Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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The chime of the city clock
I don’t mind having more of the bed to be on when Dawn is gone, and I’ve stopped feeling guilty about it. I spread out like a starfish and sink into a deep sleep. But when the clocks toll downstairs… Read More ›
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The cat-faced canker
There is nothing like a chainsaw to make a man feel like a man. I caught myself in a dramatic pose sinking that steel into the side of a fallen tree, slinging it like a weapon, wondering how ominous and… Read More ›
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Change my life
It’s the strongest wind storm of the year and I do something I’ve never done before: drag a chair outside and sit by the front door with a blanket and coffee watching it come in. The sound is like the… Read More ›
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Don’t fall on me
If there’s any month in Seattle I really struggle with the rain it’s November. It’s not a mist or a drizzle but full-on sheets of rain, sideways rain, cold, blowing rain. Rain that gets through old roofs and runs down… Read More ›
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Trick-or-treating in the Scottish Highlands
The first thing you need to know about trick-or-treating in Scotland is it’s not called trick-or-treating, it’s called guising. And you don’t get candy for free just by waving your bags out, you have to sing a tune or recite… Read More ›
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Billy Joel’s “Piano Ham”: An Appreciation
Ivan Pavlov once said, “Now what do I do with all these dogs?” But Pavlov also invented what we now call “triggering,” and few songs trigger as … Billy Joel’s “Piano Ham”: An Appreciation
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Don’t put on any airs when you’re down on Rue Morgue Avenue
Life had a way of folding in on itself, unraveling in bizarre and beautiful patterns. You could watch and feel like you were a part of the fold or outside of it, not living but still alive. The pattern was… Read More ›
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The terror of knowing what this world is about
Niraj Argaven grips my hand in the grocery store aisle and pronounces his name, moves to my side and hands the phone to his daughter, puts his arm around my back and faces the camera. I am now part of… Read More ›
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Waning crescent
Here it was, my whole life splayed out before me. Some days, just for an instant, I felt like I could do anything. The problem was, it felt so good I dwelled in that feeling and did nothing at all…. Read More ›
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Portrait of the artist as a portrait model
No one smiles in these old portraits. They look stiff, like they’re already dead. Maybe it’s the knowledge only portrait models have that makes them look like that, deciding how you’ll look forever. They look trapped in their own time…. Read More ›
Bill Pearse 