Bill Pearse

Recent Posts - page 49

• The comfort in patterns

  By Bill Pearse on February 27, 2021 • ( 19 )

  

  We were getting near the end of it though the news warned of a fourth wave. And I’d been off work for a month now which seemed great from a distance but got strange the more I got inside of… Read More ›

• The song of myself is a crude souvenir

  By Bill Pearse on February 17, 2021 • ( 23 )

  

  The most precious things we keep hold meaning for only us, and it’s those things we surround ourselves with as time takes all the rest.

• The crawlspace

  By Bill Pearse on February 10, 2021 • ( 14 )

  

  The day was already ruined so he decided to check out the crawlspace. He hadn’t been to the crawlspace for years. There was no reason to unless there was a problem. He knew there’d be more to deal with if… Read More ›

• Space is the place

  By Bill Pearse on February 7, 2021 • ( 19 )

  

  Time moves with the same erratic force of those bleating jazz horns like locusts devouring anything in its path.

• We should kill time

  By Bill Pearse on February 6, 2021 • ( 16 )

  

  It rained like hell, like uncooked rice spit on the windows the sound. And the big tree branches lay in clumps around the yard. And the ground oozed like sores, like cartoon mouths. And I dozed and woke to the… Read More ›

• The view looking in

  By Bill Pearse on February 2, 2021 • ( 4 )

  

  Solemnly he moved across the floor and back to the sofa where he lay on his side looking out the window. There was hair everywhere in the cracks and crevices, dog hair. He imagined the hair adhering to him when… Read More ›

• A touching display

  By Bill Pearse on January 30, 2021 • ( 10 )

  

  I let myself off the hook with my writing routine and look where it’s gotten me. I’ve started playing video games, the first person shooter kind, and go to bed replaying scenes of me dying or killing other players. I’ve… Read More ›

• The cosmic distance ladder

  By Bill Pearse on January 24, 2021 • ( 12 )

  

  Morning time in the old German village where we once lived. The narrow stone roads that feel like a labyrinth, more for pedestrians than cars. The sound of tire tread when cars pass slow. Everyone smoking. Past the Italian bakery… Read More ›

• It’s the terror of knowing what this world is about

  By Bill Pearse on January 10, 2021 • ( 30 )

  

  “When the men with guns who have always claimed to be against the system start wearing uniforms and marching with torches and pictures of a leader, the end is nigh. When the pro-leader paramilitary and the official police and military… Read More ›

• It’s not in the old Polaroids buried in the dark

  By Bill Pearse on December 31, 2020 • ( 30 )

  

  The story of your life is a series of well-told lies delivering a feeling of truth. No different than the lives we live. It isn’t the truth, but a sense of it we want. As readers, as travelers through this life, memory is one thing but the feeling it conveys is another.

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