Mom’s Hungarian lodger Laszlo made plans to move out. Charlotte and her friends are at an age they’ve started experimenting with alcohol. Dawn and I began a routine of going out on Fridays for dinner and sat by the window… Read More ›
Memoir
Holes in your logic
After getting my ears pierced I thought my life would change but of course it didn’t, not one bit. This is what inclines people to get more holes or tattoos. The Hole That Can Never be Filled. It got so… Read More ›
Standard Time
I tracked Lily with my phone, especially when she was traveling through Europe, clubbing in Barcelona for example. I wasn’t proud of it and tried not to look in a snooping way but it was hard. I was glad she… Read More ›
Samhain in Scotland reflection
Early November always reminds me of Scotland, the best memories of our UK winter tour there 10 years ago. Going for breakfast on All Saint’s Day, Celtic New Year, at some barren stone cottage on the shores of Loch Ness…. Read More ›
Counterbalance
It’s pie season here at the Pearse’s even though I’m the only one who eats pie. First the chocolate satin pie and then the toffee apple one with cool whip. I gripped the flab on my hips and thought man,… Read More ›
Waxing crescent
“Why it’s good to break routines” I was curled in bed like a backwards comma, like a crescent roll or uncooked prawn, embryonic, curled inwards. The guy at the gas station looked homeless when he approached; we talked a good… Read More ›
Sky therapy
The sky was biggest at Rock Meadow, the nearby horse farms where I sometimes walked. Though it was just 10 minutes from our house whole months could go by without me going there. On the right of the small road… Read More ›
Place
I’d visibly gained weight after my trip to Europe. The weight that hangs on the gut in flaps. I was way too proud for all that and felt dirtied by my own excess: bread, butter, cheese, pastries, cake. I got… Read More ›
American Pie
This is the final post in a two-week series of travelogues set in Besigheim, Germany with my mom, Linda Pearse. It’s a queer, ghostly light the moon makes through the fog and the early morning dark. I’m now used to… Read More ›
Copies, backups, forgeries
Once you get into the valley it’s a sea of fog. I take the footpath down by the river through the dark and the moon gets swallowed. The sky looks the way old TV screens looked in the 70s after… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 