The house had the look of drunks about it, the left behind, random disorder of things not put away, fallen on their sides, not cared for. Light bulbs, plush toys, DVDs all sharing the same shelf by the stereo speaker…. Read More ›
existentialism
The strength of strings
All the blood ran out of his face when my boss said they were putting me on a plan. It’s not the kind of plan you want to be put on. I became aware of my body language, uncrossed my arms,… 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 ›
So what about the mid-life crisis?
Charlotte and I decide to walk to the lake. The lake is about 10 minutes away, she’s 7, and it’s the first time we’ve walked there together, just the two of us. She’s balancing along a stone wall about four… Read More ›
Leaves in a book
The days end like that, the same way they begin, me on my side gripping a pillow, wondering what day it is. Walking the steps at work, up the parking lot floors: walls made out of cinder block, what it… Read More ›
The Rubik’s Cube of Plot
We are all emitting and absorbing information every day. Those who are not are dead or non-existent, or irrelevant. Their pictures will be found unmarked in shoeboxes, not rooted in anything, thrown out. In this selfie age, everything is spectacular,… Read More ›
What happened to Brown
Brown didn’t really like baseball, but played in the Major League. He was white, had a mustache, and a pretty good build, for 40. He played outfield, which wasn’t the best, but still pretty good. Brown kept to himself mainly,… Read More ›
Song of myself, ourself
I stood at the Hoh Head on the Washington coast and looked out on the lone, proud rock that stood hard against the sea And the clouds moved like a membrane, how they swelled and became gauze across my eyes… Read More ›
Bad thoughts precede bad thoughts: flying, drinking, writing, landing
Flying, sipping brandy out of a cup, 5 in the morning. Leaning back in our blankets, in our seats, reclining. We raise our hands to the displays and tap the screens and look as dull and robotic as the figures… Read More ›
Last Seen With
The cats spend the day outside killing, then come in for their canned food. I stood in the garden watering, having the sense something was wrong, and noticed a small rabbit on its side with a gash in its neck…. Read More ›
Bill Pearse 