Sometimes I think that I must live without
My ears.
The slops of words just flow into this downspout.
Sometimes I dream that I must live without
My eyes.
The loathsome things just settle on this hangout.
My nose, mouth… The ineffective stuff.
My fingers would be quite enough
For my escape from this dull jail.
God bless you, monsieur Louis Braille!
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014
…One beautiful day you can find out that you are a blind and deaf dumbhead. It will be a quite degrading discovery, won’t it? OK! You should grieve about your underestimated and mistreated personality for five or six minutes. Don’t do this longer than six minutes! You must appreciate your time!
After that you can start an uprising. You should become a creep. You should put a happy mask on your face. You should look like a ‘Puttin’ on the Ritz’ man. By the way, if you will start to screw with perverts it will really be useful for your rehab…
Don’t think about the opinion of others and don’t forget the handcuff keys at a party! It is very important! Just do it…
Over time you may notice that you aren’t a creep and that you have a happy face under your happy mask. You can forget your old mask at a party one beautiful day… but don’t forget the handcuff keys!
Congratulations!
Your rehabilitation is over. Now you are just a happy weirdo.
And fuck all the world!
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014
A night builds own imperium.
A shadow steals my soul.
If my life is aimless delirium
Then death is a worthy goal.
An open window. Like drops of milk
These clouds in anthracite sky.
I finished a verse. I uncurtained silk.
I stepped on the sill. Good bye…
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014
‘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
Ivory and ebony, rock crystal and brocade,
Her life is sweet and lovely like Dundee marmalade,
Her life is bright and sparkling, a magic fairy tale…
I met her eyes. I saw her truth. A caged nightingale.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014
unbolt me 