Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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Primitive painters
There are parts of the chicken that don’t look like they should be eaten but dad does anyway, hunched over the table and working it with his hands and lips. Because he’s missing some teeth dad doesn’t chew as much… Read More ›
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Near adults, just kids
I always did mushrooms on an empty stomach. That’s what my friend John Kimmich said to do. We’d sit in that shithole apartment on our recliners staring at the TV waiting for it to kick in. It was always the… Read More ›
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My new content series, Gig Work
Fifteen years ago I started a blog. For the first three years, no one liked, commented, or followed me. And that was okay because I didn’t know what I was doing. You can call those first three years my online… Read More ›
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The Slider
If there’s a brotherly love that can happen between men, I felt it most for my old Cajun friend Myki. And I think about him every Fat Tuesday when the Mardi Gras music starts, and wonder what he’s up to…. Read More ›
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Seeing through screens
In the middle of the night, from the other side of the room, I can hear the sound of the dog breathing. It is a deep, peaceful sound like a human’s breath. The cat, on the other hand, makes no… Read More ›
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Ode to Can
Damo Suzuki died. It was a bleak mid-February day in the Pacific Northwest, the kind of day that reminds you it’s still a long way to spring. Fittingly it reminded me of our time in Berlin one February, a place… Read More ›
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Made-up dreams
When Dawn is gone and I have the bed to myself I spread out like a starfish and fall into a deep sleep. Last night I dreamt I saw a younger version of myself; the two of us were introduced… Read More ›
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The drive back from Portland
The drive back from Portland is not just a drive back from Portland, it’s every drive you’ve ever made. It’s the roadtrips with the family, the one you made to the Redwoods, the one with a girlfriend in the late… Read More ›
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In defense of things
Dawn’s mom Beth is moving out of her house and downsizing to a senior living community. She’s lived in this house since 1982, so it’s a big deal. If memories are like fallen leaves on the ground then the soil… Read More ›
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Dreams of being nude
The cat likes drinking out of the faucet and meets me in the bathroom at the same time every morning. She hops onto the sink, rubs the spout with her chin, makes a wet smacking sound as she laps. The… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 