THE ABCs OF A PECULIAR LIFE // Iambus & Idiocy (Recital in I flat minor)

The Mosquito had been writing poems for as long as it could remember. Yes, that’s right, a very long time. Literally aeons. Three whole days in fact!

Of course, the Mosquito would accept only heroic verse. To wit, iambic pentameter. Trochee? Anapaest? These were for brain dead losers. Only real men wrote in iambic. Shakespeare, for example. Pushkin too. And now the Mosquito.

He was also a Debonaire-Vervain. The Debonaire-Vervains were titans of the corporate world. Blue bloods. Old stock. The family line went back generations. Weeks and weeks at least. Investment portfolios. Start-ups. Feelers in every pie. The Mosquito had studied at the finest schools and universities. He even lived on a posh arm all his own. Nothing but prime real estate all the way!

Anyway, the following is a poem that the Mosquito wrote for his ravishing wife on the eve of their ruby wedding anniversary. It had been two long, glorious days since their meeting! Where had the time gone? Of course, he was not yet master of his craft, and his style had yet to mature. But none could deny that he was full of ardour and passion, and it showed in his words.

Buzz me not to the buzzing of buzzed minds
Admit imbuzziments. Buzzing is not abuzz.
Which alters when it buzzeration finds,
Or bends with the buzzer to rebuzz.
O no! It is an ever-fixed buzz
That looks on buzzpests and is never buzzen;
It is the star to every wand’ring buzz,
Whose worth’s unbuzzed, although his buzz be taken.
Buzz’s not Time’s fool, though buzzy lips and cheeks
Within his bending buzzle’s compass buzz;
Buzz alters not with his brief hours and buzzes,
But bears it out even to the buzz of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov’d,
I never buzzed, nor no mosquito ever lov’d. *

Naturally, Madam Mosquito was impressed, and instantly gave birth to another fifty bloodsuckers. Oh, these modern women! They don’t waste time, do they? Of course, they’ll say they want a man who’s arty and edgy. But what they really crave is a domesticated homebody who embodies the traditional family values.

But the Mosquito was an ambitious sort. Yes, he’d won the heart of Madame Mosquito and gained her feeler in holy matrimony, but it wasn’t enough. He also wanted everyone on earth to hear his poems. That’s why, after being informed of a top secret mission (Code Name: Star-spangled Mooning) from a fly on the wall in the Soviet Government, he put on his best suit and tie, grabbed his latest manuscript, and caught a taxi to Baikonur. He’d decided that a rocket antenna would be the best stage from which to orate his flowery writings.

Fortunately for him, he was not at all late. The Soviet vessel was still being readied for its maiden moon shot. The Mosquito landed right on the front glass, got himself cosy, then quenched his thirst with a droplet of cherry rum. After this he pulled out his manuscript, thinking for a moment about which poem he’d be proudest to grace the airwaves with first…

And now for the main event! The final countdown!

Ten… nine… five… two… one…

FIRE!

Nine kilometres per second and history was about to be ma—

Because I could not buzz for Death
It kindly buzzed for me
The vessel held but just
Ourselves —And Immortality.*

*Thanks to Shakespeare and Dickinson for the buzzspiration.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

THE ABCs OF A PECULIAR LIFE // O is for Obduracy & Orgasmic Oranges

The Soviet Astronaut had been mooning around the Moon since the late 70s. He’d been launched into outer space as part of a secret Soviet crewed lunar program with the express purpose of stealing the star-spangled banner from the Moon’s surface.

This Soviet crewed lunar program was so secret that the Soviet Government issued a special decree banning anyone involved from keeping any documentation of its aims and research results. Everyone who knew of the mission did what they were told and forgot everything immediately upon the Soviet Astronaut’s departure from Earth. Including the Soviet Astronaut himself. Back then, Soviet citizens were very responsible, making sure to execute Government decrees to a meticulous tee. Those were the days!

This is why when the Soviet Astronaut contacted a dispatcher at the launch control center (in order to familiarize himself with the details of his mission), the dispatcher was completely flummoxed. But, of course, the dispatcher was very experienced and up to the task. He told the Soviet Astronaut to continue his mission, to control the situation in outer space, and to report any suspicious objects that he might encounter. After this, the dispatcher disconnected from the server and the Soviet Astronaut was on his own.

One unspecified day, everything was going as planned. The Soviet Astronaut woke up, brushed his teeth, did his morning exercises, and then took position near a side-viewing window. He was keeping abreast of the situation, making copious notes in a flight log book. To be honest, it wasn’t very interesting. Nothing had changed outside the window for the last few months. The Moon, the stars and a withered space mosquito that had gotten stuck to the glass upon the vessel’s launch.

