e-revista EgoPHobia - ISSN 1584-6210
by Oliviu Crâznic Translation from Romanian by Dorothy McCarthy and Alina-Olimpia Miron [MTTLC] “You sure?…” “Hundred percent sure. It’s the second call to that address in less than a month and a half.” I gave the Chrysler some gas, letting Finn turn on the siren. There was no point in pressing him with new […]
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 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
(St. Valentine’s Penumbra) by Oliviu Crâznic Back in her holy chamber of secrets, lust and sin, She plays for me the Maiden, the Goddess and the Queen; Mélange of scarlet flowers, she blossoms in my arms And offering me pleasure, she’s gambling with her chance.