She's The Dutchess and He's The Duke

Have you heard this band? You should. Go listen. Now. http://www.myspace.com/thedutchessandtheduke

They have this folk-rock edge of the 1960's with a modern twist. Very Neat.

They are on this label named "Hardly Art" which has a number of other neat bands featuring: "The Pica Beats" and "Arther & Yu"

Check it out: hardlyart.com




Here is a poem I've been working on. Something along the lines of "October Poem"

I can get used
to not having you here.
I do not think I knew you well.

I knew your nuances well.
I knew your passion for social logic.
I knew the answers to very few of your questions.

I knew we only depended upon
that morning I woke up
forgot my shirt,
pinned my heart to my wrist instead.
It bled all day.

I knew those lies you told me were true.

I knew you kept anger at your side
as if it were a loaded gun
that you were just waiting to draw

Revenge, you once told me,
is a theory so advanced
it might be admired by saints.

I always took note of your cheap advice

I always believed that we could save
one another
Through obligatory romantic gestures
and silent prayer
I divulge into delusions of grandeur

I know it's just a part of me
waiting for a patient sign
that I can love you
as much as you
hate yourself.

You're looking up at the moon
a lot these days
too drunk to blink
but looking anyways.

excerpt from new fiction piece

Just the beginning of the piece. Its pretty ok, the end (not posted) rushes too fast, according to most people. I'm working on it, alright? I'll post more later.

--

What Artists Do When Not Suffering
By Tamarah Phillips

I think it might have been Oakland, or maybe it was my own devices, but I would like to blame Oakland. Smears of white powder gleaming my eyes, looking out at a crowd that’s waiting patiently for me. “This one is called,” I say, “Picking away at Sobriety with a Bourbon Ice-pick.” And they laugh. They always laugh. I used to too, but that was before Oakland.

Other renditions of that night can have me standing, smoking and looking for anyway to get to a place where I can stand my own voice. Getting on a red-eye groundhound bound for Oakland, I thought leaving Seattle would leave behind a life of degernetive trust associated only with the feelings of self destruction. In other words, I thought I was tough enough to survive left to my own devices. Sitting outside my drunk motel room with a girl I found spare changing, we shared a joint and I realized this was it; this is what I had been waiting for.

I found Natalie the night I moved to Oakland. She was sitting outside Nation’s Burgers asking for cheap red wine. I bought her a blueberry pie and a cheeseburger. We went back to my motel room and got drunk past the point of collision. I had a bottle of whiskey and a 12 pack and thought I was going to change the world. She had a gram of cocaine and knew she could do nothing but resign herself to life of depravity.

One night walking down near Jack London Square, the place where Oakland meets the bay, seeing San Francisco glittering in street light constellations, hearing the sounds of trains in the not so distant future we held hands and made plans to kill off the pain and live in a quiet desperation. Behind Barnes and Noble, in an alley smelling of urine and cardboard boxes, she pulled out a mirror and cut us lines. "This is real pain," she told me, "You can't fathom the sort of depth I have been."


--

other than that, I'm back in Olympia taking a Writers Workshop class. I have written a feature article on Stephen Jesse, which is neat. Got OK reviews. My friend Mel 0pened a bookstore on Vashon Island. It can be found at www.strangerthanfictionbooks.com

It is a very good bookstore, great poetry section. The owner is well versed in everything he sells and it's a great little place to get a tattoo too! (more about this later)