Nick Jameson
Bio
Of the philosopher-poet mold, though I'm resistant to molds. I'm a strongly spiritual philosophical writer and progressive ideologue. I write across genres, including fiction, non-fiction and poetry. Please see my website infiniteofone.com.
Stories (26/0)
Tara and The Merlin Tree
At the precise moment that baby Jodi dies from complications during pregnancy in a hospital in Corvallis, lamb Tara is born from the ewe Jasmine at Leaping Lamb Farm twenty miles west, in Oregon’s fecundly-sopping coastal mountains. The keeper of the farm, a genial chap named Denny, witnesses the birth from afar. It takes place under the large maple at the southeast corner of the hay field, where the sheep had recently been let out to graze for the day. Jasmine hadn’t been expected to give birth for at least another day, so Denny and his wife Marie hadn’t yet brought Jasmine into the barn to place her in the proper birthing stall.
By Nick Jameson3 years ago in Fiction
Thirst
Jim Harper is having his one recurring dream. He’s back in Kuwait during Desert Storm, circa September 1990. He can feel the doom approaching. And not from the mine that he and the other three members of his company are about to roll over, causing an explosion that kills everyone but himself. No, as traumatic as that was, he’s gotten over it, for the most part.
By Nick Jameson3 years ago in Fiction
Reducible Ever After
Capture Technology, or “consciousness capturing,” was realized just in time. The planet having been in a constant state of crisis, with storms reaching epidemics of both frequency and proportion, with wildfires on the verge of consuming entire states, with widespread hunger and overpopulation pairing with constant mutations of CORONA and the more recent ‘superbug,’ AXE-9, few saw the coup de grace coming out of the ingenuities incited by the energy crisis. Ironically, the death knell comes from losing control of what was meant to be the cleanest, most promising advancement in energy production ever, the long sought fusion reactor. Facing any loss of control, it was supposed to safely shut itself down.
By Nick Jameson3 years ago in Fiction
Beauty of the Beast
In a fecund land ripe with reachable riches, in which the ever untroubled natives need only extend fingers to pick the sweetest fruits of overgrowing abundance, or their arms into the overflowing rivers to pluck fat fish for their dinners with their bare hands, life is entirely carefree. The robust, sun-kissed boys and girls run and play all day upon the lushly green, flowering hills, and hide and seek with the hares and hedgehogs of the sheltering forest, knowing no fear. Their fathers and mothers too are much as their children, as the little work to be done not completed by nature is done by noon each day. Thus, making merry, drinking their wine early and often, imitating the wild rabbits in the frequency of their lovemaking, many a break is taken from the pleasure of the bedchambers, whereof new children are sprung in troves, that the pleasure of youth may be mirrored by even the aged, all ages running and whooping and laughing, knowing only the moment’s joy, not what the advanced nations call maturity.
By Nick Jameson3 years ago in Fiction
Derelict of Duty
The series of events that reversed the course of Jefferey Gates’ life are seared into his conscience. Dubious about the value, or even the existence, of conscience until that day, those events brought it to fire-breathing life, the slumbering dragon first stirring with his sister’s irritating morning phone call.
By Nick Jameson3 years ago in Fiction
