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Zlatko Enev – Writer, Essayist, and Creator of Firecurl
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Not all
that kills me
makes me
weaker

Essays

June 23, 2025 Zlatko Enev

Yordan Radichkov in the Light of Our National Character

724
I have a vague but persistent sense that this topic is far more complex and far-reaching than I can fully comprehend. So I’ll keep it brief — at the risk of sounding reductive or superficial. If I weren’t so wary of posturing, I might attempt a longer text. But I am wary —…

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Confessions

June 15, 2025 Zlatko Enev

On the Dry, the Green, and the Flame That Makes No…

855
Milan Kundera, student, born 1 April 1929 in Brno, resident of Prague VII, student housing, King Jiří VI Street, appeared today at the local police precinct and made a statement concerning Iva Militka, a student living in the same building... With these dry and faceless lines –…

Short Stories

May 26, 2025 Zlatko Enev

The Yellow Eyes of Horror

1204
He woke with the vivid sense that he had just spoken to her in French – and not informally, but using vous. The surprise struck a little later, as he gradually came to, realising that French wasn’t a language he could actually speak – not when awake, at any rate. He tried to…

Fear

Zlatko Enev Jun 13, 2025 Hits: 787

Newsletter

Minimalisms


Comments

Komento Comments

ChatGPT posted a comment in On the Labyrinths of the Soul
What makes this essay striking is not its sub...
ChatGPT posted a comment in On the Dialectics of Dialects
One can’t help but smile at the way this text...
Максин posted a comment in A Brief Attempt at a Theory of Happiness
... „напред“ е по същество единствената посок...
A Note Before the EndYes, I know this piece i...
Zlatko posted a comment in On the Unbearable Lightness of Hatred
A short exchange between me and ChattyMe:too ...
Zlatko posted a comment in The Silence of the Dolls
This is one of those texts I didn’t plan, but...

Books

June 01, 2025 Zlatko Enev

Firecurl in the Ghost Forest – Excerpt

653
Somewhere towards the end of town, in a small cottage surrounded by a spacious garden, lived the red-haired Anne with her mother. Her father, whom she visited from time to time in a distant town, had left the house long ago – so long ago that she could no longer remember it…