think that you’re awesome and all I want to do-

is sit down one day and have coffee with you-

teach me your ways, you likes and your hates-

your methods, your knowledge, and all your mistakes-

consistently you blow me away and I just had to say that somehow and some way I want to be your friend so don’t be afraid and I pray you’ll find a wayto see me just as I am, just for today.

~Hannah Osgood

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The Story of Qilin (Excerpt) By Kai Penaloza

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It all began on the Yellow river, the cradle of life. A gentle yet destructive force that has helped establish communal life there as early as 5000 BCE. It brought life and possibilities to the people of the Henan Province. While it gave them the practical like food and water, it also gave them something else entirely. The cradle of life helped inspire myths, legends, and legendary mythological creatures. While there is speculation and assumptions on the origins of the early Chinese civilization, ancient text claims it started with the Yellow Emperor, the father of China with assistance of divine beings that resided in the Yellow Gardens, though he did not interact with them often. These beings included the Dragon, the Qilin, the Tortoise, and the Phoenix. These also mimic the traditional Chinese elements air, water, earth, and fire. The names of Dragon, Tortoise, and the Phoenix are familiar to most. Respectively, they are inspired by the benevolent and destructive nature of air, the slow, steady, and almost immortal life of a land and a tortoise, and the destructive but rejuvenative qualities of fire. But what exactly was the Qilin? For a creature so important to the beginnings of China, it has only been mentioned a handful of times and the way people know of it now is its later association with luck and the Divine Right of Kings. So what could the Qilin have been originally inspired by and why? Myths as a whole have been important to humans around the globe. They have been used to describe almost every aspect of the world around us. Myths have provided us with ways to explain and comprehend the most basic to the most complex concepts from why the sun sets to why flowers bloom. These stories are part of the human experience and apart of being human. Although we shape myths for ourselves, they shape and guide us too. The Qilin is a creature with varying descriptions, however, some consistencies arise. As a whole, the Qilin is large but quite gentle. It is also unique in that it is chimerical, a combination of more than one animal, with an equine body and hooves, as well as fish like scales covering its body. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s head is dragon like, with a horn or two on top (if itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a male) and occasionally with a luscious mane. The colours that are most prominent are red and or gold with a bright yellow stomach. Few have laid eyes on this mysterious creature as it usually stays out of human affairs though many have claimed to have heard it. Its voice is said to be of music and soft bells, a calming and peaceful sound. The Qilin is seen both as a harbinger of divine birth and also sudden death. Allegedly it has appeared throughout Ancient Chinaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s history from as early as 2697 BCE to as late as 112 BCE. According to myths, it first appeared in the garden of the Yellow Emperor. Rarely was this magnificent creature seen for more than a moment. One day however, the Qilin ran through the air and danced onto the water near the Yellow Emperor over the Yellow River turning it a jade green. The Emperor stood stunned at the scene until the Qilin hopped onto the rocks near him to get his attention again. The Qilin tapped their feet and turned, showing the Emperor characters in their back, the foundation of the earliest Chinese written language. Again the Qilin was seen briefly between 2400 and 2300 BCE in the capital Anyang. Their short appearance was said to mark the legitimacy and legacy of 1

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the ruling emperor of that time. A couple thousand years later, it appeared in 500 BCE to the mother of Confucius and revealed a jade tablet in their mouth. This symbol meant that the child would become a great scholar and thinker for the Chinese people and thus Confucius was brought up with those thoughts heavily ingrained in his mother’s heart and mind. It was seen for the last time in 122 BCE again in the capital of Luoyang in which the emperor, Emperor Wu captured one, yet no images of the captured creature were ever recorded. To make things easier, here’s a timeline (left) of important events in Ancient Chinese History as relevant to the Qilin’s existence. Similar to the timeline, the events contained within this paper will be fairly linear in order. Many of the events will be discussed further in order to give more context to how they influenced the Qilin’s prominence or lack there of in Ancient chinese culture. Ancient China wasn’t terribly different before and after settling into the cradle of the Yellow River. Before organizing themselves in villages or small communities, they started as hunter and gatherers competing for resources like all our early ancestors. Eventually, many settled around the Yellow River, a large source of freshwater, fish, and an easy source of irrigation for crops. The “first” village found as of late was the Banpo Village which was around sometime between 5000 and 3000 BCE. Tombs, kilns, stone tools and artifacts, storage pits, nearly 100 foundations for buildings and a large amount of ceramic goods present. Many of them were bottles or jugs with animal motifs, geometric designs, humanoid faces, and more importantly dragons. The dragon imagery here indicates that there was already a religious or rather a spiritual presence apart of the Banpo people’s lives. While this does not mark the origins of their religious or spiritual beliefs, it does mean that the Qilin could have been born around the same time as the dragon. Though no imagery appears for the Qilin at this time, it is not probable to think that they had not had a solid image or consistent enough depiction of the creature to add it to their ever growing mythology. There is also evidence of some domesticated creatures which is an important societal step in becoming an agrarian, permanent society. Sometime in between 2294 and 2184 BCE, during the rule of a mythic emperor, lived an alleged minister for law. This man was named Goa Yao. Goa had the difficult job of enforcing laws, law making, 2

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and sentencing individuals to their appropriate sentences for punishment. He did have one trick up his sleeve, the alleged Qilin. While the Qilin is seen for its representation of divine rule, it was also seen as judging wicked individuals. The “Qilin” this minister had was a goat with a singular horn. If guilty, the goat would butt the person and those who were innocent, were spared. It is unknown if this is a possible account of that time inspired by real events or future writers who had fantastical images of the past. It seems the Ancient Chinese knew of the Qilin and maybe even ritualized it whether this account of events were true or inspired by the myth of the creature. Maybe the Qilin was a goat, maybe it even represented all horned creatures that helped their way of life. However, while imagery may have been present, the Qilin was never mentioned in writing until the 5th century BCE. Because of that, it is unknown at what point the creature was “created” like the origin of many religious or spiritual figures. Many images of the creature exists in statues and in pottery in the Shang Dynasty yet wasn’t written down til later. The creature stood with images of dragons, rams, tigers and more. Of the images that do exist, they are smaller statues of the creature created for Shang Emperors. It can be assumed that once the dynasty started, the Qilin also adopted the representation of Divine rule or maybe the Shang Emperors just admired the Qilin for helping start the Chinese script. One can’t help but wonder however, if because of the lack of imagery leading up did the Shang change how the Qilin looked to fit what was important to them? The Shang dynasty was a milestone in Ancient Chinese history. It is the first dynasty. lasting from 1600 BCE to 1120 BCE, to have emerged from the separate Chinese societies of that day, unifying the country. During this period hunting and gathering started to be replaced by rice farming and social classes started to diversify. There was a growing aristocrat and educated class forming. These classes started prizing the written history of their civilization, recording myths, legends, and histories alike. Despite these evolving views, the overall understanding of animals stayed fairly consistent, especially ritualistically. They had a respect natural world and actually knew what animals were around them with a surprising accuracy. However, their knowledge of the animals around them also extended to the more mythical or spiritual. These spiritual animals were not only being that of the natural world but also the other worldly types as well. It is not impossible to think this is where some of their reverence for the natural world came from. Besides that they were also able to recognize the abilities of the animals they used as beneficial and they felt fortunate for the animals help and strength. Their use of animals in rituals were either that of sacrificial, spiritual, and a messenger for and to the gods. 3

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While many of these traditions are ever ingrained in the people of Ancient China, these views on the natural world are being shifted slightly, especially by the middle of the Zhou Dynasty. The Zhou Dynasty is cut into two parts. The Western Zhou Dynasty (1122 BCE to 721 BCE ) and the Eastern Zhou Dynasty (720 to 256 BCE). Like the Shang dynasty before it, an influx of progress and innovation was present. During the Eastern Zhou period, there was the Chinese Iron Age which contributed to their progress or innovations. The iron age allowed for iron agricultural tools and weapons. This allowed for an unprecedented boom in the population. The increase in crops and food availability increased the standard of living. All of those factor also allowed for a surprising ability to social climb. This social mobility contrasts that of their European counterparts at this point in time. Education was also increasing in importance that the educated class becomes more established a bit beyond the palace official position. This class was called the gentry class and were usually government officials. Some individuals were educated thinkers because they just could. Several schools were even developed and established at this time. Life wasn’t all that bad for the most part in this time period. Despite the prosperity, there were constant disputes and battles. This period of conflict is also called Warring States as many smaller nations within the Zhou’s reach claimed themselves as the rightful ruler. Many of the other states thought that if the Zhou could just rise up and take the Shang’s place, why couldn’t they? All these events would be recorded by the growing gentry class of that time. These people not only started recording the history of that time more, but also recording past histories, and myths or legends. One such book is the The one being written at the time was the Zuo Zhuan. The Zuo Zhuan in particular mainly recorded much of the Zhou Dynasty. The inclusion of Confucius's birth in which his mother was presented by a jade tablet from a Qilin, was the very first moment in which the Qilin was mentioned. But why would a writer mention a potential non historical event? Was it strictly to record events? Or maybe it was to future people will see the world as the people living in it saw it? Did exist to give validity the Confucian philosophical and spiritual thoughts? Many people have concluded that it is possible that many people who followed Confucianism and Confucius at that time probably wrote the Zuo Zhuan. Regardless of the reasoning, it serves as an example of how the Ancient Chinese people rarely separated myths from reality. Legends and myths were not seen as separate to what we know perceive as history. It’s similar to how during the early years of exploration on the ocean, people whole heartedly believed in sea creatures such as the kraken and mermaids. Those creatures were just part of everyday life, they were normalities. (End of Excerpt)

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when the questionairre at the therapist's office asks if i ever think about harming myself i don't know how to tell them i never stop m.r. 17 january 2018 do you ever think about death? how your bones would get brittle and crack, the way your skin would melt away, your blood drying in your veins do you ever wonder how you will go? imagine the explosion, your skull shattering into a million pieces, your blood dripping through the crack in your chest except hasn't that always been there? do you ever think about how dead you already are. they say dead men tell no tales yet here you are been dripping blood for years and still screaming.

