With the light what it was all I wanted to do was sleep. I went back to Stratford-upon-Avon, that sweet English town where I got sober ten years ago. I didn’t really get sober, it was more of a practice… Read More ›
journal writing
Sun salutation
I took down Christmas like a logger felling a tree, lopping off the higher limbs then chain sawing it down in sections. Christmas took days to put up with its exterior lights, interior arrangements, well-choreographed nativity scenes, collectible Santa figurines,… Read More ›
Pink champagne on ice
How could we live differently? We asked ourselves the same question every year but didn’t get far with the answer. I went back up Tiger Mountain on New Year’s Eve, a few hours before sunset. I wanted to go with… Read More ›
Leftovers
By this time of year we are feeling bloated physically and almost spiritually by all our excess. To watch the kids on Christmas morning tearing into their packages is like witnessing the human Id in its purest form. That desire… Read More ›
The ox and lamb kept time
I got crumbs on myself but didn’t care. Everything slanted downwards. The crumbs got caught in the folds of my robe but dislodged and rolled like stones into the folds of the couch. All about it was gray and serene,… Read More ›
Maybe it will work out just fine
With enough scrubbing and scouring powder I was able to get the nasty stains out of the bottom of the Dutch oven. It was a funny plum color. I’d had it for many years and hadn’t treated it well. Returning… Read More ›
Corpse pose
Sometimes as a kid I imagined the darkness was a palpable thing. It had depth and dimensions, contours like a canyon. If I wasn’t careful the shape of the darkness would bloom and swallow me and I’d feel the sense… Read More ›
Wintry mix
I should know better than to use these cheap haircut salons even if it’s just for a neck trim or light cosmetic work. Today she misunderstood me and shaved half an inch above my ear in a clean line around… Read More ›
Rat torture scene reveal
By the time we got to winter it already felt like spring in the Pacific Northwest. A few things bloomed and the Christmas bugs returned, those gray, floppy, mosquito-like creatures that come every January. I don’t mind the bugs but… Read More ›
Sunday sauce
Any real Italian would add that leftover liquid from the jarred anchovies to the pasta sauce I thought, though the smell was pungent and the contents unknown. Probably olive oil and whatever salty oils had sloughed off the fish. So… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 