Drawing Copyright © 2011 David Conley

E-mail NARCHP@gmail.com

Website http://blogs.uci.edu/narchp/ NARNARNAR

CHP Creative Works Journal Spring 2011

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Guess Who?—Edgar Cheung Moonstruck—Jessica Bogdanoff Dragon Upon Waking—Danielle Glynn To Be a Fly on a Wall—Danielle Glynn Recreated—Dasha Slepenkina She Signed a Hundred Different Documents, Each With a Different Signiature—Elaine Ku Through a Glass, Darkly—Jordan Knopp Sprinklers—Alice Chyan Glass Monolith—Jordan Knopp OCPAC—David Cao Little Things—Edgar Cheung Untitled—Si-Yuan Kong Archy—Si-Yuan Kong Droplets—Si-Yuan Kong The Zeeman Effect of Splitting Hg—Si-Yuan Kong Untitled—David Cao These Grey Days—Rachel Han Can You Feel the Love Tonight?—Alison Ozaki Application—Jeremy Moore Summer Loving—Philip Menchaca Untitled—David Conley

NAR Staff Head Editors Corrie Rollison Melissa Rose Staff Edgar Cheung Greg Dixon Colleen Humfreville Si-Yuan Kong Jillian Tempesta

Layout Editor Jenny Prescott

Table of Contents 1 2 3 4 5 6 8 10 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 26 Cover

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by ______________________ How to NAR

Step 1: Start with a crazy idea. It can be any­thing from a song you want to sing, a story you want to tell, or a Facebook status update that you think Darth Vader wants to share with the world. As long as it’s creative, it’s NAR! Step 2: Actualize it! Step 3: E­mail it to narchp@gmail.com Step 4: Stare at your inbox for hours in breath­less anticipation. Step 5: Rejoice when you receive that “Congratulations” e­mail. Step 6: Party at the Unveiling and share your creativity with all of CHP. And now, you know how to NAR. So do it!

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Your Art Here by ______________________

Spring 2011

NAR Staff

Table of Contents

1

By Edgar Cheung

Photograph Copyright © 2011 Edgar Cheung

Guess Who?

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Moonstruck By Jessica Bogdanoff

He always has his face upon the mountainous curves and hollows of his queen

admiring her, his head never turns to the left or right, never nods or shakes

but gazes, spellbound his mood constantly changes

darkening or lightening with sunbright inspiration yet his countenance remains the same he gazes longingly at the verdant beauty draped in smooth blue and lacy white

close but out of reach leaning in, exciting her, creating waves of emotion pulling away he pulls her fascination along

She twirls, dances, dances a movement in which he falls behind

he lets her go on just watching in awe his pale luminescence

lights up for her and her alone he is veiled for some time by black abyss

but always watching her ready to present himself as a full silver ring

her knight in shining armor two lovers out of touch out of reach but in sync

a dance which only they know in the deepest velvet curtain of courtly gems

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Henry was quite enjoying himself. The wind was cool and light and made him feel wonderful. In fact, he’d almost forgotten why he’d taken flight in the first place until he saw a tiny speck coming towards him. It was another spider, a quite attractive lady spider. “Hello!” he cried. “Hello there!” “Hullo,” said the strange spider. With a few well­aimed squirts from his abdomen, he en­tangled their sails and they floated along next to each other. “Why, hello there!” said Henry. He suddenly felt a bit breathless and shy. “It’s a good morning for some ballooning,” said the other spider. “Yes, yes indeed! What, ah, where are you headed?” “Well, when I woke up this morning, I just felt so odd. I just had to take off.” “Me too! I just felt—well, I felt like I had to find some company or I’d just burst,” he said. “You’re very pretty,” he added. “Thank you,” she said. “I suppose we could have sex now.” “Yes,” said Henry. “That sounds nice.” Henry reached out with a leg and drew the female in close. He crawled on top of her and they copulated in mid­air. Henry thought he’d never been so happy in his life. When they were finished, they landed lightly on a wooden fence. “Wow,” said Henry. “Wow. That was something.” “Hmm,” said the female spider, hugging Henry close. “That was wonderful.” She closed her eyes, and absentmindedly chewed his head off. “That was really wonderful. What’s your name?” She opened her eyes, and saw that Henry was dead.

“Well,” she sighed while eating the rest of Henry, “Maybe next time.”

