Short Story

WIN Smile, Hon, You're in Baltimore!

By: Bob Phantom | 11 April, 2011

Win a copy of this 'zine. We have five copies to give away the first 5 to email banksy@0800phantom.co.nz will win.

At Phantom Billstickers we reckon this is the most interesting 'zine we have seen for a long time and all the more so that it springs from Baltimore, one very interesting American city. We won't mention that television show, but we will say that Edgar Allen Poe lived in Baltimore and John Waters grew up in Lutherville, just outside the city. We'd pay cash money to grow up in a place with a name like that.

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Why the Strat holds me tight By Hi Newman

By: Phantom | 21 March, 2011
Why the Strat holds me tight
By Hi Newman
 
 
 I’ve always been attracted to it, the shape, the responsiveness of it, the feel and passion of physically playing the instrument… the Stratocaster. What is it that so attracts me, has captivated me? I play other guitars, I like other guitars… I love other guitars! So why am I so drawn to this one? Why does this one fit me so well, in ways that go
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HOW TO KILL A POET: ROADTRIP STORIES (PART TWO) By Ben Brown

By: Phantom | 14 February, 2011

HOW TO KILL A POET: ROADTRIP STORIES (PART TWO)

 
…So it is that my son and I have a late lunch there, chilli beef and cheese in a pastry wrap, a pint for me, a coke for the boy, with ice but hold the straw. A young man on the cusp does not drink anything through a straw. I would have racked them up and played a game with my boy for reminiscence sake but the table wasn’t there anymore and the only game that I could see was pokies.
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HOW TO KILL A POET: ROADTRIP STORIES (PART ONE) - By Ben Brown

By: Phantom | 4 February, 2011
Ben Brown
HOW TO KILL A POET: ROADTRIP STORIES (PART ONE)
 
It was the season of The Nativity and the turning of another year. I went on a road trip with my son. He waits at the cusp of manhood with impatience. He will be bigger than his father, better looking, ultimately wiser. This is the right and proper way of things.
The boy should always outgrow the man or the man has not done his job.
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"Nairobi" short story by Brett Lupton.

By: Phantom | 7 September, 2010

   It’s still early in the evening but it’s already dark outside. Ruth is sitting in front of the dresser mirror, putting on make-up, getting ready for Wendy’s farewell party. Every now and then she stops dabbing at her face to check for a telltale line where the make-up ends and the real Ruth begins. Her bottom lip juts out, the way it does whenever she concentrates hard on something.

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The Iceman: Short Story By William Gay

By: Phantom | 6 May, 2010
Painting By William Gay

Birds called him awake where he slept on the riverbank, a veritable madhouse of caws and chirps and twittering that began with the advent of day and increased with the encroaching light. He struggled against waking as if the day held more than he could handle and he wanted no part of it but he’d fallen asleep in some curious aviary walled only by the trees and when the cries grew more strident and persistent he discarded his strange dreams and sat looking out across the river.

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The Carson Strat: by Bill Direen

By: Anonymous | 15 April, 2010
Bill Carson's original 1959 Strat

When I was in France a drummer invited me to his practice rooms in a suburb of Paris called Montreuil. We made a good noise together and one jam led to another. I decided to get a hold of a back-up guitar which I could leave in the Montreuil practice room to save me carrying my own guitar across town each time. I wasn’t looking for an expensive guitar, since it was possible that other users of the rooms would use it, and ... you know how it is, perhaps it might be “borrowed” one day and never returned.

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