DR Bogdan


and then, maybe, write about it

  • opening theme

    4 August 2020 by

    Oh, that face
    Of a mother
    Her mother

    And that grin

    And the voice that never spoke
    aloud, only whispered
    “Oh, look at you, dear. You
    think you’re grown
    up? You think
    you’re ready to leave? Abandon
    your dear mother? Go start
    your life with the fool
    who got you pregnant? Oh, please.
    Can you get any more ridiculous
    than this, I wonder? Ah, dear,
    you’re not gonna have a happy life.
    I tell you what
    you’re gonna
    have. An abortion and the duty
    to turn that fool away. You’re
    not leaving
    here. It’s not your destiny, dear.
    Besides, he’s not gonna love you. Not
    after he finds out
    about your… problem. Ha-hah-haa!”

    Yes, eight years
    later the words still echoed
    in her mind
    They were the opening theme
    before every episode
    of seizures
    in the show of life with epilepsy

    It turned out to be
    a self-fulfilling prophecy
    but only by half

    The fool was driven away, indeed
    but the child

    He was a good boy
    who always stood by his mother’s side

  • You do not disturb an artist when he is in the state of flow

    31 July 2020 by

    father had a big room
    all to himself

    he called it the study

    No other fathers
    she knew of
    had this privilege
    but hers was an artist, a writer,
    a poet

    And the last time she
    entered his study
    he turned from his massive
    desk to face her and
    spat in her face and slapped
    her hard and cursed her

    You do not disturb an
    artist when
    he is in the state of flow,
    was the lesson there

    Well, it was learned so well
    that twenty years
    have passed and it was not forgotten
    Its greatest benefit
    standing in
    preventing her from marrying
    a writer

    It led to happiness

    Today she was a
    happy housewife
    who prepared pear puree
    for her three-year-old girl
    who would one day have
    to learn the most important
    lesson of her life
    Don’t you dare become an artist’s wife!

    But there’d be time
    enough for education. Today
    she’d have to
    deliver the monthly payment
    to the nursing home for taking care
    of some mad old fool who
    wrote poems with his
    own shit on the bathroom walls

    They were all
    about some daughter who won’t
    visit him and wouldn’t
    acknowledge his existence
    or something like that

  • pray yourself to sleep

    29 July 2020 by

    you can’t unlock the door
    when there’s a key
    inside the lock
    from the other side

    all you can do now is
    to plead with your kid to
    let you in

    it’s 12:47 AM
    and kid’s got school in the morning
    He’s not asleep
    because there was no one to tell him
    to go to sleep
    There was no one home all day
    and this late into the night
    and he’s pissed
    and very hungry, tired and
    full of rage

    Where have you been all this
    time, mom?

    Indeed, where have you been?

    Better leave the answer
    for tomorrow
    when the spirits will sizzle
    a bit less

    Until then
    take off your high heels
    and the glitter from your face
    and the semen from your hair
    and lie down on the
    doormat and
    maybe pray yourself to sleep

    It’ll get better. One day
    you know it will

  • adventure girl

    27 July 2020 by

    It is known
    You can never hold on to
    an adventurer

    and she was one

    And she was gone

    and he stood by the window
    and smelled the
    guitar she left behind,
    not knowing how to play it

    A girl like her
    travels around the world
    like a sailor and
    loves many boys and men
    and they never forget her

    The one mistake
    they all share is
    trying to lock her in their

    It’s like trying to
    capture the sun’s light in
    a bag and take it
    into your dark house

    Women like her
    are responsible for
    men who call themselves
    romantics and write love poems
    and dream

    He struck the cords
    of the guitar
    once. Looked out
    the window. Warm, sunny day.
    Streets busy with children
    running fast, passing by
    adults who walked slow

  • high commandment

    25 July 2020 by

    from the violet cloud above
    God stretched a
    hand and passed down to him
    the dagger with
    a blade made of frozen shit

    “Take this,” said God, “and pose
    yourself at the
    gates of the school. Offer to
    clean the
    students under the fingernails
    and toenails with it.
    Now go.”

