Tag Archives: Creative process

BUT IS IT ART? // Unsung Beauty

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This was supposed to be another ‘But is it Art?’, but it didn’t quite turn out that way.

As always, Tati came to the party in a pugnacious mood, ready to smash Tony with her witty questions. And, boy, did she ever! They discussed women’s bodies and women’s rights. They even discussed Greek mythology and Tony’s childhood. (One could almost say that these sound pretty similar, at least whenever Tony talks about his childhood.)

During the discussion Tati called Tony ‘a misogynist creep’ and Tony called Tati ‘a good egg’. They used the word ‘fuck’ one time, and the word ‘breast’ three times. Tati even taught Tony a new word. Yep. ‘Litotes’.

Well, anyway…

The post was ninety percent ready, but then suddenly this pain in the ass that is called ‘Tati’ declared that everything discussed so far was bullshit. She claimed that actually there was nothing to discuss and that they were wasting their time. Tony nearly broke down crying. (Okay, he actually did.)

So, what did Tati then do? She scribbled a short poem and ran away. When Tony finished blubbering and dried his manly tears, he read the poem…

…then cried some more. Such beautiful sentiments! Tati did have a warm, beating heart full of emotions after all! Aw! Tony decided to run this on the blog anyway. (And began to plot his revenge for the next ‘But is it Poetry?’ discussion.)

ВензельMedusa (asps lick her tears away)

a comb has lost its cuspids
a myth has lost its essence
a maiden is stuck between
youth and senescence
Вензель_нижний

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

A Three-Pointer

Do you know how to tell a good poem from a bad one? It’s easy. I can teach you.

Just crumple up a sheet of paper and throw it into the bin in the far corner. The bad poem never reaches it. It will always drop somewhere halfway, rebounding off the rim then rolling beneath your sofa. Argh! And there you go, swearing, to pick it up and toss it in from a little closer.

But the good poem always makes it. Hell… now you’re groaning and you have to go over to the bin to retrieve it. But, did you know… you can choose to forget it instead. Just leave it in the bin. Don’t worry. The really good poem will never leave your head. I should know. I’ve checked.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2016

Teti-à-Tête (With Tony) #9

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Tati as TATI

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Tony as TONY

ACT 23 SCENE 2
BELLY FLOP

Tati is hanging upside down in gravity boots. Tony looks on while eating from a plate of pumpkin scones.

TONY: Are the stomach crunches really necessary?

TATI: Are whipped cream and chocolate drops really necessary?

Tony stops mid-chew.

TONY: Well, that just ruined it all for me.

Flecks of scone, whipped cream and chocolate dribble from his mouth.

TATI: Look at yourself, Tony! Soon your tummy will come into the room before you.

TONY: No it won’t!

He self-consciously sucks his tummy in. Tati looks at him, firstly with a smile but then with concern.

TATI: Exhale, Tony!

Tony lets out a huge whoosh of air and crumbs.

TONY: Damn. I wasn’t going to be able to keep that up for long. Maybe some kind of girdle might be in order…

Tati rolls her eyes and resumes her upside down stomach crunches. Tony keeps watching.

TONY: Could you please plant your feet back on the ground, Tati? I feel like I’m talking to a giant, talking fruit bat.

TATI: I thought you were used to quirky fauna, Tony?

TONY: It’s not that. I’m exhausted just watching you!

TATI: Kangaroos, koalas, chupacabras… they’re your neighbours, aren’t they?

TONY: Not really. It’s not like I live out in the bush or anything. I’m a city dweller. I prefer to hang out at cafes sipping glasses of cool inexpensive water, not from billabongs.

TATI: Snoozefest! Fine, I’ll climb down.

Tati disengages the safety lock, slips out of her gravity boots and flips onto the floor. She looks at Tony with a peculiar, knowing smile as she dusts herself off.

TATI: I debated with myself if I should land on your tummy.

TONY: Oh, ha ha. Very funny.

Tati grabs the last scone from the plate and bites into it, ignoring Tony’s silent protests.

TONY: Well, too bad if I wanted that, huh?

Tati slaps Tony’s tummy, making it jiggle like jelly on a plate.

TATI: Be grateful I saved you from bursting, fill-belly.

TONY: Hey! My tummy may be big but it’s also quite sensitive. It’s where I write from!

TATI: What? Do you stenograph your growling stomach? Now it’s clear where all this weird stuff comes from! Ladies and Gentlemen, permit me to introduce the gastric wonders of Tony’s poetry to you!

TONY: What I’m trying to say is that I write from my feelings, not my head! I think with my gut!

TATI: Ah hah! I supposed something like this. Have you never tried to use your brain for the creative process?

Tati taps Tony’s forehead with her half-eaten scone.

TONY: I have but it’s not for me. I need to feel what I’m writing about. I’m more emotional than rational.

TATI: Is that why you put your shirt on arsy-varsy? Is it how you feel today?

TONY: I’m feeling a little belittled right now, I have to say…

TATI: Is it heartburn, Tony? Because no one can gobble a tonne of scones and escape unpunished.

Tati shoves the rest of the scone into her mouth. Her eyes bulge slightly as she hiccups.

TATI: Tony, do you have water?

Tony grins like a Cheshire Cat.

TONY: Who’s thinking with their gut now?

TATI: It’s because of your fucking scone!

TONY: I didn’t force you to eat one. Did you see a note anywhere saying: ‘Eat Me!’?

TATI: Tony, I swear, if you don’t give me something with the label ‘Drink Me!’… I… HIC! Will… HIC! Kick… HIC! Your…

Tony throws a mocking look at the hiccupping Tati.

TONY: My arse feels great, thanks for asking. Unlike yours.

TATI: My ass is fine… HIC!

TONY: This is just too funny.

TATI: Shut up… HIC!

TONY: I’m afraid I can’t. I’m feeling too smug and superior in the correctness of my position to be stopping right now. Heh heh…

TATI: Screw you… HIC!

TONY: I don’t want to lose this opportunity to be listened to uninterrupted by you, smart arse.

Tony then paces around the helpless, hiccupping Tati, giving a long-winded declamation on the creative process.

TONY: …and I insist that the only writing of any substance can only ever come from the heart, not the head.

An unhappy Tati is unable to object… HIC! She waves him off and leaves the room. Tony pulls out a bottle of water.

TONY: Methinks it’s time to wet me whistle…

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

THE CRUMBCAST // Supersize it!

It’s episode twenty, baby! Yeah! The little Crumbcast that could!

This time round I have someone to talk to. The subject is video games and their place in society. How did they get here and what does this mean for our future?

This episode is easily twice as long as my previous ones, and has more gabbing and intellectual pretentiousness than ever before. Let’s go large!

PS: This is a bit strange, but if you want to listen to the sound then you should click on the picture below. Yes, it’s real magic in the digital world, I tell ya!

by 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.

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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