7days7authors

Monday - They Told You To be Kind - David McGovern

Washing off the bitter sweat, licking
of the wine I rubbed off
that synthetic
scent which
permeates me all
the time.  Suds
and fame are
once again clogged
in the drain.

A large industrial
nation was
dancing Friday night. In dim
light I mistook
him for an antidote.  A tour
of the warehouse
district led
to broken legs.

I dreamed
I was a cowboy
vigilante.  A
sheriff maimed
all my friends, we
played board games
in candle light.

If the egg is
closed, then we’ve
slept too much.
What a waste to
wash the sheets when
we sleep on
folded clothes.

Monday - The Walking Coma - David McGovern

The walking coma? Boy, yeah. Yeah I know the walking coma. Shit, yeah, I know it. I seen men with it. Women too! Boy, yeah, you don’t want that. No, no no boy. Boy no. Yeah, the walking coma. I had it too. Yup, yeah. Man, shit I had it. You get everything, you get it. When that walking coma sets in you don’t see nothing but the truth and shit, it is so simple. Don’t nothing matter. It is just there, right in front of you. You can’t do anything but walk straight for it man, but you can’t go too fast, you might scare that truth. That is why the coma sets in. You need to take your time man.

So, shit, yeah, I had the walking coma a few years back. I start strolling toward it and I am a cart horse with the blinders on man. Fucking blinders. I am looking for that carrot, I WANT to be lead down that racetrack, down those wheel ruts. So I’m looking for that carrot, I think I make out a string or something, but, shit, nothing. The edges of everything go gray, I dim everything, hoping that orange carrot can stand out on the monochrome backdrop. Man, I am telling you, when it all goes gray there is NO orange, just more gray.

So I am wandering, I am looking I am walking. I am the walking coma. Then it is there man, right there, a few yards away, it is the fucking truth man. I am calm. It all makes fucking sense. I guess it is like dying, you know, they say “being at rest”. You ask me a question right then, right at that moment man, and shit, I would know the answer. Ask me to name the French Royalty in order from tallest to shortest and man, I’ll do it. Ask me the cubic volume of Venus, and shit, I know that too. Ask me what your favorite color is, and man, I may not know but I bet you I get your second favorite.

So there is the truth right, in all this fucking gray. I still shouldn’t run boy, no no. I cannot run. Physically I am able, you understand? But the truth is a doe man, I scare that shit and off it goes, gone man, probably forever. So I am walking straight up to it. Truth has got its ears twitching, yeah man truth has got ears, each one going in a separate direction. I’m close now man, shit am I close, I can smell its breakfast on its breath man.

Then my knee starts hurting, I hear it creaking and popping with every step. Shit, man, now I know truth heard me cause its ears stop twitching. I lose some of its outline in the gray man. Shit shit right? So I start walking faster, but damn it all man, shit. Too fast right? Truth fucking fades away man. I stretch out my hand at the last place I saw its faint outline man and shit man, it’s gone. Nothing there! Nothing man. Then all the colors are back man. I hadn’t noticed before but the noise was gone too, but its back now. It is roaring in my damn ears. I’m getting a headache, I’m getting dizzy. Shit man, I don’t even know where I am. Everything is so bright and colorful it is goddamned depressing. Man, shit, man you know? Shit man, yeah I know the walking coma. I can’t wait boy, can’t wait. Lightning don’t strike twice right man, but shit, if it did …

Sunday - A Malady Particular To This Generation (IV) part 2 - Will

When he got to the booth Brooklyn had selected—her back to the wall, but somewhat secluded in the bar—she was still at the iPhone, but trying to keep it hidden.

Could a person touch-type with a thumb?

“One appletini madam.”

“‘Madam’? My aren’t we formal.” Now one hand held the appletini, and the other was furtively and furiously working the iPhone keypad.

“It seemed appropriate.”

“So…”

“So…”

More thumb movement.  A little laugh.

“May I ask what you’re doing with the iPhone?—which is very nice by the way,”  Mike wasn’t cheap, also felt that anyone who could afford to drop $500 or so for a cell phone could also buy her own drink.

“You may.”

“Oh. What are you doing with the phone?”

“Liveblogging our date.”

“Oh. Wait what?”

Another laugh.  “Liveblogging it.  I didn’t expect a double take.  That’ll be good stuff.”

“So you’re what…transcribing the whole thing online?”

“Pretty much.  I’ll go back and edit it when I get home, so only a few of my friends will see it like it is now.”

“Wow.  That’s cool I guess” Mike liked attention, but wasn’t quite sure if this was more or less than normal.

