There was the outfit I’d worn the day before and probably the day before that, in a pile on the floor by the bed. I sat up and got into it like I was going in reverse, stood up, slapped… Read More ›
William Pearse writer
‘The heart lies somewhere I can’t reach’
Hey! It’s almost the end of April. It has 30 days. I rarely go back to my old posts or reblog them but this week is special, because it marks the anniversary we moved back to the States after nine… Read More ›
‘Here always is,’ on parenting
And there was the time I got arrested for furnishing alcohol to minors and underaged drinking—and you wouldn’t think you could be guilty of both, but that’s the law. The night I called my parents late from Erie, PA (from… Read More ›
Fallen, moss-covered tree in the aspect of a dog
There was nothing more of it left at the end, the day got sanded down to a pile of dust smaller than the shape it started. The dishwasher ran and the rain looked to stop for a minute, but only… Read More ›
Fireflies trapped in a jar, the days, prose
Some of the days flew by so fast, others you could trap in a jar. They were on the internet or in your computer on a spinning carousel, going back as far as you could right up to the present…. Read More ›
Bluetooth speaker inside rusted copper resonating bowl
Lily and I moved to opposite corners of the hot tub. Because it’s outside and we live in the Pacific Northwest, the underside of the cover attracts slugs and undesirable life. I’ve started using bromine tabs indiscriminately, I just dump… Read More ›
Do enough drugs and the trees will talk back
I don’t know why I have to drink beer when I brown beef but I just do. Maybe so I’m doing something other than drinking. I went back to my notes from Friday morning on Cougar Mountain with the dog,… Read More ›
Portrait of a house cat eating a bird one Thursday
Charlotte and I sat at the breakfast nook eating frozen pizza and watching our cat Roxy eat a bird. I watched Charlotte watching Roxy for a few bites before she realized what Roxy was eating and was glad when she… Read More ›
Rain prose: going to work, to live
We were between fronts again. In the morning the sound of the birds seesawing the air in their rocking chair, rhythmic arcs: those sing-song loops like fireworks for wartime, warning cries, maybe just bliss. The air was damp from last… Read More ›
The Larry Dugan complex
There were probably a dozen boys packed into that air-conditioned room at Kyle Gardo’s house in the early ’80s, the first time I saw porn, a lot of hair onscreen and squishing sounds, all of us rapt and speechless; it… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 