they all gathered around to hear the little girl sing and she seemed so happy about it she had to cry first But they wouldn't dare join her in her cry and instead cheered and urged her to carry on Sing And she opened her mouth to sing but her mouth was wrong in as far as singing went broken askew defective And she kept on singing and they smiled brightly and dared not flinch as she sprayed their faces with spit but eventually her mother started crying and father embraced mother and guided her red face against his chest and started crying as well and buried his red face in her hair Our daughter is so talented Oh God, oh dear God, so talented And they began to pray silently and the aunt prayed she won't have to name the song the little girl was singing Oh God... And the little girl went pffff pfff brrr wa pfff chhh pff with her swollen tongue between the deformed lips and surveyed the crowd and wondered why her cousin wasn't present Well, it was his loss somehow he always got grounded before her concertos What an idiot
Mr. Big Walrus
as usually not much going on at her place “Why did you insist on coming here?” he whined And she watched him with scrutiny. “What? You don’t like it?” He looked around. “To be honest, your hobby scares me. You design dolls and plushy toys for a living. They even watch us as we fuck. I can’t stand this place, and don’t know how can you...” She stood from the bed walked over to a pile of plushy toys dug in for a brown hippo and reached up its ass and her hand returned with a small bottle of brandy “Shit,” he said. She tossed him the bottle. He caught it. “Right,” she said. “Now, why don’t you enjoy your treat and keep some company to Mr. Big Walrus there in the corner while I get back to work. I’ve some commissions to honor.” He opened the bottle smelled it Nodded at her and went into the corner of the room where Mr. Big Walrus awaited warm and fuzzy
Bogdan Dragos
cartoonist
Dad was fat all his life
Obese
He couldn’t do a lot of things.
Walk without special help
Bathe
Climb stairs
Sit in a normal chair
Drive a normal car
Sleep in a normal bed
And say “I love you, son.”
To draw those words out
of his dad he became a cartoonist,
but that also failed.
And now that his father
was dead,
collapsed face down
on the kitchen floor,
blood seeping out of a head wound,
he struggled to turn him over
on his back
and dipped his finger in the blood
and drew a speech bubble
next to his father’s head
and wrote in it the famous words.
Finally.
“I love you too, dad.”
spaceship
late autumn
cold enough to
turn a breath visible
he leaned against the
rail of the bridge
and watched the
river run
below him
and imagined he was in a
spaceship
hovering above the land
Smiling
he said, "Yes, I'll be there one
day, brother. I'll pick you
up with the spaceship we wanted
to build together. I'll
put it together and then–"
and just then a pair of
hands grabbed him
from behind and pulled him apart from
the rail. "All right now," said
the nurse, "let's not get
carried away again."
He startled. "I wasn't going
to jump this time. I swear."
"I believe you," said the nurse. "But
let's just leave now. Let's get
back. I'm cold and
I'm sure you're hungry too and
we could get a cup of
hot chocolate. How about it?"
"I wasn't going
to jump," he said.
She held his hand. "I know. I know, dear.
Come now. Let's get back."
"I wasn't going
to jump."
She dragged him away from the
rail and held his
hand all the way back
to what she called the friendly house.
Ol’ Bloody Brush
the old man stank but he stank more of booze and cheap tobacco than filth his mouth missed a lot of teeth and his eyes would never look in the same direction at once but worst of all were his hands Now those were really messed up He claimed he had paint tanks under his nails and he wasn’t lying he was mad but not a liar He could paint wherever he was on any surface And he did pressing the stump of his fingers against walls and furniture triggered immediate bleeding and then he would trace on and draw something Usually a penis or some hairy cunt or some silhouettes fucking or something like that Then he’d step back admire his creation and laugh and suck at his bloody fingers Ol’ Bloody Brush was a celebrity around the block He never had to buy a drink for himself There was always someone to treat him, an admirer a fan, a disciple Yeah, at 66 Ol’ Bloody Brush was living the life unlike other wannabe artists who devoted their existence to the craft and got nowhere These guys, they had the talent and the drive but Ol’ Bloody Brush, he had the madness and the world was coming to learn the difference
smart dead man
In the afterlife the creatures that
gathered around him
asked, “Why did you do it? Why
did you jump in
front of that train?”
He shrugged. “Life wasn’t
worth living anymore. And I wanted
revenge.”
“Revenge?”
“Yes, revenge.”
“On whom?”
“On the man driving the train, obviously.
My wife was divorcing
me, a lawyer, to be with a
locomotive engineer. Can you believe that?
So I had to do
something about it. I jumped in
front of his train
and now he’s got PTSD, depression,
he’s about to lose his job,
my wife has second thoughts
about being with him. His life’s nasty, alright.”
“Woah... you’re a smart man.”
another bulimic princess
mashed potatoes
poached eggs
beans
and some homemade garlic sauce
but no meat for the
princess's sensitive stomach
"I'm full," she said
"No, you are not," said mother. "Eat up. Finish
everything from your plate
and trust me, it's been calculated. It's
the right amount. Now eat up."
Father agreed. Being a step-father he
didn't have much of a say in this
matter or any other
It took the princess another twenty
minutes to finish the
food from her plate
and then stood
and went to the bathroom but
it wouldn't be that simple. Mother had to go in
with her
And she did
and both of them came out and
the princess went to her
room
and mother started cleaning the table
always just one step away from
bursting into tears
which gave her new husband some work
with emotional support and all
A princess doesn't steal
but this was a desperate princess
she locked the door to her room
and pulled out from under her
shirt the
roll of plastic bags
took one
opened it
sat on the bed leaning forward
elbows on knees
face before the bag
and she didn't even have to
put the fingers in her mouth
the vomit just came
every bit of mashed potatoes
and poached eggs and every pea
and the homemade garlic sauce
She tied the bag
it felt very warm in her hands
placed it under her bed
got her phone and sent a text
in twenty-something minutes
he was under her window
and she threw him the bag of vomit
and he walked away with it
carried it to a trash bin far from her home
He was such a sweet guy for
doing all this for her
He was her prince
Except he still kept his frog form
even after all the kisses and blowjobs
after school
but well,
when you're desperate...
unlovable trash
well
there's plenty of cutesy names to
call one's children
but his was 'unlovable trash'
He remembered it from the time he was in the crib
They held him there
for longer than most parents
held their kids in cribs. Though only dad
called him so
because he constantly claimed he wasn't his
unlovable trash
he had the wrong skin tone
was too pale
with curly orange hair
and freckles
but mom always pretended she didn't
hear
the words
unlovable trash
she would act as if they were never uttered
and growing up
he thought
unlovable trash was a good thing
thought it was how you show love to your loved
ones
"Mom, you’re unlovable trash."
she was so happy to hear it
she burst into tears and went into the
kitchen and uncorked a bottle of wine
and drank it all by herself. What an
unlovable trash she was
Unfortunately
by the time he could pronounce the lovely
words
father was no longer in his life
but father too
was an unlovable trash
I am hell
he could count the major events
in his life on a
mangled hand's fingers
But this was one of them. The day she took him
to church.
So that's what girlfriends are for.
But he didn't like the church
didn't like the songs
didn't like the preacher and the preaching
the man spoke of hell. But he
didn't know
shit about hell. No baby, hell's not a place
where you go,
it's a place where you stay. Namely, a body
and a mind that has no
major passions
no drive towards improvement
no dreams
no goals
no desire to get out and connect with the world
no love to share
no stories to tell or disposition to listen
no reasons to live or carry on
In other words, me, motherfucker. I am hell.
He broke up with
his girlfriend the next day. Her crying didn't
affect him
Daydreaming as a profession 