notanotherphony.

Jack Tait woke up and stared at the dirty white ceiling above.  he was hot.  he was sweaty.  his head was pounding from the night before but it was well worth it.  fun takes it toll on poor old Jack Tait but he wouldn’t have it any other way.  “three day hangovers are better than none at all.”
the night started out like any other alcohol fuelled night.  a pint of beer with a buddy.  then another one.  they were sitting on a patio in a big city somewhere in Canada but Jack Tait doesn’t remember the name.  nor does he care.  he was naked.  he was hot.  sun beaming down on his bald head.  after two beers the pair left to go to another bar.  girls everywhere.  pretty girls.  young girls.  old girls.  less than pretty girls (all girls are pretty) and even heavier girls that were still attractive to Jack Tait.
Jack and his nameless buddy arrived at the next bar.  patio busy.  more girls.  a few guys but Jack Tait never really noticed them.  the pair ordered some beers and looked around.  A pretty blonde girl was sitting by herself with two pints of beer in front of her face.  she smiled.  Jack Tait smiled back.
“Did you guys want to sit here until my friend comes?”  she asked Jack and his friend.
“Are you waiting for your boyfriend?”  asked Jack.
the girl smiled and said, “No.  Just a friend.”
Jack immediately sat down while his friend continued to stand.
good conversation ensued.  not your typical bullshit conversation filled with “what do you do?”  and “where do you live?”  real conversation filled with real emotions.  talks of abuse turning to talks of love which then turned to talks of life.  Jack Tait was a man filled with love but buried underneath a wall of shame.  the pretty blonde girl was filled with lots of love buried underneath lots of pain.  two hours later Jack Tait and his buddy had to leave.  onto the next stop.  another stop filled with booze.  filled with pretty girls.  filled with irrelevant guys trying to be relevant.  the pretty blonde girl’s friend never arriving.
Jack Tait and his nameless buddy hit six different drinking holes in six hours.  they spoke with many women.  mostly pretty.  mostly fun.  mostly intelligent.  life showing it’s great side for once.  Jack Tait had not had an epic night like this since he was thirty-six years old and made love to his future twenty-one year old wife for sixteen hours over a forty-eight hour period.  “I still got it,”  Jack said as he drunkenly stumbled to the Chinese Restaurant at three am.  solo.  his nameless buddy long gone.  his mind long gone as well.  the Chinese Restaurant was blurry as usual.  it always is for Jack Tait.  always is and always was.  a life filled with contradictions and shame and happiness and pain.  intense love trickling through his rough exterior once a year.
Jack Tait woke up on the alleyway behind the Chinese Restaurant at seven am.  he was tired.  he was lonely.  he was sad.  he was thirsty.  even pasty.  he still had no clothes.  he still had no Dad.  he slowly got to his feet and walked away from where it all ended last night.  he walked down dirty streets filled with dirty people and made it out of the city alive once again.  one day he will not make it out alive and he will be buried underground like the rest of the lonely poor souls who have died over the last one hundred years.  men and women who were once vibrant young boys and girls filled with hopes and filled with dreams.  boys and girls who once had their first kiss and first goal and first fuck and first black eye and first clogged toilet.  boys and girls who were filled with laughter and filled with big smiles and even bigger hearts now buried underground forgotten and alone.  life moving on as quickly as it ends.  the world becoming smaller but much bigger at the same time.  human connection becoming extinct the way dinosaurs have become extinct.  love becoming harder and harder to find and love being lost in “swipe rights” and “swipe lefts”.  a world with filled so much potential but being destroyed by old rich white guys in phony suits with big white fake smiles.  a sad world with occasional happiness. 
Jack Tait walked nakedly out of the city.  alone and forgotten.  he looked back hoping to see his Dad once last time.  he saw nothing.

