I’ve had to run across the airport to catch my plane. I try to be zen about these things but part of me is and part of me isn’t. I know I’m going to make my connection because it’s just… Read More ›
writing
The first person
If the phone is the new mask of Greek theater, a personō for us to sound through, perhaps our kids just understand better than we do how to really use it. Because as Bowie showed us, the self is a kind of fiction.
I killed the crow
So why am I spending so much time on this game? Escapism, or another form of numbing? Is it because there’s an instant cause and effect happening in my brain, the dopamine hit gamblers get from ringing bells, instant rewards? Or is the appeal of the multiverse more of an existential desire to be somewhere else, somewhere better than here?
Playing Bach string sonatas in the dark
How dark the evening with no moon, the dark before the dawn. I did the early morning candle and music thing, as close as I come to meditating. I had to turn the light on in the bathroom though because… Read More ›
Let go into the mystery
The dark pockets of mom’s old house were something to see. It could be depressing too, how the leaning walls closed in on you. But for a Sunday morning in late August with the rain coming down I was glad… Read More ›
Did you get your disconnection notice?
Funny how it often feels good to disconnect, but then we long to feel connected again. And maybe that’s the combination I’ve found this week reconnecting with my mom and our home here in Germany. Lily went away for a… Read More ›
An apple no worm had found
We took the 14 toward Backnang, past the place I bought a used hatchback one time with Eberhard, Sulzbach an der Merr. And I could still remember the turnoff where Dawn and I took the car for a test drive… Read More ›
Ich genieße es!
In the morning I sat with Eberhard’s cat under the covered patio out back as the trash collectors wound their way up the small roads to the village. He’d built a series of ladders for the cat to climb from… Read More ›
Song for leavin’
It is remarkable to think, the braids of fate that led me here. Up these Roman steps, past prehistoric geckos padding stone. A life of constellations but so often we wander through the dark and can’t connect the dots. Perhaps… Read More ›
New forms of release
The warm crackle of the power lines above the cornfields, up the himmelsleiter to the vineyards. Unscrewing a tight grape from its cluster, spitting the seeds out on the grass. Bathing myself in this new form of decadence sans alcohol,… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 