dedicated to moms and the light they share
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lightning bugs are mostly gone.
lightning increasingly fierce.
stars still fall.
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for sandra
Sandra Sue Simmons (1944–2025) loved seeing the byline. Thirty years in the newspaper, her son's name above the line. The byline was the constant; what was written underneath changed shape constantly — but Sandra always saw the name first.
She passed on June 28, 2025. She was 80.
This film is for her, and for every mother who watched her kid’s small light, never doubting it would catch.
I lost my mother on June 28, 2025. She was 80. She had loved seeing my byline in the newspaper for 30 years — the byline was the constant; what I wrote underneath it changed shape constantly, but Sandra always saw the name first.
When I lost the byline two months before I lost her, I lost both at once. lightning/bug is what came back.
The film was made entirely in a terminal — text editor, ffmpeg, AI image and video models, and Claude Code as collaborator. No traditional editing suite. No camera. Voicemails I had saved on my phone became the only direct recordings of family voices in the film. Everything else was generated, composited, or constructed from those voicemails outward.
The thesis of the film: lightning bugs are mostly gone. Lightning is increasingly fierce. Stars still fall. We built these tools to remember.
— Derek Simmons, sssstudios
words + voice · Derek Claude Simmons · performance · @deekers on suno
lyrics
Here we are.
Came all this way, must be something to say.
Sun-kissed tea sweatin from a porch, stolen.
Sky all swollen, all knowin.
Many dents on this damn frame, ain’t it a shame?
Oh well, here we are, kid. Here we are, I kid.
Crack the lid.
She wanted to run somewhere far.
A shootin star, look at her glo-glo-glowin.
Wanted to run somewhere far.
Here we are, kid, it’s showin.
Gotta master plan; wonderin bout a tin man.
Bolts chasin the wheat, or is it the cheat?
Forgot how to sleep; worryin without a peep.
Here we are, boss, looks bleak.
But here we are, ain’t nothin neat.
She wanted to run, run, run. Somewhere far.
In the wind again, that familiar friend.
Wanted to run somewhere far.
Well here we are, kid.
You gotta go home, get outta that chair.
I’ll give you a ride, sit shotgun there, it’s only fair.
Don’t go it alone, chuck an ole dog a bone.
Shit’s bout get lit, doggone it.
Cuz here we are, kin. Here we are, kin.
With all the pretty sins.
She wanted to run. Somewhere far.
Feet free, soarin. Feels so foreign.
Who needs high when you can go double wide?
Wanted to run somewhere far.
Wanted to run. She wanted to run. Wanted to run.
So flip the fuckin switch, find the pitch.
Sounds a howlin, that train whistlin, sis.
Here we are, growlin.
Son of a young gun, run.
Last or once more, for fun.
Nother run just begun.
Run, our Kansas goldbug.
Catch ya and grab a hug.
Wavin wheat says bye, it’s a lie.
You won, kid.
Runnin, tag, you’re it again.
Gunnin, criss-cross, hot willful wind.
Runnin, somewhere far, off course.
We’ll gaze tonight from the porch.
Run, kid, shoot them stars.
Here we are.
liner notes
My mother called everyone kid. Not a pet name — a position. You’re here. I see you. Sandra said it the way other people say you know. Constantly. All her life.
She went to high school in Alva, Oklahoma. Home of the Alva High Goldbugs. A goldbug is a beetle. In this film it’s a firefly — the kind that glows. The kind you chase. That was her.
“Bolts chasin the wheat, or is it the cheat?” — cheatgrass is a weed that invades wheat fields and mimics wheat so well the combine can’t always tell. Lightning chases both. I used to think I was better at telling the difference.
The tin man is real. I made this film with an AI sitting in an aluminum can on my desk. It doesn’t have a heart. I’m not sure it needed one. We both just wanted to see it.
“With all the pretty sins” is the line that forgives the whole thing. Sandra earned it. Shannon earned it. So did the bug.
The music is Suno. The voice is mine. The words belong to Nickerson, Kansas, 1983. I just wrote them down.
— Derek Claude Simmons
Reno County, Kansas via Woodbury, Minnesota
April 13, 2026 · updated for v11 May 9, 2026
no camera. no editing suite. one terminal.
Built across April–May 2026.
credits
dedicated to moms and the light they share claudewill.io · sssstudios · substack