Azi m-am apucat de scris


There were times
when I got
threw my backpack in the corner
took off my shoes
my jacket
walked into my room
took off my pants, my shirt
put on sweatpants, another shirt
turned on the PC
ate a bag of salty potato chips
drank whatever I could
wasted time

I was happy in those times

Today I write. 

MasticadoresRumanía Editora: Manuela Timofte

de Bogdan Dragoș

Erau vremuri
în care ajungeam acasă,
îmi aruncam ghiozdanul într-un colț
al camerei,
îmi dădeam jos papucii,
intram în cameră,
îmi dădeam jos pantalonii, tricoul,
trăgeam pe mine ceva 
pantaloni din ăia largi, alt tricou,
porneam calculatorul,
desfăceam o pungă de cipsuri,
beam ce puteam
și pierdeam vremea.

Eram fericit
în acele vremuri.

Azi însă,
m-am apucat de scris.

Imagine de Gordon Johnson de la Pixabay

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cat shaking the paw by Bogdan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

She could say it if
she wanted
to but
the words would
carry no
weight behind them

like a cat shaking
the paw with
and not understanding
the real meaning
the gesture

so was her
“I love you.”

Enough to make an
old boy cry
but he
preferred suicide

Needless to say
her response

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Shock by Bogdan Dragos

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MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

Blood spilling down old and molded stone stairs
Image Source: Canva

the three of them stood by the

banks and watched

the water turn


So it’s not like in the movies. When

you see someone dying

you don’t burst into

uncontrollable fits of screaming

You stand very still

and watch

and can’t speak

can’t blink

can’t turn away

can’t run

can’t do anything really

Shock is not something that makes

you jump

It’s a cement that stuns you

there was still more and

more blood seeping

from the body impaled in

the jagged rocks. The river

turned red on all directions around it

Death was a scary thing

but not having a stepfather

who sent you to beg in the streets so he

can drink the profits

made up for it

When there was no more

blood to be

carried away by the water

they smiled

All three at once


Bogdan Dragos supervises casinos for…

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mother forbade feeding the poor thing

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Gobblers & Masticadores

By Bogdan Dragos

there was a dog outside and it kept barking for some reason Ah yes, it was chained and the chain was terribly short and the poor animal was hungry Mother wouldn’t bother feeding it No, mother wanted it to die because it had been father’s dog, inherited along with the house after father died Mother forbade feeding the poor thing Her child stood next to the window and listened to the poor thing barking outside It was better than listening to mother drinking and talking ugly words with her boyfriends He opened the window and the dog saw him immediately and barked at him He wanted to cry Tried talking to the creature but it wouldn’t listen. It kept barking “Mother would cut my hand off if she caught me stealing food for you.” But he was a smart kid He leaned over the window and thrust…

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Pisica din papuc

(っ◕‿◕)っ English version HERE

MasticadoresRumanía Editora: Manuela Timofte

de Bogdan Dragoș

Camera era rece
și flori gri de mucegai 
înfloreau pe pereți.
Și-a dat jos papucii
și aceștia fiind cele mai calde
lucruri din cameră
puiul de pisică
se adăposti într-unul din ei.

El stătu pe o saltea în colț
și mângâie pisica
din papuc.
Deodată, zâmbi și zise,
– Eh, măcar n-am datorii.

Până și Dumnezeu
a fost de acord cu el. I-a făcut
cu ochiul
prin gaura din tavan.

Imagine de Adina Voicu de la Pixabay

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The Watcher by Bogdan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

the bartender was displeased with him and the patrons didn't like him much either He was the sickly, slender man who came at opening time and sat at the table by the window, watching the people outside he sat there until closing time problem was, he occupied that seat for so many hours in a row with only one drink usually a cognac sometimes he would mix all sorts of pills in it and wait for them to dissolve some did others didn't Regardless, he sipped at his drink and watched the people outside and spoke to nobody and seemed never to be bothered by noise, like he was deaf and the days passed and the weeks went by and he'd show up without fail When they did talk about him they called him The Watcher and speculated about his mental illness However, when I went to the bar myself…

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Most Subjective Industry of All by Bogdan Dragos

MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

The bust shot of suggestive pose of a young woman covered in different colored paint with a a multicolored wig on her head
Image Source: Snappa

“Some poets are lucky,” he said. “And

others simply aren’t.

Remember, as long as we talk

about the publishing


it’s all about luck.

Like, yeah, go ahead and name

one, just one industry

that is more subjective, or just

as subjective as

the publishing industry. I bet

you can’t.”

“Um, fashion industry?” I said

“Fashion bullshit,” he said.

“You’re not even close. Had you any

knowledge you’d know

the fashion industry is actually

not subjective at all. You just

gotta look skinny as a patient

who went through their

36th appointment for chemotherapy and

you’re good. You’ve made it

in the industry. Beauty is not

even a requirement. You just gotta be

skinny as fuck

and with plain features. Kinda like a

hanger that people

hang clothes on. Nothing more.

A well dressed scarecrow

can make it in the fashion industry.”

He turned to the side

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Play the Tendons like Violin Cords in the Cold Night by Bogdan Dragos

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(▔▀ ‿ ▀ )ლ ▂▂⌇

MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

A muscular, shirtless man with his back towards the camera and a knife raised with both hands at his neck level
Image Source: Snappa

that guitar is useless in

his hands now

He spent over ten thousand

hours playing

It’s all he does, really

He has all the time

in the world

after the accident that

rendered his legs


He sits in bed or in

the wheelchair all day

and plays the guitar

but it’s all useless

He’s lacking the fire

in his eyes

All his songs are the

same song

A sad tune

And the lyrics are all in

his mind

and they’re darker than his



The other day his

mother found a

knife in his room,

under the mattress

He said the guitar wasn’t

enough anymore

The guitar was fine so far

because the cords

brought feeling

to his fingers

but now that the fingers

had gone completely numb

with thick skin

he wanted to

pick up the violin

for a change


Bogdan Dragos…

View original post 52 more words


she looks up at me with 
eyes hidden, almost locked,
thick bars of hair
that reaches all the way to 
her small nose

Hair discolored like
dry straw,
second in paleness only
to her ghostly face

She doesn’t stare too much
because there 
are other things to see
in the room

She moves 
on. Not 
knowing that I also stared
at her. Into her soul

I’ve spotted an unquenched
cry there

The easiest to
recognize is the cry of loss
and that’s what I saw there

paired with
the cry of want

She wants to get away
from here
Far, far away. She wants to go
and never stop. Wants
to travel into 

and I’d like to
take her 

But alas,
I am stuck here onto
this wall

frozen in time

I'm a static 

And my cold
void of any vibration
will never reach her

I have to make my peace
with it. Yeah, some
people just don’t read
poetry. And even if
they do, what are the chances 
they’d read mine? 

Wow, what a fool I can be at times
But, well, at least
I have my dreams
and myself to laugh at 

You don’t need much else
in eternity

Strategy for Productive Writing by Bogdan Dragos

Image Source: Snappa “I tried to hire my mentally ill brother,” he said. “I gave him a knife. He’s forbidden to touch them but I gave him one anyways and told him to use it on me. That was my strategy for productive writing. My brother would stand by the door and I told him […]

Strategy for Productive Writing by Bogdan Dragos

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