e-revista EgoPHobia - ISSN 1584-6210
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 […]
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 […]
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.
by Joe Clifford At the print shop that day, the new kid Roger Maple had hired to run the shipping department had come to him in tears over problems he was having with his girlfriend, which had caught Roger off guard, because this kid had seemed like such a tough kid, riding to work […]
by Joe Clifford Across the water from Oakland’s burning hills, behind granite slabs of freeway masonry and the filth of bottle return machines, the promise of barley fish water, potatoes and tea attracts a noonday crowd of the ham-hocked and converted. Faith
by Meg Tuite A vision of numberless, cold plates sit on tables with the scattered remains of potatoes, carrots and bones. How many hands hold forks in bleary kitchens with peat-green wallpaper and embroidered sayings encased in plastic frames? Each thread stitched through those embroidery circles with knobby knuckles that beast with the stretch […]
Hidden Divinity I have been waking up each midnight, each dawn, at the end of each passing hour to see the squabble between darkness and light resulting in red rays as blood of a celestial war at twilight.
by Ron D’Alena [filmed at Howiees on Front in Medford, Oregon] December: a good time to be indoors. I’m two stools away from men hunched over beers, conversing in low tones. Work my lighter against a cigarette; watch Jenny push a bottle of Miller to a man wearing an Oakland Raiders cap. […]
Inexplicable I am drinking whiskey from a tin can – this line sounds so much like blues, but let me tell you the rest. This tin can is shiny and red- oh yes, many years ago, my grandfather, for many years, kept his pencils inside and some small notebook in which he […]
by Cristina Nemerovschi [Romania] translated from Romanian by Philippa Lawrence & Ioana Vilcu [MTTLC student] click aici pentru versiunea română Today I threw away my address book, TV, and mobile phone. I erased all my online contacts and cut the Internet cable. I found an old mobile which still contained the phone numbers of some […]