darwinian (heads & tails)

make your dogmatic statements
fluff your tail
you, who prefer understatement
and always fail

your beautiful love clique
it twists the knife
so i’ve learned not to look
i wanted to be one of you
but you made me a heretic

leave this moebius food chain
fill the blanks
you, who’s accustomed to refrain
can’t break the bank!

you likeminded super beings in
your plush echo chamber of
gonging egos make me sick
you make me want to grub for
transcendence in dirt (and i have to)

stop your lazy genetic drift
cut a strip
don’t count on the allel shrift
evolve, crip!

there’s pluck and plesh inside me
and the horizon is within my reach
you’ve forced me to evolve or die
so in the end it doesn’t matter
i’ll be gone and you won’t find me

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016

Cinerarium (Hope in Dust)

one-pulse

here I stand upwind
with a dead bird in my hands
in barren Eden
and look at the sore plucked backs
of my deserting brothers

I yell after them
“omens are a pile of crap!
who can blame people
if hosts of heaven act like
credulous aborigines?”

wind snatches my words
and mixes them up with sand
nobody believes
that cold grey ash in my hands
is an arising phoenix

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016

1, 2, 3… Aspirate!

Gentle readers, were you aware that ‘aspiration’ has two meanings?

Of course, ‘aspiration’ usually refers to hope or a strong desire to achieve something, but it also refers to the mundane yet necessary process of breathing in and out. We cannot have one thing without the other. You see, hope is absent when we’re no longer breathing. And breathing without hope is like being dead already.

As long as we’re still standing here breathing then let’s aspirate, yes? Let’s dare to reach for the impossible–even if just for a short time–for tomorrow’s a blank page that hasn’t been promised to us. So, shall we fill the blank page that sits here with us today? Right now? In this very hour? Yes. Let’s do that instead of waiting for tomorrow’s pages.

We’ve had a wonderful year at Unbolt. Tony joined the fold and filled up the space with words to complement Tati’s own. We featured some of our treasured readers own works. And we received quite a number of awards and writing challenges too!

To celebrate the amazing year that was, we at Unbolt have put together two pages dedicated to the awards and writing challenges we’ve received so far. Why have we done this? Because we want to share those awards and writing challenges with you, dear readers. It’s our way of saying thank you for your support. You mean a lot to us. We want you to know that we appreciate every single one of you! So, please, feel free to click through to the Choose Your Award! and Choose Your Challenge! pages, and have fun!

Oh, and may we also wish you a Happy New Year? Yes, a new start full of breathing and aspiration. Just what the doctor ordered!

Yours ever,
Tati & Tony

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2016

The Odd Days & Life of Elatha Jarlath McGhille. Part B. Feabhra ~ The one came in from the cold collaboration

Scylla Beach

∼ Part I ∼

It’s midday and there are anxious knocks at his front door.
He wonders if the neighbors’ friends got the wrong door.
Opening to see about the commotion,
Seems to only heighten his confusion.

Nothing is there. Nope.
Nothing is there.

At his back door he hears those knocks again.
He rushes through his home like a madman,
To open his back door hoping to see who’s knocking,
Again he sees nothing.

It’s like staring into a nebula of discombobulated shadows.
Back to his living room he goes, then finds a black unicorn, a purple owl, and two black crows.
Overwhelmed. The sight further rattles his compunction.
As they fuse together causing a huge static emersion.

His body wilts to the floor
And…

∼ Part II ∼

“I told you, Clothra, owls can’t look like a bush of lilac!
See? What will we do with this unconscious sack?!
We should bring him to Emain Macha until Beltane
And I’m not going to get it in the neck again!”

“Shut up, Sweeney! Give you a choice and you’ll paint black
Even a rainbow. It would be better if you stop to clack
Like a clocking hen and help me to bring him round…
Hey! You, twins! Hurry up! Are you too spellbound?!”

“Clothra, don’t go playing the big boss!
Sweeney is right… you make too much of gloss!
We’re not buffoons… We’re… Oh! Did he open his eyes?
Hush! Hush, guys! Turn on the fireflies!”

The air is filled with a subtle glow
And…

∼ Part III ∼

His eyes. The color. Vacillates between black & violet
In a haze, volcanic echoes vibrate. Commanding him to fight…
Fight! Fight! Fight! Finger snaps, claps, and slapping wings
Bellows him to awaken with voices like un-Earthly beings.

He hears voices commanding him to come forth to receive his messages
A feeling as if his body is being bent into a set of strange corsages
He hears another set of voices, “Oh! Did he open his eyes?
Hush! Hush, guys! Turn on the fireflies!”

His visage of things seems blurred but are truly clear.
His mind again perambulates confusion and fear
As a hybrid bird stands before him speaking strange things,
Talking a language known and unknown, then odd names.

He surveys the room, their faces, and concludes there is no hostility here.
Soon enough he loosens up, wonders about message, curiosity wins here.
Wings extended, inviting him to take a seat. He does.

Their beak opens
And…

∼ Part IV ∼

…in the far country, where springs are crystalline,
Where trees are vibrant and women hiss like a feline,
At the world’s end where all must be as was foretold,
She embroiders a shroud with pearls and gold.

A needle pricks,
A horologe ticks…

She whispers prayers mixed up with ribald couplets
About kings’ weaknesses and queens’ merits,
She sips thick gin, wiping her mouth on the sleeve.
Intricate patterns on white samite interweave.

Beltane is soon. She looks at the dark sky.
A lone star gleams like a tiny firefly.
Elatha… She bites through a gold thread
And limply drops her body into bed.

