Poe’s Black cat


Being one of the most famous and terrifying horror story of literature The Black Cat has been studied, analyzed and retold. In the voice of Basil Rathbone in Mystery in the Air, NBC  in September,1947, broadcast the tale. Also, films have been made uppon it. You can find more on youtube.com as follows:


Poet, poem, poe, woe, woe, woe

Woe, woe, woe – wicked, scaring, bloody,surprisingly,  genius,ultra-modern, cult – POErful!


Tobe, the classic

Tobe lives a professional and existencial crisis and he longs for not having to decide on what to be professionally!tobe

Ballad of the skeletons

Irwin Allen Ginsberg (June 3, 1926 – April 5, 1997) was an American poet. Ginsberg is best known for the poem “Howl ” (1956), celebrating his friends who were members of the Beat Generation and attacking what he saw as the destructive forces of materialism and conformity in the United States. This ballad of the skeletons is, in my opinion, the best piece of poetry to criticize America and its habits and political position. Besides, there is Paul McCartney!

The calling

Flávio Martins (April 12, 1978) is a new-born Brazilian writer. Very connected to his origins he writes about day-after-day facts and human relations. Also, some of his works are based on cyberculture. With a peculiar writing style he goes from poetry to short stories in performing a witty style. Being awarded with some of his texts Flávio keeps a weblog to spread the seed of literature around the cyberworld. Here you find two of the numerous texts produced and taken from a wide range. You can check more on favelacultural.blogspot.com

The calling

Walking alone I go aimlessly
Condemned to roam around endlessly
I have no choice I see no escape
I hear no voice but I feel a shape

It takes my breath makes me blind
Sufocates myself uneasy unkind
I have to flee where to I don’t know
Myself I am seeking for a place to go

My foe is persistent follows me straight
It traces my paths, disguised soul mate
Never know where I go however I should
Digging deep holes on the route of the woods

My enemy goes seeking virile and secure
It chases my shadows determined obscure
I have nowhere to go, nowhere to sleep
My paths are dirty my roads are steep

I move to the left swerve to the right
My sensory nerve sticks my spine
It’s fear it’s dread that keeps me awake
The devil inside shows me the stake

I know that running I cannot avoid
I am falling decayed, weak paranoid
I refuse to listen, I hold my breath
However I feel it’s the calling of the Death

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