THE ABCs OF A PECULIAR LIFE // F is for Fallow & Freckles

Kamil had been cultivating freckles all his life. It was a respectable family-run business. His father, his grandfather, and his great grandfather before him had all been freckle growers of considerable renown. Their freckles were the pigmentiest of all freckles, and as such beyond compare.

Of course, the business had had its ups and downs throughout the years. They’d almost gone bankrupt in the Victorian era. The skinny, pale, society bitches had shown a preference for frills, power-cleavage and arsenic rather than healthy, non-GMO, organic freckles. But then freckles went gangbusters in the swinging sixties, and the advent of flower power and nude love-ins made everything better. Freckles staged an unexpected comeback.

The golden age of hippiedom returned hope and prosperity to Kamil’s family, and so they dared to buy extra hectares of arable lands. They began growing new varieties of freckles, the more popular ones being shaped like horseshoes, others that twinkled like newly pledged promises, and even more that could be removed and placed elsewhere on the body at will.

Soon, everyone who was anyone was lining up to buy freckles to adorn their bodies with. It got to a point where such luminaries as Mark Zuckerberg, Prince William, Ron Weasley and even Peppermint Patty were counted among Kamil’s most elite clientele. And although negotiations with Leonardo DiCaprio and Garfield regrettably fell through, the demand for freckles was so great that their loss was barely felt.

Of course, the word ‘fallow’ should also be remembered at this point. Growing freckles depletes the soil badly, and after every harvest it’s recommended that the land be left to rest for a period of at least twelve months. If this is not adhered to then instead of freckles only polka dots for panties will grow. But who wants to wear polka dots on the face? No one, that’s who! And that’s why Kamil failed to become a gazillionaire. Alas!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

Horcruxes & Uppercuts!

Dear Reader, let it be known that we always strive to fulfil our promises. Now, you may be asking what it is that we promised this time. Well, let us tell you…

Photos. Insights. Dancing elephants. Okay, maybe not the dancing elephants, but we did promise the first two things. Oh, and our immortal souls. That last thing scares us a bit as we’re both quite private individuals. There are things we don’t even tell each other!

However, Dear Reader, we pledged to make an exception for you. So, now we’re going to pull out our best pink, lacy pantaloons from our most secret chest of drawers and prance around in them. Yes, this is what we wear when we’re taking photos of our favourite things!

We have decided to show you a bit more of our real lives in Australia and Ukraine. Yes, we want to pick out the everyday, ordinary, common things that surround us in our waking hours and reveal them to you. We’ll even compare and contrast them. This could be fun! This could be educational! It could even be both at the same time! Shocking, no?

You, Dear Reader, can even vote on these… should you so wish. Who is cooler? Australia? Ukraine? Or maybe even your own country! (If so, then we demand photographic proof!) Come on, join us! This could be a wonderful bonding exercise as we all get to know each other a little better!

For our first installment we have picked a book series that we both love and own. You can find the photographic evidence over at our Patreon page! Go on! Take a look! You’ll be glad you did!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

27 white raven club

ravens are made for still lifes, y’know
for shitting letters, birthing screenplays
they never like to seem dull or frilly
against the backdrop of grass’s gleam

they fair cavort and caw through the mind
they don’t play dolls or silly chick flick
they much prefer shakespeare and goethe
and titties in tight petticoats

they are the last bulwark of style
all pinstriped flair and gasps of awesome
all top hat and heavy, lace and feathery
pale pearls adorning supple necks

lest you think they’re square-toed, pathetic
turn on your dim-witted, closed-off mind!
ravens teach us to find faith in ourselves
to never be afraid, and in sepia shine

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

BUT IS IT POETRY? // Sunhibitionism

Midday bends
over a city
thoughtlessly,
sun nipple
slips out of cloudy brassiere
shamelessly. It’s hot.

1265542358_ornament

TONY: Wow. This poem’s as hot as I feel!

TATI: Really? Kewl…

(Tati sniffles. Her nose is very runny and red.)

TATI: Ahhh… ahhh… AH CHOO!