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january m.r. 11 january 2017 it is at once renewal and reduction / a new year and an ancient heaviness / this unraveling into what i once was / and never really got away from / this descent into madness slowly and then all at once / like falling in love or falling asleep / i think of a snow that rarely comes / i think of white pristine cold / an ache and a chill you feel in your bones / lying awake at two thirty four wondering what the point of it all is / lying in bed at eleven twenty three scrolling through the endless noise of society / existentialism and death / drowning in my own infinite thoughts / eighteen minutes of productivity every other day if i am lucky / seven minutes once a week of feeling alive / why did i ever think i was okay / when did i stop trying again / what foolish folly it is to believe i am anything other than this / a collection of atoms and apathy / tied together with chicken wire poems / an endless film of melancholy plays on repeat in my mind / my thoughts are no one else's simply because no one else wants them / i am a typewriter / obsolete and old / falling apart / no one knows how to fix me anymore / so slap some duck tape on and hope for the best / handle with care and delicacy / forever terrified i will collapse with the slightest wrong touch / but you can't stop the inevitable / i am filled with cobwebs / have not been cared for / have gone unnoticed in the back corner of your attic for years / when will you see me

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ON LEONARDO DA VINCI: STOP MAKING PEOPLE OUT TO BE SOMETHING THEY'RE NOT m.r. 21 november 2016 in class we learned that leonardo da vinci was everything else before an artist that is to say he didn’t particularly care about art it was just this thing he did he hardly finished anything and today we have less than two dozen works by him to study it’s funny then, to think that leonardo da vinci is known as an artist he was my favorite before i really knew what art was or what it meant to make it the more i learn about him the more i think we are doing him a disservice by remembering him only as an artist from now on whenever someone brings him up i will say he is my favorite scientist did you know that he was left-handed? but when he was young they forced him to use his right hand because his natural inclination was too different for them they didn’t know that left-handed people have a natural inclination for not only satan but mirror writing in all of da vinci’s notebooks he writes backwards as a sort of “fuck you” to those who tried to change him did you know also that leonardo da vinci and his apprentice francesco melzi were lovers? maybe they were onto something when they said the left hand is the hand of the devil i don’t believe queer people or lefties go to hell but the renaissance did did you know gay people are slightly more likely to be left-handed? maybe that’s why they thought lefties were from satan

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because homosexuality is a sin right? and maybe most of the gays they condemned turned out to be left-handed so they made the association and hoped that by curing the writing they would cure the orientation but you can’t get rid of natural inclination you can cover it up shove it under the rug pretend it doesn’t exist but you’ll have to live with the guilt of knowing it’s there every time you go into the living room sit in your armchair and talk to the rug.

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UNTITLED. m.r. 8 august 2016 BEFORE I get out my paints as I watch my soon to be roommate's YouTube video for the 500th time not the whole thing, just the bit where they talk about meeting me I've watched it so many times I have the time stamps memorized: 4 minutes 39 seconds to 6 minutes 2 seconds they are one of two people who call me marley and I can't hear it enough As I listen to them talk about me for the millionth time I start to paint: black on red on blue I wish I still had the knife so I could slice into it like I used to do my skin I tell my mom my anxiety has skyrocketed lately, when she asks why I lie and say I don't know my dad calls me his little girl and I smile like it is a compliment I make hollow plans with my friends to visit during the school year when I'll be miles away from everyone I say I love I'll be surprised if we last through christmas I try for two weekends to tell my sister but the 28 hours she is home from her job at summer camp aren't enough to work up the courage I wanted to tell her first, because that's the way it went last time but I don't know how much longer I can keep this inside or how long it will take to work up the courage and anyway this isn't at all like last time AFTER my mom tells me she doesn't understand I tell her I know she asks how I can switch like that, from girl to boy to neither I say I wish I knew she says she doesn't know how to tell my dad I say don't, I want to make up for last time she tells him anyway my dad says he loves me and that I will always be his daughter in the same breath just after I've told him most days I'd rather not be he asks why I have to make things so complicated, wasn't being gay enough? I say trust me, I don't do this on purpose

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he asks what this means I say I want to be called they them theirs he doesn't even let me finish my sentence before his no hits me like a punch to the gut I rewatch the video where my future roommate calls me marley the name I still haven't told my parents about I finish the painting white on black on red on blue I am glad now I didn't have the knife I take a sharpie and write UNTITLED. on the back like an unfinished story

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i just want us to stop dying m.r. 15 june 2016 my father tells me to be quieter as i'm washing the dishes so he can hear the news, hear about the 102 people shot in orlando last weekend and the candlelight vigil i didn't attend because i had to work i go back to my room and try not to cry do i even have the right to cry? it wasn't me, wasn't my family, wasn't my friends, my lover shot last sunday it wasn't my club, my neighborhood my town, wasn't even my state, in fact i live almost as far away as you can get without leaving the country but it was my community i didn't know these people, hadn't even known their names but we were connected by virtue of being different in this specific way in that who we love isn't conventional and the way we identify isn't conventional we thought we were finally getting somewhere we were celebrating it's our month to be proud! not dead. i just want us to stop dying LGB teens are 4 times more likely to attempt to kill themselves and over half of young trans people have considered suicide in 2014 18.6% of hate crimes were committed because of sexual orientation in 2015 a record number of trans people were murdered, most of them young trans women of color in 2016 a man walked into a gay bar on latin night and opened fire 102 people felt a bullet enter their body and 39 of them never felt anything ever again within minutes, hours, days, 10 more lives were stolen 10 more college graduations, wedding nights 10 more first children 10 more families blown apart 49 people will never take their child to school

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will never be in their best friend's wedding party will never move into a tiny apartment with the love of their life and eat pizza on the floor 49 people will never see a day when we aren't dying anymore because they are dead in 2016 on a sunday morning police walked into a gay bar and said "if you're still alive, raise your hand" 39 people did not raise their hands.

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The history of Women Architects, particularly from 1850 onward is fascinating for several reasons. Women who pursued architecture for their career show resilience, discipline, and persistence. Though men dominated this field and the way history is often told in regard to it, women have contributed major innovations in structure and use of spaces. From using solar power for heating, to how a space is designed for particular uses, women have reshaped and redesigned the spaces in which we dwell. Some major architects which should be included in design history are Julia Morgan, Eleanor Raymond and Eileen Gray. Women were primarily the supporters of each other at the turn of the century. Wealthy women began asserting their affluence through larger scale community and social projects, seeking out women to head these ideas. Julia Morgan was born in San Francisco on January 20th 1872. She obtained a degree in civil engineering from University of California at Berkeley and was encouraged to follow her dreams of architecture by a professor. She traveled to Paris in 1896 shortly after graduating applying to the Architecture program at Ecole des Beaux-Arts. She was rejected. No woman had ever been admitted to this school. Morgan spent two years in Paris, reapplying and being 1

accepted in 1898. She graduated and returned to the Bay Area becoming the first woman to receive an Architecture License from California State to practice. She began designing buildings 2

and structures for the community including a theater on Berkeley’s Campus and a clocktower 3

at Mills College in Oakland . She established her own firm in 1905 in San Francisco and ran it for 47 years, closing it when she was 79. She designed and executed approximately 700-800

Julia Morgan. Hearst Castle n.d. Julia Morgan. Hearst Castle n.d. 3 Allen, Annalee. "Allen: Julia Morgan 2012 Project Spotlights Architect's Work" 2

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buildings during her career. She oversaw nearly every project, traveling across state to visit her 4

construction sites, though most of her work was focused in the Bay Area . Here she rebuilt various infrastructural buildings including schools, churches, offices, and homes after a massive 5

earthquake in 1906. Despite its post-mortem awarding, she is also the first woman to ever 6

win a Gold Medal Award from the AIA (American Institute of Architecture). She created various buildings for YWCA’s group across California and including their headquarters in 7

Hawaii . Morgan created various home designs, some with Adobe style homes that focused on community style living. She is also well known for her twenty year work on Hearst Castle for 8

William Randolph Hearst at San Simeon . Much of her work was commissioned by friends and 9

women in power . She also designed a few chairs and furniture pieces. Her diverse background, overall attitude towards life and consistent hard work are inspiring. I personally enjoy the vast range of styles applied in her works. She uses Classical Greek and Classical Roman styles often, however she also created adobe style dwellings in her community living plans. I find Roman and Greek architecture particularly pleasing to the eye. Her broad background knowledge of architecture is shown through her versatility on countless projects, some styles of historic architecture are blended together seamlessly, as can be seen in her work at Hearst Castle. Eleanor Raymond was another major female contributor to architecture she lived from 10

1896 to 1998 to the spectacular age of 102 . She grew up on the east coast and attended

M eares, Hadley. “How Julia Morgan Gave California Women Space for Leisure.” Curbed, 20 Aug. 2014 "Julia Morgan." Britannica Academic, Encyclopedia Britannica, 14 Aug. 2008 6 Hawthorne, Christopher. "Julia Morgan." Architect, vol. 103, no. 6, June 2014 7 Longstreth, Richard W. “Julia Morgan: Some Introductory Notes.” Perspecta, vol. 15, 1975, pp. 75–86 8 J ulia Morgan. Hearst Castle n.d. 9 M eares, Hadley.“How Julia Morgan Gave California Women Space for Leisure.” Curbed, 20 Aug. 2014 10 Bugaric, Bostjan. “Eleanor Raymond.” Eleanor Raymond | Architectuul, 24 Nov. 2017 4 5

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Cambridge School of Art and Landscape Architecture for Women. She was the second major contributor to vernacular and modernist structures in New England alongside Walter Gropius. During the time between the World War I and World War II the Modernist Movement flourished, and it was Eleanor Raymond that started deeply questioning the functionality of space and how to design around a set purpose or task. Raymond also created one of the first 11

successfully solar heated houses in the U.S. in the 1970s . She was assisted by the Hungarian 12

scientist and biochemist Maria Telkes . This was a revolutionary breakthrough as it began ideas of adapting monderist forms to sunnier climates and oil was discovered to be a 13

non-renewable resource at this time in history . Eleanor Raymond seems like she was an incredibly interesting person and I found frustratingly little information about her. Despite her major contributions to solar energy conversion and usage I was able to find only a few sources of information about her. I enjoy the clean straightforward designs of her structures. Everything is very purposeful, vernacular in creation. It provides the dweller plenty of room for personalization and rearrangements. I am impressed that solar heating was developed by two women and astonished I had never heard of them previously. I use solar powered light bulbs in my tiny home and plan to convert my electrical needs to be fully solar powered once I am able. I appreciate Eleanor Raymond for her contributions to our current technological state regarding solar heating and power, and am impressed by her diversity of drive to move residential technology forward.

