I had to watch myself on Skype last night, which was hard. The beard’s gotten so long it gets in the way of my food, I get moustache hairs in my meat which feels barbaric — and unemployed now for… Read More ›
expats
The logic of the bells
I turn like a rotisserie chicken every quarter hour in bed, with a window angled open toward the church up the street and the bells tolling every 15 minutes, and I wonder if they’re live bells or triggered by some… Read More ›
The churchbells on Sunday
I get behind two lesbians in the Italian market, this medieval town in Germany — the market, no bigger than an elevator car, a telephone booth, and I say to the guy behind the counter you can leave the cheese… Read More ›
The skin beneath my chin has the feel of waterfowl
Mom woke to hardened blood in her bedding about the size of a tea cup saucer and couldn’t find the source, asked if the cat menstruates but she can’t, we had those organs taken out, and it wasn’t the dog… Read More ›
The someday, faraway passages
The want to be, could be, should be is too hard to be and easier left for another day that’s faraway, unsaid. There is no day now, no deadlines or rules, no place to be but the blind insides of space, where… Read More ›
Licking my lips, the end of summer
The cat’s come back to my lap to harvest what she can, and in the town they’re hanging leaves and lights, grape clusters in different colors for the wine fest, next month. The fruit flies are slowing down in the… Read More ›
Peeing on Switzerland
Ralf pokes the scat with the tip of his trekking pole and says in English it’s fresh, from earlier today. And the wind changes direction, it’s coming from Switzerland now, and I don’t know if that’s good or bad but… Read More ›
Dangerous Heat to Build Across Germany, Poland
A week without my cell phone now, breaking the habit of checking, responding like a lab rat to artificial chimes and chirps, the desire to be recognized. Benny comes at 5 and spends the night, gets right into the story… Read More ›
The infinity mirror
There are many clocks in my mom’s 500-year-old house but none of them agree on the time, they’re all about 10 minutes off and it’s unclear which one is right — so instead we go by the town church bell, and… Read More ›
Heat Returns to Paris and Berlin
Eberhard and I drove to the Hexenplatz, by the windmill, where you can dump yard waste and pick up compost, for free. Not sure why it’s called Hexenplatz, because Hexen means witchcraft, or miracle-making. The weekly Gemüse delivery came too,… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 