Jack Tait sat tired and alone.  he was going blind and he was losing his mind.  age getting the best of him.  he lost one of his testicles long ago but the blindness and lack of mind was tougher on him.  he knew he only had twenty years left on this earth and that saddened him.  he has seen many things in his life.  but he still has lots to discover.  he vowed long ago that he would never stop learning.  never stop living.  he didn’t want to be like most of the peasants working in shitty jobs and drinking shitty beer and sitting in shitty arenas and shitty parks.  he wanted to experience life.  he wanted to fuck many girls and jerk off to many more.  he wanted to read many books and see many animals.  he also wanted to ride his blue tricycle across Canada the way Terry Fox once wanted to run across Canada. 
“Terry Fox was a true hero!!!”  Jack often screamed.  nobody ever listening.  nobody ever did listen to Jack Tait.  he was too angry.  too hairy.  too vulgar.  too real.  too honest.  most people want bullshitters like Trump and Ford.  Clinton and Clinton.  “Give me Bukowski anyday.  he was a man with a real heart.  a real soul.  he didn’t aim to please.  he aimed to inspire.  aimed to incite.  aimed to challenge.  most peasant artists today try to be famous or try to be rich.  FUCK THEM ALL WITH ALL OF THEIR USELESS DRIVEL AND USELESS SOULS.  THEY ALL WOULD BE BETTER OFF AS ACCOUNTANTS OR BANK TELLERS.  PEOPLE PLEASERS ARE WORSE THAN BANK ROBBERS.  BOTH ARE DESPERATE BUT ONE IS MORE DESPERATE.”
Jack Tait suddenly got tired.  more tired than he already was.  a day of riding his tricycle nakedly around countryside roads must have done him in.  blowing trees and flying butterflies mixed in with fast cars and fast dogs.  Jack Tait was chased many times but he never gave in.  he never let one dog get to him the way most peasants let many dogs get to them.  “I AM IN CONTROL OF MY LIFE AND I WILL NEVER LET ANYONE TAKE CONTROL OF ME OR MY LIFE.  I AM JACK TAIT.  MAN OF FEW WORDS BUT BIG HEART.  BIG SOUL.  BIG PENIS.  BIG COURAGE.  NOBODY WILL DEFEAT ME.  NOT EVEN DEATH.  TOO MANY PEOPLE I HAVE LOVED HAVE DIED AND I WILL NEVER LET THAT HAPPEN TO ME AS I WOULD NEVER WANT TO INFLICT THE SORT OF PAIN THAT I HAVE BEEN THROUGH ON ANYONE ELSE!!!”
Jack Tait then laid his head down on the skinny dirty pillow and fell asleep.  long day.  long life.  lonely.  sad.  memories of dead Dad’s and dead squirrels.  sore belly.  sore heart.  busy mind that is falling apart and still one sagging ball.  he quickly fell asleep and dreamed of how fast life goes.  one day you are ten and then the next day you are sixty-one.  life moving slowly along and then BOOM.  someone dies and thirty years are erased from your life.  “what happened to my life?’
LOVE THY NEIGHBOUR AS THY LOVE THYSELF.

Jack Tait woke up lost and beleaguered in a rundown town out in the middle of nowhere.  his last recollection was getting into a heated argument at a coffee shop on the side of the barren highway with some old white redneck with a loud mouth and a big belly.  the loudmouth with a big belly had a big truck and a big wife.  big house and a big dog.  the only thing that wasn’t big for this loudmouth was his brain and small penis.  Jack Tait knew not to engage in discussions with people without brains who have not read a book since being forced to in high school but he could not help himself.
