Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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What happened to Brown
Brown didn’t really like baseball, but played in the Major League. He was white, had a mustache, and a pretty good build, for 40. He played outfield, which wasn’t the best, but still pretty good. Brown kept to himself mainly,… Read More ›
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‘The followers of chaos, out of control’
My youngest daughter is in first grade, and wants to be popular. She wants to be popular because she’s unsure who she is. Popularity must be good, it’s a form of acceptance. They’ll do anything to be popular at that… Read More ›
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The Unraveling of Mark Kozelek
Last week, Kozelek got some press related to belligerent remarks he made to audiences and fellow musicians The War on Drugs. For someone like Mark, who requires a footnote explaining who he is by way of the band he used… Read More ›
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You can’t retweet a memory: Nick Drake, Starbucks, why we roast turkeys
Hurting, brooding, kind of liking how it feels, discovering pain and self-pity as a teenager, with Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks. When I hear those songs now it reminds me of that time and it’s even better, it’s been auto-corrected. At… Read More ›
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Another run-in with the surly butcher
Why do butchers act the way they do? Because they chop meat and get covered with blood, for work? I got to the store early, picked up my things, and saved the meat for last. I needed a couple pounds… Read More ›
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Why the leaves fall
There is an old woman collecting leaves on the sidewalk No one notices what happens to all the leaves They are like days we sometimes save and they can be beautiful, and look like all the rest The days are… Read More ›
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Carson Street slideshow, 1994
We are in Michael’s boyfriend’s apartment, getting into Michael’s boyfriend’s bag. Michael is gay before anyone else in Pittsburgh. He wears scarves and earrings with hoops and looks beautiful but doesn’t act like a priss. People talk behind his back… Read More ›
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For anyone who cares what they look like when found dead, puts on make-up to jog, or combs their hair before bed
We go to Portland for the weekend, to get away. They’re so polite in Portland, their graffiti looks like this: LIFE CHECKLIST WORK HARD PLAY HARD LOVE YOURSELF All the boxes are checked. I look around and think, maybe it… Read More ›
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Quoting depressed comedians
We start the 9 o’clock meeting some time after 9 o’clock. I book one of the conference rooms on the north side of the building, the ninth floor, picturesque views of downtown bathed in blue: sky blue, water blue, railroad… Read More ›
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Prism of grocery store clerk impressions
The song Lunatic Fringe comes on overhead and the checker, who’s deep in her 50s, looks up and disappears for a moment to another time, smiles a secret smile to herself and goes off to another place, all her own…. Read More ›
Bill Pearse 