11 12 13

B ugaric, Bostjan. “Eleanor Raymond.” Eleanor Raymond | Architectuul, 24 Nov. 2017 " Mária Telkes." Britannica Academic, Encyclopædia Britannica, 31 Jan. 2012 Z ARDINI, MIRKO. “A Crisis That Made Architecture Real.”Perspecta, vol. 42, 2010, pp. 79–82

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Eileen Gray was an architect, however she dabbled in various design trades. Foremost, 14

she practiced designs of architecture and interior spaces . She also designed various articles of 15

furniture, a more famous piece being her Dragon Chair . She was also a modernist architect with a twist of Art Nouveau. She enjoyed simple building layouts, however was largely inspired 16

by Le Corbusier, Aubrey Beardsley and Adolf Loos . She was the first to adapt modernist 17

forms in homes specifically to arid, hot climates . She was involved in many activist events and 18

attended Suffragist meetings , this is where she met her life partner. Gray also expanded her 19

practice beyond blueprints to pressed/relief prints, photography and painting . Being a Sapphic 20

Modernist and working most of her life, she never married but had a female partner . Since she was inspired by Le Corbusier, she applied to work under him to be met with a snide 21

response of “We don’t embroider cushions here” or something equivalently sexist . Eileen Gray, though talented, also found times of struggle. Many of her commissions were from 22

friends and women in positions of wealth and power . Ironically once she became well known, Le Corbusier tried to steal credit for a house she built, even going to the lengths to stay in the villa and paint his own work on the interior walls. I find the power dynamic between Gray and Le Corbusier to be interesting. Only after Gray has gained prestige does Corbusier show any 23

sort of interest, initially brushing her aside without the slightest consideration . For his jealousy to grow to the point of lying and attempting to credit himself with something so

Ryan, Daniel J.1. "Sunshine and Shade in the Architecture of Eileen Gray." GURA, JUDITH. "Eileen Gray." Art + Auction, vol. 36, no. 8, Apr. 2013, pp. 125-128 16 Sparke, Penny. "Eileen Gray and the Design of Sapphic Modernity: Staying in." 17 Ryan, Daniel J.1. "Sunshine and Shade in the Architecture of Eileen Gray." 18 Groff, Jennifer. “Eileen Gray: Her Work and Her World.” Irish Academic Press 19 "Frieze Week."Apollo:The International Magazine for Collectors, vol. 182, no. 635, Oct.2015, pp. 56-57 20 Sparke, Penny. "Eileen Gray and the Design of Sapphic Modernity: Staying in." 21 Daniels, Anthony. "Gray's Sterility." New Criterion, vol. 31, no. 1, Sept. 2012 22 Rawsthorn, Alice. "By Design." Frieze, no. 168, Jan/Feb 2015, pp. 29-3 23 Daniels, Anthony. "Gray's Sterility." New Criterion, vol. 31, no. 1, Sept. 2012 14 15

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obviously not his speaks to his character and self centeredness. I find Eileen Gray inspiring because she had her hands in a variety of trades; she did not constrain herself to one field, but rather followed what and how she felt driven to create. She did not follow what was socially expected of her, excelling with not only fine arts and architecture but various designs in furniture and printmaking. She was referred to as a quiet and private woman but her work and diversity speak volumes about her creative drive and determination to grow. Being interested in a expansive range of artistic and design mediums, I find this encouraging for my future practices and career. Women Architects are integral to the underlying structure of architecture. Besides major contributions to solar heating, women have also engineered various community living and home designs, school layouts, vernacular spaces, asylums, hotels, community centers, exhibition halls, and theaters. This architectural blossoming of women created a fertile space for women social advancement, well-being, inclusion and the creation of organizations for women architects. A few other women who made major contributions to the world of architecture are Natalie De Blois, who helped form the Chicago Women in Architecture Group, Louise Bethune (considered one of the very first women architects) who formed the Buffalo Association of Architects and Sophia Hayden who was the coordinator for the decoration of the Woman's Building at the Columbian Exposition 1893 (a celebration of Women’s Achievements, Scientific/Technical and Artistic/Expressive). These and the conglamouration of other female architects provide an intriguing commentary on the social hierarchy for women and their roles in Architecture. For example, it was harder to find work as few men trusted a

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woman to design and execute a building. Architecture itself is a primarily male dominated field, intensely more so in the 20th century. Most women also had access to fewer resources, were not as well funded nor encouraged to follow their aspirations if it might fall outside of social norms as most young men were. Due to these factors among others, many large works commissioned by other women who were making their marks socially through community 24

projects . We see women supporting, encouraging and empowering each other in a time where men generally controlled many aspects of life and social structure. Strength in numbers alongside determination fuel this movement and progress. Women need to be more included in design and architectural history as they have made leaps and bounds of progress contributing to how we view our spaces and world today. Without including all the contributors, particularly such prominent women, we will always be missing part of the bigger picture, the truth about how we know what we know and have progressed to where we are today, not only in architecture but as a culture and society. Kylina Rench

Rawsthorn, Alice. "By Design." Frieze, no. 168, Jan/Feb 2015, pp. 29-3

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Megan Moore: Breaking Rules and Inspiring Connection

“I believe it's part of the creative process to break boundaries given even if it’s ‘against the rules’”. Megan Moore, 22, is preparing to debut her fourth creative work in Cornish College of the Arts’ Terpsichore’s Landing this spring. Her, currently untitled work will contain eight dancers and one musician/composer/boyfriend, Liam Hardison. Moore was raised in a Catholic household and attended a Catholic school, giving her a stringent set of rules (that seemed to determine her worth) causing both fear and a sense of calm, for nine years. During this time, she recollects: “Knowing someone else (God) is in charge of your future and everything will work out even if times were hard was comforting.” After having entered high school, however, her experiences changed and she become much more confused about what was truly right or wrong. Her work explores ideas based off of this experience which has created the sensation of paranoia and “Catholic guilt” creeping into her life today. Moore often plays with “polar ends” of ideas such as assumption, innocence, and objectification in her works which she hopes will represent “the vast effects of organized beliefs in society, and societal constructs that inflict harm on others”. This concept became especially prevalent in Moore’s choreographic work when she implemented these ideas into her 2017 New Moves piece, Pluck. After which, she decided to elaborate on these same concepts but with a different tone to create her new work. Not only is Moore finding a new approach to her work through this piece but she is also doing something new by collaborating with Hardison, a fellow student at Cornish and musician majoring in classical guitar with an interest in composition (an interest he hopes to implement

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into his current and future studies). “Working with Liam has been a very natural process. We have been together for almost a year and a half so we know each other well.” While Moore is used to being dependant on music and lyrics to inspire her creative process, it seems that the experimentation of collaborating with a musician during her choreographic creation has run very smoothly. Moore explains that they often converse about their own perceptions and ideas of art “so beginning to collaborate felt effortless”. The only rule she gave Hardison at the onset of their collaboration is that if throughout the process she gives him any more boundaries, he is allowed to break them, an idea that Moore learned from teacher and local creator Alia Swersky which seems to have inspired much of her creative process. Moore is very gracious about the opportunity of being able to work with Hardison. “It’s a gift to attend a school with so many artists striving to create new work. Collaboration is an eye opening and humbling experience that I am so thankful for.” The debut of Moore’s work will take place at Cornish College of the Arts’ PONCHO Concert Hall on April 1st.

~Anonymous

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CASEY & TATE’S By Kaylah Saltzman-Bravo

SCENE 1 KATE enters the gelato shop. It’s about 7:40 PM in the middle of November. It’s brisk outside, not freezing, but just enough for your cheeks to get redder and your ears to freeze. The gelato shop has big windows and wood door, and it’s framed by white string lights. It’s empty, except for one employee, OLIVIA, standing behind the counter, on her phone. OLIVIA: [in a fake customer service voice] Welcome to Casey & Tate’s. Our special for the day is stracciatella. KATE walks over to one of the tables against the wall and takes off her rain jacket, humming along to a song playing in her earbuds. KATE: Hm? Sorry, what? OLIVIA: We don’t--uh, our special is stratacciatella. KATE: [laughs] I don’t know what that means. OLIVIA: It’s just a kind of gelato. KATE: Gotcha. OLIVIA: Yeah. PAUSE KATE: So…..what’s in stratacciatella anyway? OLIVIA: It’s just a milk-based gelato with chocolate shavings in it. KATE: Dairy milk?

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OLIVIA: As opposed to…? KATE: Almond. Coconut. Hemp. Flax. The list goes on / and on and on… OLIVIA: / Okay, okay. You’re right. I’ve been a straight 2% drinker lately. KATE: That makes sense. I loved 2% but I realized I was lactose intolerant so no more dairy for me. OLIVIA: [pauses for a few beats] No dairy? At all? KATE: Yeah. Why is that / surprising? OLIVIA: / I mean it isn’t-KATE: We live in Seattle, after all. There’s tons of vegans here. OLIVIA: Well yeah. [silence] You’ve made your case. KATE and OLIVIA are standing an awkward distance apart, since there is a gelato counter in between the two of them. They stand in a few a beats of silence, neither are sure of what to say next. There is obvious tension. OLIVIA: I’m a vegetarian. KATE: Okay? OLIVIA: [rapidly, as if trying to prove a point] I know there are lots of vegans here. I used to be, but I couldn’t keep up the whole cheese thing-KATE: Got it. An uncomfortable amount of silence.

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OLIVIA: So….do you want any gelato?

SCENE 2 KATE stands outside the door of the gelato shop. It’s barely after 11 PM on New Year’s Eve. It’s snowing, the perfect weather to fall in love in. OLIVIA is inside the gelato shop sweeping the floor. KATE: [knocking] Liv, it’s freezing out here, let me in! OLIVIA: [checks watch and rushes to the door] Oh my god, Kate. Sorry, I completely lost track of time. KATE: Funny day to say that. OLIVIA: Ha-ha, so very funny. KATE: Well? Are you almost ready to leave? We have to get there before midnight. OLIVIA: Yes, yeah, let me just grab my coat and lock up. OLIVIA walks offstage to grab coat and keys, KATE slowly paces around the gelato shop. KATE: Devyn texted me earlier asking if you bought champagne, but I told her that I would get some even if you hadn’t. OLIVIA: [from offstage] She texted me too, but I knew you would get some so I didn’t bother. I told her I was going to be working all day because people love their New Year’s Eve gelato, but she was dead-set on getting more champagne. KATE: Well, duh. It’s New Year’s Eve. Champagne is a staple. OLIVIA enters again, wearing her coats. She walks over to KATE and gives her a small peck on the lips.

