Poems by Kenneth P. Gurney
Jupiter Lisa believes that we live in god’s imagination and that god may be on psychotropic medication in a ward somewhere in the Austrian alps and enjoys the view of the snow capped mountains.
Poems by Aprilia Zank
walls black and moss-green walls witnesses of chivalrous virtues cast-iron chastity perennial stones
Cioran Haiku
by Virginie Colline Latin Quarter room the vestige of Cioran’s book in a garret trunk The Fall into Time at the bottom of the bed some food for night thoughts he looks at the sky his silence a monolith at the crack of dawn
Don’t be a Taliban [en]
(from atheism to agnosticism and back) [I] [Alister McGrath şi Joanna Collicutt McGrath, The Dawkins Delusion?: Atheist Fundamentalism and the Denial of the Divine, translation by Mihnea Gafiţa, Curtea Veche, Bucureşti, 2010.] by Ştefan Bolea translation from Romanian by: Iris Butnariu [MTTLC student] click aici pentru versiunea română 1. Denouncing the belief as delusion […]
sporetti
by Aprilia Zank & Craig Boyling on stained bull’s eye glass a glimpse of heraldic awe a roundel of vibrant soft hue the armorial
The devil is the pitiful god
by Patrick Călinescu translation from Romanian by: A C Clarke & Stela Cucu [MTTLC student] click aici pentru versiunea română Today I am completely free. Tomorrow I will see what the first thing to chain me will be. But, still, let me rejoice at the time that I have been given to live unimpeded […]
Proust haiku
by Virginie Colline madeleine and tea he eats a bit of the past charming remembrance
The Human Voice
by Axel H. Lenn Grandmother Alexis once told me “life is a long distance run for various things, but you’re amazingly lucky if, in the end, you run into yourself”. I experienced this precise sort of sensation recently, when I almost never made it to a theatrical representation in the very heart of this […]
Fathers, Sons & The Lineage of Affliction
by Joe Clifford In the introduction for his brilliant collection of short stories, The Angel on the Roof, author Russell Banks writes, “The death of a parent [when we are an adult] is a terrible thing, but because our parents usually have not been a part of our daily lives for years, most of […]
Poems by Teodora Gheorghe
The Dead of Winter The winter witch whistles in the moon her voice smells of storms, of pepper and lye. With slithering paws, a drowsy raccoon digs a hole in the sky.