T. William Phillips
author
Work
RESTLESS HEART
Leaving behind the aristocratic life for which he had been groomed, Konrad Quintero de Leon ventures into America’s wild frontier in search of meaning and adventure. In 1840's America, a time of "Manifest Destiny", a restless wanderer must choose between his addiction to adventure and his love for a woman.
ADDITIONAL EXCERPTS
Book 1 Cht 3 Sword Lesson Book 2 Chpt 9 Texas Rangers Battle Bandits
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NOVELS
THE SEASON
A mysterious drifter abandons his car in the middle of the Mojave desert, just days after abandoning a perfectly good life in Los Angeles, and begins a grueling, aimless walk South in hopes of being nourished in Nature’s womb and reborn as a poet.
THE BOAT - (prequel to THE SEASON)
Ambitious hotel owner, Leonard St. Vrain, aspires to make his L.A. hotel into a mythical Hollywood icon that caters to the movie gods and rock stars, and the drug-fueled, wild parties that go with that lifestyle. With Chateau Marmont as his inspiration, his misguided, sleep-deprived, cocaine-driven mind decides that the only way to reach that mythical status is by having a celebrity die in his hotel. When he finds out infamous rock star, Jules Ducasse, will be his first celebrity guest, St. Vrain convinces Byron, a young bellhop, to spend the night partying with the band and feeding Ducasse drugs in an attempt to force him to overdose.
ILLUMINATION - (sequel to THE SEASON)
After three years of wandering the unfrequented highways and hitchhiking from one tiny town to the next, Johannes Climacus (as he calls himself) returns to Los Angeles, unsure as to why his legs brought him back to the place he loathed. He assumes a life on the streets where he spends his days begging for money, and his nights sleeping in alleys and doorways, and occasionally homeless shelters. He migrates to Venice Beach where, instead of just begging for spare change, he writes poems for the people passing by. He begins to find peace in the freedom and rootlessness of the homeless life of a beggar-poet, but the romance of such a life soon fades as he befriends his homeless brethren--the addicts, the mentally ill, and the unfortunate--and realizes the true plight of freedom.
THE BROTHERS KAVANAGH
An exploration of the Apollonian and Dionysian dichotomy between two brothers in 1920s
THE STATE OF WAKING
Growing weary of a mediocre, stereotypical existence in his final year at an Ivy League University, a young student of finance is introduced to a strange, new world when he begins running around with a group of bohemian artists. However, his life in their bohemian world is short lived when he goes back to the life for which he was groomed immediately upon graduation. After a few years of twelve-hour days at his investment banking firm, weekly therapy sessions, prescription drug abuse, and haunting, indistinguishably real nightmares, he begins to wonder if he chose the right life, and if not, is it too late to change his decision?
SONG of the VAGABOND
O! you brave vagabonds, hair of wheat and clothes of wool
Travelers of the night and day who sing songs of yearning
Soft-headed, with absorbing eyes of keen observation
Lonely souls of tender virtue, lustful in unending quest
You wanted men of vagrancy, true of heart and rich in soul
It is not your captivity the man wants, but your freedom he envies
Lift a finger for him, and invite him on your journey
Offer him bread, and if you have none, offer him love
You elegant drifters, wide-eyed in awe of all you see, even if seen before
You happy babes of perfect innocence, dreamers
Tender fingers, rough with delicacy and dirt in the nails
Blanketed with hope, and warmed by a smiling golden sun
You dwellers of the earth, who make no beds in the morning
Sleepers of the fruited plain, jagged mountain, and cracked desert
Faces caked with salt and dirt, a beautiful portrait indeed
Skinny-bellied and fat-souled, good-hearted and never cold
You talented tramps, whose mothers are always worried
Your voices speak a language of their own, a language lost
Swimmers of every ocean, river, and lake, wild yet serene
Climbers of every mountain and hill, walkers of every plain and desert
You nomadic creatures of myth, unique in every tiny characteristic
Whose scars are the stories that nourish society
Whose blood, whose pain, whose salty tears sustain mankind
Whose beloved tales fill children with joyful dreams of lands afar
You willful wanderers, walkers of winding roads, forked and crossed
Just as Natives followed the buffalo, you follow your hearts
Bold, unafraid, organic, one with nature, one with life, one with soul
You are all of us and you are none of us. You are hope
You adamant adventurers, love in every step you take, kind to every eye yours meet
Who exhale truth and integrity in every wet breath
Who not only taste the food, but the hands that prepared it
Who dance to the symphony of the wind’s sacred song
O! you brave vagabonds, hair of wheat and clothes of wool
Youthful and mature, reflecting eyes of constant wonder
Hardened and sensitive, a kiss for every stranger that you meet
Soldiers of peace, no home at journey’s end
Loving Brothers of Humanity, travel well on your lonesome, happy trails.
Sitting still, I feel my spirit grow weak. Broken hearted, I live amongst the meek. But I shall not inherit the Earth. I’ve taken it already, as if mine, from birth. I’ve traveled near, far, and in-between, Not for money, duty, man, or queen. I have lived to love and loved to live, With a childish heart I too freely give. But a heart that gives too often takes. It becomes a thief of the love it makes. I’m haunted by the faces of those I’ve left. To those who gave all, I’m forever in debt. Saint Christopher, still this traveler’s heart! Give me silence and a steady beat! Will there ever be rest in me Or must this restlessness be my destiny? Do hearts such as mine deserve peace Or will happiness always be a distant reach? We travelers, we wanderers, We hopeless love squanderers, We vagabonds, we vagrants, We lonesome, nomadic pagans. We who fly in the wind like dust, We who for adventure lust, We restless hearts with no end in sight, We of endless starts, forever in strife. We who drown with the masses in an unmoving pond, And thrive only in lonely rivers moving far beyond. The muscle in my chest dies if untested. Damn my restless heart — and bless it.
RESTLESS HEART
