Musings of JR Simmang

You're graceful all around, drinking in the soul of me. I cannot help but stare, sometimes at the back of your head, because that's all I can see of you. And that, sometimes, is enough.

It was an odd fog this morning, cresting like a wave in the silence of the night upon the broken shores of Deadman's Hollow. I belong to the sea, he said, his windows rolled down, as if sending an invitation to the pallid blanket over the city. The Road, he thinks, is a narrow strip of suicide, never changing, and gritty. There is no more here than a constant expanse to an endless arrow. The scenery starts looking the same. At least it shares this with the sea, around you is nothing but water and you think you could drown in the constant reflection of salty tide. There is unidirectionality, a oneness of everything. It's a battle of wits to convince yourself that the age you race toward is also what propels you forward, every bump in the road is a new wrinkle... But it pains him to think this as his wheels do all the work. In the ocean, he thinks, he'd put in his miles on his hands. The salt-air burning scars into his face. The sun bea...

In response to a WD prompt: In the right light, his hair almost cast a shadow. "Well, seeing as how I don't have a choice in the matter, I suppose I'll have to go with eyesight." He, Dr Manne, had me strapped to a cold, sterile, surgical steel operating table. I didn't remember how I got there. "Eyesight? Typical." "That's the one I want dulled." "Oh. Interesting. Willingly blind." He was stooped over a table, his shoulders hunched with anticipation. I was catching mainly the echo off the plain white walls. "I want you to enhance my sixth sense." I heard a clang and what sounded like the rapid rearranging of metal pieces of a metal tray. When he spoke, his voice came out in starts and stops. "The sixth sense?" he sputtered. "That's what I said. I want you to enhance my sixth sense." He laughed, slowly at first, with the gurgle building steam in the pit of his stomach, then reached a Vesuvian expl...

Good day, folks. Today's post is of a different direction. It's the first of several that are going to go into detail about what I am going to do to get fit and GoRuck/Highland Games strong. Several of you already know that I am both gluten- and dairy- free. It's biological. However, having to exlude these things from my diet has had an immense effect on my physique and metabolism. I am no longer sluggish, my focus has improved, I sleep better, and fat has had a hard time sticking around my midsection. Workouts feel more effective, as my endurance has also increased. Wheat is a killer. Dairy comes from a cow. Anyways, my stats are this: I am 5' 9.5" and barely kicking 150 lbs. My one rep max deadlift is 110. I can squat my body weight. My bench is 90. I'm not that great. But, I've started a new regimen, and I'm going to start tracking now. Yesterday, my workout was this: 1.5 mile run/warm-up 5 rounds of 30 feet suitcase carry, heaviest weight (60...

Day 5 He didn't sleep last night. He was driven by heat and his dreams caused his body to ache and twist. It's probably better this way. No one wants to sleep with a man who cannot seem to separate the sheets from his indecipherable memories. He awoke that morning to an incandescent sheen on his windows and a knock on the door. It was a Monday. He put on his clothes thinking that today would be the final day to say good bye, but he wasn't sure he was ready to release her body heat to the curtains and windows. He wasn't sure he was ready to get rid of the last little drops of sweat and her lingering perfume still impermeating his bed linens. He pulled on his pants and found a letter on the stoop. It was penned in illumination. It was penned in loops. It was in the hand of a woman.

On the Fourth Day He’s feeling like he should shave. It’s been since that night and it is way past 5 o’clock. His eyes are red and crusted over, presumably from crying, though he promised himself a long time ago that he would no longer allow his eyes to water. He thinks a lot about his mother right now, her kind, warm embrace and comforting words had soothed him before. They could do the same thing now. He needed to hear he was a good man with a good and patient heart so that he could learn to live on when the one part of him that pines still will become just another part of him. He wishes he could see her again. To remember her face. He went back to the bar the night before only to find the same beefeater that found him first. He didn’t feel much like being reacquainted, so he sat and watched as other couples camped and flirted. Helena. Helena, my love.

Three days from then he is back to the bottom of the hill, reminding himself of Sisyphus as he pushes his Ford out of his driveway and into the street. He was in the mall when he got under the notes of her perfume. He had trouble recognizing it at first. It was almost painful digging through the back of his mind, unearthing something that should have been buried and left undisturbed. He found out is was Chanel No. 5. It’s a common fragrance, he says. But, I don’t have a girlfriend. The lady with the perfume bottle blushed, and he thinks he could ask her back to his place later, but his mouth wouldn’t move and he stood there stupidly. What was it about Helena? Was it the brunette hair she left behind on the pillow? Was it the way she cradled his head after the sex they shared? Was it the way she sung “Fly me to the Moon” in the shower after they both got sweaty and out of breath? Or was it that he was finally feeling something. He pushed his Ford o...