Will Repair Umbrellas for Cash by Bogdan Dragos

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⊂(◉ ‿ ◉)つ 

MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

An old bearded man who appears to be dirty and homeless is looking up through some barbed wire
Image Source: Canva

I was at that age

when you

read whatever writing

catches your eye

by way of style


and stuff

It’s a sensitive age

for kids

The advertising

industry knows it

But the words I read

weren’t quite


They were written on a

piece of cardboard

placed next to

a homeless man who

sat on the curb under

the awning of

a pharmacy

the writing said




I thought I was good

at figuring out

commercials on TV

and even in magazines

and newspapers

but this one was

beyond me


Buddy, who in the hell

takes their umbrella

to the repairman?

Doesn’t make any sense

If an umbrella does

break, why not

just buy a new one? It’s

not expensive or


How can anyone make a

living repairing


No wonder the guy

was homeless

I kept thinking about


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Bogdan Dragoș – Interviu

( ^◡^)っ English version HERE!

MasticadoresRumanía Editora: Manuela Timofte

"Erau vremuri
în care ajungeam acasă,
îmi aruncam ghiozdanul într-un colț
al camerei,
Eram fericit
în acele vremuri.
Azi însă,
m-am apucat de scris"

Azi m-am apucat de scris

  1. Ai vreo carte preferată. Dacă da, care? 

A: Blood Meridian (Meridianul Sângelui) de Cormac McCarthy. Nu spun că-i cea mai bună carte scrisă vreodată, dar este cu siguranță una care m-a influențat foarte mult. Și asta pentru că a apărut în viața mea într-o vreme în care tot ce știam despre ficțiune erau conceptele din basmele copilăriei în care culorile morale ale personajelor sunt perfect alb-negru. Cei buni erau perfect buni, iar cei răi erau perfect răi. Așa că vă dați seama cum mi-a putut schimba Meridianul Sângelui viziunea despre ficțiune. 

2. Ai vreun scriitor preferat? Dacă da, care ar fi acela?

A: Păi, luând în considerare răspunsul meu la întrebarea precedentă, ar trebui să spun acum Cormac McCarthy. În…

View original post 953 more words

my favorite writer

"He started writing," she
said, talking
about her
"He's an old man now. Had
me when
he was in his
late forties. You'd think
late forties would
be enough to realize
that a man is crazy, but
well, not my mother
I guess. Or perhaps it was
the craziness that
attracted her to him. I'll never
He says that writing is
something you can
do until you drop
dead, unlike
sports where you can only be
truly good when you're
young, in your prime.
Also, he's
one of those artists who
believe that
one must suffer for art. I tried
telling him that's just
plain stupid,
but despite all my efforts he
still sprinkles
razor blades on his bed
when he goes to sleep. He moves
at night
or course
and of course he gets plenty
of cuts. All over his body.
And every time he gets a cut
he stands up,
turns on the light,
and sprays rubbing alcohol on
the cut.
He says it works 100% of
the time.
Instantly he gets inspired,
grabs the muse by
the throat, as he puts it.
There's a laptop on his nightstand,
ever turned on,
and he immediately starts
writing as the
blood seeps out of
the wound. When the inspiration
wains he grabs the bottle
of rubbing alcohol and
sprays some more. There's no
writing without pain, he says. And
of course
all his stories are
about pain and suffering.
He's even got one in which
this old guy
who never did anything worthwhile
in his life
finds himself paralyzed in
his armchair
from the waist down.
How he can't do shit
and just cries
and begs death to take him
already. But he doesn't really
want to go. He knows that all
his life has been lived in vain.
He never made one
soul happy as long
as he lived.
So he gets this idea that if only he can
make one soul happy
before departing forever
he had not lived in vain.
In part two of
the story he
starts cutting pieces of his own
flesh, from the legs
in which he's got no
feeling, and throws them
out the window for
the mongrel dogs and
street cats to feast on. Then he
dies in peace,
knowing that he'd made at least
a few souls happy."

"Did he really write that,"
I asked

"Sure did," she said. "And many
more. He doesn't care
about publishing
though. He just knows that
the world will discover his
art after he'll be gone. I guess
he made his
peace with this."

"Shit," I said, "listen, could I
read that story myself?
Or any other
of his?"

"Like I said, he won't
share his
writings with an audience. Only
postmortem, he says."

Well, after that evening
every time I met her
I kept asking
about her father.

He was still
alive and

He also got diabetes
from all the
glasses of coca-cola
mixed with
six or seven spoonfuls
of sugar he drank
to replenish his blood,
but that was
all right, apparently it only
made him write better
now that he had more
suffering in his life

he also refuses to see
or be seen
by any doctors
or psychiatrists

Well, I don't want much
from him, only
to know that
he's got a big fan
in this world

interviewing unpublished writers by Bogdan Dragos

┌( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)=ε/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿   Visit Gobblers/Masticadores and find more writings you can enjoy!

