Flashes
by Marius Surleac today dig under me with your bare hands until you’ll pass the ribs you’ll lose half of your soul the blood will spread over the knees and within hair, emotions will be gripped
Peractio
by Marius Surleac rest your wounds in my shelter tomorrow when I’ll have to die you shall give me a kiss
Still life
by Marius Surleac through dice the six-shooter gleams at the burnt end of the bullet at the other end, like in a comet tale, blood spheres
Pestis vetus
by Marius Surleac hell is beyond the grey blocks – the desert where no human skeletons resisted to erosion, but became part of
Is There Such a Thing as Purely Virtual Literature?
(eidotomii) by Patrick Călinescu It is now quite a few years since I first thought of the changes, if any, that the Internet brings to literature. When this idea, that the Internet might indeed alter the body of literature being published virtually, occurred to me, I was just a student in the third year zealously […]
The Europe from and among Us
by iQ666 Each of us has a certain image about Europe. Some think of the continent, others’ thoughts go towards the European Union, there are people for which Europe means mainly culture, history or wars, and the list is far from being complete. Jean-Marc Caracci sees probably its inhabitants as the representative element of Europe, […]
Krepkaya
by Adrian Ioniţă (USA) Translation from Romanian by Manuela Cazan pentru versiunea română click aici It’s funny to watch the world from above, looking through the reflections of a water that’s been engineered to be regularly changed. The ceiling is covered in candy-pink insulation and a semi-transparent plastic foil. Under it, a couple of mice […]
Conspiracy
Karel Cispic:
A chuckle died in his throat as he realized fully what he was about to do. Shovel after shovel of dried dirt flew in back of him until the magic moment when he hit wood. He could tell by the solid thudding sound that metal made against wood. It was a satisfying sound. An organic sound. Thud, thump. Thump, thump. He used the blade of the shovel to pry open the casket. No smell came out, but the sight was not a pleasant one. Pavel’s emaciated and very dead face had a rictus grin that sent a fright up Karel’s spine. The dead poet seemed to be smiling at him.
Fat Man
by Robert Fenhagen (USA) Brief news story out of Wakefield, R.I.: “A flight out of Warwick Airport made it safely through a ferocious storm. At one point, there were fears that the flight was lost at a point because of faulty communications, but they turned out unfounded, and the flight eventually arrived without incident in […]
Song to Layla
by Irina Savin [Belgium] edited by Robert Fenhagen She always thought of train stations as the heart and soul of a town. For Layla, they were thorny, blameful and half-sinful places for people still hanging on the memory of mostly sad good-byes, a teasing and, sometimes, sinful places for the adventurous ones. And a refuge for […]