Its Been Totally Real
I've made some solid friends here, albeit virtual.....solid none the less.
I do see a shit storm on the horizon though and like every other card carrying cow-ard I will seek out greener pastures.
I will allow this post to stand for 48 hours then I will deactivate MilesNowhere.
Happy trails ya'll.........love Tony
The wonderful Terry Trueman majestically inks the Australian landscape circa 73. Reprinted without permission. :P
Near us, a brick chimney,
Blue smoke disappearing—
On farther, past red rooftops,
Past white walls,
Between black wires and grey poles
And beyond them and past
Parked cars and factory asphalt—
Far off, at a great distance,
Rising up in our eyes;
Many tress and farther still,
A cloudless sky.
But too late by then.
Long and gone away, too late.
Red Sky At Night
weave so loose
to barely hold a thread
more than fair
given the grind of years
and the way of us
flung of tornadoes
spat to ground
at every stutter
we have lived together
beyond this love
lost of knowing
the how of why
I see you now
as I see me
quartered by passion
longing the second wind
inside tender skin
to stitch torn sails
red sky at night
I awake and theres a tree branch only inches from my face.
The steering wheel is pressed hard against my chest. Looking down, I can't see my legs, they are encased within folds of plastic and metal.
Attempting to move and the pain shoots up my spine with such a surge that it feels as if my head will explode.
Everything around me is washed with blood. From the look of things.....my blood.
My mind assumes it's merciless default position with total contempt for my immediate dilemma, as if this predicament is an everyday occurrence.
It says ; right out of left field
I've proven to be a crap judge of character when it comes to women.
As if I am hell bent on pursuing a cycle of action to ultimately reach rock bottom through poor choices and indifference.....
I sneeze and my body tightens into spasms spiking another surge of pain.
'Oh fuck' thats an oak tree. 'Why does it have to be a fucking oak tree?'
Snot and blood drip from my nose as I curse the allergen.
It also says:
She seemed so innocuous. Mousy, softly spoken and even tempered. I bet the farm on her based on appearances and poor research.
Someone once told me that you roll the dice and hope for the best in all things. Even though I imagined myself punching below my weight..... snake eyes.
Then I remembered the briefcase. Carefully turning my head, I hoped to catch a glance of it in the backseat. From my vantage point though, all I could see was foliage, broken glass and a pizza box.
Returning my gaze to the oak tree. My eyes started to water.
It continues :
I spent 19 years with that psychotic bitch. I could never have imagined that such an unassuming vessel could hold such a scheming and manipulative entity.
A house.....check. Three kids.....check..Trapped into years of compromise......check..
2010 turned to shit. Under orders from the matriarch, my kids discharged me from my paternal duties. My business fell apart from my own inertia and I found myself alone and staring into the empty void of what was left of my pathetic busted life.
Depression is a strange animal. It forces you into embracing the limiting machinations of your bastard mind as all awareness and intuition leaves the host.
No longer can I feel my legs. My hands reach under the crumpled dash in an attempt to tweak some feeling. Nothing. The branch coaxes another sneeze..........nothing.
My body feels cold and my mind continues it's sadistic onslaught.
It concludes :
Its a surreal moment after you spend a lifetime observing yourself under such concrete illusions only to finally watch the foundations fall away.
Theres a groundlessness that sets in that cannot easily be communicated.
All ideas of you become a vague memory. What is left is a shell. You crawl inside that shell as it is the only place left to go.
I am constantly amazed by the narrative and analogies it spits out. I gave up identifying with it when I was a kid, I just figured I'd been given the wrong one is all.
My vision is blurry and I can no longer swallow.......
Without family or livelihood my moral compass went haywire. I returned to old ways.
The Iranian offered me a foot back in the door. I accepted his deal. It seemed like easy money and I needed the distraction.
When things went ass up at the meet I seized the moment, grabbed the briefcase and floored it.
Trapped here, pinned inside this tin can all I have for company are waves of unrelenting thought and the dead weight of my pointless existence.
There is movement outside the car. The sound of a heavy accent and loose ground under foot.
I hear a branch snap and I close my eyes.
I continue to watch my tormented life on playback all the while hoping that my circumstances beat the bullet to it's mark. .
Either way.........it ends here.
Thats all folks........
Fuck your 'can do' mantra
Them puking mouths
Of liver lipped hawkers
Those dry boned closers
Squawking from sidewalks
Casting unveiled glances
To the bleaches of left field
Your valley gurl antics
My God what have we become?
Like my pic
Lick my life
If I hear the word awesome
One more time
I will kill a fairy
Maybe get good with God
Before your final hour
Hell, I’ll hedge my bets
And surrender to your creed
Maybe grab a Bud and
In vinyl seats
Stuck like muck
To the asshole interior
Of a Chevy Ego
Take your three hundred channels
Of high resolution
Spewing airbrushed anchormen
With their 15 minutes of shame
Hey, pin it on the timeline
Piss it on the grapevine
Of twitter and Instagram
The bar is closing
As you shuffle deck chairs
On a sinking ship
It’ll take us under
And beach us dry
We'll no doubt comply
As we are prone
To breathe it in
Bloated full throated
Sucking dead air
Like a dying whore
With stage three candy crush
s w e e t
Because I know that everyone is tuned into our life together...........theres this.
The missus @AmandaCary and I have decided to : sell the house, buy a new truck and trailer, homeschool the brats and live off the grid.
Crazy you say? Crazy like a fox I say.
This white picket fence bullshit is doing our heads in.
All things must change in radical new ways.
Because I know that everyone is tuned into our life together......I'll keep you posted.
Peace be with you ;)
It May Be Written....But Just Give Me Five Minutes Alone With The Author
It was unexpected. To make that leap of faith, only to hit solid earth and to smash the machine.
Expectations and wishful thinking played their part in that collapse. I imagine that faith comes from a different place and answers to no master. I imagined.
As humans, we do what we do with what we have. The kicker : a course of a life is altered in a heartbeat or carefully cultivated through years of analysis. Ultimately though, we call it as we see it at the moment or feel it or whatever you know IT to be.
The homecoming was easy. It was a dream manifested. It is all there was and nothing beyond.
After that, there would be no more dragons to slay or bridges to be built. There was only the arriving home
A leap of faith doesn't have a next step. At least it didn't in my mind. I imagined it as completion.
Yet I didn't entertain the mundane....the base level scrambling to exist.
So here we stand. Connected through heart yet forced to survive the mindless onslaught of circumstance.
Here we stand. As spectators forced into playing in the game.
at the end of all things ;
we may be saved,
is not of our hands.
at the dawn into light;
we may be blinded,
was only illusion.
beyond the bars
we search the skies.
Line In The Sand
The piece of folded paper lies at the threshold as if a sentry.
White, crisp and neat, its form a perfect 2 inch square.
I could stoop down and pick it up, read it's message.
Easily I could have done that. It would have been the obvious recourse.
Only words after all and I'm sure the world would still turn after reading them.
Avoiding their significance, I chose to negate from their content.
If in fact a content existed.
A piece of paper. Maybe a suicide note or a shopping list..... a manifesto or a love letter.
I'll never know and even though I am comfortable with not knowing - it will always be a piece of paper in a doorway that I walked away from.
Withholding is also expression.
there are moments
at the mirrors edge
or in fullness of flight
perhaps on the porch
in dusk's dim light
the dust from toil
soiled on hands
or in that moment
as I crash to land
to forget (myself)
glimpsing a fragment
and holding sight
as if in grasping
for the night that
ebbs and slips away
then the dog starts up
at the end of day