e-revista EgoPHobia - ISSN 1584-6210
[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
by Mircea Pricăjan translated by Adrian Bucur [MTTLC] click pentru versiunea română He couldn’t have said that he had a good memory of when he had entered a church for the first time and, after all, it didn’t matter, for he had certainly been taken there in his youth, by his mother, perhaps during Easter, […]
I Dream in Breathless night. My body smothered in darkness, radiates a solid that should not be. I struggle against invisible ropes more stagnant than my skin, inhale the smoke generated by imaginary friction. Sadly, I know there is no hope of bursting into salvatory flames. A Fly Buzzed […]
Delirium tremens All that is useless All that is banned All that gets thrown away All found in the Delirium minds of the deranged. All Raw Unprocessed
Song as Axiomatic Password Driving in rain, radio on, Moby’s Mistake, the slow start redolent of regret then the beat insistent as grief swoops, leaves me depleted. I could have died a dozen deaths but lived. Wrenched apart by a song. A song? Edge of night I heard the iron cries of trams […]
Dusk Front I saw lines of shadow cross my backyard and seep through the dry soil. With erasure inbound, no more will we lament the loss of a friend. The day ends with the drought of wordy creases, so much that I cannot feel myself think about what had happened.
Olympiastadion My throat was sore in Berlin Als das Kind Kind war so I missed the Reichstag fire but on television saw the Wall come down
by Oliviu Crâznic Algid the air, on crystal clear horizons, Beyond the eyes of angels I have drowned; Yet, funny, it’s still snowing in my ocean – Watering flakes and one black tear adown.
Love as it always was He hears my words in a dream. Distantly. Free of rigid lines, unraveled from ill-defined knots.