Normally after drinking coffee and walking in the morning I’m motivated to work around the house but today after breakfast I just lay on the sofa and gazed out the window. I needed to shower so I could put the… Read More ›
Memoir
Erasure
Now it took forever for the sun to come up and I just sat in the dark waiting. It could be like those mornings in the UK one winter I hand wrote by candlelight just to see what would happen…. Read More ›
Deep winter fantasies on a new October moon
No one seems to like my gumbo as much as I do but that hasn’t discouraged me from making it. It’s the smell of the roux and the mouthfeel of a rich stew that feels best this time of year…. Read More ›
Meditation on fake body parts
It was really hard to sit in the dark in the early morning and do nothing. Blame it on the coffee but my mind raced. There was an odd peace at that time of day standing in the yard with… Read More ›
Place
I’d visibly gained weight after my trip to Europe. The weight that hangs on the gut in flaps. I was way too proud for all that and felt dirtied by my own excess: bread, butter, cheese, pastries, cake. I got… Read More ›
American Pie
This is the final post in a two-week series of travelogues set in Besigheim, Germany with my mom, Linda Pearse. It’s a queer, ghostly light the moon makes through the fog and the early morning dark. I’m now used to… Read More ›
Last Friday in Germany
Wasn’t forecast to rain but it did and I got caught in it. Sunrise, if you want to call it that, was an hour away still. The cocks still knew the time and croaked as I walked by. Odd to… Read More ›
Copies, backups, forgeries
Once you get into the valley it’s a sea of fog. I take the footpath down by the river through the dark and the moon gets swallowed. The sky looks the way old TV screens looked in the 70s after… Read More ›
On the 18 to Ludwigsburg
The train is always the same and so are the vineyards, the trees just starting to change. Europe holds on to its roots. Once in Florence a guy said to me, in the States you live in the future; we… Read More ›
A form of removal
I wrote to remember but you could never come close. The writing became a form of reliving, a cheap copy. It was the worst kind of navel gazing writing letters to your future selves. But I would sooner err on… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 