Tag Archives: meaning of existence

The soul dies first

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

That last Sunday in Prague

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

Einmal ist keinmal, one more time

At the end of the summer, on the last days before school started, I’d go into the classroom with my dad at the school where he taught. There was a periodic table of the elements on one wall, chalkboards and … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

Sketch of a Volvo 740 taken from driveway

It took long enough, but it finally hit 70 in Seattle. In the morning driving in how the mist clung to the trees, and it was Double Stamp Wednesday at the coffee shop, and when I left work about noon … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 26 Comments

First there is a mountain then there is no mountain, then there is

There was the outfit I’d worn the day before and probably the day before that, in a pile on the floor by the bed. I sat up and got into it like I was going in reverse, stood up, slapped … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

‘Reentry Burns,’ coming back to America

When I got back from Germany Dawn met me at the airport and we went for lunch at the brewhouse. The bathroom smelled the same as it always did and I think the bartender recognized me, even though we’d been … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

Fallen, moss-covered tree in the aspect of a dog

There was nothing more of it left at the end, the day got sanded down to a pile of dust smaller than the shape it started. The dishwasher ran and the rain looked to stop for a minute, but only … Continue reading

Posted in musings, prose | Tagged , , , , , | 8 Comments