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 ›
writing
Waxing gibbous
Friday is a carbon copy of Wednesday with the post-dinner ice cream at the DQ—same order and procedure pulling into the same parking spot, spooning it with the windows down—except on Friday the queer, wildfire smoke sun is back, the… Read More ›
Chance (?)
Took the Iron Gate trail but varied my approach by going the reverse direction up the Devil’s Backside. Discharged the bear spray I got in Montana in 2018 to make sure it still worked because you’re supposed to swap those… Read More ›
The devil’s back side
Here was that spot I’d come to that day in the forest it was snowing. I’d been wanting to find this spot but the trails splinter off and I never look at the maps, I just splice the sections together… Read More ›
First date, can’t wait
First date with a girl, spring 1985. I’m 14, a freshman: she’s 16, a junior. An embarrassment to date an underclassmen but there you go. She’s in the band, but beautiful. Mom says you need a “good haircut” which means… Read More ›
One more wish
That was it. Sometimes I could see how the rest of my life would play out by the way it was going day by day. We watched the sequel to Dune, that world’s lore, the large underground worms and the… Read More ›
Coming of age, firsts and lasts
For years the days flowed from an endless tap, the morning waves at the bus stop goodbye, the evening kisses goodnight. The cycle of days spinning to weekends, holidays, to new seasons, the coming of age: a first crush, the… Read More ›
On Jackson Street
I used to come down to Pioneer Square over my lunch hour to kill time. When my job didn’t matter much, no one cared if I was there, and I’d roam the side streets and street corners dreaming. Old Seattle,… Read More ›
Two sides of the same coin
It’s gotten increasingly harder to take all-cold showers as the season’s worn on. But it never disappoints, that first moment of sensory shock. Scenes of women giving birth in the Baltic from some grainy film we watched when Dawn was… Read More ›
It’s more than a feeling
Growing up in the 70s it’s hard to reconcile the kid I was then with the person I am now. A shoebox full of Polaroids and old prints, in the days before smartphones when everyone looks surprised by the camera,… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 