Tag Archives: Tony Single

SOAPBOX TNT // Absolutely Bombastic… But Actually?

TATI: Tony, you’re a fan of videogames, virtual reality and other cool modern ‘toys’, aren’t you?

TONY: Pretty much! If it involves joysticks or pixels then count me in!

TATI: Oh, I hoped for this answer. Another question: Do you like ABBA?

TONY: I love ABBA!

TATI: Have you heard they’ve reformed for the Voyage tour in 2022?

TONY: I have, and I’m very excited about it too! I can’t wait to see them on stage again, and to hear their new songs!

TATI: I bet millions of people would agree with you on this. To see their idols live again? To hear their voices? People are clamouring to pay hundreds—even thousands—of dollars for the tickets! Will you and Cassy go to their new show if you have the chance?

TONY: Hm. Depends on whether or not we can actually afford it, I guess.

TATI: Imagine that you can afford tickets for the show.

TONY: Well then it’s a hard YES!

TATI: And now imagine that you bought the tickets, are looking forward to the show, and maybe even prepared some silly t-shirts with ‘I love ABBA’ to wear to the concert.

TONY: I wouldn’t wear such a t-shirt but everything else tracks so far!

TATI: No matter—then silicone bracelets. You’ve recharged your phone so that you can take some cool photos and videos to post on Instagram. Why? Because everyone should know you were there!

TONY: Should they? Or should I just go along with your scenario? It sounds like you’re building up to something…

TATI: Okey dokey. So, you’re there. Everyone’s excited and full of anticipation. Light slowly fills the stage, the chords of your favourite song starts to play, you and Cassy are jumping and yipping on the parquet like two teenagers.

TONY: Okay, I’m seeing this in my head now. Pretty cool!

TATI: You’re ready to finally meet the legendary band. After so many years they are together again on stage. But…

TONY: But… what? Now you’re beginning to worry me.

TATI: Perhaps you didn’t remember to read the disclaimer in tiny letters on the last page of the brochure. Who reads that stuff anyway? But, you see, it says that there’re no Benny, Anni-Frid, Agnetha and Björn on the stage.

TONY: What the dum dum diddle FUCK?!

TATI: Well, they are mere holograms, their young digital avatars on the stage. It is not them in person. So… what do you feel?

The New ABBA!

TONY: I…

TATI: Do you feel excited? Do you love pixels now?

TONY: Well… I…

TATI: Come on, boy! You did say that they could count you in!

TONY: Well, no! Not if this is all I’m paying my hard earned cash for!

TATI: And what’s the difference, Tony? Why are you suddenly so tight-fisted? I believe your beloved PS5 cost a lot of money too.

TONY: Yes, because I know I’m going to be playing some of the finest videogames ever made on it! I’m not expecting ABBA to also be videogame characters! I’m expecting them to actually be live on stage! You know… in the flesh?

TATI: Oh, I hoped for this answer!

TONY: Did you now?! Well, bully for you! What are you hoping to achieve with this conversation? Other than to break my heart? I was really hoping to see ABBA live!

TATI: Sorry, Tony. I promise to stop tossing these concepts around for now. Actually, I wholeheartedly agree with you on this. I don’t want to see a digital ABBA. I prefer to see them live even though they’ve grown old, gotten some grey hair, wrinkles and put on excess pounds.

TONY: Exactly! If all we’re gonna get is a glorified digital show then I’d much rather stay at home and watch some of their old concerts on DVD. It makes more sense!

TATI: Yes, and even if their voices aren’t so clean and powerful now, they’ve got lived experience and the feeling of passing years. I bet every song will sound different now. 1972 to 1982 versus 2022. A whole life lies between those dates, huh?

TONY: Yes, that’s part of what I enjoy about following certain singers and bands. It’s the pleasure of seeing how their artistic expression evolves and matures over time. It would be a shame if they remained static and only did the same kind of thing over and over and over again.

TATI: Why do you think they are doing this? Of course, it’s not about the money—and they’ll still get millions from this anyway. Are they afraid to present themselves as they are now to their legions of faithful fans who probably remember them when they were young and beautiful? Or do they hope to gain a new generation of fans through the use of modern, gimmicky technologies?

TONY: It’s hard to know really. Like you say, they don’t need the money, so I’m assuming the hologram angle is more for personal creative reasons. But what would those creative reasons be? What artistic satisfaction could they possibly derive from this rather than the more traditional live on stage approach?

