Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
the room was cold and there were gray flowers of dampness blooming all over the walls He took off his shoes and the shoes were the warmest things in the room so the kitten climbed into one of them He sat on the mattress in the corner and petted the cat in the shoe He smiled and said to the kitten, "At least I have no debts." Even God agreed with him. He winked through the hole in the ceiling
he takes his old wrinkled notebook and the black pen and finds a spot from which he can observe the people and write down what he imagines to be their inner conversations It passes the time and it takes away attention from his own inner conversations It’s like a prescription drug he has to take for the rest of his life and the twenty-nine bookshelves filled with notebooks he has at home stand as proof of that But this will be the last one, he promises himself as he closes the notebook and walks up to the bridge
She came from work pretty early and I knew when I saw her that she quit yet again She changed four jobs in the last five months and got a tattoo that said APATHY on her lower back Her father died five months ago. He died of what's called almost-drunk-driving He was sipping on a beer bottle while driving fairly slow on a country road But the front wheels hit some log or something and the impact triggered the airbag It bloomed in his face and stabbed the beer bottle into his eye causing him a major trauma to the brain R.I.P old man. Maybe not your wife but your daughter sure will miss you She's coming from work dirty and ragged Approaches me and demands a cigarette I give her a small lighter and she tells me to go fuck myself "Well you're done with work early today," I…
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You can still be good at what you do without liking what you do It’s more common than you’d imagine The words reflected his face in the steamy bathroom mirror He watched until he felt cold in his nakedness and shivered reached for the towel wiped got out of the bathroom put on clothes and returned to his writing desk The blank page was ugly unlike the somewhat encouraging words on the steamy mirror He reached into the drawer pulled out the pen stuck it into his mouth clicked it Reached again into the drawer pulled out the gun pointed it at the blank page fired He wrote for the remainder of the day and the next night around the smokey hole It was finally beautiful
From the hand of the writer Bogdan, we return to the path of short stories – j re crivello (editor)
by Bogdan Dragos
When the enemy strikes keep your gun close to you. That worked during the war, but the war was all those years ago and the saying didn’t apply today.
Today it was more like when depression strikes keep your ice cream at hand. He got into his slippers and went into the kitchen to grab a spoon for his ice cream. Living on the ground floor of an apartment building from the suburbs gives a man quite the sights to see at times. He peeked out the window and saw a man or child, couldn’t tell what the hell he was, only that he was very fat and he held a big silvery spoon in one hand and a pigeon in the other, and crushed the pigeon’s…
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the cat was utterly uninterested and downright bored with him reading mediocre poems by her side "You don't like this one?" he asked "It's about nature and birds flying and... and... How good does it have to be for you to like it? I'm only ten, I haven't lived long enough to write poems of grief and depravity like my father. But you know, I'm actually aiming to become better than him. I aim to be a more respected poet. What, you don't think I'll be able to? You think I'm just another deluded fool? I'll show you!" The cat stood and stretched raising her tail "Calm down, kid. First of all, your daddy was no poet. Just some drunk who spoke of demons as he passed out in bars. And you, you're not ten, okay? You're just ten days clean of meds." "You think I should end myself?" he asked The cat waved a paw at that. "Nah, just go on with the next poem. I'll be listening but please don't expect any praise. It's not in my nature to offer it, okay?" "But... you think I'll be a great poet one day?" The cat closed her eyes and offered no reply
mashed potatoes poached eggs beans and some homemade garlic sauce but no meat for the princess's sensitive stomach "I'm full," she said "No, you are not," said mother. "Eat up. Finish everything from your plate and trust me, it's been calculated. It's the right amount. Now eat up." Father agreed. Being a step-father he didn't have much of a say in this matter or any other It took the princess another twenty minutes to finish the food from her plate and then stood and went to the bathroom but it wouldn't be that simple. Mother had to go in with her And she did and both of them came out and the princess went to her room and mother started cleaning the table always just one step away from bursting into tears which gave her new husband some work with emotional support and all A princess doesn't steal but this…
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again she grabs a stool and places it into the corner of the room, climbs on it, assumes the lotus position and closes her eyes and covers her ears with headphones She faces the corner The voice that speaks into her headphones starts a countdown Meanwhile her father shakes his head as he watches her “You can’t be serious,” he says. “Are you meditating again to ask God to make life fair? Is that it? What happened? Was your Uber late? Internet connection slow? Heheh!” She doesn’t hear him. The voice in her headphones says, “And twist. Remember to always twist. If you only stab him it’s not enough. That’s just gonna do a little damage that can be fixed with a quick visit to the ER. You have to twist the blade. That’s when the significant damage happens. Twist as much as you can. Show no mercy. Take advantage of the fact that he will not expect this from you.”
Daydreaming as a profession 