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Creative Writing

Creative Writing class



Interactive Story-Telling Collaboration

CRWR 481- Advanced Theory and Practice
VISA 382 - Advanced Media Communications




CRWR 260 - Theory and Practice of Creative Writing

"A Tribute to bill bissett by Jacob Butula"

Lunarian Luv Kookees

à la bill bisset

1 & 1/2 cups shortening
1 & 1/2 cups white sugar
1 & 1/2 cups brown sugar
4 eggs
1 & 1/2 cup chocolate chips
1 cup M&Ms
1 tsp. salt
2 tsp. vanilla
2 tsp. baking soda
4 cups flour

sumtimes i miss lunaria th 5 moons lunarial gravetee its straynge kats its suns nd its taste ben long tyme since eeting at lunarian restoronts wth lunarian foods keep ths recipi wth othr earth tresurs glaas pipe smll peece rose corts picturs of frends old notebuks n uther things. 1st step kreem shortning n shugar dont eat doh yet tried tht wonce well mabe 2 3 tymes taists not sew bad not sew gud eithr tri if u like jus save sum fer l8r. 2nd step eggs nd chips if yu got sum buks youse free rang organic eggs if yr brok mabe werk fer th farmr an our mabe busk n reed pomes bout saving chckens frm indstrile farm slavry condishuns 'til u got enouf buks fr good eggs - u can taist the diffrinse in lunarian luv when th kookees r wthout luv ingreedients. sew yu got eggs n chips n shorntning nd flour n yr boll mabe yr calldron now mash all 2gether shamanik evree spin uv ur woodn spewn remmberin som1 u luv or som1 u got yr i on chant jump call thir names til yu see the doh move w yer voice sam sam sam Sam SAM SAM SAM n such dont woree bout naybors nois complaints jus slip kookees in their mailboks aftr. okee so yu got sum batter nao add salt n vanila n bakeen soda add flour in 2 mabe 3 stages thn stop addin n work th spoon again mabe a new chant ths tyme invoke all spiritul powrs u want to infuse yr luv kookees wth mothr earth lunaria th moon yer favrite constellashuns favrite flowers, that spot yu first remember eeting kookees, anee parents n such feedin m 2 u an how beutiful n xcellent yr 1st kookee tastd yes n how xcellent all kookee makrs ar all makrs are even th mithololgicl 1s n how xcellent luv is. Battrs done, preheet ovun 350 fareenhight, eet a bit uv battr yu dont know when yu'll nxt hav reel lunarian battr to eet mabe take a brake have a beer sit think w th clouds or that fuzz in yer blly butn or mm that beer tasts good, liek choklat n bred, nao whn yer reddy n the ovuns reddy back 2 th kitchen tyme 2 transform frm battr 2 kookees. get big mettl sheits 4 kookees n yer favrite spoon for skoopin kookees onto th sheits n have anothr sip uv beer n strt addin kookees to th sheit pick yer first kookee n giv it th most xcellent name u ken giv - if nothng cums right away dont worry rohl the doh in yr hands mabe giv it a lick ask yr bellee n its lint 4 righteous names mabe its names ancien mabe its too long but all lunarian kookees hve a name. if yu kno whos eetin a kookee that hlps anne murray kookee wrks mabe thnks fr th memoreez anne murray heres yer kookee also hlps heer 2 channel varius gods -  thos makrs yu remmebrd erlier r a gud place 2 strt thir frsh in yer heart n swig that beer nao wth yer first kookee named thnks fr the memoreez anne murray add  MnMs uv an approprite colur n amunt if th kookees namd bpNichol i luv yu mabe add 15 red MnMs hart shaped if yu call it sun settin on amerkain empire mabe haff a red haff a blu MnMs togethr in the top cornr n if yu callit lunarian blessings 4 us all mabe 30 MnMs all colurs. Whn u get enouf kookees on the sheit 4 it 2 be ful thn put itn th ovn nd set a timr bout 12 mins nd go reed a buk mabe listen to a see dee mabe deth interrupts the dansing mabe paint lunrian blessings 4 us all n send it to lunaria probblee jus go sit outsid if its not 2 cold n breeth lie in the grass n sip of beer again hoot at passing frends n friendlies passm beer ask howd thir day go whattd they c n such invitm up 4 kookees or jus sit in th grass sipping beers talkin til 12 minuts passis nao back to th uven n c if th kookees r firm enouf jus a bit brwn nd not 2 eeze to poke thru th middl - if they r thn bak in th uven mabe a few moar minuts - when thir reddy kool m somwher fr a while mabe 4 mins then por sum milk 4 yer frends n evryone gets a luv kookee, scarf it w smile w milk w reverence of sugar n evrything biutiful. nao th uvens still on n reddy 4 the 2nd bach so nao yu n yer frends with thir favirite spoons name moar kookees n back to yer beers n fill that metul sheit xcellent back in the uven n 12 more minuts n back outsid n the grass. Cycle thru ths ohvr n ohvr makin more luv kookees n whn yu cant eet nymore remmber yer neighburs remmber th art gallries remmber th peepl in povrty remmber th studens n yu got a big bach of luv kookees mabe next poetree reeding perform yer luv kookee chant n thro kookees at ur frends like sprks xplodin off yr wild pome intonations - red n yello n ornge MnMs fr thees kookees n names lik coals in th hot snow polar bears on yonge street langwage n desire cooking carrot soup - colurful luv kookees flyng thru the audynce peyote kicking in n yer maracas rhythm catches thir vibe and shakes w evry sam sam sam Sam SAM SAM SAM chant til th hole room absorbs yer luv echos n between sams u thro moar luv kookees at m n name them sam sam radiant danse uv being all colur kookee sam sam P.K. page blu green kookee sam sam kreeaysyun uv moovment blue ornge red kookee - aftr makin luv kookees liek this i dont miss lunaria sew much.

