Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
I work with over 200 writers in 5 languages, but Bogdan makes everything so easy. Their sixth 100-page collaboration has arrived today. As always, we renew our agreement and in this case I want to value your support for Masticadores and thank you personally.
j re crivello
Founder and director of Masticadores
MasticadoresIndia, MasticadoresUsa and Gobblers, according to our statistics, they will exceed 100,000 visits in 2023. Thank you all!
Biography:
I was born in 1992 in Romania and had a happy childhood until I went to school. I never had an answer to the question “What would you like to become when you grow up?” and still don’t. But I was lucky enough, after college, to land a job as a dispatcher at a gambling company. There, I spend 12 hours alone in the office (day and night shifts) supervising casinos through CCTV cameras. I like to think I learned a lot about humanity from this. But I also learned a lot about myself. It’s also where I started writing.biog
What is your greatest accomplishment as a writer so far?
That’ll be the publication of my poetry chapbook, “Pour The Whiskey Over My Heart And Set It On Fire”. In August 2020 I found myself with quite a bunch of poems and no audience, so I started submitting a…
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the little girl was scared at first but now she was terrified and about to have a panic attack He kept her tight in his arms and covered her ears and told her to calm down and that everything will be all right It was 02:24 AM and the knocks in the door and all around the walls and windows still carried on And there were howls coming from outside and curses and a constant sound of nails scratching on wood “Daddy, I’m scared! I’m…” “I know, dear, I know. But you have to calm down. Remember to focus on your breathing like I told you. Deep, deep breaths, okay? Deep. In and out. I promise you, tomorrow everything’s gonna be fine. I swear.” “Is it zombies?” asked the little girl. “No, dear. It’s something else.” “What’s it called?” “An ex-girlfriend, dear.”
By Bogman Dragos
the worst part about being alone and sick is being sick but perhaps the second worst is having no one to comfort you He reminded himself aloud that it was his own choice and rolled on the carpet and pushed his thumbs inside his eyes The head was killing him, like the brain grew legs and constantly kneed his eyeballs from the inside, seeking to push them out like caps of beer bottles and exit through the holes And his stomach wasn't any better although it got everything out some time ago The first few coughs came with liquid, pungent vomit but now there was only blood "You can only get what you deserve," whispered the faded silhouette from the mirror. "You might think all this is caused by the bottle of wine you found while dumpster diving as you do. It…
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he sits alone in the darkness on a wooden chair The walls surrounding him have no mirrors and the windows are covered by the thickest blinds He doesn’t want to see his old age and the decay that already started consuming his body In his mind he’s still young, still in his early twenties still dreaming He’s listening to music He’s playing the music and it exhausts him The music comes from within An instrument with strings His growling guts He lubricates them with more beer
Well, when you’re desperate you’re…
“Me,” he said. He was alone in the room and lonely enough to have bought one of those Ouija boards from some old woman who called herself a medium. It was time to try it out.
All he hoped for was a sexy ghost that would haunt him, maybe hurt him a bit, he wouldn’t mind. Anything just to take away the soul-crushing loneliness. Anything!
He said the prayers exactly as the medium instructed and did the breathing exercises and was ready to use the board. He moved the piece to spell HELLO. Got no answer. Looked around the room. Nothing. Again, he spelled HELLO. IS ANYONE HERE? ANYONE AT ALL? ARE YOU FEMALE? Nothing. Nothing new at least. Only more loneliness and more frustration and deeper down the rabbit hole of misfits he slipped.
WELL FUCK YOU! he spelled, and jammed the pointy side…
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he opened another beer and sat on the couch but turned off the TV He watched the kid The kid was on his knees before the coffee table busy with an orange pencil and a piece of paper Tongue poked to one side and held firmly between the lips, he was writing letters to the pet dog he’ll never see again And he did that all day long Dad sipped at his beer. The years of action were far beyond him now but by all the gods he swore tonight will be the night he sneaks into his ex-wife’s home and kidnaps the dog He even rented a van for it
A pretty thick slice of hell That was life so far But today things will change Today he was six years old and that meant old enough to guide his blind father on the streets The old man was only blind for a year after some work related accident involving acid And there was a mother somewhere too. She left shortly after father’s accident Today father held on to his son’s shirt at the shoulder and told him to walk towards the railway “I want to listen to the train,” said father but it turned out he wanted much more than that. He wanted to feel the train. Against his face So he stood on the rails and told the kid to go back home and return after an hour or so “Okay,” said the kid. But he didn’t leave. He watched from a safe distance Didn’t even find the event particularly disturbing Then he went back home and had some fruit loops with milk and his first taste of beer He had become a man
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.”
There was a dog outside and it kept barking for some reason. Ah yes, it was chained and the chain was terribly short and the poor animal was hungry.
Mother wouldn’t bother feeding it. No, mother wanted it to die because it had been father’s dog, inherited along with the house after father died. Mother forbade feeding the poor thing.
Her child stood next to the window and listened to the poor thing barking outside. It was better than listening to mother drinking and talking ugly words with her boyfriends.
He opened the window and the dog saw him immediately and barked at him. He wanted to cry. Tried talking to the creature but it wouldn’t listen. It kept barking.
“Mother would cut my hand off if she caught me stealing food for you.”
But he was a smart kid. He leaned over the window and thrust two fingers down…
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Daydreaming as a profession 