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NAR

CHP Creative Works Journal Winter 2014


Table of Contents Cover

Early Morning Mist

Chelsea Anorma

1

In The Car, Falling Awake

Judy Mak

3

Potted Microcosm

Chelsea Anorma

4

Winter in SoCal

Logan Richards

5

Stepping Through Fall

Chelsea Anorma

6

Colorblind

Timothy Chung

7

Peace – Aldrich …

Chelsea Anorma

8

Parting Clouds Over …

Hubert Ta

9

Spring Sunburst

Chelsea Anorma

10

If Only

Devin Norris


NAR Staff Greg Dixon | Jessica Bogdanoff Co-Editors-in-Chief Christina Treble Advisor

Your Name Here Contact Us To Be Part of the NAR Team!!!

Website http://blogs.uci.edu/narchp/ Email NARCHP@gmail.com


How to NAR STEP 1: Start with a crazy idea. It can be anything – a song mash-up of David Guetta and Weird Al Yankovich, a story about a killer armadillo, a photograph of a person’s glabella, an ode to boysenberry pie. We accept everything!!!

STEP 2: Make it happen!!! STEP 3: Email it to us at NARCHP@gmail.com. STEP 4: Stare at your inbox for hours in breathless anticipation. STEP 5: Rejoice when you receive the “Congratulations” email. STEP 6: Party at the Unveiling as you share your creativity with all of CHP.

And now you know how to NAR. So go do it!!!


In the Car, Falling Awake by Judy Mak This life, this great game of charades that nobody asked to play. Its roads are great and winding and alone. Their smiles charred by the daylight. Their eyes, which do not come alive to me anymore. The blinking blue of sky behind seafoam stormclouds that just ache, ache, ache to break. The clouds passing down drops of water like salt shakers. The white strands of stone wrinkling over with sageness and age. The Sturm and Drang of Desert. On the roads draining from the city, in the neon veins of everything, a yesterday breathes. How to run, in five words: run like you’re running away. Our old summer is showing herself, the Earth swallowing quite ravenously its past, those 50s diners streetside like orphans of another culture. These millenniums later: a return to Eden, only to find the very garden dissolute, destitute. Stricken with shame, starving for courage. The rocks making faces at the passing cars, austere and far away, the hills dyed their rocky rainbow, the sands patterned with tire tracks of desperate drivers. Billboards in black and red. Dinky houses like whiskers on cement. The snow-white beards of distant mountains. A shoe on the sidelines with a story to tell. Forever is a pretty short time after all. Youth doesn’t have anything to do with life. Living out monotony in most of the meager moments of Clouds 1-8, homesick for solitude. The smoky wind-cut air sprinkling light on the landscape. We’re almost there. Love, Nevada. These never-ending conga lines of telephone poles. My prodigal wasteland. We’re so long past the sepulchral belly of the snake of Vegas. Water straddling our windows

Winter 2014

1


still. What happens if I write my brains out, and then write some more. Butterflies with blood on their wings. The short trees like fallen children of the land. We left this all behind. I have heard every sort of liar, seen everything under the sun, and the sun itself in all its shades of gold. It’s not very gold. After the rain everything almost glitters electric. I step on a landmine; I die and wake up. This hangover of calm, so false it’s real, and delirium delicious. So keep your head down. Keep singing. That’s how I fall asleep. See the dust on my eyelids. Hear my wanderlust wheezing. Feed me the danger. Teach me how to fall. The mountains nauseous above you. A ballad on the radio mourning nothing. Teardrops traveling uphill. A vase unraveling. A buffet of ashes. Shop till you drop: material skeletal. The briefest glimpse of green. People who have last names as first names , with smooth lips and a crooked glare. Deathly neurotics. I keep staring back at the wretched iris. Living as Icarus, as vicariously. Live only the moments you want to. Tell me more lies; the world has got too much truth in it. Come see this starrise. The tourists are taking pictures of tourists! The light is erasing itself. Falling into smallness. A line from a TV talking to itself: “Well, I might hate you more, but I’ll never love you less.” A hundred steps to crashing away. The ending is already written. This page intentionally left blank. A postcard from Hell. It says we’re doing fine. Wish you were here. The sorry glare. Forgetfulness.

2

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Potted Microcosm by Chelsea Anorma

Winter 2014

3


Winter in SoCal by Logan Richards

4

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Stepping Through Fall by Chelsea Anorma

Winter 2014

5


Colorblind by Timothy Chung When someone holds up a painting of a pink spaceship and says it's gray Then you know that they see differently. Their lights at traffic stops and autumn leaves Aren't the ones we see and color in With shades, of reds and greens. But my color isn't your color my sky blue isn't the cerulean you see as we lie on our backs and stare at clouds because even though we all see hues they're never the same, no two alike. If I could see your yellow sun I would not say it was because it wouldn't be. Remember when someone holds up a painting of a pink spaceship and says it's pink some people see in shades of gray and are just good at telling the difference.

6

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Peace – Aldrich in the Afternoon by Chelsea Anorma

Winter 2014

7


Parting Clouds Over the Ardennes by Hubert Ta Glory is in the skies, Seeking a new path to rule, Confidence for the pilots of the wings, And the storming devil in pursuit, Tumble and turning, sunlight in the eyes, To ski through the dance of the clouds so cruel, For honor, those stones are part of a ring That negates history, to dilute, And the glory that was once promised with lust, It lies in ruins, ransacked for sure, a must!

8

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Spring Sunburst by Chelsea Anorma

Winter 2014

9


If Only by Devin Norris

https://soundcloud.com/devinsnorris/if-only-final

A musical piece for Flute, Clarinet, Bass Clarinet, Harp, Bass, and piano.

10

(For Flute, Clarinet, Bass Clarinet, Harp, Bass, and piano.)

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Winter 2014