I tried wearing the same pair of jeans every day until something happened but nothing did. It was hard to remember what day it was. They asked us at the airport when we talked to the Bundespolizei, who were nicer… Read More ›
Memoir
Siddhartha, the waiting room, ‘nowness’
The waiting room in the colon treatment center the morning after Fat Tuesday could be purgatory, where people wait to have their insides filmed through a probe, to hear how long they have to live, what they have, when they… Read More ›
Four months 18 summers ago in France
In the fall of ’97 I announced I would be leaving my job at Starbucks that December, moving home to Pennsylvania for a few months and then on to southern France, to live in a condo on the beach a… Read More ›
They packed the gaps with sand and mud
Old, half-timbered houses with uneven beams buckling and bent into one another like two drunks steadying themselves. Everything on its side, lead pipe handrails caught in their footings, ivy-choked trees. Pale morning birdsong, footpaths leading down the valley ending in… Read More ›
Salthill Serenade, Galway
Wet snow tangled in the hair of the grass outside of London, topping the cars like confetti. Going back to a Sunday a month ago in Galway, a neighborhood ten minutes outside of town called Salthill, that day we started… Read More ›
That last Christmas in Cork
We debated what to do with the uneaten ham. It was impractical to stuff it in the car with all our things, tacky to leave it behind for the owners, wasteful to throw it out, and so I climbed the… Read More ›
Last postcard from Pinklightsabre for ’15
Happy holidays from Bill, Dawn, Lily and Charlotte…I will be out of the office from 16 December 15, returning some time in January. Until then, if this is an emergency please turn off your computer, go outside, and look deep… Read More ›
A moment with a bad piece of art in Galway
Monday, a down day. The waves crashing against the rocks in the painting don’t move me because a.) I doubt they were real rocks the painter really saw, and b.) doubted he/she had the knack to really paint. It’s like… Read More ›
Painting titled ‘Easter 1916,’ featuring Patrick Pearse
Staying up late listening to Toto, eating carrots and reading old blog posts, the unease that comes from seeing where you were compared to where you are now, and how little things change over time. Charlotte’s most prized stuffed animal… Read More ›
‘Dreams are like water, colourless and dangerous’
It’s The Wednesday of our Lives, halfway through a nine-month tour of Europe, three months in the UK. We remind Lily dreams aren’t real, sometimes they’re just a manifestation of our fears and hopes — but dreams you want to make… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 