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OLIVIA: You over-romanticize New Year’s Eve. KATE: I do not! OLIVIA: You over-romanticize everything, Catherine. OLIVIA and KATE start to exit the gelato shop, tidying up as they go. KATE: It’s New Year’s Eve! OLIVIA: And champagne is a staple.

SCENE 3 It’s full-on Pisces season. KATE is turning 21 this weekend and her friends are planning a surprise party for her, whether she likes it or not. OLIVIA and DEVYN are seated at a table inside the gelato shop, planning the logistics of the night. OLIVIA: Okay, so, I finally got my shift covered, so after my classes are over-DEVYN: You can just say that you want to take her out-OLIVIA: On a date. Yes! Perfect cover! DEVYN and OLIVIA high-five, and the store door opens. KATE enters the shop, reading a book. KATE: Livi, I was reading the book that you told me about, but I’m really not that--[looks up in surprise, seeing OLIVIA and DEVYN sitting at the table] Devyn? DEVYN: [mock-surprise] Kate? KATE: What are you doing here? DEVYN: I could ask you the same question.

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KATE: My girlfriend works here. DEVYN: As does mine. KATE: You’re straight. And single. DEVYN: WHOA! Way to rub it in. OLIVIA: Devyn came in because I needed help figuring out what to get you for your birthday. KATE: Mhm. DEVYN: [leans in to whisper, sotto voce] I told her to bake you a bunch of chocolate cakes and then put them all over your floor so you couldn’t walk without eating them. KATE: Oh my god. OLIVIA: But she was just LEAVING, wasn’t she?

DEVYN: Yes, yes, I can tell when I’m not needed anymore. [She gathers her belongings and starts to exit.] Farewell, Katherine. Olivia. DEVYN exits.

SCENE 4 Spring is here. It’s mid-day on a Thursday, so the gelato shop is very slow. OLIVIA and KATE are in an argument. KATE is sitting at a table, and OLIVIA is pacing around the shop, cleaning and tidying up while the scene goes on. OLIVIA: God, Kate. I can’t believe that you can’t see how big of a deal this is. KATE: Liv, we were just talking. OLIVIA: Yeah but you dated her for six years! There isn’t “just talking” with someone you were with for that long.

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KATE: I swear to-OLIVIA: Kate. KATE: It was just a conversation! It’s not like I can even try to kiss her if I wanted to-OLIVIA: Because she’s in Boston. Yeah. I know. KATE: [pause] So what’s the big deal? OLIVIA: [pause] The big deal is that you’re still talking to her! KATE: So, what? You’re telling me that you’ve never talked to any of your exes? That you’re just little-miss-perfect-Olivia who doesn’t have any problems. OLIVIA: Okay, first of all, yes, I am perfect. And second of all, it’s different when you’re in a committed relationship! KATE: Well. OLIVIA: [sighs exasperatedly] If you were just talking to her, then fine. As your girlfriend, it hurts a little bit, but I want you to know that as your friend, I’m concerned. KATE: Olivia. OLIVIA: She wasn’t the best person to you, and you’re still working through things from it. KATE: How did I get so lucky? OLIVIA: You were in the right place at the right time, kid. KATE: I really like you. OLIVIA: Yeah, yeah. Go home, you have an interview to get ready for.

* end of excerpt *

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SHERRIFâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S HANDBOOK - COLBE SCHICATANO HANDS: ( With gleaming swiss army knife arms, you reach to your belt.) shocking like an atom bomb rocking like a carriage across the rocks and painted hills a stilted failing marriage

TONGUE:( To feed them) jerky. no. beans.

MOUTH: ( Sipping on expired Tang from an heirloom flask. Gold. ) puckered lips (n) - two parallel sides of a canyon colliding on a single stick of dynamite, said to keep their pastel insides from turning to piles of ashes.

HEELS: ( Adorned with a rattler's fangs) venom rips through red blood, forming whirling tide pools of toxicity that are: 1.) furious 2.) frantic 3.) unfaltering but a sheriff runs faster.

EYES: ( You donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t need to squint at night) off the mirrored glass plains cut out by the desert sun yellow pupils at the end of long gun

the moon illuminates barrels

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I am continents A body of strong, united lands An island among the sea Teatoring with the waves At peace, at bay With space, with time With breath, with skin

-Leah Schiman

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Stacked Up

David Benjamin Semon

Books stacked up, like an orchestra Of fearful nights. All left over From a time spent away Nobody knows what’s in those drawers Nobody’s been here For a thousand years Why should I stay here? A mattress kept on top of the original says, “No one sleeps here anymore.” And the old gray suitcase Next to my full elderly drawers say the same And I’m left across the room With my eyes being stretched wide open, Tired, On a bed made of fake sheets, With a thin blanket for a pillow I’m not sure if I’ll come back.

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The Crow- Bee Sen a crow it lifts its silky head turning this way and that methodically looking at the dried browning leaves on the grass a jarring movement it snatches the leaf up from the grass to see if there is anything underneath it continues until an upturned leaf showcases a crumb the crow gobbles it up cawing from the sky calling the crow grows louder more crows join the song the silken black bird flies up to the sky to join the others together they fly like perfect black kites in the sky rain clouds grey and white fluffy like layered like icing on a cake they only part intermittently showing splotches of blue of the sky behind the crows black silhouettes break the sky apart the greys fall away all I see is black black feathers black beaks black talons the crow flies over trees with the members of its murder they disappear branches sparse from the changing of seasons the crows call to one another once more 140

their harsh voices piercing through the sky one swoops down finding a place on a knotted log lying on the shore it settles folds its wings stands still its back facing me looking out into the distance the rippling water reflects the greyness of the sky above the water stretches out into the distance touches a faraway shore of a hill packed with trees only a sky away dark greens yellow ochres burnt oranges all flow together spots of light flow down lazily through the clouds above illuminating the trees the crow watches the water come in gentle waves the crow shakes fluffing its feathers it jumps past the knotted driftwood log past my vision as quickly as it was discovered it disappeared

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I sit in a hard back chair that’s trying desperately to be comfortable, to the right of me is the couch. There it is. Its green velvet taunting me. The media has trained me to long for this couch, because the couch is correct. The man sitting across from me thinks my silence is one of deep thought. I guess he’s correct. It’s just not the thoughts he’d expect. I should be thinking about my problems, my feelings, my family; anything but the couch. Would he be disappointed if he knew that so much of the time spent in silence is because of this piece of furniture? He continues to sit correctly in his swivel chair. He does not have to want the couch. He does not need the couch. If he did it wouldn’t be correct. It’s not for him. It is me that should be laying on the couch. But instead I sit here defiantly, on the chair, not the couch. It would be so easy. At the beginning of the session all I would have to do is chose the couch over the chair. So easy. Why don’t I? The couch has always been there in my mind, even before it was in the room. I have always wanted the couch. So why haven’t I used it? Do I not deserve the couch? Am I worried the couch won’t be all I thought it would be? Perhaps I am scared of the things the couch could unlock. The things it could make me say. Maybe I should talk to him about the couch…

Emma Shafer

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element anna wolf overwhelming rush of thoughts and memories floods through my mind like rained streets bruised elbows and heavy feet awaken my rusty bones as the trees become the ground with each step my head rising into the clouds an intense view of the world looking down onto tree tops like green toothpicks looking into the earth with a mind opened eye. there are small creatures living in these small pockets of dirt each one sings a soft melody into the earth and all the bones and veins of things are still here waiting to grow or decompose back into the soil with all the other decomposing, growing things that are alive and real. alive in a city of steel veins and bones alive in a forest of metal a break from the concrete waves.

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Things My Mother Never Told Me My mother never told me what it was like to be a woman today. Yes, she taught me how to be and that people were going to stare, but she never told me how it felt to be a woman today. She told me when boys pick on you it means that they like you, but she never spoke of the sting and confusion when I was tripped and laughed at by a boy in my second grade class. She told me that one day, puberty will start for me but she never told me how people would stare at the budding breasts under my shirt. Or how grown men would cat-call me as I walked home in my middle school uniform. She told me people would say mean things, but never said how much it would hurt when people commented on the hair on my legs, the size of my breasts, the gap between my teeth. My mother always told me that one day, someone will break my heart and only time will heal it. But she never spoke of how it would feel like an ever-expanding sinkhole, threatening to engulf my lungs, my stomach, my throat. She never said how minutes would feel like hours. She never told me what it was like to be alone. My mother never taught me to be a woman. She never told me to be soft or silent or submissive. She never told me that I had to fit into any specific image. My mother taught me how to be a person. She told me how to be strong. She told me that men may take, but that doesn’t diminish who you are. “You are like the sun. People may enjoy your light. People may be annoyed by how bright you are. People may shut you out to make themselves feel brighter. But your light will always be there. Ever Constant.”

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My person was given a sack of meat.

Two eyes that run, Two feet And an unsteady heartbeat-Get up, off the ground, The cold, unforgiving concrete Elbow, knee twitches The door hinges creak. I’d prefer not to speak… But if I did, I’d tell you my mind is weak. There was trash-Wet, wrinkled wads of paper, of cash. Rich purple berries and fish Thrown-up Make a sweet smelling mash. The fan in the corner, My thoughts in a glass-A lovely day behind the window, Another day that I’ve watched pass.

-Jenna Audra Smith

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Here I am (2018) My bones are made Of writhing snakes; Never settling, Always suffering; Powered by exhaustion, A body in constant unrest. Kinetics my worst enemy. A fear of letting the beasts Slither from my throat Leaving my body A mass of flesh and blood. No structure to hold Its soft parts up; Allowed to remain a machine Of motivated anguish In the pursuit of happiness. Monetary ease. Risking a burn From lighting the candle at both ends Idolizing the Ouroboros; How do I make life feel less like death?

