Tag Archives: Fiction

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 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

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

H2O

I like thinking underwater… and in the darkness. The most splendid thoughts visit my head in the bathroom at nights. It’s impossible to imagine an infinite quantity of the great ideas that I had during my nine months bathing in warm amniotic fluid.

But my long hard way through the birth canal… my primeval shock when I met with the external world for the first time… It erased this layer of my memory. Completely.

I know that now I can spend all my life attempting to recall… in miserable and unavailing efforts to turn diamond dust into diamonds.

But I have a whole life for it… and I will.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014