Tag Archives: Tetiana Aleksina

Oops!… We Did It Again (leying on of hands)

Erm… hullo there. (This is rather awkward…)

Dear Reader, the stuff that was originally posted here has been removed.

We have done this because said stuff has since been included in one of our published books. We hope you’ll believe us when we say we’re not trying to be stingy. No, this has been done to honour the people who have already spent their hard-earned money on our eBook creations.*

If, however, for some reason you’re unable to buy one of our books, and feel you’ll die without seeing this piece of writing, then please contact us via admin@unbolt.me. We won’t allow our Dear Readers to fade away in the dark. We’ll send you the piece in question, and it will be absolutely free. All you need do is ask.

* Of course, we would be like two happy puppies if you too decided to buy one of our books.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017-2018

BUT IS IT POETRY? // Inuk Dream Caused by the Sound of an Icicle Dripping on Her Igloo a Second Before Awakening

I’ve been longing for this vacation.
I work like a slave on plantation.
But I am not an office plebeian,
I am a wastrel, epicurean!

The buzz of a bureau’s honeycomb
easily makes everybody foam,
but I hold on to quietude and calm—
a plane ticket works just like a heart-balm.

Yells of a chancellor, squeaks of clerks…
they’re not real people, but hoarse clockworks.
Vegetation and soporific esse?
No, thank you. I will never acquiesce!

Meditating the existential,
I packed my valise and credential.
Full steam ahead! Time to sip coconuts
and pinch sappy indigenes for ripe butts.

I came down from the passenger bridge…
What the hell? Where is the nearest fridge?!
Oh, my Nemesis! Forgive your lost nun!
I implore you, get me back to square one!

I am sitting in the hotel rooms
washing down with dark rum my doldrums,
bedamning all photojournalist-jerks
who seduce us, naif untutored clerks.

Don’t be swayed by pictorialism,
don’t believe in exceptionalism,
sit in your office, don’t move a muscle,
leave parallel hot circles for mussels!

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TONY: Well, here we are again. We’re going to be discussing poetry this time, not art. And it’s your latest poem that’s in the line of fire!

TATI: My poem? Really? Don’t you have something more interesting to discuss, Tony? Laundry! Cooking! Look around. So many cool things! Why do you cling to my poetry?

TONY: Because you deserve to suffer as much as I did when my Mascara Baby got pulled apart. Okay, let’s get down to it. Firstly, the title… Why the hell is it so long?

TATI: It’s pure peacockery. But, OK… I hoped to hook people’s attention, and to hint at what the main topic of the poem would be.

TONY: In the interest of full disclosure, I guess I should mention that this poem is the result of a challenge I set you. I threw down the gauntlet, so to speak.

TATI: Yeah. Why don’t I feel relief after this confession? You haven’t tried to make things easy, have you?

TONY: That’s true. I gave you a bunch of words to put into a poem… as well as the topic. Do you remember what these were?

TATI: Of course! They will chase me in my nightmares until my last gasp.

TONY: Like a defenseless kitten being hunted down by a pack of underfed bloodhounds. I’m so evil!

TATI: No sane person uses the words ‘photojournalist’ and ‘plebeian’ in the same poem, especially one about an ice cube melting on a tin roof.

TONY: You’re right. It was a pretty ridiculous challenge, no?

TATI: Photojournalist, plebeian, quietude, chancellor, exceptionalism, doldrums, soporific, honeycomb, nemesis, existential.

TONY: Those are some mighty big words, aren’t they? So, how did you manage to find a way to use them all? What was your process?

TATI: Hm… it’s hard to describe my creative process, actually. The general idea came into my mind pretty quickly. But it was a kernel, not flesh.

TONY: It didn’t come fully formed?

TATI: LOL! Of course, no. When you think of a picture, do you see the final result immediately? I can bet not.

TONY: Actually, sometimes I do, and the act of drawing it is an attempt to get as close to that vision on the page as I possibly can. But you’re right, it’s not something that would happen all the time.

TATI: Well, it’s like bead stringing. You add word to word, line to line. Sometimes the pattern is neat and nice. Sometimes it’s better to cut the string and start again. This poem wasn’t my soul’s impulse. It was nearly work. I don’t know if that is good or bad. But, hell, it was a challenge!

TONY: So, it was as deliberate and methodical as that, huh? You were taking a more… hm… workmanlike approach to this?

TATI: Yep.

TONY: So, why did you decide to change what the poem was about? Do you have a set against anthropomorphised ice cubes dying beneath a sweltering sun?

TATI: Did I change the topic? Do you feel I cheated? I don’t think so. Firstly, why can’t the hero be an ice cube? Do you remember the snowman who loved warm hugs?

TONY: Love killed him. Are you saying love kills? It’s better not to love or be loved?

TATI: Don’t change the topic! And, as I remember, it was a happy end.

TONY: He was the recipient of… ahem… a ‘friendly massage’? Is that why there was another carrot down there?

