Category Archives: PROSE

a Mess on the sky (Fragment #029)

It was a mess on the sky…

I was designated for the visual arts. I was accurately planned but I was impatient. I was fidgeting and knocking. Our breed was losing its own positions at an alarming rate. My parents were studying tarot, the manuscripts and natal charts thoroughly… they couldn’t goof again. I was made with a mechanical precision. A day, an hour… Yuck! I don’t even want to imagine this sterile and dull process!

Sun Opposition or Square Pluto.
Mercury Sextile or Trine Neptune.

The degrees, the angles, the seconds. It was a big mess on the sky.

Pluto had a hangover syndrome. Why? It was because of… Hey! It’s not your funeral! I promised to keep this secret! Venus, like every woman, was running late. Mars, as always, was on the routine of war…

Uranus came first. He sat with Scorpio and smoked. “Your generation is noted for their willingness to dispel social taboos of all kinds. You push the boundaries of accepted behavior. Fanaticism is a common trait in your generation.”

Jupiter and Cancer. I don’t like either of them. I’m usually playing hooky during their lectures… “Your warmth and willingness to accept all people for who they truly are makes even the most inhibited people feel comfortable around you. You strive to bring those who feel disenfranchised from life back into the fold of humanity.”

Wow! Bingo! Venus and Mars came! “Your powerful emotions make you a lover of the arts as well. You feel music and art speaks to you. Generally beauty of any kind has an affect on you.” “Because you feel you are a natural leader you do much better giving orders than you do taking them.”

It was a hellish mess on the sky! 

I appeared without warning. Uranus dropped his tobacco pipe. Scorpio and Cancer stopped playing chess. Venus squealed. Only Mars, like a true warrior, was calm and gazed at Venus’s boobs. I was accurately planned. I was designated for the visual arts. But I was impatient. My parents fucked up again. (to be continued)

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

My special thanks to Cyan Ryan
for the grammar corrections and improvement this essay!

a Combat neuron

My nerves are trembling… I can’t even press a button. Fucking switch! If the BigEyeSpy winks at me tonight, I’ll have the third misdeed. I’ll have even bigger problems with the Council of Observation. And I’ll not be able to use my insomnia or chronic fatigue as my vindication. They’ll not believe me again. It could end with a verdict of ‘Apoptosis!’ and then it’ll really be a ‘peace-death’ for me… I should stop! I hate to yammer! I mumble, “Take this cup away from me…” and abruptly push this damned button.

A tepid wind is blowing, the oval room is wiggling… All right! I’ve connected to the Daily Dissonance. Now I’m part of the tracking system. I’m a combat neuron in the artificial neural network. I’m a good manipulator, I can control both the most powerful and the most dispensable influx… Oh! My bad! I forgot to introduce myself! Sorry! My name is Werther. I’m an operator of suicidal impulses. I must detect and actualize these impulses. And I must overwrite the instinct of self-preservation.

Today I hooked a girl. An ordinary young girl. She floundered in questions about the spread of Solidarity death and how this life looked like a Moebius strip. This endless strip was killing her, and making her weak and silly. It had to stop.

When I cut the strip my nerves did not tremble. That is why they pay me. Because I can be resolute. Because I can give my resoluteness to others.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

My special thanks to Cyan Ryan
for the grammar corrections and improvement this essay!

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

a Muse (Prologue)

Урок 28 - The Muse (by Gloom82)

Another masterpiece by Anton Semenov. Do you like? No?! Damn him… go away!

– Write!

Cold water flows down my face and I open my eyes. Damn him! Again… My nose inhales fusty air and I understand that this nightmare isn’t just a delirium. It’s real… I take up the wet pen. I write ‘fuck you’ carefully in the moist writing-book. Letters are dancing and I close my eyes, but I can’t close my ears.

– She will write. She can. She’s trying to rebel but I can force her.

…give me the strength to speak and to be silent
give me the strength to be a lamb and a tyrant…

Some might suppose that this is my paradise. I would agree if it were not for one zesty detail… What would you name the paradise that you can’t leave? I call it ‘a gaol’. Do you want to debate this? No? I thought not…

…give me the strength to inflict the death-blow
give me the strength to endure the last throe…

Sometimes I try to hide myself. I squeeze my puny body into the corner behind the door and close my eyes. This trick doesn’t work. She finds me, finds me every time. I still don’t know how she does this. I’m always on the alert yet I’m always taken unawares. She moves like a weasel. She has small sharp teeth and eyes like gimlets…

…give me the strength to hold the king’s crown
give me the force to stay the court clown…

– What are you mumbling? Stop it! You can’t fool me! I know you from the ground up! Write! Stop talking! Write! Write!

…give me the strength to lift up the baton
give me the strength to stop the marathon…

She bends over me. Muses are the most cruel and pitiless creatures.
I curse the first fucking day when I wrote my first poem. I curse the first fucking day when I saw her small sharp teeth and her eyes like gimlets.
I curse the first fucking day when I smiled at her. She…

My Afflation. My Curse. My Muse… I lose my consciousness. Finally… (to be continued)

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014

a Patricide

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned! 
Forgive me, Father, for I have committed a patricide!

…It was an ordinary day. It was an ordinary day except for one fact. It was the day when I became unindentured. I became unrigged.

I started my daily morning ceremony with a special pleasure. It is just beautiful to do some boring and routine things before the most important action in your life. I put a derby on fire. I gargled my gullet. I threw out a pesky gnome from my kitchen through the door. After a minute he climbed up into the window… My perfect morning ceremony! I will miss this! But I must do this spurt. I must leave this purgatory. It was not ambivalent feelings. It was the pure and clear realization of truth. I must go.

I went down to the hall. I greeted madam Sienna, a seamstress in our parish. She is a good and very kind woman… She always presented to me broken needles and bended pins for my little hobby. I opened the door and came into the confessional room.

Forgive me, Father…

I wiped my knife on his cassock and stepped over his body. I became free.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014