firth time

the sky is so low today
i can reach it with my hand
rake the lightning from the clouds
make a crown of electric thorns

the fog is arcane today
i can absorb it with my skin
get gnostic by osmosis
wet in the haar of angel stranding

the sand is so sonant today
i can hear it with my feet
till with toes between the grains
fill to sprig from unheard prayers

and here i am, another day
walking free among the dunes
i’m the arrester and catalyst
time and tide wait for no god

Firth Time

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022

PERFECTION IN ACTION // The Scientific Substantiation of the Theoretical Aspects of the Perfect Seasonal Shape

I’ve given this topic a lot of thought. I’ve examined the ancient treatises and latest research. I’ve compared, pulped, sniffed and even licked them a little bit. And now I know the perfect shape for the perfect Christmas toy. So, you’d best don your Rudolph antlers and noses, grab yourselves a shot of brandy, and lean into what I’m about to say…

I’m not kidding by the way! Please don’t take this flippantly! It’s a very, very serious topic! One day, this information could save your entire Christmas.

The perfect shape for the perfect Christmas toy is a ball. Period.

Xmas Shape

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022

Pop(u)lar Issues

The real God lives behind the comic book store that’s down the street from the hospital where the meth heads congregate to count all the crows circling above them. And it’s those very crows that are plotting to murder the fake God that lives in the next town over, who does so because he can’t stand the real God’s fakeness and the cottonwoods there that used to fuck with his hayfever when he was a small child god.

But this story isn’t about any of that. It’s about the aforementioned cottonwoods—those bloody cottonwoods, the bane of my youth! Ask me about the most paranormal things in the world. Bermuda Triangle? Pah! Just a mess of seaweed, plastic bags and used women’s pads fucking boats and planes up. Area 51? I beg you, try taking a peep under my grandma’s bed and you’ll discover a shit ton of extra-terrestrial civilisations that’ve been there from the dawn of time (if you don’t suffocate from the stench of crusty old socks first). But those cottonwoods? Now those were a completely different matter.

The cottonwoods were real mean motherfuckers all year round. Not only would they eat your balls whenever you played with them (no, not those balls—I’m talking about the ones you toss at windows), they’d eat your frisbees and hats, and even umbrellas too. And did you ever get any of that stuff back? Of course not! The upward facing branches of the cottonwoods exercised a death grip more potent than the kite eating tree in ‘Peanuts’. We kids were in a world of hurt that Charlie Brown could have only dreamed of!

But that wasn’t the worst thing about those cottonwoods. Not even their godawful fluff that’d bung up your nose and mouth (and other more unseemly holes) whenever you passed them in the summer. That fluff, at least, had the decency to catch fire easily, burning quickly and amusingly (and that wooden barn was old and abandoned anyway). No, that shit was fine. It was the fundamentalist numbats that had taken up residence in the cottonwoods—they were the worst thing! They should’ve been living out their lives in the gum trees or pubs (or wherever the hell such things live), but decided instead that tediously evangelising far and wide was more important than their evolutionary roots.

Well, actually, you know what? When I come to think of it, I think I could have even borne their endless chittering about the immortal soul and perishable body, and how people who pick their noses and say ‘fuck’ won’t get into heaven, and how one can be best buds with the real God and other such bullshit. But that creaking! Do you know how awfully creaky cottonwoods are? The sound was like two Skeksis mating shamelessly on a pile of jinky bed springs—I don’t know how I know that, but trust me, that’s exactly what it was like! And I hate it! Why were butt ugly Skeksis getting some and not me? I was a pretty enough girl when I was in my teens! Why weren’t guys falling all over themselves to get inside my panties?

Elysium

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022

the lens effect

i dawdled over the anthill
‘midst the pomp and toil of their empire
and, boy, did they go apeshit!
spilling out like angry fizz from a bottle bomb

just look at their big-assed queen
they dance over the floozy like she’s putinella
swarm, kill, and swarm again!
the final solution visited upon my foot

we didn’t mean for another anti-rashist poem
but it’s been pretty hard to refrain from this
sorry, we’re not sorry, they started it!
and the sooner those ants fry ‘neath the lens of truth…

…then all the better

The Lens Effect

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022

Tumblevision #8

TV MistakeYup, mistakes still happen, but you can check out all the fixed up ‘Trottersville’ strips at Tapas, Webtoon, Ko-fi and Patreon now! (And, by the way, Tati’s still making with the colouring thang despite the constant blackouts caused by Russian missiles raining down on peaceful Ukrainian cities.)

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022