Bad Blood by Bogdan Dragos

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MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

The close up of a woman's lower face with bloody lips and blood dripping down her chin and her bloody fingers upon her chin
Image Source: Canva

Nine PM caught them sitting on

the broken bench by

the river banks

She removes her jacket and

stretches her

hands. “See?” she says, “I told you I’m

bad blood.”

He stares at her,

mute and dumb and

utterly incapable to find himself

in her dark eyes “Huh?”

“The mosquitoes,” she says. “They

don’t want to

suck my blood. See? Not one of

‘em lands on me.” Lightly, she hammers a

fist against her chest. “This blood

is poisoned, I tell you. I’ve been

drinking since

my age was in the single digits. Helped

myself to mother’s stash

countless times. Now you can’t tell

my chest apart from a boy’s and, if I

remember right, I was about sixteen

by the time I had

my first period. Pretty sure I

can’t have children either. Though

I never really tested this.”

He hesitates. “But… your face is like

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all part of a grand plan

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Gobblers & Masticadores

By bogdan Dragos

"You are going to die," she told him He was silent for a moment and then said, "I know." "I mean very soon," she added. "The Holy Mother Spirit Guardian told me. She said, one of the men you're sleeping with, the one you met at the bar and watched him drink half a whiskey bottle by himself, is going to die a very premature death." "Thank God," he said at the moment there were better things to do than ask him to clarify but his words became clear to her a few days later when she drove to the construction site he worked at to pick him up his coworkers said that he's no longer among them "Poor bastard locked himself in one of the finished rooms on the ground floor," they said. "He often did that. Locked himself in the bathroom too, sometimes for hours…

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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

Azi m-am apucat de scris

ENGLISH TRANSLATION: 

There were times
when I got
home
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,
haina,
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

https://bogdandragos.com/

Volume publicate:

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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

Volume publicate:

https://bogdandragos.com/

Poem postat inițial pe https://gobblersmasticadores.wordpress.com/

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tarot reading by Bogdan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

She was sucking on a red lollipop quite loudly and would constantly take it out of her mouth to stir her whiskey with it She wore round sunglasses a crimson bandanna her hair in thin dreads and all her shirts were sleeveless She took the lollipop out one more time and pointed it at him across the table “You want some?” she asked “Um, no thanks. I, uh, stay away from sweets.” She dipped the lollipop back into the glass and stirred a bit then put it back in her mouth “Good for you. I’m not too fond of these either. Just use ’em to help me break the smoking habit. It’s been working lately.” She picked up the glass and took a sip of the lollipop-flavored whiskey “Anyway, like I said, I brought you to my place to read your tarot cards.” She pulled the deck out from under…

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Major Decisions by Bogdan Dragos

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MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

A young man wearing gray standing and leaning face forward against a gray wall
Image Source: Snappa

you know you’re depressed when

the window in your room

looks better with the

blinds on

than with a clear view of the outside

“But I’m all right,” he said

to himself

Beyond the thin wall

he heard wheezing breath and grunts

and moans. His roommate

was living the college life, alright.

Kid kept saying it is game that gets

you girls and not money or looks. Sure, but

it’s easy to say that

when your dad just

casually drops the keys to a brand new BMW

when he visits.

Meanwhile he’s been bartending for

the last eight years, since he turned twenty. Maybe

dropping out of college wasn’t

the greatest of ideas. Neither

was breaking up

with the only girl who cared for him. He

knew she cared for him because

she wouldn’t stop nagging him

to go back to college. Because

she wanted a life

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this is not one of them

the old boy
wakes up three hours ahead of
the world that lives in concrete buildings
and one hour ahead of the
competition
and emerges from his damp tent

looks around the park
looks at the sky

Overcast

He stretches a bit and scratches his
head
and walks over to the fountain
and has a drink

collects some mint leaves
chews on them
spits
and rinses his mouth

The work clothes are already on him
Boots
two pairs of socks
cotton and wool
faded jeans
a shirt
a sweater
and coat over them
mittens
and a cap that covers his ears as well

It's now time to set about
collecting tin cans around the neighborhood
to make just enough for
a meal and a half
and maybe a few cigarettes sold
individually

It's been
enough years for all this to become
routine
When you don't know of any better you
don't expect any better

And now he only did this to have just enough
energy and life force to
visit the public library and
read heart warming poems

Cyst by Bogdan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

you ever just sit or lay on your bed and stare at the ceiling and wonder if you’ve ever eaten meat from an animal that was the offspring of another animal you’ve eaten? I’ve once read an article about the food industry’s secret glue that can paste together the meat belonging from many animals and makes it look like it’s from a single one thus you could eat beef thinking that it’s from a cow when in fact it’s from nine different cows of nine different ages and breeds a friend of mine declared herself vegan after she sliced a steak and found gray slimy puss oozing from it. The blade struck a cyst “I’m a vegan forever from now on!” she screamed And I said, “I’m a writer.” “What?” she said. “What’s that have to do with what I said?” “I’m a writer,” I repeated. “Meaning I have to…

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lab rat by Bodgan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

so, you're writing poetry or, well, at least you pretend to and you pretend you're good at it and the people want more from you nice but how come none of what you write is uplifting stuff? if anything, you've got more depressing shit than uplifting stuff and you expect to get popular with that? get real! you've got to inspire people you've got to write motivational stuff, uplifting, hope giving stuff, upbeat verses brimming with intelligence and radiating brilliance your words are like confetti on a page why are they so scattered? what poem is this? why does it start with a lowercase letter? are you dumb? Don't you know how to write? you're unbelievable, man, unbelievable and don't even mention the nonexistence of rhymes, pfff, lame... this is not a goddamn poem, fool it's child's mockery and you should grow up and stop pretending you're doing this for…

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