Month: July 2023

dream eating fish by Bogdan Dragos

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j re crivello's avatarGobblers by Masticadores

the police found her on the porch steps with the shotgun laid across her lap the roof was burning behind her and she was talking about fish “My head's starving,” she was saying. “The fish... they ate all my dreams. Fuckers think they can just swim around eating people's dreams when they please. Swim away from me.” She had no reaction as the cops came to take her shotgun away and restrain her. Just kept talking about fish and how they swim around and eat people's dreams There are many others like her in town and all over the world and it's not even the worst case scenario The worst of the worst are those who make the fish starve because they no longer have dreams to be eaten These people are all over the place, yet the news never mentions them There's nothing to talk about them Only to…

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2

genius level trap

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they didn’t think
about it.
That’s the problem, kids usually
don’t plan ahead,
they live in the moment

they just saw a movie
and wanted
to imitate the actors
because they thought what the
actors did was cool

The actors hunted wild
animals through
the jungle
and to do so they built traps
all over the place

They emulated the actors but
the only animal that fell
in their trap
was their pregnant mother. Using
the back door to
come into the yard
she tripped over the wire
they set and
fell
face first into the
knife blades that stuck out from the
ground as they buried the
handles in.

The trap was genius level

The therapist would have to be
so as well
9

join in the silence

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There was indeed silence now

Oh, and it's been but days
since the screams
cracked the windows
and the thrown bottles stripped
the walls of their paint
and the curses made the
gods cringe and cover their ears

The house of madness
no longer lived up to its name

For she was finally gone
and he was left
with the echoes

"C'mon, dare me to down it!" were
her words as she opened
the last bottle

And his were, "Bitch, you're mad!"

"Dare me, motherfucker! Dare me
to down this here bottle. You
don't think I can, do you? Ah, you
slime-gutted piece of
shit."

"I'm telling you to knock
it the fuck out already! I'll bury
yer fuckin' eyes in, see if
I won't."

But she was already
pouring down her throat. She
had this talent that
allowed her to drink without
swallowing. Pouring
down her throat was like pouring
down the sink. No choking

And then she'd hurl
the empty bottle with terrible aim
and break it against the
walls, planting shards all over the carpet

and then
finally
she'd be waiting in the
bedroom

But not today

Today she was no more
and all that was left of her were
the echoes of curses

The neighborhood was
probably celebrating

And her man
stood by the broken window,
a bottle of her favorite vodka
in one hand
and a fistful of painkillers in
the other

She no longer awaited him
in the bedroom
but underground
and he could already hear her
greeting words as he washed the
painkillers down with the vodka

"Took you long enough, asshole.
Now where's my goddamn
drink?"
8

Sticle goale de vin

English translation ---> HERE
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2

to terminate a storm

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It became more and more
obvious
There was a storm inside her

growing ever stronger

and she sought
to terminate it
before it was too late

It's arguably more difficult to
terminate such storms
when you're fifteen
and still living with your parents

so she decided not to
share her struggle
with them
and reached inside her
for the eye of the storm
with a steel wire she'd kept in
a bottle of hand sanitizer for a day
and a night

Yes, the first raindrops painted the
white of the bathtub

they were crimson
and salty

like her tears
13

And the undead were memories by Bogdan Dragos

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j re crivello's avatarGobblers by Masticadores

“I don't take a lot with me when I go cave exploring,” she said. “And I do go quite often. And I do go quite deep. It's because I always manage to find something there. Not something material, but a feeling. It's hard to explain. Like Mother Earth herself holds you in a very tight embrace. Like she's squeezing you back inside the place you came from. And above all, there's of course the thrill. The thrill of knowing that you might no longer be able to get out of there. Ever. I love that. It's like the opposite of claustrophobia. I get aroused by feeling trapped. Squeezed. About to have the air squeezed from my lungs.” And there was no one, not her parents, not her friends or the strangers she spoke to over the internet. No one who could convince her that on her last trip she didn't…

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4

why do you seek the living among the dead?

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The old lady kept coming by
the hospital to assure the medics that it'll be
okay

"He's a true fighter," she said. "I know he'll make it.
He has won the battle with drugs
twice in the past. He'll make it this time as well. I
know it. I feel it. I believe in him."

"Mam," said the doctor. "We found a bunch
of broken needles stuck in his arm. Now, since
you're his only relative
I do believe we shall carry out a discussion
involving septic shock. The effects..."

"He'll make it! I know he will! He's a true
fighter and a champion. I believe in him."

he didn't make it
but it was fine apparently. When they showed his
body in the morgue the old lady
didn't flinch.
Told them that's not her son. That was a dead
body and her son was alive. He'd never
die like that. He was going to make it.
She was sure he was going
to make it.
21

good and bad poetry (audio reading)

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Well,
after you write enough
and try to publish for long enough
you just notice it
There is no such thing as
good
or
bad
poetry.
There's just poetry to which people
can relate
and poetry to which
people can't relate.
And that makes all the difference
in the world.
36

the knife listens (poetry reading)

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but that handle was made for his hand
hand - handle
handle - hand

the fingers would close
around it to never let go
It had to have flesh around it
at all times
But the blade...
the blade was still naked. He couldn't leave
the blade naked
It wasn't fair

"So that's why you stabbed your
mommy then?" the psychiatrist asked him.

"Yes," he said.

"The knife is more important
to you than mommy?"

"The knife listens. Mommy doesn't."
22

hunger is the secret ingredient (poetry reading)

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like a baby left for
hours
and hours in a hot car
he
woke up
with a sweaty forehead
and a buzz
in his temples

no room to stretch

he got out
of the
car

in his underwear

shook his legs
and hands
rubbed the pain away from
his knees
and back of the neck

There was a bottle of water
he got from
the park fountain
among the litter in the back seat

he opened it

hot

took a sip and swirled it
around his mouth
spat
took another sip
swirled
spat

that’s for dental hygiene

He put on pants and a shirt
locked the car
and walked 50 paces
to the nearest public restroom
where he removed his shirt and
washed his hairy armpits

He studied the violet circles under
his eyes in the mirror
checked his teeth
his tongue
felt for wax in his ears

put on a professional smile

went to the public
library
and the desk by the window was free
His smile grew brighter
as he sat down
and opened the notebook

Chapter 86 would
be next in the manuscript

He looked out the
window
This writer life was precisely as
romantic as he thought it’ll be

no more
no less
12

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