e-revista EgoPHobia
by Oliviu Crâznic translation from Romanian by Nigel Walker and Alina-Olimpia Miron [MTTLC] I had staked them out ever since morning – they were both on horseback, coming from somewhere in the South, which meant they could be from my brother’s army or Herbert’s army as well. There was no way of knowing yet – […]
by Paul Belce Motto: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the […]
by Ana-Maria Negrilă Introduction Elisabeth Pauline Ottilie Luise zu Wied, later known as Carmen Sylva, was born in 1843 in Neuwield and became queen of Romania in 1869 when she married Carol I, who had been crowned the king of Romanian United Principalities (Wallahia and Moldavia) three years before. He was the first member of […]
by Ștefan Bolea translation from Romanian by A.C. Clarke and Alina-Olimpia Miron [MTTLC] Iancu threw his shopping bag into the musty space under the steeple of St. Michael’s Church, after which he shut the trap door behind him. It was a late spring morning and, from his standpoint, the young man could enjoy a […]
by Oliviu Crâznic Translation from Romanian by Dorothy McCarthy and Alina-Olimpia Miron [MTTLC] “You sure?…” “Hundred percent sure. It’s the second call to that address in less than a month and a half.” I gave the Chrysler some gas, letting Finn turn on the siren. There was no point in pressing him with new […]
debut by Mario Șerban Is it moral to be a criminal? Is a crime to be moral? What is a crime? What is objective morality? Disregarding the laws and rules of a mere society with blindful desires, I would like to continue by asking something else. If tomorrow all governments collapse and all kind of […]
In Memoriam When I die I want you to name some sort of food after me a sandwich, a salad, even just a mixed drink. It can be something that already has a regular name, like peanut butter and jelly, Waldorf, gimlet.
Our Lady of Iliniza Norte Remember turning the hairpin twist in the trail and there she was? Mater Dolorosa, alone at 14000 feet. I wanted to linger near that virgin, that nude landscape pocked with cracked lava gullies and lunar chaos. Spirits were everywhere. Pygmy alpacas at trailhead–
Awaken in Darkness Sunday morning. We had gone to sleep in the promise we’d awaken in two hours, spend the early darkness immersing one another in the untold
by Oliviu Crâznic Morning gray on her manor, My falling star; The heart beats close to the dagger, And here you are.