Unfinished Prose, Edition 01 by Rebecca Tillett

Are all the heroes dead? Or just ours? Will the melodies ever sound the same, as somber and fixed in time as they are now? Will they stay? Because your voice, when you're playing Nutshell and humming Layne's voice on my parlor guitar, and I'm reminiscing over dreams I stopped having years ago; your voice and your fingers and everything else that I love. They stay in that way; reincarnated. I miss the dreams and am in love with the cause; a quandary, because I see things in dreams. Now I just feel like life stops when I sleep. Like death. In backness and nihility.

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Love in the Moon's Shadow by Rebecca Tillett

The trip was of course, wonderful, until the last 30 minutes of the drive home when Serenica's engine began stalling on us whenever we'd drop beneath a certain speed (hoping it's a minor fix!). Fortunately, after stalling out on several occasions and getting it restarted again, she died right inside our RV storage lot gate and wouldn't turn over.

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USS Serenica Landship Housecar NCC 1796-37: The Afters by Rebecca Tillett

I probably don't need to say here that I absolutely could not have predicted that it would have been 14 more months before we were ready to post the After shots, but I'm going to say it anyway: I had no idea how long this beast would actually take us to complete.

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You Wanted Her by Rebecca Tillett

You hadn’t looked at me in days. You hadn’t really seen me in years. You saw only the heavy black clouds enclosing me. You didn’t understand me. You didn’t want to. You wanted something easier. You wanted to believe you deserved better. You wanted someone smiling back at you from future days. You wanted to stop cranking your neck backward in hopelessness and exhaustion.

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And then a Woman by Rebecca Tillett

And then a woman appeared on the barren land, with seeds in her teeth, and each limb a root in search of earth to plant themselves. And then a woman appeared on the barren land, and not from the rib of any man, and not for his pleasure or to come to his aid, for without woman, there is no life, and there is no man.

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Exorcise the Demons by Rebecca Tillett

Recently. a good friend of mine confessed to me that she was swimming in negative and unproductive thoughts. As is true with all of us, these moments in time can come and go, but when they come, they can sometimes linger, creating an unforgiving and deceptive barrier between ourselves and the world, almost even distorting our perceptions of the world, and our place within it.

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Moon and Mars by Rebecca Tillett

I saw you on the moon, dancing in between the rocks, floating in the light. You were something, some remnant from a story my great great grandmother had shared with her husband the night he said he loved her, the night they each realized how much they had to lose. So many beautiful and honest secrets dissembled as fable. I think it was celtic or norse or slavic.

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Yearning for Permanence by Rebecca Tillett

This all just stops. You know that, of course, but do you really truly know that?

I ache, perpetually, at the realization.

You are my container of happiness, my vessel, my iron safe. How could I ever handle more? I fear for the power of whatever could be loved more by me, even if it is our zenith, our culmination of desire and passion and wanting and patience. In truth, I don’t need more keeping me here, begging me to stay, and I would love such a creation so much it would gut me.

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More Like Deer Than Human Being by Rebecca Tillett

Dear Samantha—
Thank you for your passion, your grace, your confidence, your boldness, your femininity, your sense of humor, your courage and fearlessness, your dedication, and the blinding beauty radiating from you. I edited one photo for every pound you lost (and have posted my favorites here)! I hope you feel as beautiful as you look in these photos.

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Urban Exploration on Christmas Eve by Rebecca Tillett

So what is it about urban exploration that's called to me for so much of my life? I think I've always loved the questions that come packaged with each place, the stories concocted by the things left behind. I know that every home I've ever explored was once lived in and loved by somebody. I know that there are beautiful and ugly and tragic and very human stories inside every wall that I've yearned to hear.

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Maeve and Dolores by Rebecca Tillett

Mike and I's Christmas gifts to each other this year were guitars (and lessons!) because we have a 2017 goal (among too many others probably) of learning how to play. We've named them Maeve and Dolores.

So this one's for you, David Bowie, Glenn Frey, Prince, George Michael, and every other talented soul we lost to this shitty year.

2017, you have lot to make up for!

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Grandparents, History, and Passions by Rebecca Tillett

Have I ever told you that my grandmother was a bird and wildlife rehabilitator? That she eventually became known as the "bird lady" in Las Cruces? Have I ever told you that my grandfather joined NASA at the Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston in 1962, then in 1963 transferred to the White Sands Test Facility near Las Cruces, known then as the "Apollo Site?" That he served first as Chief of the Test Operations Branch, then as Chief of the Propulsion Test Office, where he oversaw the development and qualification testing of the rocket propulsion systems used on the Apollo Service Module and Lunar Module, leading to mankind's first steps on the Moon in 1969?

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