stuck inside. many people are stuck inside. inside their own homes. inside their own minds. inside their own trauma. trauma affecting so many and yet so little is ever done about it. can we do anything about it? so many doctors. so many pills. so much booze. so much drugs. so many fucks. so many fights. so many blackouts. so many books. so many arrests. so many days filled with hope but then so many days filled with despair.
Jack Tait stared at his old wrinkled hands after plucking a few nose hairs and, once again, wondered what happened to his life. wondered what happened to his friends. wondered what happened to his long lost loves (fucks) and long lost parents. his once promising life fallen by the side of a DIRTY BARREN ROAD IN A DIRTY BARREN TOWN FILLED WITH DIRTY BORING PEOPLE.
Jack Tait looked for answers but the answers were never to be found outside of himself. he looked. he searched. he brought back memories of his youth. memories of trauma. memories of joy. memories of road hockey. memories of kick the can. memories of hide and seek. first kisses. first fucks. first time being cut from a soccer team and first time being cut from a hockey team. shrinking while others growing. shying away from people while others were engaging. loud talker one second then a shy little scared boy the next. trauma. always trauma. always hope. always lost. It started early for Jack and it has never ended. one. two. three. four. five. six. six and counting. maybe ten. maybe twenty. he couldn’t think of how many psychiatrists he had seen over the years. but he knew that he fucked over 125 women. Jack Tait knew his priorities but he could never believe in his priorities. he could never believe in himself. he knew he was exciting. he knew he was engaging. he knew he was smart. he knew he was a survivor. he almost believed he was fully invincible as he had survived much chaos. much trauma. much drama. but he could not believe in himself. there was always someone yelling at him. someone shaming him. someone nagging him. someone blaming him. someone betraying him.
“WHAT HAVE I EVER DONE TO DESERVE THIS????” Jack Tait screamed over and over but no one ever listened. he once prayed to god but he stopped doing that after his Dad suddenly collapsed one night on a gym floor and never came home. his Nana died a month later. his Mom then was rushed to hospital after overdosing on tranquillizers. Jack was lonely and hurt. sad and confused. he was ten years old. he also knew that other people died. other people were murdered. other people were raped. other people were tortured. He wondered why there were wars. he wondered why there was famine. he also wondered why some people would lure young girls and boys away from their homes and then rape them and murder them. sometimes chop them up into little pieces and bury them in snow. “how could people do this to other people?” Jack asked god but god never responded so Jack stopped praying.
Jack Tait now sits alone in his rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and he waits. he waits for rats. he waits for disease. he waits for politicians to yell dull things with dull expressions on their faces. he knows that the system is corrupt so he chooses to avoid the system. he used to yell and yell. he used to bark and bark. but he quickly realized that the masses did not listen to him. he was deemed crazy. he was deemed angry. insane. sad and spoiled in a sad and spoiled country with a sad and spoiled leader who hangs out with other sad and spoiled “nothings”. nothing in life. and nothing in death. such sad lives. we all live such sad lives. knowing answers to better our lives but choosing to be immersed in bad television and bad jobs. “why do we do this to ourselves?” Jack often thought. “why do we choose to live such mundane lives as we waste days and days and days away only to realize that we have wasted our whole damn lives away chasing the wrong items and consuming the wrong words. the wrong people???”
Jack Tait opened the door of his rundown farmhouse and jumped on his blue tricycle. he was naked and alone. his one nut dangling lonely to the ground. he was sick. sick of life. sick of people. sick of boredom. sick of tv. sick of fake leaders in fake worlds. sick of rules. really sick of rules made up by old white rich cats who obtained the old money from their old white rich ancestors and so on and so on. trauma never playing a part in their sick lives filled with sick consumption and sick minds.
Jack Tait rode down the long barren driveway and suddenly stopped before getting out into the world.
“I CAN’T DO IT!!! I CAN’T DO IT!!!” he screamed.
As he stood there screaming the rain began to come down. it was heavy and it was cold. Jack Tait did not move. He was STUCK. He was always STUCK. STUCK. STUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. MUCK. MUCK. MUCK.
Jack Tait thought he was witty but he really wasn’t. he was just a lonely man who hid from the world. a lonely man who had so much to give but gave very little. hiding in pain. and hiding in shame. Jack Tait collapsed to the ground. no one there to see him. no one there to save him. no one there to help him. Just then an old car with an old man drove by. he looked over at Jack Tait and started masturbating. he tugged and he tugged and he tugged. he blew his load all over his right hand. he then drove away. drove away in his own shame. in his own pain.
Jack Tait lay on the ground.
god?
notanotherphony. 