ETUDE
[excerpt]
Zans Brady Krohn
We all got the Basic Pack. That’s just facts. For example:
Laugh, slave, hotel. Drive, gutter, bug. Immediate, table, note.
Dirt, Sunday, elastic waistband.
Whole, rip, flower. Public, obstacle, rib. Bread, job, child.
The, the, the. And, and, and.
Plus some big names and places. What states and waters touch us.
Those words I use my brain with.
When I get the Standards I’ll have more. Mom says I can’t get them all
yet. When she uses words I don’t have, I can’t understand. They ping off.
People talk of things us kids are waiting to know. Except those who have
the Unlimited set already. Their parents bought it for them.
But I’ll get more soon. Not today. Or tomorrow. On my sixteenth birthday.
Fine by me. I know yesterday’s better.
My sister bit me where it hurts. Her teeth are sharp. She speaks with
them. She doesn't have her tongue yet. She doesn't have her words.
When we have the money she’ll get her Basics, and her name too. Maybe when
she’s ten. You can’t teach her. She can’t learn. At least she has her ABC’s.
Everyone gets those. They’re for free.
My friends are Hunter and KT. We understand each other good, it seems.
We have the same classes, and most of our dreams are the same, I figured out.
About cats, C++, quiet time, play time. A man so tall the trees waved hi
on mistake. Computers closing shut on our fingers.
Basic stuff.
Zahara has a Premium set and black hair down to her tummy. What her
mom screams at her from the car, and the answers she gives Teacher, I cannot
tell you. Even the things she pulls out of her lunch I cannot put in words.
It’s white and sticky and there’s many of it like little bugs.
When I get my next update I’ll tell you. I can’t wait. I can’t wait to talk
to Zahara, and tell you. For now, I’ll try to write down every one. A lot of them
I said already. I hope you understand.
I’m near the word count now.
Bye now.
+
Hi from today. Time has gone bye. I forgot to say how old I am. I am fif
teen. I am six teen, in some order of days.
Officially, I’m a girl. They call me Etude. There’s an accent somewhere
but don’t know where. So just Etude.
Something happened to KT. No one knows. Not even her. She was
crying at school. We locked the bathroom doors and she sat on the toilet. Me on
the floor. The bell rang and we stayed put. The flush made us jump. KT showed me
on her body. I would draw it out but we trust each other only.
We go to KT’s off Embarcadero and eat. Cheese, Ritz, juice. Then we
go outside and smoke weed with her brother, Napoleon, until we’re hungry again.
He’s twenty three, still on Basics, doesn’t do anything except sit at home and jaw.
Their parents aren’t home almost ever. Napoleon built his own fire
thrower from online and has got himself some hopes and dreams
that’re just as spicy. I like him a lot. I want to be that for my sister.
My family is low on the pole. Our words are like driveway gravel.
They’re cheap and nothing can grow. Still, we all share the blue above, and we
have music, a few different kinds. We have Billie, Bey, and Dua. Those are
voices I don’t need to understand.
That’s the dream.
Careful now. Don’t feel bad. Sometimes I loan Premium books from
the library. You can still get ideas from pictures.
Only a few people in the world have the full Canon. They rarely share.
They make the rules, they set the prices. What they speak is what’s there.
They raise cities, and they divide weeks and hours. Animals and planes
move in and out of our land, foxes, deer, copters, and other kinds. These people
alert us for celebrations. Xmas, Easter, Indigenous People’s, etc.
Zahara could act or host on TV. She’s pretty and healthy, like a plant.
And she has the car, the house, the attitude—she got kicked out of other
schools. That’s why she’s lumped in with us at JMS.
If I had the chance to show our dirty shoe of a house on television, I would.
I can’t wait to be six teen. I’ll fire the answers at Teacher full speed no stops.
My poor friend. KT will put what happened in words and feel better.
I’ll do what I can. If not, I won’t.
text by Zans Brady Krohn
Laugh, slave, hotel. Drive, gutter, bug. Immediate, table, note.
Dirt, Sunday, elastic waistband.
Whole, rip, flower. Public, obstacle, rib. Bread, job, child.
The, the, the. And, and, and.
Plus some big names and places. What states and waters touch us.
Those words I use my brain with.
When I get the Standards I’ll have more. Mom says I can’t get them all
yet. When she uses words I don’t have, I can’t understand. They ping off.
People talk of things us kids are waiting to know. Except those who have
the Unlimited set already. Their parents bought it for them.
But I’ll get more soon. Not today. Or tomorrow. On my sixteenth birthday.
Fine by me. I know yesterday’s better.
My sister bit me where it hurts. Her teeth are sharp. She speaks with
them. She doesn't have her tongue yet. She doesn't have her words.
When we have the money she’ll get her Basics, and her name too. Maybe when
she’s ten. You can’t teach her. She can’t learn. At least she has her ABC’s.
Everyone gets those. They’re for free.
My friends are Hunter and KT. We understand each other good, it seems.
We have the same classes, and most of our dreams are the same, I figured out.
About cats, C++, quiet time, play time. A man so tall the trees waved hi
on mistake. Computers closing shut on our fingers.
Basic stuff.
Zahara has a Premium set and black hair down to her tummy. What her
mom screams at her from the car, and the answers she gives Teacher, I cannot
tell you. Even the things she pulls out of her lunch I cannot put in words.
It’s white and sticky and there’s many of it like little bugs.
When I get my next update I’ll tell you. I can’t wait. I can’t wait to talk
to Zahara, and tell you. For now, I’ll try to write down every one. A lot of them
I said already. I hope you understand.
I’m near the word count now.
Bye now.
+
Hi from today. Time has gone bye. I forgot to say how old I am. I am fif
teen. I am six teen, in some order of days.
Officially, I’m a girl. They call me Etude. There’s an accent somewhere
but don’t know where. So just Etude.
Something happened to KT. No one knows. Not even her. She was
crying at school. We locked the bathroom doors and she sat on the toilet. Me on
the floor. The bell rang and we stayed put. The flush made us jump. KT showed me
on her body. I would draw it out but we trust each other only.
We go to KT’s off Embarcadero and eat. Cheese, Ritz, juice. Then we
go outside and smoke weed with her brother, Napoleon, until we’re hungry again.
He’s twenty three, still on Basics, doesn’t do anything except sit at home and jaw.
Their parents aren’t home almost ever. Napoleon built his own fire
thrower from online and has got himself some hopes and dreams
that’re just as spicy. I like him a lot. I want to be that for my sister.
My family is low on the pole. Our words are like driveway gravel.
They’re cheap and nothing can grow. Still, we all share the blue above, and we
have music, a few different kinds. We have Billie, Bey, and Dua. Those are
voices I don’t need to understand.
That’s the dream.
Careful now. Don’t feel bad. Sometimes I loan Premium books from
the library. You can still get ideas from pictures.
Only a few people in the world have the full Canon. They rarely share.
They make the rules, they set the prices. What they speak is what’s there.
They raise cities, and they divide weeks and hours. Animals and planes
move in and out of our land, foxes, deer, copters, and other kinds. These people
alert us for celebrations. Xmas, Easter, Indigenous People’s, etc.
Zahara could act or host on TV. She’s pretty and healthy, like a plant.
And she has the car, the house, the attitude—she got kicked out of other
schools. That’s why she’s lumped in with us at JMS.
If I had the chance to show our dirty shoe of a house on television, I would.
I can’t wait to be six teen. I’ll fire the answers at Teacher full speed no stops.
My poor friend. KT will put what happened in words and feel better.
I’ll do what I can. If not, I won’t.
text by Zans Brady Krohn
