When Dawn leaves town, Charlotte sleeps with me in our bed. Friday night, and she complained about the Brian Eno music, calling it spooky. So I carried the remains of that record with me up Cougar Mountain the next morning,… Read More ›
Brian Eno
‘Undead’
On the first day of summer I took my morning walk beneath a marine layer of clouds. The cool onshore flow was back, making the trees swish. The blackberry vines were starting to bud out with their green, knobby fists… Read More ›
Wilhelm’s mausoleom
I stopped by the dry cleaners, then the car wash — vacuumed out the pollen, the cottonwood, pine needles and dandruff, the nail clippings and dirt, then gathered wood to make a fire later, shook off the spiders from the… Read More ›
One Saturday in May, with ’77 million paintings’ playing
The cottonwood started falling and now it feels like we’re in a snow globe that won’t stop. Charlotte and I went to the aquarium and looked at the octopus, its sheep eyes, the valves where the cheeks would be, opening… Read More ›
Trying on masks | Field notes from the Pacific Coast
It’s almost over! This is a series of posts I started in late May and have published daily for 35 days now. It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington coast, with side-story memoir scenes wrapped by a few… Read More ›
“One more red nightmare”
Donnie said he forwarded my email to Fripp and would let me know if he heard back. I sent that to Loren, because I wasn’t sure I’d ever get an email like that again, that said “I forwarded your message… Read More ›
Not yet remembered
I sometimes wear Eberhard’s Stetson to get Charlotte at school, and stand outside with the other parents waiting for her to appear in the doorway — and when she does and sees me with the hat, she turns pink and walks ahead… Read More ›
Backwater (Philly memoir reblog)
I am surrounded by dots, to connect. One analogy is a sky full of stars with constellations and stories, how they got there. Another, drops of rain falling on a lake, how they ripple in circles and random patterns dissolving… Read More ›
Song of my 40s, still life
I can palm the cat’s head in my lap when she’s napping in the morning and it’s still dark — with just candles and Brian Eno playing, sometimes you can’t tell if it’s even on, that’s the thing about ambient… Read More ›
Far From Home (Positively 5th Street)
The last time I went, they tore it down so it made me wonder if it was ever even there: that brick building by the art museum where I paid my first rent, on 5th and Hamilton street, Allentown, PA…. Read More ›
Bill Pearse 