-Anonymous

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Let me break the fourth wall and invite you to join me. Let me beckon you into my meticulous and musical world. Let me observe you. Let me make you laugh. In performing and choreography, a character always emerges. Alluring, commanding, encouraging. Intellectual and passionate. A storyteller. Minimalist, in speech and movement. -Annie St. Marie

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Down Here Clouds fill the colossal sky (and I can almost touch them) “Is there someone up there?” I asked “With a fan perfectly placed at the ever-changing sky?” he offered Cold rain floats down to melt on my face “Is someone up there?” I asked again “Hitting a piece of tin as the soundless drops fall to earth?” he whispered Trees tinted red and orange and yellow (if I tried to touch them I’m afraid my hand would burn) “Is there someone up there?” I asked for a third time “With a paintbrush creating a masterpiece for everyone to see?” he imagined Warm summer air fills the voids I. Cut grass II. Barbeque III. Running fast IV. Sepia hue V. Whirring fans. “The air conditioner’s been left on upstairs.” We agreed We get high and laugh a fat man looking down at us hoping we pay attention to him But we count the clouds made of cotton candy vapor and break each other’s hearts

- Nina Swart 151

Hunger Recipe Serves 1 out of 8 1 cup of extreme poverty 4 oz of unaﬀordable nutritious food, good quality store- brought or homemade (page 2017) A whole of uneven distribution, for greasing the pan Preheat the Famine to 450ºF (232ºC) Marinated in income inequality, mixed with the lack of resources. Whisked together by poor wasteful habit. Gently folded with a pitiful attitude. Set aside to rise. Simmered down by the draughts, lay them side by side with the unstable market. Dice up the roller-coaster price tags, and drain the juice from the least fortunate. Lightly seasoned with chronic hunger, poached to absolute perfection. Working in batches, from borders to borders. 3 to 4 minutes each side, 3 to 4 minutes more. Continued to cook until crisp burnt, transfer and let it drain with climate change. Keep warm in frustration while you increase the remaining residual. Top the dish with 795 million suﬀering and en counting. A dollop of empty bowels, And a sprinkling glimpse of shattered hopes.

-Rachel Ka Ching Tang

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Beginning Dance Again: A Lesson on Following Your Gut Janae Trotter I took my first dance class at age 15, because my voice teacher said I needed more movement training to stop getting typecast as character roles. I immediately fell in love, from the rigorous training to the feeling of flying and a sense of beauty made with my own body. For a few years I took some ballet, jazz, musical theatre, and modern classes and performed the acting roles in my little dance school’s big recitals, but didn’t feel supported nor like I would have what it takes to pursue dance in “real life.” I stepped away, received a two year acting degree, got married, and the whole time felt like something was missing. Three years later, dance was calling me back. I had been receiving offers to choreograph musicals and invitations to teach dance classes alongside the kids’ acting classes that I taught, but I didn’t feel qualified. Unfortunately, I had received sub-par training from too many teachers, and I didn’t want to continue that pattern. I didn’t want to pass on mediocrity to another generation of dancers and artists. Through a bizarre series of events, I found myself at a small dance intensive with my younger sister. I was getting to move and find freedom and though I was untrained and sloppy, I couldn’t resist the call any longer. Three weeks later, I showed up for my second “first” ballet class. I was twenty years old, dancing with twelve year olds who could literally dance circles around me. For a year, four days each week I traveled between my prestigious day job to my little dance school with my middle schooler peers and felt like I was living two lives. One was the life I should have; a little house, a flexible and well paying job, a wonderful marriage, and growing friendships with other newlyweds. The other life was the life I longed for; days spent growing in my dance knowledge, becoming strong, powerful, and beautiful, crafting an art that had been calling me for so long. One life was safe, stable, secure. The life I wanted had ambiguity, heartache, and a whole lot of rejection ahead. Who had ever heard of someone finding success in dance when their serious training began at such a late age? I spent so much time trying to talk myself out of my little secret dance life, but eventually the call became too strong.

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With support from my husband and best friend, I went out on a limb and jumped full-force into my dance dreams. I auditioned for a year-long local training program under a modern company in the Kansas City area. By an absolute surprise, I made it into the program and began to make preparations for the rigorous schedule of training, performing, and learning. My family thought I was crazy - why would I leave my secure job and go back to working barista shifts on the weekends? Where was the future in taking all these classes? Shouldn’t I be thinking about family and future and homemaking? Honestly, I didn’t have a good answer for my loved ones’ doubts (and misogynistic comments). All I knew was that for the first time, I was undoubtedly doing what my gut told me. I had spent so long making other people happy and letting them define my thoughts, and this was the first time I was following that boiling feeling in my gut. It knew what I needed. I went into the training program with a very hazy vision for my dance future: “I know dance is going to be in my life, so I need to learn as much as possible about it.” For a first-born, leadership driven child, the ambiguity was difficult for me. If I put my whole life on hold to pursue dance and I failed, I’d feel like I let down not just myself, but my entire community. On top of personal ambiguity, I spent time in anxiety and sorrow over how high the cards seemed stacked against me. The harder I worked, the more I noticed the emphasis on youth in the dance world. Unlike the acting world I grew up in, which leaves room for people to begin the craft a little later in life, dance felt like it was only for people who began at age three and had stage moms to make sure they were training and auditioning in the right places. Nevertheless, the boiling in my gut kept pushing me to stick with this crazy path. As I persevered in my dance program, I began to learn that I wasn’t the only old granny that turned to dance at a later age. I read about some of the dancers that I looked up to and how they didn’t find dance until later in life. One of the most exciting connections was with José Limón, who began dancing even later than I. If this man could pick up dance so late in life and create a technique that freed bodies in such beautiful ways,... maybe I wasn’t a complete nutcase. Finding some dance greats that started late in life helped me continue to pursue dance, and gave me the inspiration to pursue a dance BFA - something I never dreamed I would be able to pursue. Again, I

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went in not knowing exactly why, but only knowing that it was right. This time, I followed my gut with my whole being. It had not yet let me down, and I was in for the long haul. I entered my BFA program at age 22 with a groundedness in who I am as a person, and the confidence that the next parts of my life would continue to reveal themselves to me when the time was right. I think sometimes we are so wrapped up in having the right answers and the best plans, that we don’t allow our dreams to play out fully. In a perfection - driven art form, it’s so easy to lose sight of why you’re dancing in the first place. I have learned that you’re not required to have all the answers or a five year plan. Becoming a dancer as an adult has taught me that if you trust in the process, light will begin to shine on your path. Slowly, I’ve seen glimpses of what the rest of my life could look like with dance. It looks a little like choreographing musical theatre and teaching, but also like performing with strong women and dancing in musicals. This journey to train in dance has opened me up as an artist and given me so many exciting options for my career and my life. There are moments I wish I would have answered dance’s call earlier in life, but I am happy to be on this journey as an adult. It’s different and difficult, but I find myself feeling so much more grateful towards dance than I think I would have at a younger age. It’s not an overnight transformation to becoming a beautiful dancer, and it’s not an overnight transformation to knowing your purpose in the world. Beginning dance at age nineteen was really, really challenging, but persisting in the craft, in the dream, in that deep gut feeling…it is worth every moment.

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RED A 10-minute play By John Tyndall © 2016 by John Tyndall John.Tyndall@arts.cornish.edu ... SCENE 1 (Red runs onto the stage. A pathway lined in lights flickers on to give him a path. It leads him to a dead end where he almost falls off. A row of lights flicker on in front of him as if to indicate “stop”. Red is holding on to a messy ball of clothes and dangling boots, he’s barely dressed in a futuristic hospital gown. The hospital gown, as with all hospital gowns, is open in the back.) RED: Hand rails! For fuck sake! What is wrong with people! Just get me the Fuc… ALIEN 2: (Lights up on ALAIN 2) Test subject 15798. You're not supposed... (RED cuts the ALIEN off) RED: Hey! I have a name! (pause) I think? ALIEN 1: (Lights up on ALIEN 1) Just one moment Red.

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RED: Yea, yea, I am Red! Not, one five, something, something. ALIEN 2: Red? (Speaking to ALIEN 1) Why is… Test subject 15798 awake? ALIEN 1: I don't know... (Cut off by Red’s ranting.) ALIEN 2 hits REDs mute button. RED continues to ad lib a muted rant. Lights fade on RED. Focus is shifted to the Aliens. ALIEN 2: It’s not even supposed to be out of the exam room. How did this happen? ALIEN 1: He comes from a proud heritage of a crafty species. ALIEN 2: So I see. I also see here. (looking at a list) That you’ve been on a majority of the

harvests with 15798.

ALIEN 1: His name is Red. And yes. Yes, I have. I believe he would a prime candidate for our newest program.

ALIEN 2: Red? You named it? (pause) It’s pinkish yellow you know; the name makes no sense whatsoever.

(ALIEN 1 unmutes red to deflect ALIEN 2) RED: Hey, I’ve been here. I, I, (the abduction reality sets in and mental gears shift) I’ve been

tagged too. I knew it, I knew it! Goddamned Aliens. This explains a lot. Why I can't walk

through a security gate or metal detector without the damn thing going off. Why everything and I

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mean ev-er-y-thing (dropping his ball of clothes to gesture “ALL of him”) vibrates when I'm too

close to a microwave. Why? Why would "I" vibrate? (ALIEN 1 re-mutes Red’s rant)

ALIEN 1: Isn’t he cute? It’s been his nickname ever since my first visit. Sometimes when we would take him he wouldn’t have an I-Dent in his pocket, but the name kept changing.

ALIEN 2: And other times? ALIEN 1: We would be lucky if he had clothes on. So, we just called him RED, short for the designation “Redneck”. It’s from his native tongue. The program…

ALIEN 2: All a waste of time. It must ask to be in the program. If it’s not smart enough to ask

for that, then it’s not smart enough to be in space. We came here for the data harvest. Let’s just do our job.

ALIEN 1: How can he know to ask if he, doesn’t know it exists. Red just needs to ask to go with us. Then I tell him about the offer.

ALIEN 1: I know. (Unmutes RED) RED: (Finishes his muted rant) …and the night of porcelain destruction! My life has not been

normal, not normal at all! (pause) All of these years, all the shit y’all have put me through. I

don't even have a life to speak of. Fired from my jobs. Failed relationships. Thanks to y’all, I'm now the only fucking trailer in the trailer park. Jesus! You know what? I can't even get off these

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days without something being shoved up my ass while standing too close to a microwave. What the hell am I to you — some kinda interstellar hooker? ALIEN 2: A what?! (pause) Why would you say that? RED: I fucking vibrate! ALIEN 1: (In calming tone) Red, you have been visited a number of times. And each time you

have provided us with a wealth of information…

RED: Wait, what? A number? How many times? Go on, go on tell me, give me the exact number! Y’all ain't taking me anywhere till I've got an exact number! And if you’re even thinking about poking around my ass, you best have candy and flowers! ALIEN 2: Red, it's been exactly 342. This trip would be 343. RED: 342! ALIEN 1: Now 343. RED: Wow. How can I even… Video/Audio Loop of RED saying: RED: My life has not been normal, not normal at all! ALIEN 2: No Red your life has not been normal. But you are… (Looks to ALIEN 1 for words)

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ALIEN 1: Special. The data harvest proves it time and time again. Don't worry. The first harvest is always the hardest and now you are I think, as it is said, an "old pro" at this. Just sit down and relax, breath. A seat appears for Red. RED: (Red looks around the chair, decides its safe and sits down.) For the life of me I can't

figure out what the hell is so damn special about me? I mean 343 times.