Gobblers & Masticadores

he did have a dream of becoming a writer in his youth but youth doesn’t last forever One day he grew up and had to pick a real job. He studied journalism and became a reporter It was today’s task that reminded him of the old dream. He had to interview unpublished writers A lot of them and the general question was “Why do you write?” The answers he got were quite diverse “I don’t know,” said one writer. “I’m just trying to recapture the feeling I had in childhood when my mother used to beat me until I fell unconscious and dreamed that she loved me.” And another said, “I’m not sure. I just write because I can’t do anything else in life.” Another said, “I’m still trying to write the perfect suicide note to leave behind. I swear to God, I will not kill myself until I write…

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What the Shadow Eats, the Shadow Becomes by Bogdan Dragos

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MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

The abstract image of a woman's face with black buildings painted on her orange forehead and the upper half of her face having a shadow painted across it
Image Source: Canva

A great shadow seems

to have

tripped and fallen

over these memories

like a thing alive

and hungry

How lucky it is

to have stumbled upon

such treasure

I feel it

eating right now, like

a famished animal

filling its belly

with chunks not even


It’s eating her


and I can no longer

remember it


The more I try

the more blurred the

image becomes

and its sides are already


The shadow had

ingested them, assimilated

them as nutrients

What the shadow eats

the shadow becomes

And now the

memory is

only the shadow

And I’m thinking that

it has always been

the shadow

I was in love

with a

shadow all this time

She hasn’t been consumed,

only unmasked,


And she’s

as beautiful as ever

and my love

is still alive

and vibrant


Bogdan Dragos supervises casinos for a…

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I’ve never seen you empty by Bogdan Dragos

ヾ( ・ ω ・*)ノ Visit Gobblers/Masticadores and find more writings you can enjoy!

Gobblers & Masticadores

the crystal glass sat alone and empty on the window sill She watched it and studied the imprint of her lover’s lips and fingertips on it “Damn, I’ve never seen you empty,” she said to the glass. “How did we get here?” A good question, she realized. It probably starts from growing up with a mother who got beat up on the daily and took it all with a kind of furious pride. It probably starts with telling yourself that when you grow up you will do all in your power to not be like that woman. You’ll be the exact opposite. You won’t take no shit from no man. And you started your adulthood exactly like that. A bad bitch, as some would put it. So why didn’t it continue like that? How come when you met a fragile, damaged man instead of another tough guy, you not only…

View original post 320 more words

Oamenii ca tine, mor tineri

(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞ English version HERE!

MasticadoresRumanía Editora: Manuela Timofte

de Bogdan Dragoș

– Oamenii ca tine mor tineri, îmi zise ea.
Tu nu bei peste măsură, nu 
te droghezi, mănânci destul
de sănătos,
rar ieși în oraș, rar întâlnești
fete noi.
Dar continui să scrii, băiete.
Continui să scrii
și asta-i suficient ca să le-ntreacă
pe toate cele de mai sus.
O să vezi tu...

Imagine de Gabriele M. Reinhardt de la Pixabay

Volume publicate:


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A Place with More Meaning by Bogdan Dragos

Don't forget to check out and follow MasticadoresIndia to find more writings to enjoy! Thanks!

MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

An abstract image with a cup of coffee in the center and the fires of hell on the left side and the cross of Christ on the right side
Image Source: Canva

“One day

I drank 29 cups of

coffee,” she said

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ve

no doubt.

“It was my attempt at

suicide,” she said

“Yeah. I’ve no


“There’s free coffee at


so I took advantage. My

boyfriend died

that way, you know? He

was a truck


so he used coffee and

energy drinks to

help him drive at night.

I don’t know how many

he had that night,

but his heart


And I thought, you know,

if I die in the

same way, perhaps I will

be taken to the same

place as him.

It just didn’t work for


I know you think this

is, like, so naive,

but when you’re drowning in

grief like I was… even

the afterlife

starts to make sense.

That’s when you

believe most in fantasy. I

even believed in

God, like all the people who


View original post 161 more words

An Attempt at Flash Fiction (for Bogdan Dragos)

Andrew Dabar

“It’s my life!”

In the week following Christmases ago, an old timey preacher listened gravely, though not condemningly, to a young man as he confessed his love and determination to run off with a married woman in the congregation–after which–the tall grandfather clock in the far corner of the study seemed indignant and extra loud, as if it were counting down to the Day of Judgement instead of the new year.

In the thoughtful silence which ensued, the preacher removed his thick glasses, fogged the lenses with his breath, and wiped each slowly with a handkerchief–the one he always used to blot holy sermon sweat from his brow. Swiveling around in a squeaky chair, he reached for the paper tray situated beneath the HP printer he barely knew how to use and retrieved a clean sheet.

“Son, if you came here for my blessing, you certainly don’t have it. But…

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transgressive fiction needs to make a comeback by Bogdan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

he used to write those very intense works about human suffering and degeneracy and the corruption of good souls into evil criminals - Breaking Bad style He hated supranatural stuff in writing. Stayed away from it. “It’s just stupid,” he said. “There’s more than enough magic, both dark and light, into the human heart to keep a reader entertained. You don’t need to invent it, just report it.” And he did in every one of his twelve books but unfortunately not one of them got published He had two agents who saw something in some of his works and tried to sell them, but after numerous failures they both gave up and parted ways with him Apparently it just wasn’t meant to be “It’s the state of today’s world,” he said. “The large majority of people have been reduced to an infantilized status. This generation grows up only with the…

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