“WE NEED A REVOLUTION IN AMERICA.  I AM SICK OF TIRED OF ALL THE LIBTARDS WITH THEIR ENDLESS SPENDING AND THEIR SUCKING UP TO GAYS AND FAGGOTS AND BLACKS AND MUSLIMS.  IF YOU LIVE IN AMERICA YOU SHOULD CALL YOURSELF AMERICAN.  THAT IS WHAT BEING AN AMERICAN IS.  AND THAT LAZY BLACK BASTARD FOOTBALL PLAYER KAPERNUCK OR WHATEVER THE FUCK HIS SORRY ASS NAME IS SHOULD BE SHOT.  HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT THE FLAG THE WAY HE DID BY KNEELING DOWN DURING OUR NATIONAL ANTHEM.  DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY SERVICEMEN WE HAVE LOST FIGHTING FOR OUR FREEDOMS?  WE SHOULD STRING HIM UP AND SLICE OFF HIS MOTHERFUCKING BALLS.  HE’S PROBABLY ALSO A PEDOPHILE.  CUT HIS FUCKING NUTS OFF AND HANG HIM IF I WERE IN CHARGE!!!”  said the fat man with the big truck but small penis.
“I disagree with you on that sir.  he is fighting for the injustice happening in the US.  the racism.  the cop killings of young black unarmed men.  fighting for what he believes in.”  replied Jack Tait.
“FUCK YOU SHITHEAD.  YOU ARE WRONG.  I SUPPORT OUR TROOPS AND HE SHOULD STAND.”
“fuck the troops and the dumb wars and dumb people who start the dumb wars.  war is never good and should not be applauded.  most people that I know that join the army are losers with nothing else going on in their sad and pathetic lives.  fuck them.”
“THEM’S FIGHTING WORDS SON.  PUT YOUR DUKES UP YOU LITTLE BASTARD!!!”
“Fuck you you fat fuck.  you are a dumb peasant like most of America.  you are a fat, dumb, dull, old, boring man with boring re-hashed opinions and following stupid politicians who have not helped you get anywhere in life yet you continue to follow them while you eat McDonald’s and drink Coors Light.  Your life will not be missed when you die.  you are an irrelevant piece of fat skin like most people.  you bring nothing to our world but seem to be the expert on everything.  if I had my Louisville Slugger with me I would smash your fat ugly face until your face lost weight and it looked skinny with skin and bones and a little blood.  FUCK OFF FATSO!!!”
that was Jack’s last recollection.  he didn’t know what happened to the fat dumb man nor did he know what happened to his fat ugly wife who was in the old fat man’s big fat fucking truck.  Jack Tait was not covered in blood and he still had all of his teeth.  he didn’t know where he was but he just kept walking.  walking past phony billboards with phony people with fake phony smiles showing off their white fake phony teeth.  ugly people that the corporations deem pretty.  similar to the bad music that the corporations deem good and the shitty movies that the corporations deem fascinating.  a bunch of dull old white guys running our world into a playground for the dull and the rich.  a group of maggots with little soul and little brains to go along with their little penises and keeping the real talents out of their game.  America’s Got Talent catering to average people with nothing to say.  nothing to fight for.  a bunch of clean kids or weird old people but nothing of substance.  nothing challenging.  nothing devastating.  Elvis Presley.  Justin Bieber.  Coldplay.  Cher.  Sonny Bono. Facebook.  Instagram.  all shit.  all dull.  the only excitement for Jack was seeing scantily clad girls wearing their bikini’s and putting on their duck faces for selfies.  Jack Tait could at least jerk off to that but otherwise a whole pile of nothingness junk!!!
Jack Tait continued to walk down the long barren road and he began to hold out his right thumb.  he was now tired, beaten down, and hungover.  life was finally beginning to wear Jack down.  he knew his time was coming to a close but he was going to go out with a fight.  a bang.  not a whimper like most.  he walked and walked.  his one lonely ball scraping the dirt road filled with rocks.  not many cars drove by and when they did the passenger side window would roll down and someone would yell.
“HEY FAGGOT WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES???  YOU OLD WASHED UP PUSSY.  FUCKING FREAK!!!”
On and on it went.  day after dreary day.  angry comments by angry people.  a world filled with anger and hate.  dullness and dumbness.  reality shows taking over from reading and the whole time that this is going down the corporate elite and the elite governments are reaping the benefits of the dumbness.
the sky was getting dark and the sun was setting when an old beat up brown station wagon pulled over to the side of the road.