“Wanna know a secret?  This is my first time.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“…”

“You just typed ‘I can’t believe he made the “first time” joke’ didn’t you?”

A genuine smile.

“Maybe.”

Mike thought he could get used to it, provided she’d put the phone away at the end of things.

Saturday - Where Hearts Should Lie (Part 1) - Jacob Martinez

Common sense tells us that in order to really see the truth in someone, you’d have to konw them for years, a lifetime maybe. But common sense is wrong. Because sometimes all it takes is a look.

My life began five years ago, and I’m not talking about my birth-date, I’m talking about my life. Before that I only existed, and talked and laughed my way through existence. Of course I did not know I wasn’t alive back then. I had no clue. I won’t bother you with what I did then, because that is not important. Five years ago I met my friend ændɹu or rather, I was picked to be his friend, and he picked to be mine. By who isn’t really for me to know, and it doesn’t matter much in the end anyway. Someone who knew what they were doing.

Whether his life also began with the introduction of Her and me is unfair to say. He may regard his previous life very fulfilling. But he probably doesn’t. Before I introduce Her. The Her. The Her that is the subject and catalyst of this story, you’ll have to know what it was like without her which in itself is difficult to explain. It’s like seeing a painting that is so remarkable, so devestating, that it blows your socks off. It’s like that. Only the second before you see the painting. Like an overhead that is focused, but not quite. Enough to know that you may be missing something, but not enough to bother trying to see what it is.

It was the beginning of the beginning of my life, and labor pains were starting. The daunting nervousness, an uneasy feeling not only common with birth, but a simple fact of life. The first day. The first day in a new world, only unfamiliar faces staring back. It was The Dark Room. Do you want to know how it got it’s name? Simple. It was a room filled with darkness. Darkness so dark that at some point the darkness ceased to be dark and become perfect black. And so it was.

Chairs were arranged in a large circle, no tables, just chairs, so those who had brought bags were forced to stuff them under their seats. I had no bag. I looked out, through my new eyes. There were not many chairs left. I picked one of them, next to a beast, a man that could rip me in half if he was so inclined, though he was occupied by the music coming out of his ears.

I sat there with the beast. Uncomfortably at first, silently. Speaking was something that those who had been alive, and who had time to learn and practice speaking did. So I did not speak. He came then. Almost late, as he almost always was. He came and he sat in the only chair left, and it couldn’t have been farther away from me. He was yellow. Now I am aware that yellow is a color and that as such it probably brings about different perceptions in each of us who sees it, and even that some of you who are reading this may not have ever even seen the color, but that is the way he made me feel, and I will offer no more description.

Seeing him triggered something in me. A vision. A vision like the sooth-sayers of old, a vision of what was to be. And I had one eye open and one eye closed from that point on. Of course I said nothing about my vision, and sat silent next to the beast.

Wednesday - From Here to There - Brandon

Mark sits on a snow lift, a snowboard strapped to his left foot. A girl he doesn’t know, and who is wrapped up in enough gear to barely make out her features, sits next to him. She wears skis. They’ve been on the lift for about 30 seconds when Mark decides to stop hiding behind taking in the view and say something.
“Hi. I’m Mark,” he says through a smile.

The girl turns to him, pushes her scarf away from her mouth with her mittens, and replies:

“Hi Mark. I’m Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you, Sarah. Are you from around here?”

“Oh. No. I’m from Michigan. I’m here with my family for the weekend… Are you?”

“Nope. I live in Los Angeles. But, I’m from Chicago. I came out with some friends for the weekend. We’re spread out all over the country.”

“That’s fun.”

“Yeah.”

Mark looks around. Sarah pushes snow off her ski using her pole.

skiers and boarders swoosh bye underneath. The village behind them seems like a scale model. The mountain in front an almost attainable goal.

Mark looks at her skis, he speaks…

“All my friends ski. I’m the only snowboarder.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah, I thought I’d give it a try and I’ve fallen in love with it.”

“I never tried it before.”

“You really should. When you get the chance.”

“I don’t know. I think I’ll stick with my skis.”

The end of the line can be seen. Seven chairs ahead of them, a first time skier is nervous about getting off the chair. She clumsily stands off the lift. She falls, dragging down the person with her. They stop the lift.

Mark and Sarah sway in the cold. Above glistening snow covered grounds. Pine trees dot the landscape. Mountains and blue skies span forever.

Mark asks, “Are you staying nearby?”

Sarah answers:

“The Grizzly Bear Lodge. It’s nice.”

“My friends and I are renting a cabin. If you’d like to meet up later…”

“Oh. Thanks. I don’t think I can. My family…”

Mark switches gears, “Oh. No worries. That’s cool.”

