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Drink and Time in Dublin

From a forthcoming collection of short fiction published by Dalkey Archive.

When the Time Comes

A TRANSLATION OF Wenn es soweit istBY ADRIAN WEST The successor to the painter of Hell, the pastor Nikolaus Nußbaumer, often trotted out his trained dog before the acolytes; when he made a sign, it would adopt an attack pose in the backseat of his car, open its jaws, lips leaking spittle, and show its crooked, wax-yellow teeth to the children who watched it through the windshield; and when he gave another sign it would curl up, meek as a lamb—so that I may in Heaven come—and take its place in the backseat; since the time he ordered the house of the former sacristan across from the cemetery destroyed, the barn where Roman hanged himself is the building closest to the cemetery on the right hand side of the village built in the form of a cross, and Jonathan’s parents’ house is the closest on the left.


I cannot believe it. I get off my bike in the middle of Cornelia Street and stand, staring at the café. It is the height of summer. I am frozen in place.


He expected to arrive into an exuberant Italian spring, the kind he read about in Goethe, James, et al. But on the trees in the Orto Botanico he found only a swarm of hard, black buds—more infestation, it seemed, than the promise of a new season. On the third morning, he bought a trench coat, but that same afternoon the sun finally broke through, and he found himself sweating under the weight of his new purchase. He removed it, never to put it on again.

excerpt from The Raw Edge - Issue 01

Brooklyn based Illustrator/Animator Devin Clark is the creator of the animated show, Ugly Americans, as well as other child corrupting insanity.


Arryan Decatur has an Aerosmith tattoo on the upper part of his right (your left) love handle that cost 70 dollars.

Tragic Strip

T. Motley blogs at,, &

extracts from The Art of Joy

Poor creature! Poor child! If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears, I wouldn’t believe it! Leave her be, maresciallo, leave her alone. Don’t harass her anymore. Can’t you see how she’s trembling? What more do you want to know?


The Brooklyn Rail

JUL-AUG 2013

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