drmstream[writing]

I must have dozed for a few min­utes.  A dream rushed by the thresh­old of my con­scious­ness, mak­ing a gen­tle noise.  Death was in the dream.  He drove a black Cadil­lac loaded with flow­ers.  When I woke up, the cig­a­rette was start­ing to burn my fin­gers.  A thin man in a gray flan­nel shirt was […]

T’s com­mu­nion When I go to com­mu­nion hold my hand. The change in the air, The rus­tle of the heavy clothes, The scuff of shoes against the pol­ished slate, The soli­tary cough, The clap of the wood boards against metal stays, The mumur­ing up ahead, The swollen rota­tion of the bel­lows, The still­ness of the lift, […]

via tsutpen.blogspot.com A cover illus­tra­tion from a pulp mag­a­zine in 1933. The mys­tery and nuance of illus­tra­tion from the past, lost to us today.