notanotherphony.

Jack Tait looked in the mirror and saw “age”.  wrinkles and tired eyes.  grey hair and sagging skin.  he knew that life was winding down but he also knew that there was still life left to live.  it got harder for him to wake up everyday.  aches and pains.  stuffy nose and foggy brain.  Jack Tait is a tortured man wanting to live his life his way but being confined to a life lived in confinement.  dumb rules by dumb people meant to keep the intelligent and passionate in a jail of torture while the rich and dull take over the world.  the “evil ones” never had a chance to give their versions of their stories.  conveniently these “evil ones” disappear into a bath of bullets and buried underground…way underground.
Jack Tait knew all of this yet he was a lone wolf in a lonely world.  he set goals for himself but the goals never satisfied him long enough to succeed.  a topsy turvy bundle of energy and horniness all bottled up in a body of aches and pains.  headaches and neck strains.
Jack looked at his old calendar and it said 1998.  it was now 2015.  his wife getting older.  his daughter getting older.  his mother getting older.  his brother getting older.  everyone getting older…and older…and older.
Jack Tait looked outside.  it was grey and cold with periodic bouts of snow.  he wanted to ride his tricycle and get some exercise but he knew that the last time he rode his tricycle he fell off and broke his wrist.  he also chipped his front tooth.  fears.  anxieties.  songs and noises from above.  he fought through his torment and walked outside.  he decided that his only hope was to walk to the North Pole naked and alone.  he then thought that his only hope was to cuddle with his beautiful wife.  beautiful daughter.  torment once again.  Jack walked in guilt and shame but he walked nonetheless.  he was setting out on his journey of life.  his journey of self-fulfillment.  he wanted to write his own story on life.  he didn’t trust all the useless books in libraries and Chapters.  he found them dull and average.  written by rich pigs with zero heart.  zero soul.  tummy tucks.  tit enhancements.  lip enhancements and fur coats.
Jack Tait walked north into the wind.  into the snow.  the snow blowing his red face.  his red beard.  naked and alone Jack Tait knew that he was making the right decision even though the right decision involved shame and fears.  feelings passed down from the lord above before he was discovered as a fraud just like the rest of society.
Jack made it through his first day without love.  without food.  without clothes.  his second day was a little tougher.  chased by coyotes and old ladies with bibles Jack Tait sprained his right ankle and needed a day off.  he found a little hole in a little farm and put his head down for one minute.  ten hours later he woke up at home.  “what happened?”  Jack thought as he looked outside and saw half built houses and half built lives.  he saw his dog sleeping on his bed.  he also saw his coffee cup beside his bottle of Jack and bottle of pills.  he then pulled out an old family album filled with childhood memories and childhood friends.  family smiles and family get together’s.  A big family becoming smaller halfway through the album.  a male presence down by one.  Jack’s Dad was his hero.  Jack’s Dad was his Mom’s hero too.  a man filled with flaws.  but a man filled with a huge heart and an even bigger soul.  a man that didn’t abide by the rules but still managed to be loved.  Jack Tait flipped one more page and saw a baby picture of his daughter.  his beautiful daughter being held by her beautiful Mommy.  Jack Tait stopped and stared.  he did not blink.  nor did he sneeze.  stillness at last in a world filled with chaos.  no sound.  no noise.  no movement.  no thoughts racing through his busy brain.  utter stillness and utter love.  one tear two.  two tears three.  three tears four.  four tears five and on and on it went.  tears of sorrow filled with tears of love and tears of loss.  A life lived but not lived enough.  Jack Tait decided he did not need to travel to the North Pole.  He needed love.  he needed hugs.  he needed stillness and he needed FAMILY.  The definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results.  NOT THIS TIME GOD.  YOU WILLL NOT FOOL ME THIS TIME.

Jack Tait woke up all alone once again.  life feeding him lemons and loss.  loss of loved ones.  loss of hair.  loss of one testicle.  loss of jobs.  loss of brain cells.  loss of money.  loss of great friends and loss of great memories.
Life always rearing it’s ugly head.
Jack Tait looked at his dirty calendar filled with naked girls with big fake breasts and big fake lips.  another year gone.  another year closer to death and closer to more loss.  while everyone is getting ready for the “big night” Jack is naked and trying to blow his load one last time for the year.  he wonders why life is so hard.  so torturous.  images of beautiful girls rammed down his face on a daily basis.  the carrot one foot away from Jack’s big red nose.  temptation on top of loss and lust.  he wonders if he is the only man who is so torn up.  so boxed up.  so fucked up.  while the peasants tell Jack that life gets easier with age and the peasants walk around with pickles up their asses and filled with useless dull opinions and useless dull cars and useless dull jobs and useless dull wives filled with the same useless dull opinions Jack yearns for one week of debauchery and escape.  his heroes are the misfits and the maniacs not the politicians and business owners.  Stephen Harper fucking up everything in this world that was already fucked up by the previous fuck up.  fuck ups and phonies.  maggots and rain.
Jack finally blew his load.  sitting in sweat and sitting in shame Jack brushed his teeth and drank a beer.  he then looked at himself in the mirror and saw a man filled with fear.  filled with pain.  filled with excitement.  filled with shame.  medications no longer working.  everything good comes to an end.
Jack pulled out a notebook and decided to write his goals for 2015.  he opened up another beer and drank a smoothie filled with Kale and Garlic.
1.  write down my goals and place them on my wall.
2.  love more people.
3.  have more empathy instead of hate.
4.  talk to people more.
5.  meet people more.
6.  hug my daughter more.
7.  hug my wife more.
8.  hug myself more.
9.  hug strangers more.
10.  eat less bad foods.
11.  eat more good foods.
12.  CHALLENGE THE STATUS QUO OF BORING STORIES AND BORING RULES.