TATI: TONY! It was a Disney story! For children! No second carrots! No frogs in diapers!

TONY: That was one weird ass video you showed me. Why the hell would a little girl go around stuffing live frogs into her diapers? Children are mentally ill. Seriously, people should stop having them.

TATI: They educated dolts like you, Tony. Who shoved ‘honeycomb’ and ‘nemesis’ into one poem?

TONY: Anyhow, this is off the point… which I still don’t get. What is it you’re trying to say? That the poem really IS about an ice cube and I’ve got it all wrong? I thought it was about a nun going on holidays and pinching the natives’… butts?

TATI: Yes. But why can’t an ice cube be like a nun? Why can’t a nun be like an ice cube? Are you a chauvinist, Tony? Do YOU have a set against anthropomorphised ice cubes? Or nuns? They have equal rights too, man!

TONY: Wha—? How did this get turned back on me? I’m not the criminal here! Yeesh.

TATI: Okay, let’s go back to the poor poem. Don’t you want to praise how ingeniously and artfully I weaved this?

TONY: Oh, of course! That goes without saying, baby. It totally knocked my socks off! And it was so good it kindly put them back on again, all without me lifting a finger. That’s the total brilliance of a poem written by Tati. About naughty nuns.

TATI: Can poetry be written from the mind, and not from the heart? Can it be a challenge, not soul’s impulse?

TONY: Fancy a cup of tea?

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

sunday evening sillymony (jumping the lingo shark)

tony:
my name is easy to say
a toe and knee mashed together
in unholy letterimony

tati:
your name is a greasy splay
ass rubbed over ground and heather
an abstruse errormony

tony:
fine, i’ll sound out yours instead
a tat and eye fronting anna
let this be my proud zestimony

crowd:
tati clears her aural drumhead
making sure there’s no banana
her sight bodes ill for testytony

tati (thinking):
gosh, why’s it often this way
when i teach tony ukrainian?
so sick of paying fallimony!

tony (thinking):
damn it all, my dwindling cred!
perhaps i’ll gift this geranium
as fond proof of our palimony?

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

BUT IS IT ART? // Mascara Baby

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TATI: OK, Tony, my first question. Why did you tag this illustration as NSFW? I remember ASPHYXIATION and FELLAQUIO and I can see why they wouldn’t be safe to look at if your boss stands behind you. But this?

TONY: Hm. Because of the shape of the baby’s mouth. It’s actually a rather intimate part of the female anatomy that I’ve composited there.

TATI: Oh… really? This blot? Is it a vagina? Are you kidding me?

TONY: Oh, no, I’m not kidding in the slightest. You see, this was based on the disgust I felt after watching a documentary about child beauty pageants. The crass sexualisation of these young souls by their parents was all for the sake of winning… well, what? A cheap trophy? A ribbon? Prestige? What prestige? I was deeply offended that human beings would exploit their own flesh and blood in such a deplorable way.

TATI: Blah-blah-blah… Let’s stick to the topic, Tony. So, is it a baby inside a womb? Or is it just a face with a vagina-shaped mouth?

TONY: Hey! I’m spilling my guts here, lady! Couldn’t you be a wee bit more patient?

TATI: I’m rescuing your reputation, sir. Be grateful.

TONY: Fine. It’s the latter. A face with a vagina-shaped mouth. I was honestly hoping to shock people with the blatant juxtapositioning of these two elements, and get them thinking about why they found it so offensive. In short, I wanted to provoke discussion. As it turned out, no one really picked up on these themes anyway. So, I feel this illustration was a failure.

TATI: Why do you say this?

TONY: Perhaps it wasn’t clear that the baby’s mouth was a vagina. Frankly, visual communication is an ongoing challenge for me. I guess many artists struggle with this… or maybe I’m just not a very good artist. While I may render something a certain way, it doesn’t always mean that the themes I’m trying to convey are necessarily being received and understood as I intend them to be.

TATI: It wasn’t even clear that it’s a face. I guess you needed to put the picture vertical. Then your intent would be more clear. Didn’t you think of this?

TONY: Oh, I see! The egg trying to teach the hen, is that it? Yeah, I have a Bachelor of Visual Arts. And you?

TATI: I have eyes, don’t I? You over intellectualised this illustration.

TONY: Look, you’re probably right. I’m willing to concede that. But what would you have done?

TATI: Firstly, rotate it. And… maybe some details. Streaks of mascara would emphasize two things: crying and makeup. And a pacifier. It would show that the baby is an infant. (You probably like that. A vagina sucking a dummy. Old pervert!)

TONY: What the HELL?! NO! Why on earth would I like that? I think I know who the pervert is here, Tati, and it isn’t ME!

TATI: Just do this, baby. Make the changes. And then we can ask our dear readers who was right.

TONY: Why do I get the feeling we’re going to burn in hell for this?

TATI: Want to bet?

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2017

Six Word Stories #15

Firstly, you must chaperone my pussy.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017