by Carmen Firan [USA]

translated from Romanian by Martin Potter & Silvia Bratu [MTTLC student]

Then one day it hit me all of a sudden like a lightning bolt, in the form of a vivid mental image. Suddenly I could see in my mind’s eye that the world I saw around me, including the picture of myself sitting in my chair, was merely an image generated inside my head, and therefore it could not be out in the world. In other words, out beyond the walls and floor and ceiling of the room I saw around me, was the inner surface of my true physical skull, and beyond that skull was an inconceivably immense remote external world, of which this world that was in my experience was merely a miniature virtual-reality replica.
[Steven Lehar] Read the rest of this entry »

by Gene Tanta [USA]

pentru versiunea română a acestui text click aici

Back in Romania, I knew a gypsy boy named God who carved words in his inner thigh 

Back in Romania, I knew a gypsy boy named God who carved words in his inner thigh
with barbed wire teeth as he ran from the securitate. God’s gypsy mother
would shiver and tell our fortune after black coffee. She would read the grainy residue
and tell us how tender the devil’s foot felt to touch, tho invisible
to our eyes. Off the clock, she would sigh to herself about how much smarter
and more handsome her son was than other sons. Read the rest of this entry »

by Valery Oisteanu [USA]

The City Where It Was Illegal to  Die

Standardland is hot and dry. The  asphalt melts under your shoes and seems to float away into the traffic.  Dilapidated cars sit abandoned on the central boulevard next to the fashion  mall. In the city where it is forbidden to die, the inhabitants are in  effect consenting hostages — consenting to absurd rules and  regulations. One is the law of erectability. No one is allowed to be either  standing or seated erect. We are supposed to be bent, squatting or  leaning. all the time. Read the rest of this entry »

by Alexandru Potcoavă [Romania]

translated from Romanian by Graham Mummery & Alina-Olimpia Miron [MTTLC student]

“How’s my darling wife?” Colonel Petrescu’s vodka-soaked voice roared from the hallway.

“I’m good, of course!” replied the lady-colonel from the living-room, in an irritated tone, while perusing a Soviet fashion magazine. “Finished the application?”

“Finished for the day!“ the colonel roared yet again and stormed into the parlor, tramping his way towards the sofa.

Read the rest of this entry »

by Victor Loghin [Romania]

translated from Romanian by Alina Roşu [MTTLC student] & Doris Plantus-Runey

edited by Robert Fenhagen

pentru versiunea română click aici

“…The presence of the seagulls was disturbing me: I drove them out with stones. And I realised that their cries, of a supernatural stridency, were exactly what I needed, because only the terror could calm me down, and if only to meet the sunrise I had awoken ahead of it.”
[Emil Cioran]

Their cries disturbed me, so much so, that I thought that I despised them. It is funny how I came to need them. At first, I tried to scare them away with stones– brown ones, gray ones, a black and white one, but nothing seemed to scare them. It was only after the full extent of their screeching cries had assaulted me, did I realize that they were what I needed. Their hovering and dipping, their mottled, multi-colored feathers helping their bodies float on the currents of the wind.

Read the rest of this entry »

by James Bent [Australia]

edited by Robert Fenhagen

pentru versiunea română click aici

Look, when something gets on my nerves, I simply cannot go on with it.   Like my flat-mate’s couches.  I hate myself for it.  I let people bring things into my life and I don’t even give a damn at the time to consider what it’ll do to me.  But it always ends up doing something to me, and instead of blaming myself, I get angry at whoever it was who brought the horrible thing into my life.  I know it’s not fair of me, but I hate certain things so.     Read the rest of this entry »

[From Berlin ist Mein Paris]

by Carmen-Francesca Banciu [Germany]

translated from German by Elena Mancini

It was. A garden on hilly ground. At the edge of the village. Behind it the mouth of the forests. And the wilderness. And the acacia and the elder pollen in early summer. The village was high up in the foothills and the summer heat parched the fountain. We retrieved the water from the spring on the mountain. The freshness beat against the glass. It was precious. The water. The heat was unbearable, and the dust of the parched earth would scratch your throat. Burn your eyes. Read the rest of this entry »

by Andrei Guruianu [USA]

He was thinking about home, so didn’t notice the girl standing next to him.

 Leaning in toward him, she said close enough to his ear that he could smell the wintergreen of her chewing gum.

“You’re not from around here.”

“Not really.”  He smiled, embarrassed now at not having noticed her.

“You’re quiet, too.  You don’t look as though you’re having any fun.”

“I am.”  He assured her, although not at all sure of why he might feel as though he were defending himself. Read the rest of this entry »

by Marina Popescu [Romania]

translated from Romanian by William Oxley & Iulia Vieru [MTTLC student]

   The man opened his closet, where reigned order and tidiness.

   Impeccable shirts hung on expensive hangers, and suits slept in their coat covers.

       On the right, black, shiny shoes were lined on (special) shelves, and on the inside face of  the door, there was a mirror.

   The man stood in front of it, wearing only underpants and a vest, scrutinizing the collection of shirts. It was quite difficult for him to decide on an appropriate one for such an important meeting. The general manager of Best Technologies was a pedantic guy who always put a high price on a label.  Armani, Hugo Boss – what on earth should he choose for the meeting with that arrogant prick? Read the rest of this entry »