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Summer Loving by Philip Menchaca

For the first time, Henry the Spider felt desire. He really felt it, somewhere deep inside his abdomen. He crawled to the center of his web, and surveyed the landscape. It was morning. Henry thought sunrise was the most beautiful time of day. He usually just sat and watched it, with a sanguine smile on his face, before he even checked if his web needed repairs. But today was different. He felt this stirring, a nervous energy goading him to do—something. He wasn’t sure what. He took a few deep breaths. Perhaps he’d had a touch too much mosquito last night, not enough fly in his diet. His legs caressed the fine threads of his web, checking for weak spots. He found a few places and repaired them, automatically. His heart wasn’t in it. What he really needed—and he couldn’t figure out why—was to meet another spider, one who was different from in a way he didn’t understand. It was odd; he’d always been content with his own company be­fore now. He sunk his fangs into a mummified moth and drank some of its fluids. He sighed. There wasn’t any getting around it. What­ever it was, this feeling was too strong. He sucked a little bit more on the moth and then crawled up to the top of his web and started unhooking the gossamer from the tree branch. He’d always been a very tidy spider and if he had to move, he wanted to leave the place looking neat. When he finished, he crawled out to the tip of the branch, as high up as he could go. He felt a little scared. He hadn’t done this since he was a child. He raised himself up on his tiptoes and pushed the back of his abdomen into the air. His released a quick stream of silk, form a triangle shape above his head. It floated up­ward in the slight breeze and suddenly caught the wind. Henry felt the tug and lifted into the air, floating in a way that he had forgotten.

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Mischievous, devious mind, Lithe, graceful, nimble muscles, Protruding toothy, pearl stakes, Breath of poisoned ammonia, Deadly thorned claws of ivory, Iron scales that rattle over stone, And black agates that cast darkly Over a petrified, trembling mass

Called breakfast.

Dragon Upon Waking By Danielle Glynn

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To Be a Fly on a Wall by Danielle Glynn

Those opalescent, Iridescent eyes Flash rainbows. Prose in motion In erratic twirls

Girls can only envy. Soaring on a whim, Slim legs seduce. You beat any bee Please, fly closer, Let me admire, Inspire your love. Finally you’re here, Near enough now, Just one tender kiss, Bliss beats my heart, Lead me teasingly, Lovingly you flirt– Squirt I soon go, For I’m too small, Recall that human? Undone I’m caught,

But you’ll never be forgot,

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Recreated

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If you could meet anyone, living or dead, who would it be and why? Woody Allen, because I think he is the funniest person that ever lived. [Watching recorded Super Smash Brothers Melee matches] Damn dude. Hella good DI. Uhhh. So what’s the question again? [Michael Jackson pedophilia joke]. Wait, wait. [second Michael Jackson pedophilia joke]. That’s my real answer dude, what the fuck? Write that shit down. Fine, uh…that’s it. Short Answer­ Which one novel that you read during your college experience was most interesting to you, and why? Probably the short stories of George Sanders. He has such an in­teresting way of presenting the real issues that people deal with every day. His stories and his characters understand that what might seem mundane to other people can truly be an epic struggle to the person living it, and he finds such mind­bending ways to communicate these themes to the reader. I’m a businessman. I was born to lead, not to read. Guess where I got that from. The Simpsons Movie. Look it up.

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What’s your biggest strength? Communication, for sure. I can’t stand when inefficiencies arise from people just not talking to each other. Being gay. No, no, no. Being able to use my sense of humor to make my roommate look gay. Stop doing that, brah. What’s your biggest weakness? I think I tend to come off as a little immature and apathetic, but anyone who knows me and sees the results I get at school and in my jobs knows this isn’t true. My penis size and the fact that I can’t count over my GPA. What’s your number one goal in life? To find some sort of sta­bility and security. To bench 280. Describe your perfect date. I’m pretty traditional, probably din­ner and a movie? Though I do also enjoy quirky stuff like thrift storing and board games, and those are great ways to find out if I’m compatible with someone. [Laughs] We already KNOW what it is. I take her out, but that’s not even the important part. I bring her back, I whip out the alco­hol, I let that do the job. What is this even for? What three things would you bring with you to a desert is­land? A hammock, pens and paper, and the complete works of David Foster Wallace. Alcohol, and…uhhh…uhhh…what WOULD you bring? Oh, wait, French bread, and a metal plate that says “I’m Jeremy Moore, bitch.” Cause your ego is that big. How would your friends describe you? They would say I can be loud and overbearing, but I always have them in mind and I get very enthusiastic about what I’m interested in. Extremely comfortable with myself. Like, a little too comfortable. Stop asking me to go streaking with you, dude.