TATI: Perhaps you can consider me cynic but I vote for the age option. They’re scared of showing themselves as they are now and don’t feel confident.

TONY: Perhaps vanity does play a part in this. If it’s true then I personally would find it hard to fault them. I always think twice before committing my face to film too. It shouldn’t matter at the end of the day but unfortunately that’s not the world we live in. But let me ask you something: Do you think the kind of concert they’re going to stage in 2022 is ever going to be as good as just appearing as themselves live on stage?

The New ABBA!

TATI: I have no idea if it will be a great show or a total fuck up. Let me put my answer this way: I’d prefer an imperfect live show than a perfect digital one.

TONY: Yes, I agree. I mean, sure, they can put on whatever the hell kinda show they want. They’re artists after all, and that’s what artists do. They buck expectations and try to give the audience what it never knew it wanted. Hopefully that will be the case here.

TATI: So, ultimately, would you pay you money for the digital ABBA?

TONY: No. I would save that money for something else. I assume your answer would be the same, yes?

TATI: Absolutely! And now, I feel this is a perfect place to end our discussion and pass the baton to our Dearest Readers. What do they feel about this? Would they pay money for tickets to this new ABBA show?

TONY: Excellent! Well, I’m off to play some more ‘Metroid Dread’. I gotta help Samus defeat some creepy robot to get a morph ball upgrade.

TATI: Great! I’m off to do some yoga. I believe it will be more useful for keeping my mind and ass in a good shape. Let’s have another look in forty years and see which of us will be more prepared for a live tour. Who do you bet?

TONY: Oh, that’s easy. Samus!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

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The Horns of a Shibboleth

Sir Bafometz was a scruffy gentleman despite his overall sartorial style. Sure, he looked like a leftover mop that had been hastily stuffed into a set of the King’s finest clothes but he didn’t care. He knew who he was and he carried himself with pride.

He often wore a bowler hat, two long screw-in horns and a big, gold star on his head. The hat didn’t fit in the narrow space between the horns but when Sir Bafometz pushed it down to his forehead it covered the star. This was hardly ideal. One could even say that he was caught on the horns of a dilemma!

And when it came to flying, the horny dilemma only got worse. Although he had an impressive wingspan, Sir Bafometz rarely got to flex it because of the aforementioned hat situation. If he even so much as looked at the heavens with a wistful eye, a gust of wind would steal along and snatch his hat away.

But Sir Bafometz was a true gentleman with grace, manners, education and other secular bullshit that people like. He knew the expected etiquette which is why he never left the house without his troublesome hat. Being hatless would be mauvais ton if you will. And so it was that Sir Bafometz carried his hat everywhere in his right hand. No matter where he was it could be found at the end of his arm, swinging in perfect time with his stylish, confident gait. He was like Mick Jagger strutting across a stage—but with a snazzy hat instead of a microphone.

But here’s where another nuisance was on the lookout for poor Sir Bafometz. For some weird reason—despite his fancy silk tie, snappy three-piece suit and polished hooves—people still mistook him for a beggar and would try to drop a penny or two into the hat. This irked him at first but then he came to a realisation. He could use the spare change to buy Chuckles and Goobers for the neighbourhood kids.

That’s why his porch was never empty during Halloween from that point on. There were always noisy kids around, jumping and elbowing, jockeying for the best pick of the sweets on offer. And so the soft light of the Jack-o’-lantern on his windowsill was a promise of kindness and good cheer for everybody who needed it.

Yes, our good ol’ Sir Bafometz was a bonhomme of the highest order, despite initially being on the horns of a dilemma. He never did let anything get him down for long.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

numen mentis

there’s whale song lilting in my brain
e’er beyond a distant shore
away from the fever dreams i
had circumnavigated
to be with you

in stoic avoidance i’d
edged between foam and dune
got shipwrecked in lieu of belonging
and realised this place was ne’er home
nor bullion of promises meant for me

was it e’er only me
this resolve i had to follow you

had it e’er been the face of god
that mine hands held out to enfold

there’s waters swelling o’er that shore
nigh on the embankment of my brain
and the whale song serenade
decrying happy e’er once upons
i finally see that i was satan all along

and ‘tween these flashes of meaning i
espy twin trails o’er bleary sands
one forged with longing, the other you
anchored away from expectation
the fading proof of our story

had i e’er only been
this resolve straining for you

was it e’er truly the face of god
or mine hands beheld to the prints of darkness

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

PERFECTION IN ACTION // A Bitchin’ Assistant!

