Starting the new year with a dream come true ☆ﾟ°.* ᕕ( ⌐■_■ )ᕗ TOME Literary has agreed to feature three of my poems in their 1st issue, titled "Consumption". Check it out HERE! for free 🙂 POEMS: he's the writer! magic fish tank no such thing as something for nothing Also, get in touch via INSTAGRAM. Thanks! 🙂
Taking a short break from doing translation work and now devouring Bogdan‘s 2020 poetry collection PourWhiskey Over My Heart And Set It On Firewhich carries with it the signature images that scandalizes, tears, and undo me every time. I love how Bogdan’s poetry disturbs the psyche and annihilates moral boundaries that sometimes Boccaccio’s The Decameron comes to mind and marries every heinous psychological thriller film there is. Great afternoon read!
5. Where did you get the idea for your Daydreaming as a Profession blog site? Was it something you’ve always wanted to do? And how long has it been in existence?
Daydreaming is and was always my favorite activity. And the one I’m really good at (because it happens effortlessly). I’ve been doing it all my life, but never thought I could create something tangible from it.
Now pretty much every poem is the result of daydreaming.
Growing up, I’ve often been told that I daydream too much. The Romanian expressions for daydreaming sound something along the lines of, “to dream with one’s eyes open,” and my personal favorite, “to dream of green horses on the walls”.
Goodness, I can’t recall how many times I’ve heard that in my life. If someone could show me snapshots of my life, 85% of them would probably be of me holding a fixed…
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Welcome folks to the latest edition of my Brilliant Blogger Poet initiative which this week features what promises to be an intriguing and insightful interview with the daring & provocative Mr. Bogdan Dragos. He works in a casino by night dreaming of being a writer of renown, where I imagine he meets all sorts of interesting & strange people. Thank you Bogdan for agreeing to participate in this initiative.
1. First of all I’d like to ask you have you always been drawn to expressing yourself through the written word and telling stories?
Oh, absolutely not!
I hated reading and writing as a child and as a teenager. I hated school and everything that resembled or reminded me of it. One time I got into a fight with a friend at the end of summer vacation because he wouldn’t stop talking about how eager he was for school to begin…
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(ﾉ*･ω･)ﾉ*. ☆ﾟ English version HERE!
de Bogdan Dragoș
în viața de apoi, creaturile care s-au strâns în jurul lui l-au întrebat: – De ce-ai făcut-o? De ce ai sărit în fața acelui tren? El ridică din umeri. – Viața nu mai merita trăită și voiam să mă răzbun. – Să te răzbuni? – Da, să mă răzbun. – Pe cine? – Pe tipul care conducea locomotiva, evident. Adică uitați-vă și voi, soția mea divorțează de mine, un avocat, ca să fie cu un dinăsta de conduce trenuri. Vă vine să credeți? Trebuia să fac ceva în legătură cu asta. I-am sărit înaintea trenului și acuma saracu’ are șoc post-traumatic, depresie, e pe cale să-și piardă slujba, soția mea își reconsideră intențiile de-a fi cu el. Viața lui e nașpa, ce să mai zic? – Uau... ești un mort inteligent, nu glumă.
“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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Don't forget to check out and follow MasticadoresIndia to find more writings to enjoy! Thanks! ヾ(o✪‿✪o)ｼ
“Lack of love,” she once told him, “can turn
a man into a cracked shell. Turn
his steps into rotten
butterfly wings falling. Turn his
breath into ether. His heart into a sick slug
struggling to escape a haunted bog.”
but then again his parents told him
long ago when he was a child
that if he kept making ugly faces
he’ll remain like that forever
Well, now his parents weren’t here
and she wasn’t here
He was all alone
with his cat who gently licked at its genitals
besides him on the other pillow
Other than the cat’s saliva
breaking apart in contact with its fur
there was no sound in the room
it was all so peaceful
There was a gentle drizzle outside
just enough to keep people
and noisy children off the streets
It was perfect
Had she been here
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(づ ◕‿◕ )づ BIG THANK YOU to Masticadores!!
Masticadores&Gobblers is pleased to announce that Bogdan Dragos has renewed with us; It is the fourth time and series that we will publish it. We have already sent by the author 50 pages that we will gladly present to everyone week by week.
We will say that Bogdan is very followed and the visits and readings of him are very high, with which sometimes an edition of a book of poems is not as read as his publications in Masticadores (and in MasticadoresIndia too)
Thank you Bogdan!
j re crivello
Founder and Director of Masticadores (16 blogs, in 10 countries and 5 languages) https://masticadores.com
Masticadores&Gobblers tiene el placer de anunciar que Bogdan Dragos ha renovado con nosotros; es la cuarta vez y serie que le publicaremos. Tenemos ya enviados por el autor 50 páginas que con gusto presentaremos a todos semana a semana.
Diremos que Bogdan…
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Check out MasticadoresIndia and find more writings to enjoy (=•́ܫ•̀=)
a thief had entered the house
was the TV remote
Perhaps some prankster kid
because at times
the TV would act strange. So he’s probably
close and messing with them
there was only the two of them
home. The old man with
dementia and his
daughter, not a very young woman herself
unable to speak,
the old man
began to cry because he couldn’t
watch his favorite
cartoons on TV
and he cried and cried and kept crying
It was too much
and, the daughter thought, it was
about time. About time she
left the past behind and
own life. She was 39, childless,
no husband, no boyfriend, nothing.
Over the next few days
she arranged for the old man
to be placed into foster care. He was still
Sacrifices had to be made. She was wiping her
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