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Recreated by Dasha Slepenkina

She held her palms up toward the newborn night. The stars trick­led, one by one, into her open hands. Her breath danced, a white spirit tiptoeing on the black outline of the hills. When it caught the approaching starlight, it illuminated her body with the colors of the rainbow, like an aurora borealis. A rose with sharp thorns pierced her breast, where its roots were buried deep within her heart. That rose bloomed as her lips quivered. She held the stars, and they burned deeply, like ice. She shivered and the stars danced, happy to be wishes within human hands. The world stopped. Memories no longer crept into the mind, like forgotten moments or uninvited thoughts. The stars begged to be useful. They froze time for eternity, only to be useful. They wished to be wished upon. And her lips, moving against time, mouthed prayers. The world stopped and yet it transformed as it had never transformed before, as if it was once more consumed by the original creation. Hearts that had stopped pulsed with the beat of love. Roses without thorns sprouted from the blood that churned from the beating. Morning would resume after an eternity, only nobody would ever know what happened that night. They would never imagine that, as they slept, the power of a heart torn by the thorns of a powerful rose lured her onto the hilltop, or that she gathered enough stars to wish for an infinite moment in which she could transform a world of cynics who had forgotten to look for constellations. They knew only that, as they woke up, the world seemed once more sacred. They had become transfigured.

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She Signed a Hundred Documents, Each With a Different Signature

by Elaine Ku She signed a hundred documents, each with a different signature. Each on a perfectly square sheet of paper Letters are rearranged and then tucked away As a hundred triangles become a hundred diamonds. over a thousand folds and three paper cuts later, a hundred paper cranes. Each bearing a name of a missing friend, relative, stranger Hoping that, as storks unite mothers with newborns, cranes reunite all. She signed a hundred documents, each with a different signature. Months of careful forgery signatures as different as each of her victims a promising teen, a soft­spoken woman signatures as different as each of their gasps hang a noose, jot a g slit a throat, cross a t signatures as different as each of their inheritances a hundred ill gained fortunes.

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. I learned how lucky I am to be a white person, and I like to de­moralize Asians to make myself feel better. Wait, what was the question again? What is your single greatest UCI memory? This has to be liv­ing in the dorms during first year and bonding with so many peo­ple that were surprisingly similar (and sometimes, surprisingly different!) from myself. When I first got with some girl. Just kidding, take that out. MUN. Are we done with this yet? What are your plans after graduation? Hopefully, attend a graduate school for human resources. At this rate, I probably won’t graduate [giggles uncontrollably]. Have you made any lifelong friends? Absolutely. In the begin­ning I was hesitant and sort of shy to commit to meeting anyone new, but now I can’t imagine life without my college friends. Yeah, but they always end up in sex and awkwardness. Dude, ten hours ago I had 800 friends and now I’m back to 798. At this rate, I’m never going to get 1,000 before I graduate. What is the best class you took at UCI? Definitely Writing 110 with Michelle Latiolais. The workshop atmosphere was amazing. MUN. Personal­ How would you describe yourself? I would say that I’m loud and sometimes I’m too insecure for my own good. But more posi­tively, I’m funny and trustworthy and I can be hardworking when I want to be. Gay [giggles uncontrollably].

by Jeremy Moore

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Application With the help of my roommate Brandon Liu

by Jeremy Moore Basic Info­ Name: Jeremy Moore Jeremy Moore Age: 20 22. Oh, you’re 20? Dude, why aren’t you 21 yet? Fuuuuck. Hometown: Placerville, CA Just say NorCal. Major: English English, but that doesn’t get you any girls. Busi­ness Administration [winks]. Extracurricular Activities: Campuswide Honors Program, Model United Nations MUN, CHP, just say you’re in a frat. Professional­ What have you learned during your time at UCI? What haven’t I learned! My time at UCI has been absolutely amazing, and the single greatest adventure of my life. Besides the outstanding intel­lectual of upper division English courses and CHP classes, I would have to say I’ve learned a lot about people and human behavior from all the amazing students and faculty that I interact with on a daily basis. I learned that there are people besides white peo­ple. I learned to love Asian girls. Except ­­­­­ ­­­­­ is a huge bitch. No, take that sentence out.

