
An essay on why vivid prose centers action rather than characters, showing how pronouns can conceal weak sentences and stall narrative momentum.

Fancy formatting in poetry flatters mediocrity. Real verse lives in the voice, not on the page.

European literature is born from enforced proximity. From the impossibility of sealing oneself off completely. From the daily friction of languages, classes, resentments, affections, histories, all occupying the same physical space.

Belgium funds languages, not writers—protecting symbols over people in a multilingual society where English quietly leads among the young. “When subsidies are attached to language rather than to writers, the system quietly stops rewarding creation and starts rewarding compliance.”

This post may seem like a ritual every 3 months, but that impression is only surface deep. The art featured in this new issue is anything but ritualistic. We don’t claim the high moral ground or promise “amazing” literature; instead, we simply bring what has impressed us. So, it is pointless for me to linger…