Tag Archives: existentialism

The long descent through the quarry

Posted on June 21, 2019 by

I got down on my hands and knees in the shower with a toothbrush and some baking soda paste. The web site said if the drain had a musty smell that was mold, but if it was more like a … Continue reading →

Posted in Humor, identity, Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Real time

Posted on March 28, 2019 by

Probably the most comforting thing I could do was drink in bed. When I quit drinking I wrote a list of all the things I pledged I wouldn’t do when I started drinking again and one of the top 3 … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, parenting, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

No breaks (from a plane)

Posted on March 23, 2019 by

There were times I felt like I had to write, I had the impulse, to save the moment. I thought I could just throw my arms out and surround it, I could throw my line in the water and bring … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, prose, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Down, down

Posted on March 5, 2019 by

Down went the day, followed by the sun, the night, the moon which rose just a hair of itself, the kids, then us: the weights on the clock: everything goes down. They talk about the ascension, about what happens “after,” … Continue reading →

Posted in death, poetry, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 12 Comments

This time on earth

Posted on January 30, 2019 by

Where does it go, when the hair recedes—and why does it leave? And will I go like that too, without any notice but more a long, slow fade like snow thawing in a field— And are we just that then, … Continue reading →

Posted in death, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Inside a broken clock splashing the wine with all the rain dogs

Posted on November 28, 2018 by

The rain now is that rain we associate as November rain in the Northwest. It has its own aspect, like no other. It is not a rain to be fucked with, and comes on hard and fouls up the roads, … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 30 Comments

‘Cuts you up’

Posted on October 2, 2018 by

Lily (who now goes by Lee) and I drove to the Teanaway river valley on the east side of the Cascades, stopping at a Safeway in the small town of Cle Elum for junk food. I didn’t bring the guts … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, Memoir, parenting | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 24 Comments