Musings of JR Simmang

My bed, a refuge. Here, the covers make of me a second flesh, protecting me from the harsh winds and blistering suns. For my life, as long as my breath can remember, I have been a mole, scrounging around my sheets, abounding on the bed, wallowing the darkness that darkness can allow. Constant people, mirrors of people, floating by my face, checking the tubes, hollow veins of my body, haunting my dreams, awake and asleep. My nighttime terrors, confused by my daytime horrors, convinced me it did not matter when my eyes were closed. Today, my fingers feel out for my legs, my shriveled excuses for legs. I could be lucky to feel. I could be lucky to feel anything, a needle prick, a hint at cold, the flesh of a woman, and respond with my flesh, controlling my fear and pain and private convulsion, and contolling hers as well. But, that, that, may never be again. I sigh. My breath a rattling revulsion, my brain asea without a propeller, my fingers... my legs... S...

I recently discovered a modified haiku named the Tanka. So, here are a few of mine: "Ahead of the Curve" Dreaming of a house built on the firmament of deepened, blue waters surrounded by luminous wings of solid gold feathers. "Simple People" We are proud people too proud to be disgrace-ed though we spit distaste on the feet of tradition; too proud are we to atone. "Underwhelmed" Wet lips, salivate fingers brush the flush-ed cheek eyelids flutter closed open to impassioned breath this agonizing rapture. "To Travel: A Thought" A suitcase is full only when the lovely memories of the past find a place among the small necessities of life. "Night Orchid" Before the day wakes before the dawn shakes the Earth before the light shines the delicate blue orchid smiles and sheds its nightly skin.

"Dinner alone" Dinner. Sure. Of course. Thank you. Please pass the salt. Wine. Water. Wine. Wine. The night slowly slipping to dawn. Laughter. Touching. Laughter. A smile, nervous smile. Corners of my mouth salivating, slavering with the ring of a bell. Sardonic lace. A moment. Connection. Wasted. Daylight brings a loneliness. Tomorrow? Time and money. Dinner.

I haven't been on here in a while, and it feels a little awkward trying to get back in to it, like falling off a bike and swearing it off for a time. So, I thought I would ease back in with something I am more comfortable with, a poem. "Bespoke and speak" Our last communique tempestuous and writhing with the agony of a too short message. For within that spanse expectations hang nigh, floating and weaving, sputtering and spoiling; Words losing sight of themselves, drifting further and further into static. Dialogue, dear precious conversation, confined within that delicate prison. Pick up. My words would truer find your ears were your ears listening. Pick up. This unholy ringing in my ears leaves my breath baited. Pick up and speak to me.

Every once in a while, I like to wax philosophic. Today, I am trying to figure out what it means to live. Humans have an innate sense of survival. Humans don't just roll over and die. We fight for life. We fight for existence. Even they who do not live for this world still live in this world. We wake up daily, breath daily, ingest and defecate daily. We don't just die unless there is an outside influence over them whether it be old age, a weak heart, incidents and accidents, or the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." Humanity has shown a propensity for living regardless of what may challenge it. Despite desperate living conditions, humanity has survived in the harshest of climates, environmental or otherwise. The permafrosted layers of land devoid of fauna did not hinder the development of Moscow or St. Petersburg . Despite oppressively despotic heat, Lybia and Algeria were established. The cradle of life is in the middle of a desert. The Jews fled Egypt. Th...

Today is the 4th of July. Naturally, I'm going to write about Independence Day. I know, it's passe, original, and totally expected. First of all, I would like to wish everyone a splendid and safe day. I hope the fireworks are spectacular. Secondly, I would like to say that I love this country. In 1776, something happened at the First Continental Congress. John Hancock, Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin, John and Samuel Adams, and a slew of other brilliant men between the ages of 26 and 70 signed America into law. It wasn't until 1784 that America was finally ratified. We built a country based on the needs of the people. We established a currency, constructed commerce, and developed a new people: the American people. America is a country for the poor, the rich, the genius and the moppet. We are no longer a system of thirteen colonies. We are no longer a system of states. We are a country of Americans. In this, it is our duty to remember on this day the journey of this land...

There is an abundance of good people within my family and my wife's family combined. In that abundance there are numerous good cooks. My family started and sold a successful restaurant chain in Nacogdoches called The Hot Biscuit. My wife's family has traditions passed down from generation to generation that have been tweaked, augmented, simplified, and purified. That being said, my wife and I developed an improvement on an old family recipe, Calabacita. For those of you who don't read, speak, or understand Spanish, Calabacita means 'little squash.' Based on that ginormous context clue you can assume the dish has something to do with squash. Normally, the recipe calls for as many squash as you want. We traditionally add three medium sized zucchini or yellow squash for 4-6 servings. However, after digging through the veggie crisper we found that we had only 1 zucchini and 2 chayote squash. We picked up the chayote on a whim. I had heard from a Spanish friend of mine t...