Join me this month for stories of our time here in a small German village where we’re visiting with my mom. I’m experimenting with straight journal-style blogging as a ‘post-a-day’ challenge. Thanks for reading, Bill Any time someone opens the… Read More ›
William Pearse writer
“Sleep debt snatches”
Join me this month for stories of our time here in a small German village where we’re visiting with my mom. I’m experimenting with straight journal-style blogging as a ‘post-a-day’ challenge. Thanks for reading, Bill Some time around 3 Charlotte… Read More ›
Cue the Death Theme
Even though mom has cats now she won’t let them near the mice, but it’s like one of the only benefits of having cats, they’re good with mice. The cats are barn cats, kittens still, and they’ve destroyed most of… Read More ›
The difference between mice and rats (9:07 PT)
Join me this month for stories of our time here in a small German village where we’re visiting with my mom. This series of blogs is named after a post from 2015 (“No Christmas in Germany”) when we spent nine months… Read More ›
12 Türkengasse
If you believe in souls, or souls without homes they call spirits, than you can keep yourself occupied in my mom’s house imagining them. It can also make you nuts—mom says it’s hardest living alone here this time of year…. Read More ›
No Christmas in Germany (2017)
Join me this month for stories of our time here in a small German village where we’re visiting with my mom. This series of blogs is named after a post from 2015, when we spent nine months in Europe but… Read More ›
“Learning to see in the dark”
Wednesday, “Mittwoch,” the day in Germany the Schwäbische say couples have sex (which gives new meaning to the phrase hump day). In bed by 8 o’clock and up by 5, early morning walk to the lake, it’s just me and… Read More ›
All the best reindeer have Chinese eyes
I stuck my thumbnail up my nose, stepped over the pee stain on the rug, went to the bathroom, wondered how Brad could live here for a whole month and put up with us, and how we live: that pressure… 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 ›
Bill Pearse 