e-revista EgoPHobia
by Lex Demoncock A big “Sale” sign hung in the window of the Beverly Hills Polo Club. Only a desperate social climber would want to be seen by another desperate social climber wearing that label and only in Hong Kong, that hot-house, demo-model of consumer capitalism the Brits set up to diddle the Chinese Communists. […]
Brochure as Memento Mori Former Calulu Post Office it says, High Ceilings. Lots of Shedding conjures a wry verb. Verandahs, Porches, twist my heart with love as artless as these framed angles are artful. Historic Old Charmer the board blares. I am up for auction, I jest, but nobody laughs.
by Costi Gurgu There aren’t many Romanian horror writers. There never have been. It’s not like there wasn’t a fertile field there; because the local folklore tells a different story. But lately, the social and political realities haven’t give it much opportunity. And then, there is Oliviu Craznic. A young writer who took it upon […]
[fissuring] Between two high notes The song gives a crack Long enough To allow me to enter Like a fish jumping back Into the night water
by Mitchell Grabois The sensei had given her a Buddha name: Moon Pillow, which I thought suited her pretty good, though I can’t explain why, but it had something to do with Cat Steven’s song, “Moon Shadow.” If I ever lose my mouth all my teeth go north and south If I ever lose my […]
by Mitchell Grabois 1. After Tu and I made love, I fell asleep and dreamt I was running along the edge of a swamp. I knew I should be in the trees but there I was, exposed, sloshing through mud and water. Leeches sucked the flesh of my legs chest neck. They were my confederates, […]
Words best left unkissed on a dry martini words best left unkissed on a dry martini, still, I will unlock my door’s latch for the woman who hid behind the Chanel red rouge, and whose lips chiseled my grief on her desert-scorched crescendos,
Grief in Perspective we drive back from the hospital, and I can’t talk anymore, he wants to talk. I nod my head at all the appropriate moments, smile, laugh, agree. he seems happy to talk about mundane things, the weather his mother, my parents, how weird it’ll be to go back to work […]
[fragment from the novel “A Psychop’s Notebook” (in Romanian: “Caietul Psihopatului”), Herg Benet Publishers, 2015] by Ștefan Bolea translated by Ana-Maria Văduva [MTTLC] click pentru versiunea română 13th April, 1998 (Cluj) Cowards, the key to the human spirit is self-loathing! Six months since I gave up smoking. I need to expiate for my pain. Death is […]
by Eidolon come to think of it maybe I was just an unhappy teenage boy in San Francisco being led by my overlarge lawyer’s briefcase over the foggy hills from home to school to home