Tell me how you love, I will tell you how sick you are
by Alexandra Claudia Manta Languidly, I squeeze ink from my wrath. Purple ink covers these soul-peels like little fractal veins circulating my unloaded anger. My…
english
‘I like the I in myself’ : Facing the Derridean ‘massacre’
by Alexandra Claudia Manta Lately I’ve been thinking at some linguistic operations such as substitution, permutation, and at underlining and the use of block letters…
Comptine d’un autre automne
by Marius Surleac I run over the seas and dive in the skylines burnt by the fires of hell the night that will come with…
Flashes
by Marius Surleac today dig under me with your bare hands until you’ll pass the ribs you’ll lose half of your soul the blood will…
Peractio
by Marius Surleac rest your wounds in my shelter tomorrow when I’ll have to die you shall give me a kiss
Still life
by Marius Surleac through dice the six-shooter gleams at the burnt end of the bullet at the other end, like in a comet tale, blood…
Pestis vetus
by Marius Surleac hell is beyond the grey blocks – the desert where no human skeletons resisted to erosion, but became part of
Is There Such a Thing as Purely Virtual Literature?
(eidotomii) by Patrick Călinescu It is now quite a few years since I first thought of the changes, if any, that the Internet brings to…