It fits in your palm like a lotus blossom, like a butterfly.
Walt Whitman
Part-time blogger, full-time ass
I started re-reading Don DeLillo’s White Noise in October, inspired by connections to how our media was handling the Ebola crisis. Ha, ha: look at me! Blogging about Don DeLillo and Ebola! I have a third of the book to… Read More ›
Song of myself, ourself
I stood at the Hoh Head on the Washington coast and looked out on the lone, proud rock that stood hard against the sea And the clouds moved like a membrane, how they swelled and became gauze across my eyes… Read More ›
This life is a jacket we’ll take off soon
I pulled a Walt Whitman, tripping-out on my back in the grass, with ants crawling up my arms and neck, my ears full of birdsong and dogs barking, something flying by and stopping on my head, plastered to the earth… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 