Author Archives

Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.

• What we saw once in the future

  By Bill Pearse on March 12, 2016 • ( 17 )

  

  When mom wakes and sees Eberhard’s bed lamp is still on she goes downstairs and finds him at the table with a bunch of dead roots, a screwdriver and a bottle of Port that’s half empty or half full, depending… Read More ›

• Final thoughts during the flight safety video leaving Newark

  By Bill Pearse on March 9, 2016 • ( 26 )

  

  When my mom asked if I needed a pair of warmer socks for our walk (I’m 45) I reminded her this is the guy who’s slept on the side of glaciers and gotten up in the middle of the night… Read More ›

• The entertainment unto death

  By Bill Pearse on March 4, 2016 • ( 38 )

  

  I hadn’t gotten sick like that in seven years, with my head in a toilet, and it was the same toilet seven years ago, the last time at my mom’s in 2009, I had to ask Dawn if she could… Read More ›

• What happens in March stays in March

  By Bill Pearse on March 1, 2016 • ( 19 )

  

  I got into Eberhard’s cigarettes in the Schrank which he said I could help myself to but I didn’t for a variety of reasons until last night, after booking a flight to Newark to see my grandma, and talking with… Read More ›

• Open the pod bay doors, Hal

  By Bill Pearse on February 27, 2016 • ( 23 )

  

  The river’s too high, it brings no calm. It moves with the force of a mob squeezed down the streets, knows not where it goes just that it must, turns from brown to gray, slaps the sides, moves with the… Read More ›

• Snow song from a train heading north

  By Bill Pearse on February 23, 2016 • ( 16 )

  

  Sideways snow outside the window, all of us bundled with our gadgets, our books, our friends, the din of soft German going through tunnels, beneath bridges, the ivy, the vines, the limbs cut to the nub: I sit on the train and… Read More ›

• Leaving the Intercontinental, Frankfurt via the A67

  By Bill Pearse on February 22, 2016 • ( 29 )

  

  Something like 7 AM in the Frankfurt airport parking garage and the lift is out of order so we take the stairs and right away, it’s that Cold War vibe from the paint tones and the little signs and starkness… Read More ›

• Blog posts are bread crumbs the birds can’t eat

  By Bill Pearse on February 20, 2016 • ( 10 )

  

  The look of the sky today started pink but ended gray, and as I went walking I worried, did I have enough to break off to find my way, or would I get lost in the forest and the others with so little,… Read More ›

• How to look like an indie rocker without trying too hard

  By Bill Pearse on February 19, 2016 • ( 31 )

  

  It’s 62° F in my mom’s kitchen and I’m 45, wearing a scarf and an apron, browning onions. I never wanted to look like an indie rocker which is why I’m so good at it — people stop me on… Read More ›

• Love and moss during wartime

  By Bill Pearse on February 18, 2016 • ( 16 )

  

  Plaintive, silent moss that exists but for a balance between water and light: Can we appreciate it for what it is and ever stop rearranging things?