Spring 2011

by Elaine Ku

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She signed a hundred documents, each with a different signature. A lifelong quest for identity And by that we mean, not the dreary­eyed photo on a driver’s li­cense Or the sequence of numbers with which the government cata­logues you. Rather, simple narcissism Wanting the perfect combination of cursive and character, “this is me” in a second­long scribble the careful ink penned on legal contract Or the degenerate digital hurriedly left at the supermarket check­out.

Note: “she signed a hundred documents, each with a different signature” was an overheard snippet of conversation that immedi­ately sparked fanciful stories of espionage and mystique… I will likely never find out what the two men were originally discuss­ing, but here are variations on a theme.

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Through a Glass, Darkly by Jordan Knopp

I strain my eyes ahead

And see them staring back Amidst a black nothing

That hides shyly from sight But threatens to consume

Watching

I see a raindrop I reach out

To wipe the tear away

But the stain remains An odd smudge of clarity A glimpse of shine

Above a layer of grime

The rain continues I keep wiping.

Cathartic, and so revealing. I stop and stare.

Spring 2011

21 Photograph Copyright © 2011 Alison Ozaki

Can You Feel the Love Tonight? by Alison Ozaki

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Photograph Copyright © 2011 Rachel Han

These Grey Days by Rachel Han

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Can You Feel the Love Tonight?

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The glass in front of me Is now polished clean The mirror but a window

To the rest of the world instead

I lost a part of me In that newly polished glass

As hard as I look I no longer see myself

But I see more The harder I look

Through that newly polished glass I found a part of me

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Sprinklers by Alice Chyan

A geyser of light pierces the darkness with a screaming triumphant hiss like a firework streaming white hot sparks Water droplets cascading onto plants Their leaves shrinking away in pain from the stabbing pressure of life Fast falling crystals reflecting the streetlamps­­ Standing silent sentinels watching the intruding light as it is swallowed by dark Forcefully suppressed, shoved down Back into a mound of spiky black grass surrounding a lone shapeless building atop which I am perched Gazing with lightless eyes out at the army of shadows besieging my shelter Thundering against the high walls like tides breaking upon a rocky cliff Steadily the night erodes the deep­rooted walls that house the solid reality of my existence But in the dark, perception is fluid And reality a gelatinous illusion amid which the spark of consciousness floats suspended untouchable in a viscous force field A dream of stability poised precariously on the vertex of the building's balcony— One breath and it is falling

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The Zeeman Effect Splitting of Hg

Untitled by David Cao

Photograph Copyright © 2011 David Cao

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Photograph Copyright © 2011 Si­Yuan Kong

The Zeeman Effect Splitting of Hg

by Si­Yuan Kong

Untitled

18 Spring 2011

Down, down into the darkness There is no scream, no pain, no revelation Nothing but dim shapes whirling past my head In the sliver of space behind my eyelids Time is not a factor­­it has flown somewhere­­sometime I wonder why I am not dead, and then I realize Something that was not alive cannot turn dead A figure in a lonely fortress cowering from the dark is not alive but a ghost­­a wisp of an existence But to fall headlong into the dark, to meet it To be swallowed by it and to swallow it Is an unexpected path to a plane unknown Because all definitions are shattered Because directions are not straight Because vision is a psychedelic gray scale Because fear is not something to be avoided Because it stems from ignorance Because you cannot control what you don't know Time comes back from His vacation And as I look ahead the darkness straightens out into forms and thoughts that make sense to me As understanding settles in, the shades lighten Colors seep in and I am facing the liquid sky Quickly turning to gold as the sun rises

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OCPAC

12 Photograph Copyright © 2011 Jordan Knopp

Glass Monolith by Jordan Knopp

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Photograph Copyright © 2011 Si­Yuan Kong

Droplets By Si­Yuan Kong

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Photograph Copyright © 2011 Si­Yuan Kong

Archy by Si­Yuan Kong

Droplets

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Photograph Copyright © 2011 David Cao

OCPAC by David Cao

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by Jordan Knopp

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Photograph Copyright © 2011 Edgar Cheung

Little Things by Edgar Cheung

Untitled

14 Spring 2011

Photograph Copyright © 2011 Si­Yuan Kong

Untitled by Si­Yuan Kong

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