“hop in” the old Greek man said.
“okay.”  Jack replied.
Jack jumped in and immediately jumped out.
“Where you go?  where you go?  I’ve been looking for you my whole life.  Come back!!!”  the old Greek man said.
Jack Tait kept running and running.  he was sweating.  he was terrified.  he would not stop running.  he would not stop yelling.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Don’t touch me again.  don’t touch me.  I don’t want to get raped.  get away from me.  get away.  you are a sick old Greek man.  leave me alone!!!!!!!!!!”
the Greek man drove away lonely and rejected.
Jack Tait continued to run.  and run.  he ran in shame for something that happened to him over forty years ago but would never forget.  never forgive.  life never letting him forget.  life never letting him forgive.
Jack Tait eventually made it back to his rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and walked inside.  he opened the fridge and grabbed a can of beer and sat on his purple reclining chair.   he opened up the beer and took a huge gulp and stared at his dirty ceiling.  he took three more gulps and crushed the can.  he lay back on the chair and fell asleep. 
tomorrow would be a new day.

Jack Tait walked along a lonely road in a lonely town trying to piece his previous night together.  he knew that he drank many beers and many shots of whiskey but he had no wallet and no pants.  no friends and no shoes.  he still had his one sagging ball but it was sagging more than normal and his large penis had shrunken to a size that Jack remembers from Grade 8.  sweaty.  hairy.  bald.  lonely.  Jack Tait continued to walk along the lonely road.  a road that probably leads to nowhere but more loneliness and more struggles.  he walks in shame and walks in pain.  he once walked in joy and walked in bravado.  he looked up to the sky above and saw clouds.  saw seagulls.  he also heard loud horns and loud dogs but he saw no one.
Jack Tait wanted to get home so he could jerk off and feel more shame than the shame he was experiencing.  he was a man who wanted love and wanted touch but searched for shame and searched for pain.  he walked in shame the way he had always walked in shame.  wishing he had love from his parents but the love was never there to give.  lost souls passing their “lostness” and their loneliness onto their kids and then they pass it onto their kids and the process of passing down bad habits and tortured souls continues on in a never ending world.  a never ending life.
Jack Tait walked along the road and hoped for a better outcome than what his Mom and Dad had.  a love that was once real.  once intense.  once “forever” suddenly ended on a gym floor in a school in North York one cold February night.  a life shattered and then that shattered life shattering many more and most unable to recover.  fights.  drunkenness.  loneliness.  molestings.  wrongful arrests.  rightful arrests.  fucks.  alcohol centres.  lost friendships.  lost jobs.  lost education.  lost Dads and also lost Mom’s.  everyone lost and unable to recover.  life flying by quickly.  family?
Jack Tait continued to walk.  rain now pouring down.  pouring his shattered confidence down the many drains he walked nakedly by.  his sagging nut now dragging along the pavement.  bleeding.
sitting.  thinking.  walking and thinking and suddenly blind.  “is life finally coming to an end?”  Jack asked himself.  himself didn’t answer and then a cop car appeared out of nowhere.  sirens blaring.  cop car speeding.  two cops in the front seat looking ballsy but looking terrified.  “Are you Jack Tait?”
“yes I am.  why?”
“”You need to come with us Jack.  there’s been an emergency.”
“How could there be an emergency?  I don’t know anyone.”
“yes you do Jack.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes you do Jack.”
“No I don’t”
“YES.”
“NO.”
“YES.”
“NO.”
“YES.”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”  and then Jack began attacking the two policeman.  he was swinging.  he was kicking.  kicking and swinging.  kicking and screaming.  on and on it went.  punching.  kicking.  screaming.  yelling.  the officers held onto Jack as tightly as they could.  they attempted to calm him down but he did not want to be calm.  he continued to scream and kick and fight.
