English translation ---> HERE
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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
And the undead were memories by Bogdan Dragos
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“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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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.
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.
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."
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
life’ll smile (poetry reading)
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father punched him lightly in the shoulder and said, "Hey, keep that chin up, buddy. Just know that a time will come when life'll smile at us." Sure, he'd been saying that since forever. That was the earliest and most common memory of him Grinning from ear to ear and saying that a day will come when life'll smile upon them But until that day they'll have to sit in the town square and play their cheap instruments for passersby to drop money in their box Keep that chin up… Oh, father. You can't play the violin holding your chin up And life won't smile if you keep playing it sad songs
clear and distorted vision by Bogdan Dragos
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earlier today the curtains before the window just fell nothing touched or pulled or even brushed against them. They just fell They're still on the floor He doesn't feel like picking them up and putting them back why bother anymore Why bother with anything Ever He got out of bed only to grab the bottle and then went back and watched the stars outside through it switching from clear vision where the liquid was absent to distorted vision where the liquid was present The stars were smiling back but they couldn't speak back. And the moon was absent tonight It would be one of those nights that leaves the whole bottle with clear vision towards the sky outside Just another night among many among all of them
see through the keyhole (poetry reading)
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you can only see through the keyhole but you’re never meant to go through the door She wrote the words on a napkin as she watched from her lone table the couple holding hands and kissing a few tables away Then she turned the napkin on the other side and wrote Maybe I should just stop searching and start writing poetry followed by a smiley face that she copied with her own
Daydreaming as a profession 