Deuteronomy: something that Moses and Eliot hushed up

A tiny, black Kitten took a leisurely stroll down a drowsy, prestigious street. Kitten didn’t seem lost or panicked. I would even say that Kitten was rather focused, as if looking for something.

Finally, Kitten chose a cute little porch adorned with dried twigs, pumpkins and autumnal blooms, and climbed onto it. Kitten sat a little bit, and then delved into some unsolicited mail which was tossed around, as if to fill the time.

A passing dog stopped to look at Kitten, then it bristled and started to bark. Kitten ignored this while continuing to pore over a leaflet with ads of whistling kettles.

The door opened a crack and from it an annoyed woman’s voice exclaimed, “Boo! Leave it!” Kitten meowed softly. The voice then changed like the wave of a wand. “Oh… kitty kitty! Just look at this poopsie!” A moment later, two hands scooped Kitten up.

Kitten became a real consolation to the old woman. She fussed over Kitten all the days and nights. She doted on Kitten. And… you know how it happens, yes? Their love was like butter of the herd, and milk of the sheep with the fat of lambs. Like the rams of the breed of Basan. And goats with the marrow of wheat. Drink like the purest blood of the grape. Blah, blah, blah…

And it was good.

Could you blame her? Me neither. Let who is without sin be the first to cast a stone. Love is a tricky thing and you should think twice before you scoop up a tiny kitten from your porch. Where lies the boundary between selfless care and careless selfishness? Whom do we love? Ourselves in the object of love, or the object of love in us? Little black kittens, who slept on your pillow, grow up and occupy your bedroom…

A boombox filled the air with the treacly backbeat of a musical. The digestive repose of a feline’s gastronomy must never be broken whate’er may befall.

That huge black Cat with coruscant fur lazily swayed in a rocking chair in front of the fireplace. The tiny grandma snuggled on his lap, snoring softly.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2016

Water Cure

“Drink.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Drink, I say! You look very thirsty.”

“But… Hey, what are you doing?!”

Streams of water pour on me. I try to face away… I try to cry foul… but my voice drowns in the streams.

“Drink!”

I splutter. I cough. A gray dusty clot, almost weightless, lays inside my empty head. Dehydrated words are tied in a bunch like Chinese tea.

“Drink!”

I choke. I’m full of water. The words start to spin in the whirlpool and swell. The words take shape and color. The gray dusty clot unfolds inside my head… blossoms… and slowly fills the entire space. Now there’s nothing except a big moist poem here. My head is full of the poem, like a tiny teapot with beautiful blooming tea.

“Well, my girl… Now… do you realize how much you were thirsty?”

“Screw you…”

I wipe my wet face and cuss mildly. She smiles and says something… but I don’t listen to her. I open my laptop. WP Admin, Posts, Add New…

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA 
© All rights reserved 2015

Between edges

A road… just two edges and infinity between them. To step on the edge. To diverge from the road. To live, as if you’re immortal, is one edge. To live, as if your death is inevitable, is the other edge.

Edges aren’t the road.

Let yourself be immortal. Walking on the edge. Stepping over the edge. Forget miserable time. Look at yourself without the world. Your every step, your every gesture, your every thought… immortality.

Edges aren’t the road.

Let yourself be mortal. Walking on the edge. Stepping over the edge. Take your final step. Look at the world without you. Without your every step, without your every gesture, without your every thought… mortality.

Edges aren’t the road.

You don’t like edges. They’re dangerous. But if you deny edges… you deny the road. You learnt immortality. You learnt mortality.

You learnt… edges aren’t the road.

A road… just two edges and infinity between them. You go ahead. Infinity is under your feet. You took your road.

A courageous alive creature.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015

a Happy weirdo

Nothing happens without rhyme or reason.
I don’t believe in the power of fate.
But I believe in the power of fake.

…One beautiful day you can find out that you are a blind and deaf dumbhead. It will be a quite degrading discovery, won’t it? OK! You should grieve about your underestimated and mistreated personality for five or six minutes. Don’t do this longer than six minutes! You must appreciate your time!

After that you can start an uprising. You should become a creep. You should put a happy mask on your face. You should look like a “Puttin’ on the Ritz” man. By the way, if you will start to screw with perverts it will really be useful for your rehab…

Don’t think about the opinion of others and don’t forget the handcuff keys at a party! It is very important! Just do it…

Over time you may notice that you aren’t a creep and that you have a happy face under your happy mask. You can forget your old mask at a party one beautiful day… but don’t forget the handcuff keys!

Congratulations!
Your rehabilitation is over. Now you are just a happy weirdo.
And fuck all the world!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

a Fractal

I am pressing Ctrl+S…

Now my last photo looks slightly gruff, but I wanted something like this. This shot was really good, without unnecessary guff. A hot summer day. An empty dusty road. A ramshackle road sign. A lonely cyclist under the scorching sun.

I am smoking and twisting a leaflet in my hands. I found it near my door this morning.

++++++++++[>+++++++>++++++++++>+++>+<<<<-]>++.>+.+++++++
..+++.>++.<<+++++++++++++++.>.+++.——.——–.>+.>.

Young Rewired Wave – Festival of esoteric and nefarious programming languages, San Antonio Fall 2014

 

I am pressing pedals…

I refused the car and now I feel like a coot. I am not a glamper. I prefer to use the achievements of civilization. And now I will be more careful with the term “an adjacent town”. And also, I prefer to use cutlery when I eat.

So, when I noticed a small, shabby looking bar I was very glad. By the way, it looked quite picturesque and I made some photos for my diary. The old door was wonky and needed lubricant. But inside the bar was cute. I ordered enchiladas and beer.

I am waiting for my beer and absently reading leaflets on the table.

++++++++++[>+++++++>++++++++++>+++>+<<<<-]>++.>+.+++++++
..+++.>++.<<+++++++++++++++.>.+++.——.——–.>+.>.

Young Rewired Wave – Festival of esoteric and nefarious programming languages, San Antonio Fall 2014 (to be continued)

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014