Sarah smiles and pulls her scarf over her mouth. The lift begins to move. Mark looks down on the people below. He readies himself to exit the lift. Their chair reaches the end. They push off. Mark heads left. Sarah heads right.

-walpaper.tumblr.com

Monday - 14/2/08: an excerpt - David McGovern

One hour to London. We are
about to fly over Ireland. Just
looking at the map. Dublin and
Belfast were there and Shane
just in-between. I sort of
slept, more dozed on and
off. My eyes are buggin me
but thats only becuase
Prescott had pink eye I am
sure. Now for the part of
this trip I’ve been fearing
the most: the transfer. It’s
about 5:40 AM local. Shouldn’t
the sun be rising? Shouldnt’t we
be flying into a sunrise?

http://axelrod.tumblr.com/

Sunday - A Malady Particular To This Generation (IV) part 1 - Will

“Mike?”

“Yeah.  Brooklyn?”

“Yeah.”

She was shorter in person than Mike thought she’d be.  This had become a chronic issue for Mike.  If pulled aside by some semi-officious statistician that dealt with height and asked what he thought the average 20-something female’s height would be, Mike would probably guess “at least 5’7.”

Brooklyn looked more or less exactly like her Facebook profile pictures: Short, reddish-brown hair (likely red highlights added in recently), clear, untan (but not pale) complexion.

Green eyes.

She had on one of those fancy belts that Mike thought looked like a curtain pull tied about the waist, jeans, and UNC blue blouse showing a teasing-but-not-taunting amount of cleavage.

Her only accessory was an iPhone, which she was somehow typing something on using only her left thumb.

“So, should we get some drinks?”

“Sure.  I’ll have an appletini.”

”Scrubs fan?”

“What?”

“The show?  Scrubs?  Zach Braff?  That guy from Office Space?”

“Oh. No. I just like them.  Plus Scrubs is on opposite Grey’s so I can’t watch it.”

“Ok.  Well I’ll be right back with the drinks.”

The whole time, Brooklyn’s thumb was going nuts on her iPhone.

Mike thought it a bit presumptuous to assume he was paying for the drinks, and wasn’t a huge fan of playing waiter with them—this was mainly the result of several dates in a row where all the women paid for their own drinks, and the most recent two seemed insulted and pissed off at the notion that Mike would pay for both.  Now Mike’s “Golddigger radar antenna” was up, and he thought getting a draft PBR would be a good preventative tactic.  That many folks can’t tell a lager from an ale from a pilsner, and any beer in a beer glass will look pretty similar—that didn’t enter his mind.

When he got to the booth Brooklyn had selected—her back to the wall, but somewhat secluded in the bar—she was still at the iPhone, but trying to keep it hidden.  Could a person touch-type with a thumb?

Saturday - Turning in and out - Jacob Martinez

Wednesday - The Kid - Brandon

The Kid is twelve years old. The Kid solves mysteries. He’s got a sidekick and a skateboard. You’d be hard pressed to discover his birth name, he goes by “The Kid”. He wears a tiny little sport coat and brown tweed pants. He’s got freckles sprinkled across the cheeks and carries around a small black back pack. There’s always an antiquated tape recorder, the size of a twinkie, in his palm.

It’s the last day of school - the last day of his 6th grade year. He wakes up, wipes the sleep from his eyes, and rises from his bunk bed. He sleeps on the bottom, the top is always empty…

-walpaper.tumblr.com

Monday - You said: "This morning's sleepy kiss was the best" - David McGovern

Following your mother’s written instructions
we constructed each layer three
times (three separate layers
not one layer three
times.) At first I tentatively
grated cheese with
a cowbell but then with more
vigor as my wrist clenched
from repeated strained
motion. I began to
sweat. I understood my mother’s
own saturation
on furious holiday eve’s running
and twirling between
refrigerator’s cool wheeze, oven’s
sigh, and baking sheets’
release.
I sprinkled the soft cheese (each shredded
piece a pillow, inviting sleep, release,
escape - each curl whimsical, white. I wanted
to say snow, but snow was
it’s own wonder. In summer I
did not want to
conjure what would be
cursed in 6 months. I will fix
on pillow) on top of your
layer - my favorite. Other mothers and mustached
men have stuck
their nails and digits in powdery
mix. You enlightened
me: 1
egg, ricotta
cheese, parsley. You spread
the hand-mashed mortar
with a shallow mouthed
wooden spoon. Leaning
against the counter
I held my beer
at thigh level and watched. My
chest was full: heart
was a butterfly, my lunch
will be saved
for tomorrow.

——-

http://axelrod.tumblr.com/