Author Archives

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

• When a blogger dies, does anyone notice?

  By Bill Pearse on October 22, 2013 • ( 23 )

  There are many parts of my life I can’t remember and there are many reasons for that. I’d like to think of my brain as a well-organized refrigerator: I can reach in there with my eyes closed, and know where… Read More ›

• Dead as a door-nail

  By Bill Pearse on October 20, 2013 • ( 5 )

  I’m sitting in the den drinking beer. The fog won’t burn off, it’s cold like San Francisco. I stood in the aisle at the grocery store with the toothpaste and traveler-size section, and lost myself in the overhead music, forgot… Read More ›

• Song for madness, ode to moon

  By Bill Pearse on October 19, 2013 • ( 0 )

  The halo around the moon is the son of madness who follows a cold light who sits inside shadows haunted by sounds — a footstep, a figure, a face… who’s fallen for his own reflection, has nothing but himself and… Read More ›

• Song for autumn

  By Bill Pearse on October 18, 2013 • ( 0 )

  

  A piece of fuzz in the air, a seed-bloom, a soul, will-o’-the-wisp leading me to uplit trees, quiet hillsides, hidden peaks. A voice, a dream, a memory, the sunset in autumn and softening light: Who can pretend the angle doesn’t affect… Read More ›

• When nice guys fail

  By Bill Pearse on October 17, 2013 • ( 7 )

  So I’m a nice guy, and I’m a project manager. If you can be both, I haven’t figured it out yet. Today I wasn’t a nice guy. I put the vendors on mute during an 8 AM conference call while… Read More ›

• Leave this page

  By Bill Pearse on October 16, 2013 • ( 4 )

  Enter Title Here. Confirm Navigation. My computer’s in my pocket, with me in the toilet, between my legs when I’m driving, on my lap now. It’s a pet that doesn’t need water or parasite treatments, a pet that talks back… Read More ›

• Sunbreak

  By Bill Pearse on October 13, 2013 • ( 0 )

  

  Unsteady steps on a Saturday, counting the days down. Sunday’s trash night. Monday’s swimming, Tuesday’s soccer. I’ve grown to hate the pedestrians out here. Everything about the west coast I love but it’s the pedestrians, the way they gloat, the… Read More ›

• Gray on Brown

  By Bill Pearse on October 12, 2013 • ( 1 )

  The colors mirror my insides this time of year, the muted tones and dampened smiles The earth settling in, parts of it fallen to repose in piles and patterns, Wisps of wood fire smoke: the crackle in the leaves, the… Read More ›

• Punk rock play in the suburbs

  By Bill Pearse on October 11, 2013 • ( 5 )

  

  I don’t fit in here and I don’t want to. But I catch myself wearing my work badge on my belt and strolling out of the grocery store with my six-pack, and I bet the kids who bag and collect… Read More ›

• Blue and Red Makes Purple

  By Bill Pearse on October 9, 2013 • ( 6 )

  We’re in Portland. A breakfast spot Loren told us about, we navigated here by phone. Monday morning, Portland. I’m not sure they take debit cards because there’s a handwritten sign about checks out front, but I’ve got the day off… Read More ›