Showing posts from July, 2014

Things I Think at a Stop Sign

Left again,
my weary friend,
on the side of lonesome road. A pistol hand,
a horsefaced liar,
a liturgy too old, a saw-toothed swan,
rattlesnake limp,
and a cup that o'erflowed showed me to
a curbside preacher
who'd left for Abbey Road. And I, a chump,
a sinner and a man
looked him square
and said a prayer
while my soul condemned danced a while
to a child's school tune
all while the half-sun set.
I laid my bet
to the brilliant new moon; Exeunt actori, stage right!
into the deadened night! For this side of lonesome road
an echo is your friend, but
friends they lie and friends they fold.
Here, you're better off untold. -JR Simmang, 07/22/14

Memory is a Fragile Thing

This is part one in a series. It's a departure for me, since I've never written an espionage thriller before.

The mirror, attached to the wall, was smudged and bronzing, old, like a reliquary of the Mad Hatter’s. It was there I first saw my face. It was there where I found the wash basin and a couple Tylenol, and I was thankful for both. I swallowed the pills without water, washed my face, and sat back down on the cot. I was growing accustomed to this white-walled prison with it’s fancy door as if saying welcome to your purgatory but there’s no sense in whining about it.

My face looked oddly familiar; I’d seen it before, a thousand times before. It was the same face that made me laugh and cry, though my face did neither of those now. I crossed my legs on the cot, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply.


“Good morning, Rafe.”



“Doing fine. Adjusting.”


The clipboard with the date scrabble across the top in block letters passed hands. “The next one is sc…

Project Columbus

We've counted the stars. There are 186 billion, 233, million, 12 thousand, six-hundred one. Most have either died off in some galactic catastrophe, and it serves as a constant reminder that we, as humans, will also at some point diminish into a blue ball and implode.

I've been on The Santa Maria with an operating crew of thirty thousand, and a civilian population of roughly 120 thousand for roughly 23 Earthyears. We are a small, hydrogen-fusion powered, weightless city in between galaxies. In 2033, the year after I was born, our sun erupted a massive coronal ejection which stripped the atmosphere off my parent's planet. My parents were the terraengineers behind project Columbus, so when the sun blew the Earth the kiss of death, they used it to power our sails. Over the years, we've piloted ourselves out of The Milky Way and into the universe at large. My job is primary facilities management, which is fine. From what I understand, the plants need tending.

On Deck 18, we…