e-revista EgoPHobia - ISSN 1584-6210
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 Ana Bazac What can one say by remembering Guy Debord’s book? Certainly: reminding the general historical context as well as the political appurtenance of the writer. But also the representativeness of the book and the necessity to go forward from it: because, really, to remain only, implicitly or explicitly, in the nostalgia occasioned by […]
by Oliviu Crâznic Morning gray on her manor, My falling star; The heart beats close to the dagger, And here you are.
by Ștefan Bolea translation from Romanian by A.C. Clarke and Alina-Olimpia Miron Another day, as dark as invisible ink on black paper or the shadow that lurks in the mirror after one’s features have faded from view. Horatio went out to return some books to the British Council and it looked as if all his […]
by Oliviu Crâznic translation from Romanian by Nigel Walker and Alina-Olimpia Miron „Unknown are the ways of the Blade. Yet it always shines Red.” Conrad Lorenz, Sanguinarium “I have written to the Bishop. I am waiting on his answer.” The two men took no heed of my words. The dry, early winter wind […]
Dream-Killed Nights smoke like whispers of a dying fire, a cross that cannot stretch the water. I long to travel
by Ana Bazac A reassuring image/idea common people – and philosophers too – cherish is that if humans do not receive what they reasonably expect or need or if humans cannot be and act as they can (therefore, not according to some absurd desires), nevertheless they would receive something or would be something: the substituting […]