A green mist starts to fill the stage or the sound of gas, “Shhhhhhhh” ... * end of excerpt *

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She didn’t usually look twice at carousels. Ten was a mature age, far too old for spinning around slowly to creepily happy music. She really had meant to just walk on past. But the horse was frozen mid-leap. It was impossible to tell what colour the horse might have been if it were real, covered as it was in swirls of pink and blue and orange. She’d long since given up asking for a pony – only babies thought that horses could fit in a small yard like hers – but something about the carousel horse’s legs made her wonder one more time what it would be like to ride a real horse. If she sat in just the right way, she would probably hide the golden pole running through the horse’s back. To anyone watching, maybe it would look like a real horse leaping away, taking her with it. Before she really thought about what she was doing, or what it would look like if any of her classmates happened to walk by, she had dragged her mother over to the carousel. Ignoring her mother’s surprise, she went directly toward the horse that had caught her eye. Up close, the horse looked even more false. The paint was chipped or faded in some places on the horse’s head, probably from years of toddlers gripping the horse with sticky palms. The pole didn’t look much cleaner, and she wondered if she could just ride without holding on to anything. She glanced at the horse’s

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“saddle” and tried not to laugh. How could anyone ride a horse if the stirrups were stuck to the horse’s belly? The colours were still bright, though. The horse’s unrealistic smile was strangely appealing. She clambered on, glaring at the man who came to help her up. She wasn’t a baby. Glancing around to make sure she didn’t see anyone she knew, she caught sight of the horse’s rear and laughed again. The horse didn’t even have a tail! Whoever had made this carousel hadn’t known much about animals at all. When the carousel started to move, it surprised her into grabbing onto the pole. She hung on after that; she could’ve let go, of course, but why bother when it was easier just to hold on? She’d almost forgotten that carousels sped up as they went around. She watched the mirrors on the centre of the carousel for a little bit, wondering if it would be more or less dizzying than watching the world go by. The music was really loud; she wondered why they always had to play such happy sounding songs. She didn’t want to hear sad Italian people wailing about lost love or anything, but she didn’t even know what the instrument was that they used in the circus-y songs. The sound reminded her of her classmates, childish and hyper. She was getting a little dizzy, but the ride was slowing down. She was almost positive that carousel rides had lasted longer when she was younger.

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She hopped off with only a little more grace than she’d had when she climbed on. “Can I do it again?” she begged her mother.

Meghan Varner

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Addiction in the suburbs. Father never had a father. Fathers a self made man. Father wants his kids to go farther. Father doesn't know how to father. Father's got no example. Father gets as far away as possible. Father gets farther. The kids pull and beg him to play. But he's out of reach. Father is too far to teach. The kids to shave. The kids put their first wheels to the pave-ment Because thats what was meant- to happen. Thats the cycle of the life of the deadbeat. I would have respected you more if you stayed. A McDonald's Uniform with a Super Dad â&#x20AC;&#x153;Sâ&#x20AC;? underneath. Is better than camouflage and an empty promise. We just wanted to wrestle and play. Pretend that you were Godzilla and hide under the dining room table as you blew flames at mom's fine china and stomped through the living room that was too small and we tiptoed to the beds we would outgrow.

I'll be there and I'll be square. I swear. I swear. I swear. I swear. No I won't be like you. The chicken who flew the coop My coo against those like you who don't like those like you who try not to be those like you who fail. I won't leave them to wail and wallow on their own. all alone. I'll tell them to trust in me. And it won't be a plea. It will be a promise.

-Nicholas Vogl

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To daydream is to cause havoc To be realistic is to cause misery To create is to cause prosperity To design is to cause hierarchy To paint is to cause emotion To photograph is to glaciate time To dance is to writhe through time To sing is to reveal poetry To compose is to vocalize To act is to endow

To dramatise is to cause emphasis To abstain is to cause emphasis To center is to cause neutralization

To disagree is to cause vendetta To undo is to cause sin To sin is to cause euphoria To copy is to model To model is to plagiarize To originate is to cause velocity

To reflect is to interlude To neglect is to rejoice To restore is to fake To see is to hear To hear is to feel To feel is to emote To emote is to touch To touch is to associate To anger is to vanquish To satisfy is to be dull

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To overachieve is to be phenomenal

To love is to hate To hate is to love To judge is to hate Still, to judge is to ponder.

Thus why the hatred? Thou shalt only create with wonder and love. Thou shalt not hesitate to create, but burst with idea after idea Thou shalt not resist lust and sin, but follow and give in Thou shalt be conscious.

-Thida Wagner

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�Do you ever think of me?� Do you ever think of me? Does the thought of me ever cross your mind? When you are finally alone And have the time to let your thoughts be whatever they want Do those thoughts become Me? Do I come up in conversation only because you brought me up? Do you ever think of me and then suddenly that thought of me fills the room? Not like you see my face poppin’ up everywhere Like you look at a picture and it has my face or You see a baby and instead of the baby's head on the baby's body it's my head on the baby's body But Is it like how when the Sun bursts into a room? It doesn't knock or ask if it's OK or even an appropriate time to come in But the next thing y'know you look up and There it is When you think of me does my light and energy fill the room before you can stop it? Do thoughts of me flow through your mind without you telling them to do so? Now I've said all this to say Do you ever think of me The way that I think of you? Thoughts of you invade my mind They now intrude upon my everyday life Infiltrate just about every thought I think Where did these thoughts come from, how did they start? I didn't want them I never asked for these but No please Don't take them away Their mine now and that's how I want it to stay

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I want to keep the mental snapshots I have of you The psychological souvenirs I sneak in my pocket every time I see you How your eyes just How your hair is so How your voice is How your lips

Is there a place where we could be alone? A place where we could escape everything and everyone And just be alone You and me? Alone? Together? So we can finally just Talk. That's all. Talk And nothing more Cause we're not married and The way my beliefs are setup That's all I want to do For right now at least. But if I could be anyone else but me right now I'd be Frank And Ernest Because if I was completely honest I don't know you You don't know me.

And it's then that I also remember You're not mine But someone else's I mean I'm not hating on her

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She seems really nice She just Has something I want Bad. But this relationship If you can call it that I only see you once a week for like 5 seconds Is just a friendship However that doesn't stop the incessant Rise and fall Ebb and flow Of the thoughts I think of you I know we haven't known each other for that long but Something about me just sticks out in your mind Doesn't it? You haven't yet discovered what it is But you can feel the tug in your chest when you see me Like someone punched you in the sternum from the inside of your ribcage You feel it. I know you do. Because I feel it when I look at you. For some reason I can't seem to separate thoughts of you from my brain The more I get to know you The less I wonder if you feel the same

Wilyisha Walker

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You Say Tomato, I Say Murder by Anonymous

Characters: Tom-‐ Late 20’s Beth-‐ Late 20’s Dead Henry-‐ 7 ½ Human Gracie-‐ Early 30’s *Clerk-‐ Early 20’s *The Instructor-‐ Late teens *Produce Manager-‐Early 30’s *Dogs-‐ different breeds *Can be played by the same actor

Scene 1 Lights up on TOM standing in a park, checking his watch and looking offstage. He pulls out a box of chocolates and leans against a tree, trying to look natural. He checks offstage, strikes a few poses. BETH enters jogging. Tom stumbles back up, hiding the chocolates behind his back. TOM: Oh! Hey! BETH: Oh. Hey. TOM: So how have you been? BETH: Uh, good, yeah. Good. (beat) TOM: I’ve been pretty good recently. BETH: Okay. TOM: How are your tomato plants? BETH: No. TOM: Right… How’s Gracie? BETH: We put her down a few weeks ago. TOM: Your girlfriend? BETH: The dog? TOM: Henry? BETH: We renamed him. TOM: My precious pup? BETH: Human Gracie is fine too. Still grieving the loss of pup Gracie, but it’ll pass. TOM: Henry died? BETH: Gracie. And yes. TOM: Why didn’t you tell me Henry was… how… why… I… I… My Henry? BETH: Gracie. And I thought it best not to worry you. TOM: I like worrying. BETH: You, just, always feel so much. 1 170

TOM: We… we had Henry for 3 years and suddenly he’s dead and named after your girlfriend of two months? I… I don’t understand... BETH: He’s not your dog anymore. TOM: What? BETH: And he needed to reclaim his identity. TOM: You named him after her, so he could reclaim his identity? BETH: Yeah. TOM: And you still didn’t feel the need to tell me he passed? BETH: This is why. I knew you were going to throw a fit and claim to care. TOM: I do! BETH: You haven’t mentioned him once since the breakup. TOM: Maybe I was busy trying to get over you stomping all over my heart and then falling in love a week later. BETH: Gosh. Tom. TOM: This is so typical. BETH: Is it? TOM: You have no regard for anyone other than yourself. BETH: Says the most narcissistic man alive. TOM: Is it too much to ask for even postcard saying our beloved dog is dead. BETH: A postcard? TOM: I deserve that much at least. BETH: And I deserve not to have a stalker, yet here we are. TOM: St—sta— Oh, that’s a little harsh. BETH: You really cared that much about him? TOM: Cared? Me? Not caring? Me? Who do you think I am? BETH: Tom. TOM: He was my baby— Our baby! I walked him every morning. I fed him every evening. BETH: Dogs need both more than once a day. TOM: Well you wouldn’t even touch him for the first six months. BETH: That’s a full on lie. TOM: What happened to your heart? Where’s that emotion button? Come on love nugget, I know you remember… (TOM starts trying to get close, cozy, and pokes buttons on BETH, looking for her emotion button) BETH: Tom, stop. Gracie will be here any moment. TOM: But I love you. BETH: Tom, no. TOM: But, my darling little dove. BETH: That’s not us anymore. TOM: Why not? BETH: Hm. Where to start? TOM: Please don’t be like that.