Sheer boredom drove the Soviet Astronaut to half watch a TV series on one of the vessel’s many small monitors. The space radio antenna had picked up the signal somewhere over the ocean. Ironically, it was a science fiction show about extraterrestrial beings, a time traveler, and his space adventures. Though the Soviet Astronaut didn’t understand a word, the show itself was pretty amusing. He especially liked the time machine that was masked as a blue British police box.

Everything had been going well when suddenly something bumped the vessel’s tail. The unexpected loudness of the sound made the Soviet Astronaut somersault in the air, but when he reached an operating panel everything looked as always did. He calmed himself down and was soon back to the show, engrossed and unaware that the vessel’s trajectory had changed by half a degree.

The next morning started as it always did. The Soviet Astronaut woke up, brushed his teeth, did his morning exercises and… what the deuce?! He almost bumped his brow on the window looking left, right, up and even a bit down.

The Moon was absent.

He tightly closed his eyes, then opened them and looked at the window again. The position of the stars appeared to be normal, and the withered space mosquito was present too, but the Moon was absent. It was completely gone. The Soviet Astronaut thought a bit and pinched himself, but this didn’t help. Alas, he wasn’t still asleep and it wasn’t just a bad dream.

There was background noise on the monitor—more evidence that the vessel appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. The Soviet Astronaut had a sudden flutter of fear. There could be no doubt. He was utterly lost in outer space.

No one knows how long the Soviet Astronaut sat there gazing out the window. It might have been an hour. It might have been a day. Or even a week. Who knows? He just sat there in a torpor. A blank stare. This is why when a strange fuss began outside the window the Soviet Astronaut didn’t immediately react.

However, after a little while the Soviet Astronaut woke from his stupor, and that’s when he saw it. He goggled out the window with great amazement. Two large oranges were floating outside interacting in a pretty strange way. Surely, this could be very important knowledge for Soviet science. The Soviet Astronaut grabbed the flight log book and started to make notes in a fever. Again, everyone was very responsible back then—even those who were lost somewhere along the way to hell.

The oranges were drifting away from one another, then drawing close, rubbing each other and sprinkling the window with essential oils. They were rocking and trembling, gasping and moaning All of this made the Soviet Astronaut a little bit suspicious. He stopped making his notes, lost in thought.

(I think I need to make some explanations here. The thing is, the word ‘sex’ was absent from the lexicon of the citizens of the USSR, so they were unfamiliar with the process that this word describes. Nuts, but true. Poor, poor Soviet Astronaut! I wouldn’t want to have been in his shoes at that moment.)

So, the oranges were continuing to do what they did, and the Soviet Astronaut was sitting there with a thoughtful expression, the flight log book in his hands. Suddenly, a speaker box somewhere began to bark.

“Earth to the Soviet Astronaut, do you copy, over? Do you… come in… over…”

The Soviet Astronaut jumped in surprise, making another somersault in the air.

“Earth! Earth! It’s the Soviet Astronaut! I read you, over!”

“Where are you? The vessel has disappeared from our radars!”

“I don’t know. Perhaps the vessel has changed its route?”

At that very moment, the oranges outside the window started to shake uncontrollably and groan. Then the glass was covered with a mixture of orange juice and peel. Suddenly, something bumped the window and a hush fell over everything. If the Soviet Astronaut had looked at the operating panel at that moment, he would have noticed that the vessel’s route had indeed changed half a degree, but for obvious reasons his attention was focused on other things.

“Earth to the Soviet Astronaut, do you copy, over? Don’t panic! The Soviet Government never leaves its citizens to their own devices. We will get back to you shortly to give a status report.”

The speaker box went silent. Suddenly, the Soviet Astronaut felt extremely tired. He recalled the wise words of his late grandma. She’d always said, “Tomorrow is another day. Go beddy-byes under any strange situation, sweetums. Just sleep.” The Soviet Astronaut decided to yield to this wise advice. He retired to his cuddy.

When the Soviet Astronaut woke up next morning and looked out the window, the Moon was there. And the stars. And the withered space mosquito. Even the science fiction TV show was playing on the same small monitor. Everything had a cozy and familiar look. The Soviet Astronaut heaved a sigh of relief and took up his flight log book.

He was pretty surprised when he reread his jerky notes from the prior day. Outrageous oranges in outer space? No way! This never happens! The Soviet Astronaut thought a little bit. It had obviously been a bad dream. Maybe he’d bumped his head on the glass a little too hard. He reread the notes again. It was doubtful that these notes would be of Soviet science interest. So… he made a decision.

He tore several pages out of the flight log book and shoved them under his bed. Then a moment later he pulled them out, balled them up, and popped them in his mouth and swallowed—just to get them out of harm’s way. After this, the Soviet Astronaut was back to his TV show, and there wasn’t a happier person in the whole Universe.

P.S. By the way, somewhere at the beginning of 2010, American scientists made a statement that one of the moon flags was missing. It’s a well-known fact, not merely my fancy. But this is a completely different story. Turn your beams to me and stay tuned, dear readers.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017