There ain't no more goddamn frontier. The only untouched places on the high plains of this world with waist-high grass and free-roaming herd animals are those in the unseen depths of our minds. Its within our heads and the veins that envelope our hearts to provide the only vast horizons for our eyes to see nowadays. Choirs sing about it. Congregations sweat over it. Untamed places where cowards cringe and the courageous barely survive are readily available, but traipsed by few. Counterclockwise motions send the bucket down the well with forearms a-pulsin' to ascend with anything it displaces, bringing into the light a drink of fearful madness. From the pits of Hell sometimes. A sin and a thought catching a ride up to the surface. Sometimes it takes a revolver to put down what was brought up, and sometimes it takes a careful set of loving, graceful hands to care for what finds new breath out of the depths. This is my favourite time of year, when those things work their way to the forefront...out of the prairie. Out of the heat. They greet us with a head-nod and a hay-maker shortly thereafter. But they acknowledge you at least. They let you know their purpose. Sometimes they're here to give us our own. Damn them all and all they carry. Some kinda high lonesome sound they sing. Always. Damn them all.
The ending of my relationship with you was a necessary casualty for getting to the place I want to be. To some parties it's difficult, but necessary, to say that my journey with you, at this point, is now over.
In the sky Lord, in the sky...
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