Only Grace Will Remain / May 3, 2013 by Rebecca Tillett

My selves, my being, my love, my pain
Trudging through madness but desperate to keep sane
Stuck between darkness and everything illuminated
I, the accomplice in these suicides perpetrated
And from the cadaver, wretched self-disdain
and from the cadaver, only grace will remain.

Images thru the iPhone / March 16, 2012 by Rebecca Tillett

was recently invited into an art show this April by Chas Ray Krider at his Gallery - The invisible Gallery in Columbus, Ohio and in addition to us, Steve Diet Goedde, Aaron Hawks, and Collin J Rae will be exhibiting as well. All these men are powerhouses in the nude/erotic photography realm. I've looked up to them for years and am so very flattered to be participating in a show with them. The show is called Images thru the iPhone and is only to include pictures that have been either shot or edited (or both!) with an iPhone app.

Only From the Grave / February 19, 2012 by Rebecca Tillett

Anybody who really knows me knows my growing-up years were a bit tumultuous. My dad was a troubled alcoholic battling some pretty horrific demons. I was a painfully shy only child who morphed into a painfully shy, self-destructive and severely depressed teenager. I remember writing in my journal around the age of 15 that I absolutely would not make it past the age of 19. I'd planned to end it as soon as I found the courage because if what I'd experienced thus far was "life" why bother living much longer? It was all so terribly sad - how unhappy I was growing up and how little desire I had to be happy. In my defense, I think I just didn't know how.

C.S. Truckin / February 4, 2012 by Rebecca Tillett

Back in the days of Hendrix, Iron Butterfly, Steppenwolf, Black Sabbath, Grand Funk, Yes, and Led Zeppelin, these guys were kids who were writing their own music. Although they were young, these boys were contemporaries with the big bands of the 70s and 80s. C.S. Truckin opened shows for Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow (Deep Purple), REO Speedwagon, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Brian Auger and The Buddy Miles Band (Jimi Hendrix).

Moon (this is where I am these days) / January 27, 2012 by Rebecca Tillett

"The Moon is a white strange world, great, white, soft-seeming globe in the night sky, and what she actually communicates to me across space I shall never fully know. But the Moon that pulls the tides, and the Moon that controls the menstrual periods of women, and the Moon that touches the lunatics, she is not the mere dead lump of the astronomist. . . . When we describe the Moon as dead, we are describing the deadness in ourselves. When we find space so hideously void, we are describing our own unbearable emptiness." —D.H. Lawrence

Drawgasmic / July 24, 2011 by Rebecca Tillett

Last year, I participated in a design event called Drawgasmic. They published a book with all of the contributors and having ordered it in December, I finally received it the other day. I think it's very cute and well put together.

New Business Cards / April 10, 2011 by Rebecca Tillett

I created myself some new business cards this weekend. I needed something fresh and new.
I think these'll do the trick!

Little Girls / April 8, 2011 by Rebecca Tillett

Little girls never dream of these days; these days complete with crack, needles, and whores. Fucking to survive, fucking to prove everyone wrong. Fucking to exude power, lust, SEX and immortality. I never dreamed of these days. I was going to be a ballerina, a writer, a photographer, a journalist for Christ's sake. I never hoped for days of cum, cheaters, and takers, blood, butchers, and criminals. Regular customers love me. They get what they want, they get their money's worth. Two knocks and a whisper and I'm in, out and paid in ten minutes. Seedy motels, middle class suburbia - it's all the fucking same. These dicks need a good fuck, I need my money and their wives their rebuttal, their denial, their status.

Superfluous Pursuits / April 4, 2011 by Rebecca Tillett

It's another Sunday night and I'm imagining a future world in which all labor is done by robots leaving humans free to pursue intellectual, artistic, and other superfluous pursuits. We'll all live rich and abundant lives leaving nothing to be desired and will die fulfilled and regret-free at the ripe old age of 125. This is the ideal future world that exists in my head and I am of course, hoping it would not so strongly parallel Asimov's I, Robot but I digress. I'm really just avoiding bed because I'm avoiding Monday as well as the entire work-week. I hate Sunday nights.

Why, oh why can't we all just do what we wanna do? It's a shame that so much of our lives are spent simply surviving.

Hayseed Invasion / February 25, 2011 by Rebecca Tillett

These little girls that rise from corn fields bold & busting at the
seams with hazy expectations unreceptive to the lives &
movements of those growing & dying before them.
Sallys, Emmys, & Maryanns they think they know it all, they
do. Proclamations of youth too ripe to pick but much too
mouthwatering to pass by. Tomorrow’s another day& another
day of bursting skulls and spoiled greens.

In Sweetness and Love / December 6, 2010 by Rebecca Tillett

In Sweetness and Love is 160 pages of absolutely stunning Kodachrome photographs taken in the mid 1950s to 1960s by my great-grandparents John and Mabel Moore accompanied by poignant quotes, lyrics, and excerpts.

They spent as much time traveling as they did at home and locations captured include Wyoming, California, New Mexico, Hawaii, New York, Guam, Arizona, and the Philippines.

My sincerest gratitude to them for their diligence in documenting their later years and thus providing me with such a vivid glimpse into the beautifully small but significant intricacies of their wonderful lives 60 years later.

Hello / April 30, 2010 by Rebecca Tillett

“Sometimes he bangs his head against the wall until blood pours from his ears and delusions of what never was dance before his eyes and angry ghosts materialize.”

“It’s real. Hello. I can’t feel…no." She’s never satisfied. She was never satisfied. She’s never happy. She’s never in love. She never loved me. She sliced her throat. She can’t leave me alone. She’s watching me. She’s never happy