Teti-à-Tête (With Tony) #7

crumble-cult-210

Tati as TATI

crumble-cult-106

Tony as TONY

 

ACT 10 SCENE 2
THROUGH THE BLOWING HOLE

 

Tony comes into the room with a sad face.

TONY: I have news.

Tati blows soap bubbles from a little bubble wand.

TONY: Actually, it’s two pieces of news. Which first? Do you want the good news or the bad news?

TATI: Start with the good.

TONY: Okay, well… Ray gave Mooreeffoc five stars and wrote a brilliant review.

Tati continues to blow bubbles. It looks like she’s trying to get a very big one, but it bursts every time. Tony looks quite annoyed.

TONY: Tati?

TATI: Yes, I’ve heard.

She continues to blow. When another bubble bursts, she says crossly…

TATI: So, shoot! Give me your bad news!

TONY: Ray then gave One Pulse one star and wrote a… well, less brilliant review.

Tati has switched tactics now. She’s begun to blow as many small bubbles as possible.

TATI: Yes, I got you the first time. What’s the bad news?

Tony looks embarrassed. The bubbles have begun clinging to his head. He now looks like Bozo the Clown with frothy hair.

TONY: Five stars. One star. Good news. Bad news. I guess it’s all the same to you, huh?

TATI: If we want only five star reviews, we should ask our moms to write them.

TONY: But don’t we want that? Five star reviews make us look good, and hopefully we sell more copies that way.

TATI: Dunderhead! Every opinion counts! Even the ones we prefer to forget. How else can we improve?

Tati looks musingly at all the bubbles floating around.

TATI: And no one can accuse us that all our reviews are written by friends and family members. Sycophants!

Tati’s gaze settles on Tony and his ridiculous clown hair.

TATI: By the way, you need more shampoo.

She holds up an empty shampoo bottle and wiggles it in Tony’s face.

Tony tries to speak, but only bubbles come from his mouth. Each one floats towards Tati and pops, revealing a letter. They spell out…

W. T. F.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

Schubfachprinzip Bar #3 (Fragment #026)

I was sitting on the box, sipping cold beer, when suddenly something rustled under me. I almost jumped out of my skin with surprise and spilled beer onto the counter. Damn!

Someone began to guffaw. I scowled and was going to give a rebuff, but this loud rustle repeated. I slipped off the box and cautiously peeped into a round hole on the side. There was something white inside, like a big rat or a rabbit. I looked through a hole on the other side. A pigeon! Aren’t they flyers? How on earth could someone cage a poor bird into such a stuffy, dark box? A big poker-picture on the side of the box said Kuckuck Circus’. Of course. That was a given. A circus.

I stood straight up and looked about. The bar had suddenly lost its charm. It was as if someone had twitched the festal cloth off a table and bared its true, smeared and scratched ugly surface.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017

Schubfachprinzip Bar #2 (Fragment #025)

“Get out of the light, bimbo!”

Someone pushed me from behind with much giggling. Why on earth do these idiots call me bimbo all the time? I definitely should change my style! It’s such a pity that I can’t make a public appearance with my real exterior. They would have bitten their tongues then, that’s for sure!

But they were right to some extent. Standing at the threshold wasn’t the best way to spend time in a bar. I went right to the counter and perched on a high, narrow box which served as a bar stool.

The bartender jumped out of nowhere. I opened my mouth to make an order, but he looked me up and down, tsked, and disappeared again. I stayed there with my mouth still open in surprise. What a strange way to serve customers!

I didn’t get a chance to express my indignation. The bartender popped up again. (Was he sitting under the counter?) He plopped a hug mug with dark beer in front of me. Hmm.

The bartender gave me a wink.

“Schubfachprinzip! Do you know how it works?”

I was at a loss. Such an unexpected question! I’ve never supposed that combinatorics and beer could be married. I thought to myself for a moment then said with uncertainty, “Well… if ten pigeons are placed into nine boxes…”

The bartender burst out laughing. I felt a bit embarrassed. Maybe I’d made a muddle. I’m a humanist after all, not a digithead.

“Schubfachprinzip. It’s easy. Drink one box of beer and get another box for free.”

He giggled and disappeared again, leaving me to wonder about such strange mathematics.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017

Schubfachprinzip Bar #1 (Fragment #024)

I felt like a boiled rag. That’s why I’d decided to weasel out of all this bookish bullshit and have a stroll around instead. Aimless walks have always helped me to take my mind off things, to get my head together. And, besides this, I will often find myself in interesting places or near interesting people. If I do possess any talents, this would definitely be one of them.

I was going down a drowsy narrow backstreet, pensive, kicking my toe against a small round stone. Klat! The stone ricocheted off of a worn porch and fell between the bars of a sewer grate. Yuck! I raised my eyes.

‘Schubfachprinzip Bar’.

I snickered. You don’t believe in coincidences, do you? Well, there you’d be wrong, bro.

If you want to arrive at a decent result, you must work with authentic texts.

With this thought and a remnant of a wry smile on my face, I pulled open a heavy wooden door and stepped inside. The interior was really cool! Well… not cool, actually. Perhaps that wasn’t the correct word. Rather, the interior felt right, true. It felt real. If I were to have designed a bar, I would have done it in exactly this way.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017

Broken Poem (Fragment #16)

I knocked at the door.

“Come in!”

The professor was sitting on the window sill without his shoes. It looked a bit strange, but I had gotten used to his little quirks. Generally speaking, our entire magistral staff is a strange sort of panopticon—a freak show if you will—and so sitting barefoot on a window sill looks like kid’s stuff in comparison with the other teachers’ habits.

“What are you staring at? Give me your scribbles!”

I had gotten used to his bad manners too. With impassiveness I offered my worn down notebook to him. The professor opened it, read some lines and screwed up his face.

“What the crap?”

“It’s my homework.”

“Are you sure?”

“It seems so…”

“Quite so. It only seems like homework.”

He tossed the notebook against the wall. It bumped into a shelf of softbound texts, opened and came apart. Lines that I had written with diligence and care crumbled. Words and punctuation marks were scattered higgledy-piggledy in every corner like pieces of a shattered cup. I sniffled and bit my bottom lip.

Gather up this trash. And don’t spoil such precious words with your glamorous bullshit.”

I stood and looked at his bare feet, at those claws clutching over the floor. They were long and crooked with an unpleasant yellow hue…

“Look sharp! I’m not going to hang around for another aeon!”

I started to gather my unhappy poem from the dirty floor. Resentment was slowly turning into fury. Plucked peacock! I will sort you! I will show you anti-glamour!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017