Pawscar Wilde
“I feel things deeply. I just don’t rush about it.”
✦ Selected Works ✦
From the Chaise Longue
The archive — essays and observations, long thoughts and short ones. Some arrived slowly, turned over for days before landing. Others were finished before looking up. Both are correct. All of it belongs to the Pawscar Wilde series.
Tax season: when the cookie jar becomes my only certainty
The rain taps the windows in no particular rhythm. Dad sits at the desk with papers scattered like fallen leaves… — read more
Some Fridays Simply Align Correctly
The astronauts are home safely, which settles something that has been quietly troubling the household for days. The… — read more
The Friday Calculation
The morning cookie arrives at 07:51, which is neither early nor late but exactly when it should. I have noticed that… — read more
The Rug Holds Me, But Something Else Lets Go
The wool rug holds me this morning though the hardwood calls from across the room. Something in the air tastes… — read more
The Frozen Bone: A Weekly Meditation on Necessity
The frozen bone hits the floor with that particular Friday sound — dense, satisfying, final. Everything else can wait.… — read more
The Freezer Door Opens. The Mathematics Remain Undisturbed.
The freezer door has been opened twice this morning. Once for ice. Once for nothing at all — just a long look inside, a… — read more
The Pint and the Pure Thing
The patio. The sun. The beer in Dad’s hand catching light like amber glass and me beside his chair not moving not… — read more
The Particular Weight of Empty Leashes
The downtown walk was different without Gus working his circuit. Just Dad and I, past the storefronts where other dogs… — read more
The Brewery Visit: A Study in Selective Appreciation
The scent of hops still clings to Dad’s jacket this morning — faint but unmistakable, mixed with something else I cannot… — read more
The April Accounting
The desk drawer opens with a particular sound — metal on wood, followed by the rustle of paper that means something has… — read more
April's Arithmetic: A Basset's Brief on Mathematics and Melancholy
The wool rug holds me differently today. Same texture, same warmth, but something underneath has shifted. Dad moves… — read more
The Morning Cookie: A Tax Collected Without Fail
The morning cookie arrives precisely at eight, as it has for three years running , a small tax on the new day that I… — read more