Tag Archives: William Pearse writer

Down stellar stream

Posted on April 19, 2019 by

The rain is hypnotic like the static on the black and white TV I used to fall asleep to growing up. it was my first digital-assisted relaxation, when the programming ended and the Star-Spangled Banner played, and then it all … Continue reading →

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Call me rapture

Posted on April 18, 2019 by

All those sweet, heady blooms of spring came back, and outside it was warm and had just rained, it felt clammy and moist, so I got a beer and a lawn chair and collapsed into both. Dawn accumulated three heads … Continue reading →

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Outside the frame

Posted on April 17, 2019 by

I made plans to see friends I hadn’t seen in about 30 years, since high school. I took a Lyft to the bar and sat in a table by the front, and sent one of them a text: Pat fell … Continue reading →

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What was left

Posted on April 14, 2019 by

What was left in Charlotte’s bowl wasn’t worth saving. But I ate it on principle, so it wouldn’t go to waste. And there was an analogy in that, to going back to my hometown for our annual visit, gumming the … Continue reading →

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Song for April, the draw down

Posted on April 1, 2019 by

How the sky draws down, this time of year, when it’s newly spring: there is no urgency to its ending, not like fall or winter: it is the start of the long days of haplessness, the spooling out of light, … Continue reading →

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Happiness is easy

Posted on March 31, 2019 by

Two weeks ago, we went to brunch at the local ale house and I tried to nap before going to the airport. In a moment of clarity, Lily deleted all the data on her phone and gave it to Charlotte, … Continue reading →

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Real time

Posted on March 28, 2019 by

Probably the most comforting thing I could do was drink in bed. When I quit drinking I wrote a list of all the things I pledged I wouldn’t do when I started drinking again and one of the top 3 … Continue reading →

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