Author Archives: Tetiana Aleksina

my Cemetery

Yesterday I heard a conversation behind my back. It was very ordinary and dull. Just more gibberish from stupid humans. I was cleaning my shovel, was sniffing the smell of hexane and was trying not to comprehend the general sense of this conversation. By the way, I am a very neat person. I hate the slobs and loafers because chaos and bumble are the signs of life! Meanwhile, the ideal order is the prerogative of death. That is why a shovel must always be clean…

‘I fear to walk in the cemetery’, the first voice said unexpectedly.
‘But I like this!’ the second voice answered.

I turn. The room is empty. Only my old ATT-8509 is snapping. (Of course, I require a new model but I prefer the good old things.) Hmmm… As always, the voices tend to vanish and do not respond in their own words… The happy voices! They have a choice. I do not have it because a cemetery is part of me. No! Because I am part of a cemetery… Hell! Bloody pragmatics! I cannot find an apt definition!

Every morning I walk along the alley with the tombstones into my new day. Every evening I stand near my graves. Near my own graves. I like to reread my favorite and funny epitaphs.

‘She was crying when somebody was telling insults to her.’

‘She was wasting an immense amount of effort for the sake of awkward attempts to be good for all.’

‘She was practicing self-loathing and was considering this a right thing.’

My poor girls… My dear graves… Fortunately, now I do not have a lot of worries with them. But I am cleaning my shovel and peering inside myself every day. I am keeping my ideal death order.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

GUEST POST // Long Bones & Lace by Field of Thorns

I wait here alone
Cursed without sleep
In my fragile vanilla tower —
Off-white, yellowed with age
Made up of cross sections
Of mainly manly long bones
Thin little discs
My palace, my keeps
My Honeycomb Catacombs
Wafers, not for consumption
Articulated — in kind
With precious cabochon gemstones
Emeralds and Peridots of Olivine Greens
Queens envying
The nine lives of Tiger’s Eyes.

I wait here lonesome
Accursed with sleeplessness
But for the birds —
Crimson canaries
Made red by a parting sea
Fly in skein and swain
Speed, the likes I’ve never seen
The blur of Autumn Reds leave a trail
Vermillion swish with a tail
Scarlet whoosh of wind
Ruffling the chimes of ivory
Humanity’s wind chimes of teeth
Gentle ivory chatter floats on the breeze
Behind by the flight, of crimson canaries.

I wait here alone
Cursed without sleep
All that is heard
In my silent world
Teeth softly speaking
Agile words once left unspoken
Grace the halls, grace the walls
Secrets to my keeps
Released, by the whispering ivory
To a privileged ear
Untold confessions unfold
Not so far, but near
A lovely chimed chant to hear.

I wait here lonesome
Accursed with sleeplessness
As Day retreats
Dusk turns to Dark
In my world of Threes
An unholy trinity — a trilogy
Amber to lavender
Lavender to a violet gray night
Candles of fat and marrow
Burn throughout the night
While Morpheus greets
My little quilled crimson canaries
Jealous, suffering from a constant wake
All is quiet, all is in a hushed state.

I wait here alone
Cursed without sleep
Silence is fleeting —
Lit wicks shadow-cast
Prance the dance of Seven Veils
Flames shimmer and flicker
To a snake charming flute
Hypnotize and mesmerize
These watchful eyes
Until the dawn arrives with Eos
Waking my crimson canaries
She swings open Heaven’s Gates
Releasing a golden amber sunrise
A Passing Passion bright
Silhouettes of lace
Rays of light fill my keeps
Beautiful champagne streamers
Crawl through holes in honeycomb
Where catacombs sleep and weep.

I wait here lonesome
Accursed with sleeplessness
To repeat, to repeat —
Full circle, no prey, no pray
No need for it’s perfectly clear
As I’m cursed to wait here
In my vanilla tower
Wafers of honeycomb
Crimson canaries
Softly speaking teeth
Amber sunrises
Lavender afternoons
Dancing flames of the violet gray nights
Waiting behind the Seven Gates
What more could I want —
While waiting alone and awake?

by FIELD OF THORNS
© All rights reserved 2014

GUEST POST // Alone by Purple Creature

The holidays have arrived again, but the phone remains silent.
Cold leftovers, and empty house, filled with shadows,
Of what’s once was, and will never be again…
I walk amongst people, but are familiar with none.
Lines have creased my once vibrant face…
Smaller and arched is now my once proud posture.
ALONE
Life is cruel, it moves all around me, yet ignores me…
Invisible, unremarkable, an after thought…
A very distant forgotten memory I have become…
The touch of another person, the interaction of a conversation,
The glances and recognition that I even exist, are now alien…
Who am I ? What have I become? And how I got here, are questions
I ask myself as I look at the reflection staring back at me…
I am looking at a stranger looking back at me, someone I no longer recognition…
Now… I am truly…
ALONE

by PURPLE CREATURE
© All rights reserved 2014

Alice

Ivory and ebony, rock crystal and brocade,
Her life is sweet and lovely like Dundee marmalade,
Her life is bright and sparkling, a magic fairy tale…
I met her eyes. I saw her truth. A caged nightingale.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

Liebster Blog Award. Hall of Fame. Greet Spahr Plops!

liebsters-multiplying-with-lines

11 exciting answers by Spahr Plops

(original version is here)

1. Can e-readers replace traditional books completely?
-I don’t want the replacement to be complete. I’m not sure if it will ever be absolute, but obviously we’re witnessing a change. I can see major providers offering charging stations and samples to download on modern fancy lounge things while you go up to get coffee or tea. Bring your own tablet or look like the fools in the back of the store hogging wired ones, like old payphones. Maybe.

2. Do your parents read your blog?
-No. I would be shocked if they knew about it. We don’t really talk.

3. What emotion (mood) is the most productive for your creative work?
-Calm, well fed, and ready. Then I sit for a bit.

4. Praise VS Criticism. What is more useful for you?
-I think they’re equal in what they can give to me. Praise gives me confidence which I can use to try and be my best. Criticism gives me insight, which I can use similarly.

5. Will you continue to write even though everybody says, ‘It sucks!’?
-If I didn’t write, I would die much faster. I just wouldn’t share as frequently if I saw that I sucked.

6. Is it hard for you to choose a pseudonym?
-It wasn’t difficult for me. It plopped into my head.

7. Do you want to be famous?
-Don’t think so. Unless it meant money wouldn’t be a worry.

8. Are you afraid of to see your bio on a bookshelf in the nearest bookstore?
-Bio? I would be afraid to see it look thin. Then I would wonder who my stalker was. Yes, I would be afraid.

9. Imagine that you’re on a stage and all your followers are standing in front of you. Is it easy to make a speech in real life?
-I would be nervous, but I wouldn’t want to let any of you down. I’m sure I’d make a fool of myself somehow. Hopefully not too embarrassingly.

10. Should art be an accurate reflection of life?
-Reflections are too relative, what would accurate be to everyone? Reflections also change, what was once accurate to the artist then isn’t always now. Art is a creative outlet shared among communities built around its contributors with an aim to increase some sense or senses of understanding. I don’t want to say it should be anything, but things happen by effect. Those involved in their select sects believe their interests to be an accurate reflection of themselves. Their life. It doesn’t have to be accurate, it’s sorta contrived to be that way.

11. Any random fact about you. Just for fun!
-My favorite animal is a lemur.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & SPAHR PLOPS
© All rights reserved 2014