In the dream I was doing yoga in a class with mostly women, squatting, feeling overweight, with the sensation that my wang was poking out. It was, and I realized it must be a dream. I felt my body strain… Read More ›
journal writing
N/A
I woke at 5, brewed the coffee, and lit a candle. Maybe the first morning in two years I’d woken without any alcohol the night before. I’d done a dry January enough times now, I’d developed some nostalgia with it…. Read More ›
On Sundays and holidays
We spent the aftermath of Christmas on Whidbey island, a town called Langley, so idyllic they still have phone booths with free local calls, wild bunnies, signs in the shop windows promoting inclusion, views of the water, a bell to… Read More ›
It could nearly be like a picture print by Currier and Ives
I went back to a small box of memories from 1986, a cassette I bought and the Sony Walkman I played it on wearing a second-hand coat and buying my first pack of cigarettes, walking the hillsides and small neighborhoods… Read More ›
(Nothing but) blood
Mom and I got down to the bar at 3 o’clock and ordered a boulevardier. I would have asked for an Old Pal but didn’t want to sound pretentious. We then walked up to the steakhouse so we could get… Read More ›
Refraction (- – – — — — – – -)
Charlotte and I tried to play Scrabble but got frustrated, and dumped all the tiles back in the box. The best we came up with was Mosaic and Pirana, Pirana hers, not exactly right, needing an H or a symbol… Read More ›
Nice light from not much light
I went looking for the Jerry Garcia carving in the cutout by the lower greens, on the Halsey side, like the guy said. But it was foggy and damp, and what looked like Jerry on the other side of the… Read More ›
Inside a broken clock splashing the wine with all the rain dogs
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,… Read More ›
‘Theft by finding’
Sure, I was still the same but my face was starting to look smudged in those new photos where I looked older. The forehead exposed, the jaw gone slack, the eyes hollowed out and the skin, less color to it…. Read More ›
November 22, 2018 (Thanksgiving). I went back in time to the chauffeur’s flat, that place we stayed in a remote corner of Scotland one Thanksgiving, unlike any other. Near some small, port town on the coast by the ferries over… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 