I have taken a break from writing at the moment. I practice calligraphy in the evening, when silence falls over the house and myself, so that the tip won't rust, but I erase it afterwards. My muse has left. It's long until he will return. Meanwhile, I have decided to fill my time with expectation. I was surprised to find I am also good at this. Patiently, I embrace the thought of him, I find its place among the other vibrations of the mind, then I lay it gently at the beginning of the row and dream. I will write again. Soon. He promised he would return. And then I will be again.
Gheorghiță Mircea
I will write for the new paradigm of a world that has proven incapable of cleansing itself from the cancers that are destroying it, and whose ulcers ooze unnatural ideas of granting freedom to the insignificant and the absurdity of democracy, where the chosen ones among these nobodies decide on behalf of true thinkers. It is enough to have a superior with the instinct for absolute power; diversity is confused, and chaos. I stop; it seems my ink is running out. I will probably return to the hospital wall. I have a rusty nail, and I will continue there.
Ionuț Tuhoarcă
I was doing some tele aesthetic exercises. Let your mind fly. Fly. Let your mind wander. Wander. Let your mind lay eggs. Cheep. Cheep. When I woke up from daydreaming, I was at the doctor's office. I was waiting for them to give me an injection in my leg. Two old ladies were whispering nearby. A thought crossed my mind. I took out my notebook. I started to write in a bohemian style. I could hear them. What's that guy writing? Lu-lu-ța, fu-cks him well, ver-ry well . Is that what he's writing? That's it. Well, it's not grammatically correct. Why not? He didn't use the gerund properly.
(Translated by Ioana Grințescu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.