What’s the Buzz

The day had turned out to be really nice. It was late March, or early April, I don’t remember. Who cares about calendars when the sun warms your belly so pleasantly?

I stretched and yawned. I happily glided between wakefulness and slumber. Maja’s winglets shone and lured me. And I could swear they were buzzing with a rendition of ‘Sweet Painted Lady’. I was lulled and aroused… It was getting hot, so I took cover under the leaves.

I don’t know how long I was drowsing, but I woke up because of human yells. I sighed. There’s nothing they enjoy better than making noise and mess. And they call us a plague, don’t they?

The yelling got closer and louder. The ground quaked, the bush shook. Drunk guffaws and ribaldry ripped this calm day in two like a butcher’s knife, beat the bejesus out of it. Someone brayed, ‘Jujube! Regale the King with sweet savories!’ The crowd ululated and rushed to the bush. Holy Royal Hexapods! What were they going to do?!

It smelled of trouble, and I decided it was high time to bug out of this unfortunate plant. I made to leap off and… nothing happened. Reprobate Polyphagas! What the hell? I had a shot at jumping a few times in a row but it was in vain. The sun which had caressed me so pleasantly had also played a low-down trick on me. My back leg had tightly glued to a drop of melted resin. I made the only decision I could. I huddled under a leaf, sat tight and didn’t move. All I could do was to wait out this mayhem.

I have indistinct memories of what happened next. There was a snapping of the bush then someone bending a bagel shape out of twigs. I was like a poppy seed on its surface. There were cries of ‘Must die!’ and ‘Hosanna!’ A cacophony of voices, laughing and crying… the thick smell of blood. The smell drove me crazy. I was twitching like an epileptic and trying to escape this crowned trap. We’re not freaking grigs. We don’t enjoy the stench of flesh. I can’t bear this smell. I just can’t. Desperately, I sank my jaws into my stifled joint…

It grew dark. I hobbled slowly. At least I’d escaped with my life and other limbs intact. After all, it was only a leg. I had another five. And wings! That poor guy now dangling from a cross was definitely having a much worse day than I. Damn. I have wings! Why not just go? I took to the air and laid a course for Horeb. Everybody knows that the best nymphet stews are there, and I really need some rest now.


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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)


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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.


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the Alabai

…I am still keeping this old dog collar. Why not? I always was a sentimental person. It is not just an old threadbare piece of a leather. It is my first dog collar.

I was afraid of dogs in my childhood, was afraid up to tantrums, up to fainting. And one day my father brought home a huge dog. It was an alabai. My father said that we should become friends with this dog. It would help me to get rid of my fear. And he handed a leash to me. I do not know from where my father borrowed this dog. But they were both calm…

We were walking side by side. I and my great fear. I was not breathing. An attempt to escape would have been equal to suicide, so I preferred this way. Yes, I was little and silly then. I was not able to make another decision…

I stumbled after few meters. I lost my flip flops and hurt my foot. I was lying on the road and not even crying… I was waiting for my death. And it jumped on me like a huge alabai.

Its tongue was cold and its breathing was hot. And my naked legs were absolutely defenseless… Cold and heat were drawing wide, wet stripes on my feet. Every stripe brought fear. Every stripe was bringing pleasure. And fear. A fear that precisely this stripe would be the last. The last one before pain. And it lasted indefinitely… I guess that was my first erotic experience.

I am not afraid of dogs now. But since then I wear shoes with laces. Always. Because I cannot lose them until a time I no longer want this.


© All rights reserved 2014