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BETH: Don’t be like what? Happy? Myself? Because these are all things I’ve found since I left you. TOM: Really? All I’m getting from you is anger. BETH: I can’t do this. (HUMAN GRACIE enters jogging, sees TOM and BETH and stands right in between them, putting her arm around BETH) HUMAN GRACIE: What’s going on here? TOM: Oh perfect, just what we need Human Freakin’ Gracie swooping in to save the day! HUMAN GRACIE: (To BETH) You okay baby? TOM: Do you wanna rename that tree? HUMAN GRACIE: The fuck? TOM: What about that fire hydrant? HUMAN GRACIE: Stop. TOM: I think it’s a boy but who the heck knows because we’re going to misgender and rename everything because we’re— we’re— HUMAN GRACIE: Better than you ever were? TOM: As if HUMAN GRACIE: She traded up for a reason, big guy. BETH: Oh gosh. HUMAN GRACIE: You need to leave. TOM: No, we need to chat. HUMAN GRACIE: Oh, is that so? TOM: Yes it is. You stole the love of my life. And my dog. HUMAN GRACIE: It’s not called stealing if they came willingly, right hun? TOM: Hey now, this is between you and me. HUMAN GRACIE: Yeah? Then let’s sort this out right here. Babe, take my waterbottle. TOM: uuuhhhhhhh HUMAN GRACIE: Yeah, that’s what I thought. BETH: (stepping in between the two of them) We’re done here. Tom, next time you think about me, don’t. (BETH looks at TOM, pulls HUMAN GRACIE in for a kiss, then pulls her off) TOM: (shouting after them) Beth! Beth! Beth! Beth! I love you. Beth! (TOM crumples to the ground. He draws in his legs. A dog passes by him, he watches. Another dog passes by, he watches. Another dog passes by) TOM: Oh dear. Why does everything leave me? (DEAD HENRY appears behind TOM) DEAD HENRY: I’d never leave you. TOM: Henry? DEAD HENRY: Dead Henry. TOM: D-‐D-‐Dead Henry? How? DEAD HENRY: I’m man’s best friend; did you really think I’d leave you? TOM: Wait, shake? (DEAD HENRY shakes) 3 172

TOM: Okay boy, now roll over. (DEAD HENRY rolls over) TOM: Alright, now play dead. (DEAD HENRY stares at TOM) TOM: Dead Henry, it really is you! (TOM goes to hug the dead dog. DEAD HENRY stops him) DEAD HENRY: That’s enough. TOM: Of course! DEAD HENRY: Now, down to business. You don’t like Human Gracie. TOM: I don’t like Human Gracie. DEAD HENRY: She is a hurricane. TOM: A hurricane. DEAD HENRY: A typhoon seeking to destroy all you love. TOM: Oh my love, oh my aching, aching heart. DEAD HENRY: This is a pain like none before. TOM: This is a pain like none before. DEAD HENRY: And she must be stopped. TOM: She must be stopped. DEAD HENRY: You must end her. TOM: This pain is far too much. I must end—wait, end her? DEAD HENRY: Avenge me. TOM: Well... DEAD HENRY: Avenge me. TOM: I guess… DEAD HENRY: Avenge me. TOM: Alright, alright I will (beat) TOM: But like, what exactly did she do to you? DEAD HENRY: She broke me. She shaved me. Stole my manhood, changed my name. I didn’t even recognize myself. TOM: Oh dear. DEAD HENRY: She was trying to kill me. The way she looked at me, it was in her eyes. I don’t trust her, I don’t. Not one little bit. TOM: It is the eyes, isn’t it? DEAD HENRY: They glow. Her eyes glows like a snake. TOM: You poor thing. DEAD HENRY: She fed me carrots and rice. Vegetarian by force, carnivore by nature. How. How could she be so cruel. She… she… TOM: What is it, boy? DEAD HENRY: She used to cccalll me MMmmrr. Fffaaaattterrwaaaahterrrss (DEAD HENRY starts wailing woefully and cuddles into TOM) TOM: Oh Henry! My poor little baby. We’ll stop her. DEAD HENRY: Thank you. TOM: No, thank you. I can’t believe poor Beth has fallen for her tricks, her lies. 4 173

DEAD HENRY: Beth is just as bad. TOM: Don’t you dare say that. DEAD HENRY: She is. TOM: Bad dog. Bad dog. (DEAD HENRY growls at TOM) TOM: You will not speak about her that way. She is a beacon of light in a dark, dark world. DEAD HENRY: She broke you. She was terrible to you. TOM: No. DEAD HENRY: Yes. TOM: No. DEAD HENRY: Yes. TOM: No. DEAD HENRY: Yes. TOM: No. DEAD HENRY: Yes. TOM: No. DEAD HENRY: Yes. TOM: She was the best thing that ever happened to me. DEAD HENRY: Maybe if you enjoy wallowing in unease and anguish. TOM: I care so deeply about her. DEAD HENRY: And she never gave a shit about you. I’m the only one that really loved you. TOM: That can’t be true. DEAD HENRY: It is. TOM: Really? DEAD HENRY: Your mom never loved you. You dad died early on so he wouldn’t have to see you grow up. They never gave you any siblings to play with. What makes you think anyone ever truly cared about you? TOM: But you do? DEAD HENRY: I do, and I always will. TOM: You promise? DEAD HENRY: Yes. TOM: I’m so alone. DEAD HENRY: I’m here. TOM: All because of that gosh-‐darn Human Gracie. DEAD HENRY: And Beth. TOM: But… DEAD HENRY: Say it. TOM: But I lov— DEAD HENRY: Say it TOM: How can I when she gave me everything? DEAD HENRY: Only to take it away. Say it. TOM: And B-‐B-‐Beth. 5 174

DEAD HENRY: Now let’s buy a gun. TOM: A gun? Oh dear. DEAD HENRY: There’s a shop down the street. TOM: Really? DEAD HENRY: You are going to walk in there and buy us a gun. TOM: Are you sure? DEAD HENRY: Yes. Come on. End of Scene 1 (End of Excerpt)

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Briar/Rose By James T. Washburn

Scene One A dark stage. From behind the curtains and the sides/back of the audience, the sounds of the forest can be heard; birds, wind, a far-off rider on horseback. The sound starts almost inaudible behind the audience, then builds to a crescendo. Suddenly, there is silence. Song: Rose Red (round) Rose, rose, rose red Will I ever see thee wed? I will marry at my will, sire, Or I’ll be dead The lights fade up slowly on Rose, a young princess. She sits on a chair behind an empty frame--a mirror--and brushes her hair as she hums. Behind her on a platform, Queen Alba sits on her throne. One she is fully lit, she stands. ALBA: (grandly, as if narrating) Once upon a time, there was a girl. (beat) Once upon a time, there was a girl. ROSE: Please, mother, not now-Queen Alba descends from the platform, coming to stand behind Rose. ALBA: Once upon a time, there was a girl. ROSE: (surrendering) Once upon a time, there was a girl… ALBA: She was the most beautiful maiden in all the land, the daughter of two noble houses… ROSE: Child of a lady of the north and the king of the south.

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As they interact, Alba leads her through a choreographed routine, attempting to get her unruly appearance in order, correcting her curtsey, etc. ALBA: She was graceful and beautiful, with golden locks that made her the envy of all; and it was prophesied that she would one day make a match that would unite the two kingdoms for good. ROSE: That’s just a story though-ALBA: And so her mother continuously brought her the portraits of eligible heirs to the northern throne, where an ailing king and his--bachelor--son were all that stood in the way between her and her fate. ROSE: But she refused to marry a man she had never met! ALBA: So meet them, Rose. I’ll bring you a line of suitors longer than any other girl could hope for, princess or not. ROSE: So I can dance with them for a few moments and make my choice? I have no interest in marrying some cousin I’ve never met, no matter how well he dances the volta. ALBA: You have three days, Rose. Three days and then I choose for you. Queen Alba exits; Rose watches her go. Scene Two Enter Ellen, a kitchen girl, looking around cautiously. Rose rises and goes to her quickly. ROSE: Do you have it? ELLEN: Yes, milady. ROSE: Good. Lady Magdalen said you had a brother and I thought you might be able-ELLEN: Yes, it was easily done, milady. ROSE: Are you alright? You’re rather flushed. ELLEN: Yes, just tired. ROSE: Sit for a moment while I find your payment. Ellen sits on Rose’s chair, setting a bundle next to her. 2 177

ELLEN: Oh no, milady, there’s no need-ROSE: Nonsense. You’ve gone to some trouble to help me, and you’ll be rewarded accordingly. Are you sure you’re alright? ELLEN: ...yes… ROSE: What’s wrong? ELLEN: My parents--they have the sweating sickness. I’ve been looking after the house on my own. ROSE: Oh god, I’m sorry--what do you need? ELLEN: What? ROSE: Food? Blankets? ELLEN: What do you-ROSE: What is your name? I’ll have some things sent down to your home. ELLEN: Ellen. But you really don’t have to, I only brought you some old-ROSE: This isn’t payment for this. I’m a royal, it’s my responsibility to help my subjects. ELLEN: (curtsying) Thank you, milady. ROSE: Now go home to your parents, I’m sure the kitchens can do without you for a bit. And Ellen? ELLEN: Yes, milady? ROSE: Get some rest. ELLEN: Yes, milady. Thank you. Exit Ellen. Scene Three Rose unties the bundle and pulls out a shirt and breeches, holding them up to her own frame, and moves this way and that before the mirror. She sets the clothes on her chair and pulls her dress over her head, leaving her in only a chemise; then she pulls the breeches on and ties her skirts around her waist, strutting and bowing like a nobleman. Suddenly, Queen Alba enters. Rose sees her in the mirror. 3 178

ALBA: Rose? ROSE: (hastily dropping her skirts) Mother! ALBA: What are you doing? ROSE: Nothing, it’s--it’s nothing-ALBA: What are those? (lifting Rose’s skirts, seeing the trousers) Rose… ROSE: It’s nothing-ALBA: Nothing? The man-ish princess of the South is already the laughingstock of the Eastern court… ROSE: I just-ALBA: Just what, Rose? Just wanted to play at being a man? What possible purpose could something so vulgar serve? I’ve warned you again and again-ROSE: I’m not playing, I am a man. ALBA: ...What? ROSE: I--Nothing. Nothing. I’ve just...had these dreams, lately. I’m wearing the crown and I lead the council meetings, I’m the King-ALBA: And you thought because of some silly dream you had somehow become a man? Need I remind you once more of what’s between your legs, child? Of your duty as a princess? ROSE: I have always wondered, though-ALBA: What you wonder is meaningless. You are a female born of the house of the South. I know the rumours about the duke in the West who tried to wear his wife’s gowns--and God only knows what that prince in the North gets up to--but you will not disgrace the crown in this way, do you understand? Rose nods, fighting down the urge to fight more. ALBA: Wait. Where did you get the trousers? ROSE: From a serving girl, I asked my maid who might have some to spare-ALBA: A serving girl.