She was the best caddie ever. And not only because she carried my clubs.

She knew pin placements. Helped me locate every hole with ease. Knew how to handle my flagstick. Even cleaned my balls whenever I finished.

No idea where she’d acquired such skills, but she was a pro. I still wonder why she chose to chip in with me as my performance was rarely to par.

But she always believed in me. Whenever she flashed that smile with her long, pink tongue lolling about. Whenever she wagged that tail.

I felt like the best player on the field.

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

ABSURDIS EXTREME // Case Study #76,767 [07/06/1976] by B.A. Loney

This is the story of three types of dust: House Dust, Street Dust and (ah-choo!) Library Dust.

They were all happy and calm in their respective environments, and would get agitated only when others were nearby. Whenever a feather duster encroached on House Dust’s territory, he would flip out. If a car drove too close to the kerb, Street Dust would scurry away. And if a pair of hands took a book down off the shelf, Library Dust would set upon the owner of said hands with silent disapproval.

One evening, House Dust, Street Dust and Library Dust met in their favourite pub, ‘The Holey Pillow’. They liked having a drink or two after a hard day’s work, and repine their lot in life.

“Surely there’s more to life than this?”

Street Dust sniffed derisively. “Well, Homie, you need to get out of the house more often.”

“You’re one to talk!” scoffed Library Dust. “You just sit there in the gutter and watch the traffic go by.”

“And what do you know?” was Street Dust’s retort. “You’d have more life experience if you bothered to read the books you lounged around on!”

As the number of empty glasses on the bar grew, their words became less polite. The barman was even beginning to cast nervous glances at the bucket of cold water placed beneath the till—the best way to settle hot-headed disputes between Dusts. But, as it turned out, he ended up not having to resort to this.

“Hey, Bookster!” hiccupped Street Dust a little later (into his ninth Guinness). “What if we make this interesting?”

Library Dust burped over his shoulder. “Sure. What do you propose?”

House Dust was snoring with his head on the table. What a lightweight!

“What say Homie works at my place, I work at your place, and you work at Homie’s place?”

Library Dust eyed Street Dust with a degree of suspicion. “For how long? And to what purpose?”

“Nothing too crazy. Let’s say… a week. As to the purpose? Well, whoever does the best job in their new workspace gets a hundred bucks each from the other two.”

A bone-crushing handshake and another full glass cemented the deal.

In half an hour they’d left the pub and were rambling about bawling ‘Dust Pan Blues’. We can’t tell for sure what the Police didn’t like—probably because Library Dust sang out of tune—but the Dusts soon found themselves in the local Police station.

“Hey, Guard!” hollered Library Dust who then proceeded to vomit between the bars onto the corridor floor.

The Guard didn’t bother to hide his disgust as he ambled over to the cell, his thumbs hooked into his belt in stereotypical tough guy fashion. He’d only just begun his shift and he could already tell it wasn’t going to be his night.

“Guard!” croaked Library Dust, wiping his mouth. “What’ve you got against the classics? Gene Autry was genius, man!”

“I’d agree,” said the Guard through clenched teeth, “if I even knew who that was.”

Street Dust snorted derisively from the back corner of the cell. He was laying on his back on the bench. House Dust was crouched near him on the floor, cradling his face in his hands.

“Look, you guys, just sit there and think about your risky behaviour while I fetch the interrogation reports.”

“Ooh! Reports!” squealed Library Dust excitedly. “I love reports!”

The Guard rolled his eyes as he walked away, being careful to sidestep the pool of vomit.

“Hey,” added Library Dust, “shouldn’t someone clean that up?”

The Guard flipped him off as he disappeared through the doorway at the end of the corridor.

As chance would have it, the Janitor passed by the holding cell just fifteen minutes later. She saw the pool of vomit, as well as a very dusty bench and floor inside the cell itself. Even the bars had lost their shine. Naturally, she brоke into a sweat. The Marshal was pretty strict about this sort of stuff, and could revoke her Christmas bonus for leaving such a mess. Panicked, the Janitor ran to the mop closet.

As for the three Dusts, they were sound asleep—or was it a coma brought on by the consumption of too much alcohol? Either way, it no longer mattered for when the Janitor returned and set about her task… well, let’s just say that she got to keep her Christmas bonus after all. Unlike the Guard. He got the sack, and we’re not talking about a red one full of toys. One doesn’t get rewarded for letting prisoners escape!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021