Dada (Fragment #018)

I marched towards the library and collided with Patrick near the main entrance. I remembered this boor. He was an assistant at my entrance examination. I decided not to waste time greeting him and just passed on by.

The 20th century German literature section wasn’t a very popular place. Well, good riddance! It was much better to work without the silly background chirrup of girls writing endless nonsense about heroic troubadours and sighing over modern guys who’d forgotten the art of courtship.

Anyway, I figured I should get to work, so I thumbed along the high stacks looking for the letter ‘T’. Gotcha! Tristan Tzara, ‘Seven Dada Manifestos and Lampisteries’.

“Take a newspaper.
Take some scissors.
Choose from this paper an article of the length you want to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Next carefully cut out each of the words that makes up this article and put them all in a bag.
Shake gently.
Next take out each cutting one after the other.
Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
The poem will resemble you.
And there you are – an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though unappreciated by the vulgar herd.”

So, professor, you didn’t like my poem? I giggled at the thought. I’ll learn how to break something that was already broken. Let’s dada, baby! And suddenly, my attention was drawn to some other voices. They sounded pretty tense. I cocked my ear.

“I need this book!”

“The rules are the same for everyone. You can only read it in the reference room. This book mustn’t leave the library.”

“But…”

“No.”

I peeped out of the stack and looked over to the counter. A disappointed Patrick was talking with the library custodian, a large leather bound book clutched to his chest. Serves you right! I thought with gloating delight.

I’d always considered the ‘Codex Seraphinianus’ to be a bit of a joke. I didn’t think anyone of stable mind could ever truly take it seriously. My eyes flicked across Patrick’s sad features again. What a putty head!

Anyway, I needed to care more about completing the task at hand.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017

100 WORD SKITTLE // Purrrfect Evolution

When you compare the cats of today to their predecessors, you realise just how tiny they’ve become. Domestication has taken the sabretooth out of the tiger, so to speak. Well, not quite all of the tooth, but you get my meaning.

On the other hand, cats have become much brainier, more sagacious. They’re so small that they must be quick on the uptake if they hope to continue to live in clover. Well, not quite in clover, but I’m sure you get my meaning.

Anyway, they’re cute when they purr, and only scratch and hiss occasionally. It’s a fair trade-off.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

GUEST POST // ‘Til Heartbeats Meet by Fiery

I whispered you a sweet goodnight
And hoped my breath would kiss you right
I hugged myself and touched your dreams
Penned poetry in golden reams
And though I can’t sleep in your arms
And wrap my heart in all your charms
I gift to you my verses sweet
Let’s sleep in love
‘Til heartbeats meet.

 

by FIERY
© All rights reserved 2019

Open-Source Poetry Four #1

Our Dearest Readers and Budding Poets (and Masters of Poetry, of course!),

We’d be lying if we said that Open Source Poetry is one of our least favouritest features here on Unbolt Me. Why? Well, it’s easy. We love the element of surprise that it brings. What scintillatingly fabulous line will you come up with next? What will you write to make us gasp in envy and wonderment as we struggle to match creative minds?

In short, communal poetry writing is a whole lotta fun!

Now, usually we’re the ones to start a new round of Open Source Poetry. We suggest the first line and then allow y’all to run with it, but we figured it would be more fun if this time we allowed you to suggest the first line of the new poem instead! Cool idea, huh? And, actually, while we don’t wish to restrict you in your creative efforts, because it’s Halloween soon, we propose that the theme should be ‘horror film’!

Here are the rules of this devilish game:

1) You submit the first line of our new poem via the comments section of this very post.
2) We pick the line we like most, and write the next one.
3) We publish the first and second lines in a follow-up post.
4) You submit the next line, we pick the one we like, and then we add it to the poem.
5) Step 4 is repeated until we have a masterpiece!

And with that, we sit back, put on our 3D glasses, grab a monster-sized tub of All Hallows’ Poppycorn™, and ready ourselves to shake and scream in horrified rhymed delight!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINATONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

All Risk and No Reward

“This is nice.”

I had to admit it was, her soft pillows with their hard buttons bunched up over my belly like that. And the rivulets of commingled sweat pooling in her cleavage beneath come hither eyes and an all-too-knowing smile. Well, that was kinda nice too. I loved that she wanted to try.

If only I could feel something stirring.

She squirmed against me in the narrow near dark of the cupboard. Her flannel shirt was undone, spread open, wife beater hiked up to reveal her aforementioned charms. My own shirt was hanging off the arm closest to the plywood doors that threatened to pop open with every thrub and downbeat. Outside, the party was thumping full throttle. Inside, we were taking a risk. We both had no pants on.

“I need you in me.”

Her bottom lip quivered, just enough to let me know she meant it. She squirmed some more, but neither of us could move nor do much of anything. Perhaps this wasn’t the sexiest idea we’d ever had. I took a deep breath. She winced.

“Sorry!” I squeaked. “Sorry sorry sorry…”

“It’s fine.” She gritted sweetly at me. “It’s fine, my big boy.”

I tried to adjust my breathing, but this only made tears come to her eyes. My girlfriend was no wilting flower, so it wasn’t the pain and discomfort that was getting to her. It was the knowledge that this kinky tryst was clearly not working out. She knew it. I knew it. It was only a matter of who was going to admit it first.

“Gehenna…”

“Don’t call me that!” Her eyes stabbed through me with such heartbreak and longing. “Call me slut. Or whore. Just fucking nail me. Please.”

I cast my gaze about this stuffy box with all the enthusiasm of a wilted fly-fisher on holidays at the fiery lake of hell.

“I’m so sorry.”

God, I sounded so pathetic. Even Gehenna deflated visibly at this point.

“Do you remember our first time?” she said softly, almost to herself.

“I do.”

“You said sorry then.”

I took a breath and added, “Because I was so small.”

She looked up at me. “And I said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make you big enough.’”

We didn’t say anything after that. Really, what was there to add?

My name is Nether. I’m too large, and I have a tiny dick.

 

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019