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ROSE: Yes. ALBA: You’re telling me that the servants know about your little--fantasy? ROSE: Only two--I only wanted to know what it felt like, wanted to-Queen Alba advances on Rose, pushing her to the ground and standing over her. ALBA: What did you want, girl? Did you think anyone would look at you and see a prince? (beat) Twenty years I’ve lived in this godforsaken castle, spreading my legs for that animal who sits on the throne. Twenty years I’ve tried to give him a son. Twenty years I’ve had nothing to do but--but placate him and try to ensure that the daughter I bore him would find a husband as noble as my own. I have given you everything, taught you everything, and you throw it away like this! ROSE: I didn’t-ALBA: Did you think you could keep this a secret, girl? You are a royal, and even the walls have eyes. Just see what it did to your cousin in the West--disgraced, fallen from favour with every other royal. No one will ever take a girl who fancies herself a boy, no matter how blue her blood. You are ruined. We are ruined. What am I going to do with you, Rose? Rose is silent, frozen in fear as Queen Alba considers. ALBA: We’ll tell the court you felt a calling to become a nun. No one will dare question something so noble, and no one will ask why we receive no word from you, as the nearest nunnery is so far away… ROSE: What? What do you-ALBA: It would be a sin to kill my own daughter, or I’d drown you like the stable boys do the barn cats’ kittens if they’re too much trouble… ROSE: Mother! Rose physically throws herself at Queen Alba, begging her for mercy. Queen Alba falters for a moment, then steels herself, all hesitation gone. ALBA: My family has an old tower in the forest just across the border. ROSE: An old…? No! No, mother, don’t send me there! I don’t know how to survive alone, please--I’ll die, please don’t do this I’m your child--

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ALBA: I have no child. Your wellbeing is no concern of mine. Call your lady to gather your things. One of the coaches will take you to the forest. ROSE: Mother… Rose grasps at Alba’s sleeve desperately; Alba shakes her off and leaves. Blackout. Scene Four The lights come back up on Rose, alone in her tower. There are two chairs, but Rose is slumped on the floor. A small bundle of clothing sits next to her; the room is otherwise bare. ROSE: (sobbing) Once upon a time, there was...a child...who didn’t know if she would last the night... Lights fade out on her shaking figure, leaving her in darkness. Scene Five Lights up on the back platform. Alba stands above three assembled servants (Ellen and two others). ALBA: One of you has committed a grave offense against the crown. A package was delivered to the Princess Rose shortly before she left for the Abbey, the contents of which were...most improper for a young woman. By all accounts you three are the only servants who could have delivered such a package. (beat) You have a choice here: either turn yourself--or the culprit--in, or all three of you suffer the consequences. ELLEN: What--what consequences, your majesty? ALBA: The penalty for treason is death. (silence) Very well, guards-ELLEN: Wait! ALBA: What? ELLEN: Don’t--don’t kill them, please. I did it. I brought her the clothes. She offered to help my family and I-ALBA: Silence. (to the others) Go, and do not speak of this to anyone or I will have your heads. (as they exit) Surely you are aware that it is against the laws of man and nature for a young woman to wear men’s clothing. ELLEN: Yes, your majesty. * end of excerpt *

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Mindfulness for Beginners by Alyssa Woodbury Character Breakdown: GUS - lyft driver, mid 40s, dad, husband, Seahawks fan PAM - 22, student MARIANNE - 30s, Amazon employee SARA - 20s, Amazon employee Setting: Seattle, a Lyft (Line) PAM opens the back right car door. GUS: Pam? PAM: Yep! PAM settles in and closes the door. GUS pulls off the curb and onto the road. An awkward silence. GUS: How’s your day going so far? PAM: Yep. Beat. PAM glaces at GUS, realizing she doesn’t actually know what she said yep to. PAM: ...Sorry, what was the question? GUS: How’s it going? How are ya? PAM: Oh, fine. Beat PAM: Hows... driving? GUS: Seattle drivers are fucking stupid! Sorry PAM: What happened? No no no you’re totally right GUS: Ya know that intersection on Capitol Hill? Denny and Olive? I think there’s a pizza window…

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PAM: (chuckles) Yeah, I know it GUS: Why is that funny? PAM: Nothing GUS’ phone beeps. He touches it a few times GUS: Looks like we’ll be picking up a couple more pretty soon here PAM: (nods) GUS: Well anyways, a bus was coming down the hill... broke down in the fucking intersection, mind you this was at 7:30 this morning! Soooooo many motherfuckers trying to get to work! They’d just come plowing past this bus like they were the only people on the road! And then they’d have to slam on their brakes and get all pissed off and start blasting their horns… and this happened four times! All in the course of two green lights! I saw it! And this was only the beginning, mind you…people have been stupid today. This weather (indicates out window) seems to really CLOUD people’s judgement or something hahahaha Awkward laughs GUS: So what’s funny? PAM: What? GUS: About the pizza window. What’s funny about a pizza window? PAM: Oh. That’s where I got dumped. GUS: I’m sorry dude… PAM: No, its fine. It was two months ago GUS: Was he a dick about it? PAM: She was actually... (remembering the conversation) GUS: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-- [assume/offend] PAM: --really calm and mature. Don’t worry about it. Beat

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PAM: He did it in this way where… have you ever gotten dumped by someone and as they’re dumping you it’s like you can already see them maturing and learning from the shit show that was you and now they’re headed towards enlightenment and your left in a pile of your own shit…? GUS: (knowingly) Mmmm hm. PAM: Yeah. GUS: Sounds like you need a beer. PAM: Recovering alcoholic. GUS: No! You’re so young! PAM: And you’re old! GUS: (offended) Okay! Jeez! Beat PAM: Have you ever heard of Mindfulness? GUS: What now? PAM: Mindfulness. GUS: No. What the fuck is that? Some sort of hippie thing? GUS pulls the car over to pick up two more passengers. PAM: No, its like, a way of being. A way of being more aware, I guess... It’s hard to explain. I have the workbook right here. (He reaches into his backpack and pulls out “Mindfulness for Beginners”) I’m still really new at it, but I think it could help with the sobriety. Beat PAM: Ya know, I bet a little mindfulness could make driving in traffic a lot less stressful. GUS: No thanks kid.

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The front right and back left car doors open. MARIANNE gets in the front, SARA gets in the back. They’re giggling. GUS: Maryanne? MARIANNE: Uh huh! They settle in. MARIANNE: (to GUS) Hey, we’re in kind of a rush to meet some friends at this bar, could you like, step on it? GUS: I’ll get you there as fast as traffic allows ma’am. (he rolls his eyes at the thought of traffic) MARIANNE and SARA talk loudly. SARA: So what then!? MARIANNE: I coudn’t just act like I hadn’t seen anything! SARA: Well, yeahhh! MARIANNE: But I mean things were getting hot, ya know? GUS: God fuckin…(he maneuvers through traffic, stress levels growing) SARA: So did you grab the condom or not? MARIANNE: What! (face of disgust) You mean after I’d seen his wedding ring right there in his drawer!!? MARIANNE pauses for dramatic affect. Gus cracks the windows to get some air, he’s suddenly feeling claustrophobic. GUS and PAM grow increasingly uncomfortable throughout this conversation. MARIANNE: Of course I did ahahaha! (they both laugh) you think a wedding ring would stop me!? Sara… SARA: So then what did? You guys didn’t end up fucking, right? GUS angrily honks at someone.

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MARIANNE: So get this. He puts the condom on, we’re soooooo close, and then-- (she closes her eyes and takes a deep, long inhale, then exhales slowly through her mouth) --He does that! And I’m like ‘uhhh what are you doing?’ He says ‘I’m taking a mindful breath before we get started.’ (she makes a face like ‘can you fucking believe that?) And I’m like no. And then I sit up and notice this book titled “Mindfulness for Beginners” on his bedside table, and I’m like HELLLL no with this woo woo shit! I’m out! GUS: (to another driver) WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? Someone cuts them off. GUS ducks his head and quickly maneuvers the steering wheel, everyone lurches as they change lanes. PAM: Okay people! Calm the fuck down! Marianne is it? Can’t you see there are other people in this car?! Shut. Up. And not that I condone your choice to have an affair, but a mindful breath is no reason not to fuck someone. Fuck you and your hate. Beat. MARIANNE and SARA sit in shocked silence. GUS: Hey buddy, we’re close, should I drop you on the corner? PAM: Yep. (beat) You’ve gotta chill out man. PAM opens his door and gets out. GUS rolls down MARIANNE’S window and calls after PAM-GUS: Hey, what’s that book called? PAM: Here, take mine. (he takes “Mindfulness for Beginners” out of his backpack again and passes it through the window, right under MARIANNE’S nose.) I’ll get another one. You need it more than me right now. Blackout.

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Thank you for sharing your words. Words entwined with visual text. Spoken word poetry and podcasts. Characters brought to life by script and story. Academic prose engaging scholarly conversations. This zine captures a sampling of the writing on display and performed during the inaugural In Other Words: Celebrating Student Writing exhibition. Members of Cornish College of the Arts Writing Across the Curriculum (WAC) Committee designed and curated the exhibition and designed and published this zine. Our thanks to the Cornish students, faculty and staff for their stunning enthusiasm for this exhibition and their support while making our vision come to life. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re honored to work, write, and create amongst you. The WAC Committeeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mission is threefold: 1) promote a culture of writing & research at Cornish amongst students, faculty, and staff 2) facilitate faculty development in the teaching of writing, reading, and research 3) support the development of writing & research curriculum across the college

2018 WAC Committee Members: Amanda Hill, Writing Center Director/H&S Bridget Nowlin, Library Elizabeth Darrow, Art/Foundations/C&CS Gayle Clemans, Art/Foundations/C&CS Jack DeLap, H&S Kevin Goodrich, Art Kate Myre, Theater Lodi McClellan, Dance Megan Smithling, Library

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