Editor Letter

Who needs new publications? Who is the audience? Why should anyone start yet another e-zine or magazine when there are plenty, when there are so much we don´t have enough time to read through even a quarter of them? May seem like odd questions to ask when starting with a brand new endeavour, but are they really? These are the questions, I have been trying to find answers for.

Am I a huge supporter and reader of literary magazines? Well, I try to, but there are honestly so many, a huge selection to choose from, for all kinds of tastes. It seems nowadays, that everyone wants to only write and write for fame and glory, but how many of us bother to actually read? In a world, where people don´t have time anymore because they work, it seems readers are a dying breed and us, writers are left alone in the field, where no one pays for the time sacrificed on our art. Our work is stolen, pirated. We give our work away for nothing. How many magazines can you name who pay for their writers? Not many, are there? So, is it even work that we do? So I decided, we writers/poets/artists and the mix of them, must stick together. In a world, where art is standing only on the fragile pillars of national endowments, we must support each other. Hungry artists, praising each other, that´s all we can do for now. Well, the most of us. With each other´s support and encouragement we grow.

I start to understand better now, why many of my works were rejected by publishers and editors and what is the secret key to a good work. There is no specific magic spell, nothing to point to. Well, of course, I like all readers appreciate a decent logical narrative, good grammar and punctuation and many other factors like that. But the main thing, that helps us decide is the feeling we get when we read something. We felt good reading these author´s work and we trust You will too.

Annika L.

Download the full magazine:

word file: Escapism-01

pdf file: Escapism 01

Poetry by Lila Domínguez.


Someone said that perhaps to avoid some great sadness
the answer was sleep,
sleep until the waves cease to exist.
Sleep until so longs are no longer relevant-
I just can’t stand this
I can’t begin to open my eyes.
Its vivid, its almost erratic,
-I’ll keep sleeping my life away-


In my hands The Colossus
The stench of the bus wasn’t helping
powerful words and intense incomprehension
The name Hughes chiseled on the grave
Oh what we became?
Sylvia, should I fall?
Carbon Monoxide all over my thoughts.


New born kittens,
given away,
where are they?
I ask myself, every now and again
they were mine, they were pure
soft as angels, tiny as teardrops,
I saw them while they were arriving to this world,
Brought them into this world of pain… my desire all in vain,
I heard somewhere they are stray now,
I heard somewhere they are wondering around at night,
New born kittens, given away,
I owe an explanation, I own your pain.
Orphan child of my own,
Where are you now?
soft and brunette,
where are you now?
ginger and blind newborn.
Oh, I need to know,
Damn it, poor slob without a name…
I miss you so.


I am still that obsessive child,
barefoot dancing in the sand,
I am still that quiet child,
Locked inside a library all the time,
I am still that lonely child,
That her father had left behind,
I am still, I am still,
That kid is alive inside me,
burning ad nauseam,
Raising, breathing,
expectant to see a ray of light.


And all the letters I’ll never send,
And all the dust I’ll never clean,
And all the undeveloped rolls of film,
And all the friends that will die,
And all the records I’ll never have,
And all the you & and all the me,
that will never be written on a tree.


Boxes they cry when I leave;
When I vodka , when I pills
My myself and my plenty I.
Let myself go and create when I can
of thoes I belived didnt I?
of them I thought as cried
I recived this and I all the time.
All now and I,
Alone when one character miss his creator;
That I created… and myself too.
Written all over photos;
Old black and white them,
On and on; go inside..
I and the universe
I and the pills.
Just my epitaph I beg you remember;
and I beg you to feed my cats.
Anymore change of missing I cant.
I dreamt that on time, letters I madly wrote,
I written inside them I am,
Love made me scared..
And In my back people laugh;
Boxes they cry when I leave;
They are the only ones
Run across sunshine myself tells I,
My wrapped scared love.
Already still mix myself and I.

About us:

Escapism Literary Magazine is run by Annika L. from Estonia and Lila D. from Uruguay.

About Lila D:

Writer and musician living in Montevideo, Uruguay. Has been working as a teacher for two years. Her music has been published in several labels from all over the world. Loves poets such as Sylvia Plath, Frank O’Hara and Oliverio Girondo. Loves musicians such as Ian Curtis, Darnauchans and Greta Kline.


About Annika :

Annika L: English teacher, translator and writer from Tartu, Estonia. She has been publishing her works and photography for several years (also under various pseudoyms) in Reaktor, Degenerate Literature, Luna Luna Magazine, Five 2 One, Quail Bell Magazine, Peacock Journal. Upcoming in Zodiac Press Non-Binary Review and Welcome to Anxiety e-zine. Loves writers such as Edgar Allan Poe, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie. Loves musicians such as Rozz Williams, Pete Burns and Trevor Tanner.