lots of lost hope.

dad dying suddenly.  nana dying a month later.  mom overdosing.  taken away for a month to recover while jack tait and his brother went away to another families house.  getting molested by an old greek man.  getting drunk.  many blackouts.  many fights.  many arrests.  some falsely.  some warranted.  jail time.  alcohol centers.  aa meetings.  many fucks.  few girlfriends.  more fucks.  more blackouts.  many drugs.  more deaths.  psychiatrists.  pills.  lots of pills.  lots of diagnosis.  some correct.  mostly incorrect.  more drunken nights.  more fucks.  more blackouts.  more deaths.  confusion.  loss.  emptiness.  more fucks.  more deaths.  and then Jack Tait woke up.  alone and drunk in a remote farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.  more than half his life gone and not much to show for it except a long lost daughter.  a long lost wife.  and a long lost left nut that was once young and vibrant but had deteriorated over the last few years and ended up in the gutter along with Jack’s hopes.  jack’s dreams.  jack’s confidence.  and jack’s pants.  he now sits in a shitty reclining purple chair with a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and his right sagging nut in the other.  HE IS FUCKED AND HE KNOWS IT.

Jack Tait looked out the kitchen window and saw nothing but his blue tricycle laying on the cold ground.  it was covered in snow.  he once rode that bike proudly but now rides it in shame.  counting down the days until he can no longer move.  no longer speak.  he hasn’t seen anyone in ten years except one squirrel that frequently sits outside Jack’s bedroom window.

Jack Tait somehow someway pulled his naked body up from the couch and slithered across the dirty wooden floor.  he opened up the fridge and saw one can of beer.  he closed the door and took a big sip of Jack Daniels and then walked outside.  he was naked and alone.  he leaned down to pick up his blue tricycle and saw his one sagging nut up close.  it was wrinkled and old.  just like Jack was wrinkled and old.  many years of fucking and sucking and drinking and pill popping had finally caught up to Jack.  he was now old and tired.  still lonely.  still sad.  still alive but lost in thought.  lost in pain.  he picked up his bike and sat on the cold seat with his bare bum.  he took one more chug of Jack Daniels and threw the bottle away.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

And off he went.  he rode down his long barren driveway and turned right.  he pedalled as fast as he could but he could still hear the voices.  still see the bodies.  nothing peaceful about Jack’s life despite the pills.  despite the booze.  despite the loneliness.  Jack pedalled faster but the voices became louder.  became stronger.  the voices becoming stronger as Jack grew weaker.  “is this what old age is?”

Jack pedalled and pedalled and pedalled and pedalled but nothing could calm his busy mind.  nothing could cure his aching heart.  he was fucked and he finally knew it.  he turned left (for once) and fell over the edge of the narrow cliff.  he fell twenty one feet and landed on the top of a willow tree.  he could no longer move.  no longer see.  but his mind still worked.  his mind still cluttered with too many thoughts but zero clarity.  he sat there naked and alone.  still in pain.  still in shame.  lonely and sad.  emptiness never cured.  death close but not before life tortured him a little more.  alone and naked for all to see.

“well at least I fucked over one hundred and twenty-five girls in my life.  I even remember the names of half of them.  never hated any of them.  never really loved…never really lost…one hundred and twenty-five.  and now I sit naked and alone.  in pain.  in shame.  one nut.  no peace.  no quiet.  what happened to me Lord???”

but the lord never answered JACK’S question.  not this time.  not anytime.  and such is life.

life.

death.

sadness.

happiness.

loss.

lots of loss.

lots of lost hope.