CafeLit an the creative Project
Publihsed in Aprilh were:
Ed Ahern,Gregory Ballinger, y Gail Vallance Barrington, Tamarara-Lee Brereton-Karabetsos,Darci Bysouth, Judy Cabito,Brian MacLeod Carey, Henri Colt, Sara E. Das Gupta,Daniel Day,Caittlin Devlins Renee Ebert, Judith English ,Mike Everley, Patricia Feeney, Anita Noelle Green,Stephn Hafft, Héctor Hernández, Alan Jacobs, Rosemary Johnson, leonie Jarrett, Nazia Kamali,Mabel Liegh, Aminah Khan, Mike Lee, Zoé Mahfouz, ROB MOlan, Leah Mueller, Airif Nawaz, Diane Neilson, Haxzel Pearson,Prof Rajeshwar Prasad, S. M. Rosen, Jane Spirit, Charles Sutphin by Aditi Surana, Melissa L Vardy, Ken Whitson,and Mark Winson,
TPOP perfpomin post werr :
· The Geography of Smoke by Atif Nawaz, black coffee (301)
The first call to prayer had not yet risen when the factory siren sounded.
It was not a long sound—just a fractured cry that cut the morning into two unequal halves. Those who lived near the river woke first. Those on the hill heard it only faintly, like something breaking far away.
By sunrise, the smoke had already found its direction.
From the courtyard of his small house, Imran watched the grey column bend toward the old bridge. He did not move at once. The kettle hissed behind him. His daughter, Sana, stood barefoot in the doorway, her hair still loose from sleep.
“Is it ours?” she asked..
He did not answer immediately. The factory had belonged to his father once, before it was nationalized, then leased, then forgotten. Officially, it belonged to no one now. Unofficially, it belonged to the men who still showed up each morning.
“It is the river’s,” he said finally. “Smoke always goes where the river tells it.”
Sana accepted this. Children often accept metaphors as truth.
unleashed by Moossa Casseem, death wish coffee141
I take you back to the night over a year ago when a pack of wolves rushed at me from a forest of data on my computer screen. I shot up, knocking over my chair, my immediate response being one of shock and fear. But I would soon recognise the event to have been a timely intervention from my unconscious, a warning to heed of wolves circling.
I had recently returned from visiting several sites in my capacity as Chief Investigator for a clinical trial, and been absorbed in reviewing data on the efficacy of the drug concerned, a nootropic with the potential to transform users into the most complete individuals cognitively: supremely perceptive, alert and flexible.
I was both exhausted and exhilarated that night. While part of me longed to abandon all thought and effort and simply sink into a deep sleep, I would have pried my eyes open with matchsticks, if necessary, captivated as I was by the trial results, which included numerous participant reports of feeling intensely powerful.
Morning came with the rumbling sound of a refuse truck and the crashing of bins, the last thing I was aware of before slumping to sleep at my desk. I had a dream that the trial data was a symphonic score, and I was conducting an orchestra, creating music that was the most rousing and triumphant ever, when harsh, dissonant trills took over, and I awoke to the din of my phone disrupting the coda in my dream. The Principal Investigator at one of the research sites was calling, concerned that a newspaper was planning to publish a report alleging multiple incidents of serious rage reactions in the drug trial. We agreed that she would investigate the source of this story, and I would ask our media lawyer to caution the newspaper editor.
A thrum of trepidation clung to me as I turned on the radio, and someone said,
‘You better be ready. They are coming for you. You either fight or you die, that’s the truth.’
· Family values by Isaac Berlau, red eye 137
Yesterday, I lied to my father. After the words had left my cracked lips, he observed me. He took account of the way I licked my lips, hoping to add moisture to their flesh. He saw the bead of sweat that was crossing the finish line of a race down my jaw line. He stared deeply into my eyes to see whether or not I would hold his gaze or if I would break away, searching desperately for something that didn’t exist. When saw my eyebrow twitch, he snapped, his hand moving faster than the deafening crack of thunder.
I began putting the pieces back together after they happened, while my ears were chiming bells, and I was counting the stars dancing around my head. He moved before I could even blink, but now I remember him winding back with his left hand open. The hit came so fast, the tips of his fingers broke the sound barrier. The crisp snap that sounded as his hand swung through the air I will remember for the rest of my life. This was not the first time I tried to lie to my father, nor was it the first time that he struck me.
It was the first time, in a long time, that I had not anticipated the impact. I thought I had him. I believed that he would believe the lie. Is that not the foundation of an effective lie? Is it not true that before I can convince anyone of anything mustn’t I believe it, I mean truly believe it, myself? Maybe I simply wasn’t as convinced of my truth as I thought I had been. Perhaps, on the walk home, in the situations and scenarios I had with myself in my head, I had convinced myself that I truly believed the lie which I was about to feed my father. Perhaps my willingness to believe the lie itself overshadowed the fact that deep in my soul, I didn’t actually, truly believe what I was about to say.
Without Sin by Patrick Carella, black coffee (131)
He discovered why it’s called Rockland County the first time he sunk a shovel in his backyard.
Rocks.
Every time he sunk it—ding—another one.
By the end of the day, there were more rocks than dirt.
The meeting began.
James stood up, rigid in his convictions that this was going to be the next big thing.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I present, the Earth Shoe 2.0.’
Brows raised.
‘We take the basic design, but manufacture with modern sensibilities:
‘Bamboo uppers.’
‘Recycled soles.’
‘Non-gendered sizing.’
Charts flipped furiously.
A long pause.
‘What else ya got?’
James felt prickles in his face—like getting splashed with seltzer.
‘Well, it’s a classic design and retro is very in. It can be the next Uggs.’
‘Jim, I know you’re passionate about this project. But I lived through Earth Shoes. I lived through Lil Abners, Jellies, and hiking boots. There’s a reason people stopped wearing them.’