Starting our year of homeschooling today was like a kick-off meeting for a big project: give them a little information, get them engaged, show them a plan, have them leave the room excited. Start and end on time. And as… Read More ›
writing
The importance of turning back
In the first draft of my memoir, which I left behind in the States because it has a bad energy objects sometimes can, I began with a scene from 1993 that traces the start of my career to its source,… Read More ›
What makes High Baroque high?
Hi, Is a great way to start a corporate email to someone you’re pissed off at but don’t want to sound it. We sat outside with a glass of Riesling in the afternoon watching the people go by at a… Read More ›
The problem with the Internet is it never turns off
I had to watch myself on Skype last night, which was hard. The beard’s gotten so long it gets in the way of my food, I get moustache hairs in my meat which feels barbaric — and unemployed now for… Read More ›
The someday, faraway passages
The want to be, could be, should be is too hard to be and easier left for another day that’s faraway, unsaid. There is no day now, no deadlines or rules, no place to be but the blind insides of space, where… Read More ›
They scratched their names on the stones, in the trees
Dawn took the side of the bed my mom once slept in and that left me the side that was John’s. I’d sometimes look in on him sleeping before we flew back home, but wouldn’t wake him, it was easier… Read More ›
Full disclosure, on writing (The Hex)
I blew myself out of the page with nothing to make me feel real except the thought my eyes could be my hands and my breath could make me believable.
Pick me out a poem
After I ate the poet I left the shells piled high on a plate translucent-pink, done just right — and after all that picking out the meat, it looked like more than when I started, once it was done.
Full moon over the swale
Brad’s friend Jim reminds me of a scarecrow that’s missing the stuffing around his waist he’s so thin, it makes his pants ride low, that’s the first thing you notice. The kids have gorged themselves on cheese puffs like the… Read More ›
The frail edge of belief
They look back at themselves thinking they will see something more but never do, they are still the same. We are the modern harvesters picking turds out of the grass, bits of glass that could be made into something, some day. Who… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 