ENTRE NOUS
Newsletter
April 2026
French, literally “just between us”,
“in private”
[ahn-truh noo, ahn-truh noo]
/ˌɑn trə ˈnu, ɑ̃ trə ˈnu /
My love letter to your sovereignty.
Letter From The Editor
Gina and I met on a mormon dating site (I was trying).
She lived in Denver, I’m in Logan (that’s far enough from SLC to be a pain in the ass, for those unfamiliar).
The chemistry on the phone and email was brilliant. She was funny, wickedly smart, and just as wickedly beautiful. We decided to meet on the 4th of July in Salt Lake City. She made the drive. It was an off year for both us, our kids were with the other side of our families.
I knocked on her sister’s door.
She was even more beautiful than I was expecting.
We looked out over the city from our rooftop lunch spot.
We synced the phone chemistry with the in person chemistry.
The great thing about a lunch date is how vast the possibilities are:
Lame? Go home. You have the rest of the day ahead of you.
Great? Keep going.
We didn’t part ways till 5am the next morning.
A lover of books, her gravity led us into a nearby bookstore.
“Have you ever read this?”
She pulled a copy of “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron from the shelf.
“This book changed my life”.
Divorce has a way of whetting one’s appetite for life changing.
I wisely trusted her and bought a copy.
The Artist’s Way is basically a 12-Step for creative people suffering from ‘artist’s block’
Step #6 is “Morning Pages”.
Every morning, FIRST THING in the morning, after emptying yourself in the bathroom, during coffee, and before encountering any other humans – you sit down with a few sheets of paper and a pen. Just like what you did in the bathroom a moment ago – everything comes out of your brain, onto the page. EVERYTHING. Especially the stuff where your inner referee says “Uhhmmm. Dude. You really gonna write that? That’s pretty messed up.”
YES. ESPECIALLY THAT.
“But what if someone reads it?”
This is why, after your brain has emptied itself, especially the messy stuff, onto the page – you destroy the pages. This is not a journaling practice for the sake of documenting your life. This is a practice of learning to tell yourself the unfettered, uncensored truth, every day before you deal with the ego of any other human and become tempted to alter your truth for their comfort.
I have been doing morning pages every day for the past 20 years. To the extent that I am at all sane, I give Morning Pages all of the credit.
Sometimes it takes me 7 minutes. Sometimes 70.
It has saved me.
It has set the stage for every good thing that’s happened in my life since that hot summer night.
I know you are wondering about that 5m part still.
At 8pm, we were sitting on a blanket watching Ryan Shupe and the Rubberband play a concert in a city park.
At 9:30pm, the fireworks began.
At 9:38, the fireworks continued to Van Halen’s “When It’s Love”.
“Naa Naa Naaa Naaa Naaa Naaa… when it’s looooove….”
You know the part. Go ahead. Sing it.
This is the part where I turned to her and we kissed for the first time, as giant bursts of sparks and fire popped over our heads.
For America.
“We’ll make it last foreeeevver”
I am aware of how goddamn corny this reads right now.
Problem is, this is exactly how it happened. Like a goddamn Matthew McConaughey movie.
Would you prefer that I censor it for your comfort?
Yeah I didn’t think so.
— Paul Duane
Pink Suitcase
by Paul Duane
There’s nothing to do in the Sioux Falls airport but drink.
This bar has 26 seats.
I occupy one.
An off duty flight attendant occupies another at the far end.
Otherwise, empty.
I order double deep fried panko crusted cheese stuffed jumbo tater tots and a local IPA.
Still no sign of my flight.
She parks her pink suitcase and sits next to me.
A large diamond crowns her left hand.
“Marriage always makes things more interesting”, my road weary cock and soul commiserate.
“Another IPA, please”.
She orders a salad.
“What are those?” she asks.
“Decadence.” I point to them on her menu.
“Are they good?”
I debate over letting her try one.
“Yep.”
I flog myself for what I’m about to say.
“So, where are you going?”
“I’m on that delayed United flight to Tucson.”
“What about you?”
“I’m on that delayed flight to Chicago.”
“Fucking United.”
She nods and smiles while chewing on a mouth full of ceasar.
She wipes a drop of dressing from the corner of her mouth.
“Um, can I get an order of those, too?” she points to my 2 and a half remaining double deep fried pankeo crusted cheese stuffed jumbo tater tots.
I love it when good girls do bad things.
I test her.
“What’s waiting for you in Tucson?”
Julie proceeds to explain her life: “I teach tennis, it’s my passion. My husband is in finance, he’s always gone, but I keep busy running my two daughters around to ballet and track practice.”
Her name isn’t Julie, to her, but it is to me. All women who live like this are named Julie.
“What about you?”
“I work in grey market pharmaceuticals”
“I’m a special adviser to the Swiss Consulate in Chicago”
“I’m an adult film actor”
“I teach 3rd grade”
I ponder the possibilities.
We only have 17 minutes, if United is to be believed.
I order another IPA to help me out.
“You’re never going to believe this – I manufacture tennis balls…”
~ the end ~
The Darkroom
"Taking pictures is savoring life intensely, every hundredth of a second"
The most common question I get about my work as a boudoir photographer:
“What is it like?”
Women don’t hire me to make pictures of them, per se –
They come to see themselves through my eyes.
Not every story involves a camera in my hand.
Every story in The Darkroom answers the question –
“What is it like?”
Enjoy.
A Preface to “Icarus’s Mirror”
An Ancient Greek legend:
In a flight to freedom, Icarus took to the sky with wings made of wax & feathers. The possibilities thrilled him; was it greed or the natural human instinct to explore? Regardless – Icarus flew too high, too close to the sun. His wax wings melted and he discovered the maximum possible altitude of his freedom – falling to his demise.
In all daring acts, there is one step that finally and fatally reveals the maximum altitude possible.
In this month’s Darkroom Story- we meet a couple, in love, exploring the thrilling heights of intimacy.
“Icarus’s Mirror” – an erotic and costly memoir of feeling the wax melt in one’s wings, in real time.
The Darkroom stories are part fact, part fantasy.
All are true.
For An Adult Audience.
The Darkroom is open to those patrons who subscribe to the print edition of Entre Nous.
Your edition arrives the first of every month bearing vintage postage, sealed with wax.
Field Reports
One day you will be called upon to break a big law in the name of justice and rationality. Everything will depend on it. You have to be ready. How are you going to prepare for that day when it really matters? You have to stay "in shape" so that when the big day comes you will be ready. What you need is "anarchist calisthenics." Every day or so break some trivial law that makes no sense, even if it’s only jaywalking. Use your own head to judge whether a law is just or reasonable. That way, you'll keep trim; and when the big day comes, you'll be ready.
Have you done something recently that stretched your soul? Made your balls grow bigger? Put you in real danger of humiliation, exclusion or failure?
We want to hear about it.
Share your story on the Field Reports Page. We’ll select a couple each month to feature in the Print Edition of Entre Nous.
Future Field Reports Coming Soon
This month, we found the following Field Reports particularly worth sharing. Read all of the Field Reports in the War Room:
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Talking Shit:
He performs a self satisfying routine, spewing his repressed fear and loathing of himself, onto the faces of his faithful.
His hack: performative certainty.
Bad Ass Videos:
Why I chose these:
Latest Progressive House Mix:
I have started a brand new YouTube channel from scratch – PAUL DUANE MUSIC –
if you like my Progressive House mixes, please like & SUBSCRIBE. Thank you!
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