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Click here to listen to "The Growth of Stalagmites" - A Sound Poem by Natalie Rice (March 2011)

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Amanda Abraham
(New York School Imitation, March 2009)

Early Morning Jazz

 

Tea bag cats squirm outside my darkened door
coasters clank soprano sharps at quarter past four
I invite you all in to feel of the canary sunshine
these shady cats turn grape seeds into gleaming dimes!

 

Yes, your greenbacks sizzle splendid behind my tie
Breathing sax, cellos
baited orchestra lenders
trotted out by Uncle Homer’s pistachio suit

 

Another dance with the tree frogs
Finally, my girl stoops below buttonhole gate
Hold it, I’ll mix my Aunt with kiwis and salt shakers
We trip-hop downstairs

 

Shake down your suspenders
roll back your pant legs boys!
Eat of the portrait’s glaze
I’ll be tangled in her grateful shadow

 

Ginger never sat beneath a towelled shroud
so my girl flipped out Ms. Rogers from a lucky envelope’s crease!
She’s got her heels up
oh her jewelled gown swears beside the glass cabaret

 

Piano’s got a wide grin for a magpie
tickled my lemon out of its pocket
Believe it
I’ll show you my jaded die

 

I’ll come to work soon, Aunt money
Cats clean me up like daffodils honey
Swing me down thin, give me a pout
the slivered moon never times out

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James De Dood
(Beat poet imitation, March 2009)

