Reviste

excerpt The second time I went to Alina's parents', the neighborhood seemed too familiar not to imagine that my memory was playing a prank on me, and not a nice one. I had got off the tram a few steps away from the barber's called The Merry Whiskers, which

excerpt After the snow, the numbers in the grounds of the church had grown scarce. The people did not have warm clothes, and notably not a thing to cover their feet. Then the blizzard commenced. When spring was drawing near, Mite would learn that uncle Minele had expired

excerpt Diogenes remembers he was not even ten when, together with other children, he would creep in mock secrecy among the neighbors' maize shocks, particularly if the neighbors in question happened to be in possession of a daughter of marriageable age, known to repair

excerpts The house of Maria Dragases is a small palace rising next to the western wall of the city, and from its orange-tree garden one can see the sea. The sun is now above the garden, its light has the color of a lime, and so is the light reflected by the fruit in the

excerpt All his anxiety, that apoplectic fit, was proof he did not know Clara. That was precisely the state of their relationship at the time. In order to know and understand and accept her manner of thinking, the style of her infinitesimal psychic reactions – allowing

A young man learning of how Les Fleurs du Mal was condemned for obscenity during Napoleon III's uptight times can only be left speechless if he has happened to read Baudelaire. For the young generations of today, the poet's depiction of lesbian delights appears

Although it stirred the prefacing enthusiasm of enlightened spirits and brought about the awarding of quite honoring prizes, the talent of some is shadowed by the pornographic character of the books which should be put on sale in sex shops. The fact that they represent the

In 2004 there was an impressive amount of literary productions by young authors. At the time I called them, too harshly, I'm afraid, 'Catchers in the Cannabis'. It seems that the first person narrative is still in fashion. The language they use is violent,

A pessimist, faultfinding outlook on the phenomenon would classify the explosion of eroticism as a literary evil, on the grounds of, let's say, the obsession that does not free, but condemns to imprisonment: an imprisonment with respect to the requirement of total expression,

The air is bracing where your high breasts rise. Around their peaks I breathe with greater ease. Yet I descend, beloved, by degrees,Cheap bastard that I am, towards your thighs.  Your carnal hip is naked and asleep,So lily-like it makes my halo blush. I long to kiss it,

(Playing the double bass nostalgically, Johnny Raducanu) Remember the religious day of old when you and I, Shut in our yellow submarine, would sail all on our own, Our progress aimless, peaceful, with pavements for a sky,Along old sewers teeming with butterflies forlorn.

Delight – the bum I cherish, once more, as in the past,You are proffering to me like some delicious treat. As you raise up your skirt high, and lean into the street, Out of the open window, while munching on a crust. And since you're sort of bashful at what I'm