Wanton werewolf infects six with wereherpes.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022
Tag Archives: Writings
Sullen Earth
Is there a band whose music has been like an old friend to you down through the years? My Silent Wake has been that band for me. Hailing from the coastal town of Weston-super-Mare in England, they’ve been making doomy metal since 2005. And while the music itself may seem quite brutal and depressing, believe me when I say that it’s gotten me through some bleak times in my life.
There were many years of suicidal ideation, many years of crushing anxiety, many years of toxic religion. Throughout it all, the songs of My Silent Wake gave me a safe space in which I could unearth myself and actually breathe. I felt buried by life. I needed air. This music gave me that.
I’ve been doing much better for over a decade now, and listening to My Silent Wake these days continues to bring me joy. I feel moved by it, free because of it, maybe even a bit empowered by it. I am grateful that this band exists, and I’m grateful to all its members, past and present, who have made it what it is today. I recently shared an image I’d created with Ian Arkley—one of its founding members—as just a little thank you for… well, everything. Unbeknownst to me, he decided to set this image to the song it had been inspired by—called ‘Sullen Earth’—and put it on YouTube.
I’m grinning like a dope.
by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022
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the fall
a lustrous apple falls off the market stall
tumbles and rolls down the messy road
the ground is all bespattered and footworn
a tired stallkeeper takes the apple, puts it back
unsold produce is covered with a grey tarp at night
gets ripe then rots according to nature’s plan
a dirty apple with a battered side cannot sleep
nor stop thinking of that road and the meaning of life
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2022
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PERFECTION IN ACTION // The Omeletted Life
There’s no such thing as the perfect birth when an egg gets cracked in the process.
On the other hand, how to get born without some generous slaps to one’s silky-smooth bottom? Gotta spill some precious yellow soul to learn that life won’t be easy—best to get acclimated to that fact right away.
The cracks over one’s shell become like wrinkles on a face over time. They’re signs of wisdom and emotional endurance. Some fragility is to be expected.
And it affords all the King’s horses and all the King’s men a reason to buy shiny new glue guns!
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022
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ABSURDIS EXTREME // Case Study #1,986 [19/11/1986] by B.A. Loney
Every time there’s a quadratic equation to be solved, I’m compelled to put my thinking cap on. And my thinking glasses. And my thinking moustache. And my thinking codpiece. It’s a whole thing, and I have to do it each and every time something crops up that’s even vaguely taxing on the old grey matter.
Now, you could say, “What’s the big deal? I whip my knickers on and off every day without so much as a howdy-do, and no one considers that the Labours of Hercules, do they?” Well, to that I’d say the Labours of Hercules is very much what I’m going through whenever I put on my thinking gear to get a problem sorted! Chronic fatigue syndrome ain’t easy to live with, son, and when you stack that on top of an obsessive-compulsive disorder that compels you to wear what amounts to a costume every time your brain farts…
Anyway, let’s just say it ain’t easy, and leave it at that. Oh, and did I mention that I’m a sentient, grey slime? No? Well, now reread the first part, keeping this new piece of knowledge in your springy, pink brain. A cap, glasses, and a moustache. I’m not even sure where the hell to put the moustache half the time! And the codpiece? The fucking codpiece that jams up my tender loins every time!
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2022
unbolt me 