    He woke up when
    the mongrel dog whose tail he grabbed
    and squeezed and pulled
    started to cry and bark
    and turn to bite at his hand

    He screamed and backed away from
    the poor thing
    and watched it run away

    He looked at himself

    Naked and smeared with sooth
    and mud and whatnot

    He looked around him

    The landfill
    just outside town

    He fell to his knees

    Damn, those were some good mushrooms

    He stood and walked
    back towards the town

  • another one of her antics

    23 July 2020 by

    it was a charming night
    She really
    liked a man who could
    drive her from
    the restaurant after having
    quite some glasses
    to drink
    and he was that man

    He drove her to
    his house
    and helped her out of the
    car like a
    and even held her hand
    all the way to
    the door

    Her heart was pounding
    and her brain too. A voice
    kept saying
    ‘He’s the one. He’s the one!’

    It was silenced
    when she saw two small
    animal heads on his
    doorstep. A cat’s and
    a bunny’s. The doormat
    was soaked with
    their blood

    She froze and
    the gentleman said, “Oh crap,
    not this shit again.”
    And he walked up to
    them and kicked them
    to the side like mini soccer balls

    “My ex-wife,” he said with a shrug. “Just
    another one of
    her antics. You get used
    after a while.”
    He opened the door and
    motioned her in

    She hesitated

  • writing for the rest of his life

    21 July 2020 by

    he declared himself insane
    before the world

    and the world did worse
    than not to
    believe or ridicule him

    The world
    ignored him

    He was an old writer
    with a body
    rotting from the inside
    A cancer in his lungs, right
    around the heart

    Effort made him faint
    Oftentimes the effort of sitting
    on the toilet and pushing

    But when he wasn’t on the
    toilet he
    was at his desk


    And smoking. There was
    a candle in the corner of his desk
    always burning

    The rule was that for every
    seven minutes spent
    not writing he’d hold his hand
    above the flame for
    seven seconds

    His hands looked like decomposing
    carcasses of mole-rats

    but they could
    still hold
    the pen

    He would go on writing
    for the rest of
    his life

    all seven
    hours of it

  • an all-or-nothing gamble

    19 July 2020 by

    She followed him home from
    the casino
    because he
    swore he was a gambling addict

    A true gambler

    he lived only to gamble

    Never missed a chance to declare it

    “I like gamblers,” she
    said. “Love ’em to death.”

    He was all

    and then she continued, “Say, what
    about a little gamble
    of our own? You down for that?”

    “Baby,” he said, “long as it’s a
    gamble I’m down to hells
    and below, haha.”

    Once in the room
    she climbed on the bed
    and removed her clothes
    and shuffled through her purse
    and pulled out about a dozen
    hypodermic needles

    “What you doin’ with those?”
    he asked

    She grinned at him
    and spread her
    legs and pointed between them
    “I’ll stick some of ’em
    here in these lips. Your part
    of the gamble is to
    turn off the lights and slide
    your way between ’em. Let’s go, gambler.
    Oh, and no fingers. It’s
    an all-or-nothing gamble.”

  • human anatomy

    15 July 2020 by

    she had long
    metallic looking nails

    and black lips on a very
    pale face

    the clothes too
    were designed to make her look
    cold and dead

    but she was quite lovely
    to her new boyfriend, the mortician

    She was an artist, she’d told him
    And she’d also
    told him that she’d like
    to learn more about
    human anatomy for her drawings

    “That one!” she said on
    their sixth date in the morgue
    “I want that one! Cut his head
    open from forehead
    to nape. I need to see
    how the brain’s
    kept in there.”

    He sighed and prepared the
    electric saw. There
    wasn’t much for him
    to complain. He’d done
    pretty well
    at 47, hooking up with this

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7 thoughts on “DR Bogdan

Add yours

  1. Hope things are cool and hot DR., I’m a bit curious, I was looking over your work, and wonder if you do any strip writing ? I ‘m working on a book that will be a finish play. I don’t want it to get to much graphic dialog but need the iron words to push these concepts. Any suggestions. Like instead of B, or F, MF, I thought Bush Wet, Funk n Fish, Mold Food, well if you get a minute, Thanks.


  2. When I initially commented I clicked the “Notify me when new comments are added” checkbox and now each time a comment is added I get several e-mails with the same comment. Is there any way you can remove me from that service? Appreciate it!


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