Author Archives: Tetiana Aleksina

GUEST POST // Lonely Place / Lugar Solitário by Ephemeral Mementos

Its a lonely place,
to love you;
A sad song,
with no prose;
A declaimed poem,
without rhymes.

Its living a life,
without objectives;
Sculpting marble,
without chisel;
Painting lovely pictures,
without paint.

Its suffering from a terminal illness,
that never ends;
to lack air to breath,
each time you inhale.
to weep deeply,
with dry eyes.

Its conquering the World,
for nothing;
Giving up,
one step away from the finish line
and remain there, looking,
watching the others go by.

(Portuguese Original Version)

É um lugar solitário,
amar-te;
uma canção triste,
sem prosa;
um poema declamado,
sem rima.

É viver uma vida,
sem rumo;
esculpir mármore,
sem escopro;
pintar murais lindos,
sem tinta.

É sofrer de doença terminal,
que não tem fim;
ter falta de ar,
ao respirar;
chorar profundo,
de olhos enxutos.

É conquistar o Mundo,
para nada;
Desistir,
a um passo da meta,
e ficar, olhando,
vendo os outros passar.

by EPHEMERAL MEMENTOS
© All rights reserved 2014

Oops!… We Did It Again (Immortality)

Erm… hullo there. (This is rather awkward…)

Dear Reader, the stuff that was originally posted here has been removed.

We have done this because said stuff has since been included in one of our published books. We hope you’ll believe us when we say we’re not trying to be stingy. No, this has been done to honour the people who have already spent their hard-earned money on our eBook creations.*

If, however, for some reason you’re unable to buy one of our books, and feel you’ll die without seeing this piece of writing, then please contact us via admin@unbolt.me. We won’t allow our Dear Readers to fade away in the dark. We’ll send you the piece in question, and it will be absolutely free. All you need do is ask.

* Of course, we would be like two happy puppies if you too decided to buy one of our books.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2014-2018

the Bronze Horseman (Fragment #025)

My work in the museum is what I would call my hobby, as my work in B.O.S.O.M. is my real source of income. It’s a very nice, financially advantageous environment… if you can adopt the thought that you are merely a tool – a means to an end. Filth, innuendos and deviant urges are all commonplace, routine parts of the job here. Nobody will be polite towards a kettle or a floor mat. It’s normal. The wishes of our clients are supreme law here. Because (sorry for my banality!) they pay. OK, let’s do without naming the number I dance to!

Generally, we all do everything, and we can’t reject orders. But everyone has their own private preferences. Betty, for example, likes to be a piano or a harp. She likes music and musicians. (By the way, she has a really rad voice! She might make a great career out of it.) Damn! I looked away again! My bad!

What about me? If you’re reading this part of my scribble, you should know that my passion is literature. I like to be a book. I like writers and readers. I like to be written and to be read. I’ve been educational supplies and novels, vignettes and literary magazines. They’ve yearned for sweethearts and derided malevolent persons with me. They…

– Hey, baby! A client is waiting for you!

I put aside the anthology of The Silver Age of Russian Poetry.

– Come in, Schulz!

He’s a really great guy. He always tries to select clients for us whose proclivities match our personal bents.

– What is it today, Schulz?
– A reader. Pushkin. The Bronze Horseman.
– Not bad!
– Yes… I know you like books and Pushkin, baby… but there is a slight change. Today won’t be ink.

Suddenly, I notice the heavy awl and a packet of little metallic beads in his hands.

– What the hell?
– Sorry, baby… It’ll be Braille. Your client is blind.

“And turned to him with his back, proudest,
On height that never might be tossed,
Over Neva’s unending wildness,
Stands, with his arm, stretched to skies, lightless,
The idol on his brazen stallion.”

Oh, my poor over-extended spine… Fuck! Pushkin! Son of a bitch! Why did you write such lengthy poems?! I hate you and your excessively descriptive style! Now I’ll only read Matsuo Basho! (to be continued)

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

My special thanks to Cyan Ryan
for the grammar corrections and improvement this essay!

Why do you crave my Autumn? // Что в осени тебе моей?

This post was created at the insistence of Cyan Ryan. His friendly support and professional editing helped me to express myself as fully as possible in English, in a language that isn’t native for me. This post is a punctilious translation of my poem in Russian, that was published before on the 10th of October, 2014. And I’m happy that now I can present you a really high-quality translation!

∼ ∼ ∼ ∼ ∼

Why do you crave my Autumn?
She is untameable and transparent.
She has few cheery days, and many dreary greys.
Her cold hand can’t enhearten with its touch.
Her pale cheeks never blush from sensual affections or lust.
Only empty endlessness lies behind Her pellucid blue eyes’ lids.
Her altar, a pedestal entitled ‘Eternity’, is seasoned with the ashes of the ordinary.

I met Her by chance one noisy summer day.
It looked like She loved me.
She passed away long ago, while Her residue remained within.
Why do you so crave my Autumn?

∼ ∼ ∼ ∼ ∼

Что в осени тебе моей?
Она дика и молчалива.
Немного в ней веселых дней
И много – серых и тоскливых.
Ее холодная рука
Не ободрит прикосновеньем,
И не зардеется щека
Желанья сладостным томленьем.
В глазах прозрачных голубых –
Лишь пустота и бесконечность.
Усыпан прахом дел земных
Алтарь – подножье слова ‘Вечность’

В один из шумных летних дней
Я с ней случайно повстречалась.
Похоже, нравилась я ей…
Она давно уже скончалась,
Но часть ее во мне осталась.
Что в осени тебе моей?

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

GUEST POST // Hunter/Death by Purple Creature

The Night is coming,
The Hunter smiles a sly smile.
Darkness is his friend,
Stillness is his anthem.
The Hunter will descend upon you
With the quickness of lightening,
And the power of Thor’s might hammer.
Don’t be afraid,
Take comfort in knowing,
He is here specifically for you.
The Hunter,
Has been tracking you,
Has been watching you,
And now has come for you.
Before your body collapses to the floor,
If you concentrate, for a fleeting moment,
You will be able to smell the sweetness
Of the Hunters aroma,
Just before he draws your last breath.
Into his mouth,
Into his Soul,
Where you will now reside FOREVERMORE…

by PURPLE CREATURE
© All rights reserved 2014