Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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In a river the color of lead
We were flying above the Atlantic when the Newtown school shootings occurred, headed to Germany. Eberhard asked if I heard about it and I hadn’t, so he broke the news to us. Various Europeans we met over the next couple… Read More ›
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Behind the Hatred
Len had a lazy eye and was balding, our English teacher. He wrote on the chalkboard and directed us to copy the lines into our notebooks: Behind the hatred there lies a murderous desire for love He didn’t quote the… Read More ›
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Put things back
I’ve been carrying around this Pendaflex of old writing for years, and yesterday I made the mistake of getting it out. I haven’t read most of it since it was written, dating back to 1992. Once you start, it’s hard… Read More ›
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Dan, Dana
I met Dan through Jim, who I met through Chris in the basement of a frat party. Dan made friends with Jim as a regular in the sub-shop, where Jim worked, in Pittsburgh. We all wound up living together along… Read More ›
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A short rant on the etymology of the word LEGEND, as borrowed from Eric Partridge
I love words. But I’m one of those people who gets upset if you say irregardless. I have no right to, other than to point out that the only difference between regardless and irregardless is that one is correct and… Read More ›
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Hold the pose
I’m celebrating 6o days of blogging today. Any monkey can do it, but it takes a special kind of monkey to be so persistent. In Yoga, sometimes we hold a balancing pose for half a minute or so. It’s intended… Read More ›
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The Empty Vessel
Woody Allen didn’t read his film reviews, which suggests two things: 1. He didn’t care what the critics thought, and/or 2. He didn’t want the critics to influence his work. It’s important to know who your customers are and what… Read More ›
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Rabbit’s Foot
Dan was a friend of a friend, my long-haired friend who played electric bass. He didn’t just have long hair, he had Heavy Metal long hair: wild, dreading in places, unkempt. His hair drew long looks in public, in our… Read More ›
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Breach
The answering machine beeped into the dark of the basement. The panel for the security system flashed, indicating a Perimeter Violation in the master bedroom, a faint, high-pitched ring, somewhere. Chumley was freaking out, his claws skittering across the tiles…. Read More ›
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Foraging
I take walks from work to clear my head, get some light, take a break from the computer. Outside, the scene is the same but still, I forage. I’m looking for ideas, listening. Though the scene is about the same… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 