dreams can come true.

Jack Tait has resurfaced after a few months of hibernation and still is feeling a never ending need to live a more fulfilled life.  his mind racing faster than ever but his body filled with aches and pains and nagging injuries and a broken wrist.  he’s finding it difficult to wipe his ass as he has always wiped his ass with his left hand but with his left wrist broken and in a cast he has to switch to his right and his back no longer contours the way it once did and thus the struggle.  he has a hard time jerking off too even though he is a right hander.  his right hand stroking finer than ever but his left hand unable to catch all of the white juice flowing from his massive cock.  just another struggle for Jack Tait as age becoming a bigger factor in his life.  at one point a man seemingly invincible now becoming weaker and weaker.  his mind becoming filled with worry and filled with fear.  fear that he is on the downside of life.  he sits in his rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and attempts to remember his crazy dream from the night before but as always the dream eludes him.  he remembers bits and pieces.  he remembers his buddy Jim Gilbert and he remembers a procession of cop cars and he remembers hiding from the cops while they drove by and he remembers that there were drugs involved and some sort of criminal activity but that is it.  “why do I always remember bits and pieces of my crazy dreams but can never piece the whole thing together???”
he gives up on his mind and decides to work on his body so he exits his farmhouse and jumps on his blue tricycle.  he is stiff and cold but he always seems to pull through.  his body, despite the aches and pains, always working better than his fast mind.  fast but scattered.  a scattered mess filled with drunken half memories of fucking girls and fighting guys and wrongful arrests and SHAME.  a mind that, if opened up, would offer up many insights into mankind and the lack of love.
Jack Tait rode his tricycle to the end of the long driveway and headed west along the long barren road called Blindline.  he rode past barking dogs and dead smelly squirrels filled with big black birds.  he felt the wind threw his thin hair and felt an easiness of freedom.  his mind now slower and able to see the beauty of nature.  beautiful trees and beautiful rivers.  a world filled with beauty but ruined by old rich greedy men with small penises but BIG BALLS.  BIG BALLS of testosterone but the higher levels of testosterone not helping the way it once helped BIG BEN win the 100 metre sprint in Seoul, Korea thirty years ago.
a beautiful world ruined by dumb people with dumb opinions.  greed combined with stupidity making a once beautiful world ugly.  Florence is more beautiful than Vegas but Vegas makes more money and has more visitors.  fat visitors with fat heads but no brains and little hearts.  maggots with baggy shorts drinking shitty beer.  Bud and Coors Light and Molson Canadian and Labatt’s 50.  all shit.  all piss.  pissy water that tastes like shit but making shitloads of money while offering up the shit.  typical in a typical world.
Jack Tait continued to ride his tricycle and continued to observe the smells.  continued to observe the nature.  time always slowing down when Jack rode his bike the way the world once slowed down when Jack fucked.
Jack Tait turned one last corner and was on the back end of his long ride when he noticed 120 cop cars.  “stop and put your hands up.”  one of the cops yelled threw a megaphone.  Jack Tait took off.  he pedalled faster than he could think.  his body faster than his brain for once.  the sirens turned on and screeching the way the ambulance sirens once screeched as Jack Tait’s Dad lay motionless in the back.  Jack Tait never forgetting the night that he died.  February 17, 1978 forever ingrained in his memory.  he thought of his Dad as the cops continued their pursuit.  he never wondered why they were chasing them but he knew never to stay around waiting to find out.  the good die young and the good get fucked by the bad who seemingly live forever despite their abhorrent dull behaviours.  more proof that there is no god and there is no karma.  just a world for the taking and you must take your’s just like every other human being must take their’s.
Jack Tait eluded the cops and made it home alive.  alive but beaten down.  how much more life left to live?  he opened the front door and fell down into the puke that was left from the night before.  too much Jack and too much wine.  always a good combination.  Jack Tait lay motionless in his old puke as the sirens continued to be heard in the distance.  the sirens began to be erased by the sounds of the howling coyotes and the annoying crickets.  aside from the sounds just a peaceful night in a remote town.
dreams can come true.