Un boxer ghinionist

(ง •̀_•́)ง ผ(•̀_•́ผ) English version HERE!

MasticadoresRumanía Editora: Manuela Timofte

de Bogdan Dragoș

era boxer a apucat îndeletnicirea cam pe la opt ani și n-a mai lăsat-o din mâini. Din nefericire însă, a fi un bun boxer nu-ți garantează și o slujbă bună în societatea de azi. Tot ce-a reușit a fost să se angajeze ca agent de pază într-un un club de noapte local. IQ-ul său nu prea i-a venit în ajutor. Bătu un număr destul de mare de agitatori pe acolo și asta i-a câștigat o reputație a devenit o vedetă locală femeile-l doreau și l-au avut și viața a fost bună până când oponentul invincibil a pășit în ring. Ei bine, sunt mulți oponenți invincibili în viața unui bărbat, însă al lui a fost cancerul la prostată. Toate femeile care voiau să facă poze cu el și îi cereau autograful pe sâni și voiau să-l ia cu ele acasă nu mai însemnau nimic acum. Una dintre ele…

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still playing by Bogdan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

that love is a strange thing we need not remind ourselves again too much has been said about the damn thing and not enough has been felt we're not getting anywhere like that, are we? Rather than talk about it just allow yourself to feel Maybe go out, open the trunk of your car and find among the junk the thick, white rope that not too long ago circled her throat she wanted to die that day but you wouldn't let her followed her into the forest, you have. And tackled her at the base of the wide oak tree with low branches you robbed her of her rope like robbing an elderly lady of her purse in some dark parking lot She cried and held on to it but you were more determined life won over death that day life has to win over death every day, while death…

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Bad Blood by Bogdan Dragos

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(ゝ◡・)ノ♡ 

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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Trash Collector by Bogdan Dragos

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MasticadoresIndia // Editora: Terveen Gill

A man collecting garbage from the street and picking it up to put in a huge sack behind him
Image Source: Canva

I don’t know what was

more impressive

about him

the fact that he

collected trash

in a bag that was

at least three

times bigger than himself

and carried that bag

on his back

or the fact that

it was winter

and he was only

in shorts

and wasn’t cold

That one evening when

he approached me

in the store’s parking lot

he asked if I’d

seen any cans

I reached into my

shopping bag

and gave him one.

A can of beer

He shook his head

at it. “Nah, man, I can’t

take it like this.”

“What d’ you mean?”

I asked

He pointed at

it. “This ain’t trash,

man. It’s a perfectly

fine can

of beer. I only

take trash.”

Something told me that

the time

and the place was not

for arguing or

demanding explanations

You don’t just

ask a man like him to

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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
you
and not understanding
the real meaning
behind
the gesture

so was her
every
“I love you.”

Enough to make an
old boy cry
but he
preferred suicide

Needless to say
her response
was
“Meh.”

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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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static

she looks up at me with 
eyes hidden, almost locked,
behind 
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 
forever

and I’d like to
take her 
there

But alas,
I am stuck here onto
this wall

frozen in time

I'm a static 
painting

And my cold
words 
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

fasting for muses by Bogdan Dragos

well it’s been about four days of fasting Four days of eating nothing but smoke from his cigarettes so it was difficult to tell whether the woman who sat in his bathtub and smoked some of his cigarettes and watched him writing on his desk was real or not “Of course I’m real, you dumbass!” […]

fasting for muses by Bogdan Dragos

the living with the living, the dead with the dead

The building had 60 stories
and he was 60 years old
Still cleaning it from bottom to top
for the past 35 years

one thing remained unchanged
as time passed

the coldness

Every surface he’d ever touch would
be as cold as the glass
of a window in the winter

And the people who
worked in the building were
pale and cold as vampires

He forgot how it was to be saluted
or how it was to salute
and get a reply

No one talked to the janitor
No one knew his name

No one cared

There were no souls in this isolated
monolith
that stood in the center
overlooking other monoliths

Hell is cold
and monotonous
and plays constant factory noises
or keyboard noises
and exudes smoke

Even the plants were made of
plastic and their flowers
and leaves had to be sprayed with alcohol
and wiped with a rag

Real plants wouldn’t
accept such treatment

They would punish you with their death
and that should be enough

But not for those pale vampires

The only thing alive
was him, the janitor
who imagined jazz music playing in
his mind as he scrubbed the tiles

and one mushroom that grew behind one of the
toilets in the women’s bathroom from
a used pad

He left it there for days
It was his little secret, his little friend
in this world of soulless beings

It was life sprouting against
impossible odds

Life in hell

It was something to look up to
every day

Something to kneel before and say
hello to and sing jazz to
and even pat gently with the finger

He promised himself that the day that
mushroom died
he would retire

So far it was still alive
Still sprouting spores that he
inhaled
and tasted with his tongue after
rubbing it gently with his finger

Living beings
stick together
regardless of species

Just like the dead do

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