This is the color of November. Mainly gray, with dabs of red and gold. The trees have just enough leaves to remind you they once had more. And so the season bends towards absence. A harvest, a feeling of fullness,… Read More ›
Raymond Carver
Role playing games
He hunched over his plate the way his father would and drizzled olive oil over his beans like the Italians. But it was unlikely his dad ever did that, he wasn’t the adventurous kind. He loved his dad for the… Read More ›
Carver
He lay on his back on the sofa like he always did, looking out the window. Birds flocked around the orange berries, limbs flopped over, leaning down. A hearty rain. The grass needing cut. With the pandemic they had gone… Read More ›
There and not
The same collection of poems, taking it slowly, reading it since fall, not wanting it to end. And if only I could get a pinch of Carver in my work, that was the stuff! Even a shake could transform me…. Read More ›
All of us
How many selves do we get?
4:59, Friday
In my time of darkness I go back to the old haunts, to Raymond Carver: I closed the book and he looked back, and in the morning spoke to me on the toilet, in my bathrobe with my phone: He… Read More ›
Song for mid-summer fires
In the morning the street lamps are still on past 6 with their long, dinosaur necks and pink/peach, lit-up heads. I set my alarm for 3 AM but got up before it went off, sailed past Tacoma and Olympia around… Read More ›
A new path to the waterfall (for Brad)
Hi! If you’ve been reading my blog the past couple weeks you’ll know I’m working on completing v.3 of my memoir, through a 40-day exercise…I’m breaking from the logic with this post, that steps out of the time sequence to… Read More ›
‘Is evil something you are, or something you do?’
We’ve hung a roadside atlas of Scotland over the door in our flat, draped there like something we shot and dragged in for drying — it looks so big on paper, but you can see much of it we’ve covered… Read More ›
Heat Returns to Paris and Berlin
Eberhard and I drove to the Hexenplatz, by the windmill, where you can dump yard waste and pick up compost, for free. Not sure why it’s called Hexenplatz, because Hexen means witchcraft, or miracle-making. The weekly Gemüse delivery came too,… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 