A horologe ticks,
A door latch clicks…
Hush, guys! No monkey tricks!
Please, let her sleep!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & GREGORY WAITS JR.
© All rights reserved 2015

P.S. Happy Birthday, Greg!

eskiz-cherno-belogo-pera

Part A. Eanáir

GUEST POST // Writing To Heal Feature: Tony Single

DREM: How old are you, my friend?

TONY: I’m in my forties, a fact that still shocks me constantly. There are days when I feel so much older than that, and there are days when I feel like a boy pretending to be a man and nobody’s noticed yet. When will I grow up? And how is it I’m not dead yet?

DREM: Where do you live?

TONY: Put it this way… I wouldn’t mind living elsewhere. I live in a quiet neighbourhood close to the city. There’s a smattering of wild life here which is nice. It’s nice to hear the magpies warbling in the mornings. It’s not so nice to have big dogs barking at you from behind fences. Big dogs give me the willies, even when I know they can’t possibly get to me.

DREM: Do you have a profession besides blogging?

TONY: I’ve had a string of jobs in my life. When I was a Christian, I worked at a religious book store. I sold flowers door to door at one point. I was a glorified photocopier jockey at a university one year. The longest I’ve held down a job was as a cleaner at a milk processing factory. Thankfully, I wasn’t mopping up after cows. I was cleaning offices. Still, it wasn’t glamorous, and it was pretty thankless. The only time I heard from anyone was if they wanted to complain about the unseen speck of dust lurking behind a fridge or something. Presently, I help to run Unbolt and I concentrate on my webcomic too. I also do whatever I can to make my wife’s home life just that little bit nicer.

DREM: When did you start writing?

TONY: It would’ve been when I was in high school. I didn’t have many friends during those years so I’d hide in the school library every lunch time to read, draw and, of course, write. Looking back on it now, it strikes me how desperately lonely and disengaged I was. Everything I wrote was about life not being worth living and how I needed to not be here any more. I filled entire diaries with these thoughts and it astonishes me that I never acted on them. Perhaps writing it all down helped me in some small way to still feel anchored to people. To this planet. Hell, just to the fact of my breathing in and out.

DREM: How often do you write?

TONY: I write every day, even if just a few lines. My thoughts are scattered at the best of times so it’s always a good idea to corral them whenever I can. I have a note book and pen on me whenever I’m out and about, and there’s always stuff to write with and on within arm’s reach when I’m at home.

DREM: When do you write and how? Like, in a journal, on a computer, and what time of day?

TONY: I write in the aforementioned note books. I hardly ever try to compose something on the computer. For some reason that never feels right. I don’t know why. Perhaps there’s an immediacy to jotting your thoughts down as fast as they’ll come that typing lacks. I don’t know. However, when it comes time to work up a second, third or umpteenth draft of something that’s when you’ll find me perched at the computer. It’s a lot easier to make changes in a Word document than on a page with mostly everything scribbled out. And as for when I write, there’s no rhyme or reason to that I’m afraid. I write whenever stuff hits me, and that can be late at night when I should be in bed or in the middle of the day when I’m taking a piss (or having the piss taken out of me).

DREM: Why do you also Write To Heal?

TONY: I have to. That’s the simplest answer. I have depression, severe body image issues, and I can’t grow a manly beard to save my life. I’ve spent decades of my life pretending I have it all together. I clearly don’t. This is not something you can just talk about at the local pub with any passing stranger, or even your closest friends for that matter. People get scared when they see that you’re scared so I write it all down instead. It’s my outlet. It helps me to let the doubt and grief and self hatred flow into something productive, something creative and potentially beautiful. Does this process heal me? Sometimes. Do the results heal others when they read it? I can hope.

DREM: Why do you continue and has it changed?

TONY: I continue to write precisely because not much has changed. Certainly, I’ve lived longer than I expected to. I fully expected life to have broken my heart to the point of laying down and dying by the time I was twenty. Zip a few decades later and I’m still here. Yup. No one is more surprised than I am. What isn’t surprising is how difficult I still find it to connect with other people. And I still want to bash my face in whenever I see it. Oh, and the black dog? She continues to use my leg as a chew toy every other day. So, what do I do? I continue to write. It’s the only thing I know to do. It’s the only thing that makes sense of all the other things.

DREM: What dreams do you have for your writing?

TONY: I didn’t really have any until recently. Two women in my life have spurred me to believe that anything’s possible again. My wife got the ball rolling with her belief in me, and Tetiana has kept the ball rolling with the projects we’re currently working on together. Before all of that, I’d resigned myself to obscurity and disappointment, but now I find I’m actually confident that we will achieve something! I don’t know what exactly, but at least it doesn’t feel impossible!

DREM: Where do you find your most inspiration while healing?

TONY: I find inspiration mostly in music and stories. There are a handful of bands that I adore like My Silent Wake, Wovenhand, Amorphis, Dead Can Dance, and The Cure. Their lyrics never fail to transport me to some other place where emotions can be reconciled in some way and circumstances can play out differently. As long as I can hear another story then I can entertain hope for my own. I’m also hugely into comics and anime, and the idiosyncracies of those mediums are what drive me in my own creativity, to improve my craft in any way I can. And last but not least, there are the handful of people in my life who inspire me too. I wouldn’t still be here if it weren’t for them. My wife. My parents. My sister. Tati. I hope I’ve sufficiently conveyed my love for them because, quite simply, without them I’m nothing.

Interview by DREM
© All rights reserved 2015