Musings of JR Simmang

The river barely covered our ankles, but it was cold and the summer had begun a few weeks earlier. We stood, you and I, against the running shadows dripping from the overhanging branches and washing to the adjacent shore, letting the pebbles and stones break our feet in places pleasant, thinking they were an army of lovers, -pretending- we were an army of lovers… You said things then; I was listening to you from under water, and that’s the way it usually was, remember? You’d talk, and I’d drown, breathing only as an afterthought. I don’t want to think about that, though. Let’s think about something different. Let’s think about the plans we’d made to return to Italy, to speak another language for a day, to trace the angles of the Sistine Chapel, corrupt and speechless… but the water was cool on our feet, and the summer had only begun. -JR Simmang

Perhaps, this'll be reworked into something more permanent. FALLSTREAK Personally, I think the shade from the Unknown is quite lovely. The Unknown. I thought we had reached a point where all things in the universe, grand and magnificent as it is, had been identified, quantified, categorized, and classified. Then, seven years ago, this anomaly, this behemoth of a mystery, plots itself above the New Washington Monument and stews. We, myself included, had no word for it, so we called it The Unknown, the abyssal remains of the withering human condition. These are the preconscious thoughts of someone currently in the wax museum railcar just before he wakes up. My eyes are heavy, as they should be, as I had predicted. Nitrous Oxide is a cruel mistress, clad in leather straps and chains, smoking an unfiltered Marlboro Red, waiting on you to cry and beg for forgiveness… “Yipe!” I cry, the barrel of a gun pointed at my face. Behind me, the firmsoft breasts of a woman. I turn aroun...