“we found your Dad Jack.  he’s alive.  we found him in a remote farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and he was lonely.  he was sad.  he didn’t look well.  and the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “where’s Jack?  is he okay?  I miss Jack?  I wish I could have seen him grow up.  he was my best friend.  my true love.  my everything.  WHY????????  WHY DID I DIE???  NOT FAIR????  WHY???”
Jack Tait fell to the ground and began to cry uncontrollably.  the officers held him tight.  held him with love.  held him with respect even though he was naked and in shame.  the officers began to cry and Jack held them tightly as well.
“Can we go see my Dad?”  asked Jack.
the skies opened up and Jack continued to walk alone.  it was now breezy.  it was now dusty.  Jack Tait still naked and still alone.  his lonely ball still scraping the ground and his Dad still buried underground. 

i want to learn.  I want to love.  I want to travel.  I want to see my family more.  I want to see my friends more.  I never want to die.  to think of the time that I will never see Rylee again pains me.  to think that I have spent most of my life with Triggy and then to never see her again pains me as well.  where do people go when they die?  I miss my Dad.  I miss my Mom even though she is still living.  is she lonely?  does she think about my Dad?  does she think about dying and lost years.  memories.  happy ones.  sad ones.  does she remember her first love and her first kiss?  is she lonely in her bed.  no husband.  no kids.  no Mom.  no Dad.  I worry about dying at my age.  what happens when you hit seventy five years old.  does death consume you?  should I live more now?  I try but I always think that I have a whole life ahead of me and yet when I slow down and sit.  slow down and think.  slow down and drink.  I am very aware that I am on the downward slide.  becoming older by the second.  older by the day.  older by the year.  a seventy-five year old man once told me that “from fifty to seventy-five goes by like that” as he snapped his fingers together and made a snapping noise.  sadness sets in as I look at baby pictures of Rylee.  my own baby pictures.  baby pictures of Nicole. old family pictures when I had a laughing Dad and a smiling Mom.  lots of great pictures.  lots of great memories.  lots of great people.  then BOOM.  your hero dies and life goes on without a Dad.  without a hero.  without a guide.  without a protector.  my Dad never getting the chance to meet my beautiful daughter.  my beautiful wife.  my Dad buried under old worn out grass in a worn out town and hardly ever getting a visit from anyone.  when I go I often wonder if his bones are still there.  I cry. and cry.  and cry.  I then drive away and listen to sad music and think of lost lives and fast moving lives.  I also think about how many people die and how many people are forgotten.  we mourn for a short time and then wait for the next death.  we then mourn for a short time and wait for the next death.  we tell each other that we need to see each other more and that life is moving by too quickly and then we get back to our small towns and our small routines and we move on with our small lives.  small lives in an huge world.  I sit and ponder again and think about my childhood.  I think about St. Bonaventure and John XXIII and St. Robert’s and Markham High School.  I think of the many colleges and trips to England and Acapulco.  I think about long lost friends and all the women that I have loved and all the women that I have not loved.  I also think about great friends that I once had and great friends that I still have.  another year then goes by and I realize that I am now another year closer to death and this saddens me even more as I want to see Rylee grow up and I want to meet her eventual husband and her eventual kids.  I want to see her live a great life and I want to be with her and Triggy forever but I know that this won’t happen and that makes me sad as well.  everything is making me sad tonight but tomorrow I will wake up happy and know that it is a new day.  a sunny day filled with opportunities and laughter.  hope and smiles.  hugs and kisses.   I then get hot and look at the time and wonder if LOVE is the most important thing in our life.  we chase our dreams.  we chase our loves.  we chase money and we chase acceptance.  we are in a never ending chase for acceptance from people that we don’t even know.
I think LOVE is more important than HATE.
negative energy is bad.
political correctness is bad.
blown up lips that make you look like some sort of duck is also bad.
LOVE.
LOVE.
LOVE.
life…tears…ten years goes by too fast…too many diseases…too many premature deaths…too many fights…not enough get togethers…not enough wine and not enough intelligent and passionate conversation.
I refuse to be a robot and I want to learn.  I want to feel and I want to LOVE.
life.