The Trial

Your Honour, I can’t help but think that you are to blame. It was a government copy of Anna
        Karenina
.
Your Honour, if it hadn’t been for you, I would have been married to the girl with brownish
        nipples, piling lumber among the sawdust, and strips, and smells of my father.
Your Honour, you must invest more time in ensuring the machine. A worker should not have
        a chance with Russian writers. I was perfectly happy with the woman with brownish
        nipples. That was until your copy of Anna Karenina, how the storm was both wonderful
        and terrifying.
Your Honour, besides the brownish nipples, the woman with brownish nipples is neither
        wonderful, nor terrifying.
Your Honour, my mortgage, my job, my collection of lanterns, not wonderful, nor terrifying.
Your Honour, I do not have a moment’s peace, not after Tolstoy. Something should be done
        so this doesn’t happen to anyone else.
Your Honour, Ginsberg was right, this is quite serious. I stay on the bus and read endless
        pages of translated fiction. I stay up late thinking how little I know of Slovakian
        literature,
Your Honour, it is your establishment in which I am enrolled. I’m not sure why the stir sticks
        are weak. I stir my tea with the knowledge that most things break. I am reminded of Q-
        tips that bend in the middle.
Your Honour, you don’t really want me to go to prison do you? It would be romantic. I
        would lie on my back and stare at the window. I’d have far better sex while in jail.
Your honour I am sorry for what I have done, but I am out here on my own. D.H. Lawrence
        is my only friend and he never leaves my alone. I feel his breathing when I lie asleep.
Your Honour, I have made a mockery of your institution. I go to classes based on the quality
        of women’s thighs. I am obsessed by women’s thighs. I watch them go by in tight black
        tights, or dark blue denim.
Your Honour, your laws are without feeling and I am not going to follow them. I like a nice
        drive after Kafka and cognac.
Your Honour, I am balls deep in Balzac. I feel him inside me. I feel him as I lift things.
Your Honour, the best I can do is hope that my productiveness will lead to un-productivity.
        Eventually your Honour, you will have nothing to worry about. I’ll be forgotten like Dali.
        I’m terrified of Dali. What happened to the sweet young man with the sophisticated
        moustache? His last portrait is quite unsettling. He looks like a psychopath who is
        paralysed from the neck up. Your Honour is this what is going to happen to me?
Your Honour, you have no idea what red wine does to my large intestine. I am reduced to
        drinking vodka and cranberry juice; I feel like a eunuch.
Your Honour, should not you and I reverse roles. It was a government who hoisted the
        slogan Work Makes You Free on the gates of Auschwitz One. Your honour, I have not
        had respect for you ever since I heard Colonel Ludlow protest INDIANS! Those were the
        issues in my day, and I can assure you there is nothing so grotesque as the meeting of a
        child with a bullet, or an entire village slaughtered while sleeping. That was the
        government’sresolution in those days, and I have seen nothing, since then, to suggest it
        has gained either wisdom or humanity.
Your Honour, let us stop pretending. You are not Honest Abe, and I am no Joseph K.
Your Honour, from a fictional standpoint, since 1945, it is the beginning of the end. To be
        getting along is sinister. The only chance is to have great defeats and few if any victories.
        Your honour, I do not trust the protagonists of the nuclear world. I cannot trust
        Alexander Portnoy, nor Dr. Hivel, not even Saleem Sinia. Your honour, the heroes of
        literature cease to exist. When the end comes, yoga will be the solution to the
        psychological effects of killing women and children.
Your Honour, I am went to party where all the women wore shift dresses and spoke politely
        about art and literature, kissing both my cheeks as I entered. The encouragement of
        others, it was all so sincere, I couldn’t help but wonder that if I had not been raised by
        hockey players, I may have had a happy, and enduring life. I was so elated and confused
        that I cried for hours before I finally fell asleep.
Your Honour, I fear you and I are really the same, yet we would die a thousand deaths to
        prove otherwise.
Your Honour, is this not a sincere thing to believe?

 


 

CRWR 219 - Creative Non-Fiction

Thomas Ethan Foster

The Inheritance - Site-Specific Audio Tour
Click here to download a 30 minute (71mb) Site-Specific
Audio Tour created by Thomas Ethan Foster.


Please note this audio installation is meant to be heard on-site,
beginning in UBCO’s Arts Building Atrium (and progressing outside,
so bring a coat).  Download The Inheritance onto your portable
player and bring it to the  south side of the Arts Atrium at UBCO.
Press play, follow the directions, and enjoy. “


English 381 - Writing of Poetry

Les Burrettes De La Ruelle
Brian Boyce

Les Burrettes De La Ruelle A face aesthetic as a pair of curly-haired sagging testicles walks into the dregs of all bowling alleys where I sit licking chicken wing grease off my fingers.    The shoulders on the Testicles are bulging with brawn. The hands oily and calloused carry a hundred rosesunderneath a dancing green balloon.   The shaft’s denim body is big and the guffaws that radiate around it are dropping the pins like cannons.  A song starts for a woman who was not perceived as beautiful until this very moment,as she kisses Testicles with her doe-sized eyes,  as the balls roll up and down the gutters and the lane, and the Canuck’s game crashes on the televisions that watch the bowlers watch their pins-their bosses and kids and lovers and god.  Testicles has surprisingly straight teeth, and more charm than any elegant dance in Paris, as he passes out roses to all the lanes’ women.  Red, yellow, and white heads on dry stems dangling above waxed hardwood and stinking shoes, and spry or wrinkled thighs.  Tonight, humanity deserves little more, I think.

 

 

 


English 126 (section 2) - Introduction to Creative Writing ll

Wish Thief
Alison McNamar

Wish Thief

 

In her Sunday best,

she suspiciously lingered

around the drained fountain,

in a turquoise trench coat,

her silver curls, freshly set,

shining in the late autumn sun.

Clutching a beaded bag and

a pointer stick, she poked at the sludge,

a toxic mixture of goose shit, mud & money;

the toes of her sensible shoes teetering

precariously close to the brown slop

accumulated on the basin floor.

Hunching over, the aging bandit

ignored my gaze, face weathered

and resolute, fiercely focused

on the task at hand—

pocketing dirty coins.

Summer wishes tossed,

and forgotten,

that believers had made,

to win the lottery

to have a healthy baby

to heal a loved one

to be happy.

 

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Last reviewed 4/28/2011 3:39:15 PM

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