PERFECTION IN ACTION // Don’t Give a Shit

Today I dreamt that I’d crapped my pants off. Yes, pants full of warm, steamy poo down around my ankles. The kind of poo that comes out of you like toothpaste from a tube.

Being an optimist, I googled what good things this could mean. Scrolling through dozens of sites revealed meanings from ‘Problems with money should be anticipated’ to ‘Your financial status will significantly improve in the near future’.

Naturally, none of these happened. I’m a performing circus chimp with clown pants. I don’t need money, just a nice big banana to provide that extra roughage my diet needs.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023

Tumblevision #20

OnlyFans Girl

She’s real but all they want is fantasy.

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023

it should be a song

how much do you really know
is it enough to get by in life
is time the la peau de chagrin
upon which you can make your mark

they say this is the way

can a shrine replace the shrunken heart
how heavy is your dedication
do you wish to join the holy bores
or master self emdr

they say this is the way
it’s your choice to go or stay

have you never seen a kisser
kill off his darlings out of spite
is god the trauma in religion
are you the hearth that warms the home

it’s your choice to go or stay
tomorrow begins today

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Few Lines On Completing Forty-Seven. by Thomas Hood

When I reflect with serious sense,
While years and years run on,
How soon I may be summoned hence –
There’s cook a-calling John.

Our lives are built so frail and poor,
On sand and not on rocks,
We’re hourly standing at Death’s door –
There’s some one double knocks.

All human days have settled terms,
Our fates we cannot force;
This flesh of mine will feed the worms –
They’re come to lunch of course!

And when my body’s turned to clay,
And dear friends hear my knell,
Oh let them give a sigh and say –
I hear the upstairs bell!

by THOMAS HOOD (1799-1845)
Public Domain Poetry

eccedentesiast

authenticity
gets killed by degree
behind each smile’s treachery
i wish my face wasn’t this
that you would see me

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2023