Tag Archives: existentialism

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

The soul dies first

Posted on September 20, 2018 by

At the end of it, the wick is either cut too short or it’s so long, it falls on its side and can’t stand up, won’t light. And so much wax left, in the shape of what remains. This body … Continue reading →

Posted in death, prose | Tagged , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Song from a shell

Posted on September 18, 2018 by

In the icy depths of sleep, in dreams, you held me when I was no one, just myself, a shell You held me at the edges where I could have been anyone, but wasn’t— and in sleep, in dreams, is … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, poetry | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

My name is Bill

Posted on September 6, 2018 by

I tried to step outside of my name, to look at it objectively. It was a plain name, handed down from my dad—and to him, from his father. It was like all the other things that get handed down, the … Continue reading →

Posted in identity, prose | Tagged , , , , , , , | 18 Comments

Near to fall

Posted on September 5, 2018 by

And so at last it was done, the book of poems I spent all summer with it seemed. They weren’t my poems, but became mine more and more each day. I sat on a chair in the grass and put … Continue reading →

Posted in prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments

That last Sunday in Prague

Posted on August 26, 2018 by

Brad said he was getting up at 5 to photograph the Charles Bridge. That time of day, it’s only the serious photographers out and the drunks. He described scenes of people on their sides getting sick, some passed out, unclear … Continue reading →

Posted in Memoir, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 14 Comments