(Tony wipes himself off.)

TONY: Lovely. All. Over. Me. Thanks for that.

TATI: You’re welcome, Tony.

TONY: Could you maybe sneeze upwind in future? Anyway, let’s discuss this poem of yours. It’s called ‘Sunhibitionism’.

TATI: Yea… AH CHOO!

(Tony wipes himself off again.)

TATI: Sorry. That was upwind this time.

TONY: Good freakin’ god. It’s like sitting next to a sprinkler.

(Tati gives Tony a helmet.)

TATI: Will you ask me after all?

TONY: About the poem?

(He puts the helmet on.)

TONY: If I can just get a word in with all this projectile snot flyin’ about then yes, I will ask after all.

TATI: And…?

TONY: What made you think of equating weather patterns with the imagery of a woman bending over?

TATI: It was a cloud. Its shape reminded me of a bra… ah CHOO!

TONY: Thank the very Christ for this helmet.

(Tony wipes his visor off.)

TONY: So, do clouds often make you think of women’s undergarments, Tati? Are you some kind of pervert?

TATI: What? Of course no! If a cloud looks like a teddy bear, will you accuse me of liking bestiality too?

TONY: Well, I don’t know what kinkiness goes on inside your head.

TATI: Tony, are we discussing the poem here, or are you trying to fish out my hidden desires?

TONY: Oh, so you do it with fish now? What a sicko…

TATI: Are you going to discuss poetry after all, you freaking pervert? What about my use of imagery, metaphor, and meter? AHHH… CHOO!

(Tony wipes his visor off.)

TONY: You’re sneezing on me on purpose now, aren’t you…

(He takes off his shirt and wrings it dry. Tati sniffles.)

TATI: Dear Readers, because Tony is being extremely objectionable today, let me take up the reins.

TONY: Says the woman who sprays everything with mucous.

TATI: It’s a shadorma.

TONY: Is that what they’re calling it these days?

TATI: What’s that?

TONY: Snot. Shadorma. Must I spell this out?

TATI: Oh, hell. No! It’s a poetic form. Not what your sore fantasy suggests. And if you dare to call yourself a poet, you had better learn some theory!

TONY: Theory? Damn. Then I guess I’m no poet after all. I hardly know any theory when it comes to writing my poems.

TATI: AH CHOO! By the way… do you know? Whenever you say something and someone else sneezes at the same time, it means you are telling the truth.

TONY: I guess it’s confirmed then. I’m a hack.

TATI: Oh. Don’t you want to say, “Bless you?”

TONY: You’re like a cat, Tati. You always manage to land on your feet no matter how far you fall. I’m pretty sure you don’t need a blessing!

TATI: Sunhibitionism.

TONY: Are you sneezing again?

TATI: No, it’s a broad hint.

TONY: To talk about the actual poem, yes?

TATI: Hallelui… ah… ah… AH CHOO!

TONY: Good grief. Okay, so if the sun is like a nipple, is that why we’re often dissuaded from looking at it? It’s too rude, so we might go blind if we do?

TATI: Of course. It’s so mushy little boys like you, Bubby Tony, can continue to play with their toy soldiers… and don’t hide another issue of Playboy under your pillows.

TONY: Are you saying I’m too immature to appreciate your poem?

TATI: Yes, I think so. You’re focused on details and don’t see the whole picture. It’s like you giggle at the nakedness of Venus de Milo, or David. Or poke your finger at Madonna Litta. Ahhh… ahhh… AH CHOO!

TONY: So, is this a commentary on society’s collective shame regarding sexuality? Is that what you’re referring to here? And since when did you begin comparing your poems with the works of such masters? Not that I’m saying your poems aren’t worthy of scrutiny…

TATI: Oh my god! Really?! Was I able to drag you back to the main point of our discussion?

TONY: Hey, I’m perfectly capable of have an intelligent conversation y’know!

TATI: Says the man with a helmet on his head, and sprinkled all over with mucous shadorma!

TONY: Excuse me all to hell then! I’m off to have a much needed shower…

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017