Jan. 31, 2018, Hi everyone, we’ve had a pretty good year here so far, we can’t complain. Mark Smith died (my favorite singer), and so did the wall clock in our den. I bought another one on Amazon but it’s… Read More ›
pacific northwest
Discreet Music (MES edition) | Jan. 24, 18
I’ve lived out here since ’96 and always had a good attitude about the rain, that it’s just November and December which are hard, that by the time you get to January you’re over the hump. Not true! It doesn’t… Read More ›
Discreet Music | January 11, 2018
“Discreet Music” is the name of a Brian Eno album from 1975 and also a new blog series I’m running through January, prompted by a journal-writing theme I started in Germany over the holidays. It’s inspired by the David Sedaris… Read More ›
A piece of Richard Brautigan (for Loren)
The cat’s eyes have gone cloudy, or maybe it’s just my imagination. She spends most nights in the garage, which would explain the need for a thicker coat. And in the morning she pulls a pipe cleaner out of the… Read More ›
Dark morning walk
Now the dark you thought would abate just hangs on (or lightens, depending on your point of view) still it’s hard to change from what window you see the world, that view.
Discreet Music | January 7, 2018
The dog’s hind leg shifts like a coal in the wood stove, stirs, then settles in. It’s Sunday and I vowed to cook, read, build a fire and that’s it. Spent half of it online reading consumer reviews of cars… Read More ›
Dream state of awareness, one day
We really just don’t have much time, which is why I get up in the mornings to write. I thought that walking with Benny in the morning yesterday, to the fields. He asked, now that you’re back in Seattle and… Read More ›
Photo taken of Brendan Behan painting, Dublin pub
The cold, hard rain: the wind, the leafless trees, the puddles turned to pools, the sound of it beating off the gutter: the muted green and brown, the tail lights, stop lights, Christmas lights the only light that keeps us… Read More ›
Mondays don’t matter
Headlights trace the curve along the road that leads to the lake, the road we don’t know the name of that changes names every bend three or four times, all of them number-names with no apparent logic, so we just… Read More ›
“Stay”
Probably the last trip up Cougar Mountain for the year. Rained from start to finish, mud in the car now, the smell of wet dog. The trail a mash-up of leaves all brown and yellow, the maples are the last… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 