Jack Tait wants less technology and more human connection.  he sees his beautiful world falling apart with technology and lack of human contact.  he sees loneliness and fears.  he sees big brick walls and big brick rules and wants to break them all down with his Nerf baseball bat.  he wants his daughter to grow up in a world filled with love instead of a world filled with narcissism and hate.  Jack Tait is a realist in a phony world filled with phonies and followers.  dull.  sad.  dead.  tired.  stressed.  too much brain and not enough heart.  what once was a beautiful world filled with World Wars but human connection is now filled with terrorist acts and facebook.  Jack stops and drinks back his beer.  he then opens up a bottle of wine and chases it down with a bottle of pills.  he sometimes wishes he was blind and dull.  he sometimes wishes he was asexual and dumb.  tortured heart and a tortured soul.  a broken man looking for the fountain of youth but realizing that was just another lie told to him by robots who were dead.
Jack Tait looked outside and saw half built houses with half built lives.  he saw the dark sky and the dark eyes.  he then saw the beautiful puppy who just wanted to be loved.  he also just wanted to sleep.  HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE.
MAY THIS YEAR BE THE YEAR YOU CONNECT INSTEAD OF DISCONNECT.
Jack Tait wants love and life.  good deeds and good food.  good conversation and good wine.  good friends and good family.  he also wants his daughter to live in a real world.  not a phony world.
Jack Tait fell back and fell asleep.  alone but optimistic.

Jack Tait, after hours of boredom and debauchery, jumped on his blue tricycle and pedalled his way over to the rich and snooty Hills Of Fuckwaters Racquet and Fisher Price Toys Club.  He locked his bicycle outside on a tree and walked calmly and drunkenly into the club.  the automatic doors opened up and Jack walked in.  He hoped for the young hot girls behind the counter but instead got the old and haggard girls (women).  LIFE FUCKING SUCKS!!!
Jack Tait took off his brown socks and walked toward the changeroom.  he first grabbed a “workout towel”.  He entered the changeroom and found an empty locker.  he took off his clothes and put on his running clothes.  while changing,  a crotchety looking man walked towards Jack.  he moved out of the man’s way for Jack did not want to fight.  he was tired.  he was hungover.  he was kind.  he used his mind.  the crotchety man walked by and didn’t say “thanks.”  Jack was pissed but he had bigger fish to fry.  his racing mind.  he closed his locker but didn’t lock it because he didn’t want to pay the extra ten bucks a month for a lock.  FUCKING SCAM BY THE RICH FUCKING PRICKS THAT OWN THIS FUCKING CLUB!!!
Jack jumped on the treadmill and ran for 40 minutes.  reciting lines that were in his mind.  watching a very built man that looked like a cop doing sit-ups.  “I should do sit-ups.”  Jack said as he continued to run at his slow speed.  CP 24 on the television that he never looked at.
Periodically the crotchety man walked by.  Jack looked but saw nothing but meekness.  nothing but geekness.  Jack was now sweating and farting at the same time.  forty minutes ended forty minutes later and Jack pressed STOP on the screen.  he then walked over to the window and stretched.  he also drank some water.  he then walked back to the changeroom.  he stopped by the front desk to see if the young hot girls had replaced the old run down women but NO.  he continued to walk.  head down.  Jack Tait arrived at his locker and took off his sweaty clothes.  he then put his towel around his one ball and big saggy penis.  he walked towards the steamroom.  he opened the door and saw two men sitting down.  no steam.  one of the men was the old crotchety man that Jack didn’t want to fight earlier.  he sat down beside him but the man didn’t really make an effort to move his legs.  Jack boiling inside but smiling on the outside.  Jack grabbed the squeegee that people use to wipe off the sweaty water that is on the benches that people sit on.  that people shit on.  Jack wiped the sweaty water towards the old crotchety man.  Jack becoming ballsier.  angrier.  FUCK EVERYONE.
Jack then politely asked the crotchety man if he could spray water on the temperature gauge.  the other man had already left.  the old crotchety man said, “I don’t think you’re allowed to do that?”  Jack laughed and looked at the man.  “what grade are you in?” 
“Grade?  I’m a grown man?
“You sound like an eight year old boy.  grow some balls old man and watch me pour water over the furnace.”
‘Okay if it will create steam.  otherwise what are we here for?”
“Very true.”  Jack responded.
Jack sprayed the furnace and steam came flying out.  lots of steam.  sweating.  stretching.  and then talking.
old crotchety man beginning the conversation.
“are you from around here?”
“yes, I live in Orangeville but grew up in Unionville and then met my wife in Toronto.  where are you from old crotchety man?”
“I’m originally from North York.  my parents still live there.  but now we own a farm in East Garanthxa something.”
“Nice.  we want to own a farm.  land.  fires.  coyotes.”
“Yeah, it is amazing.”
“Nice.  where in North York are you from?”
“Bathurst and Sheppard.”
“Cool.  I went to school in Thornhill.”
“What’s your name?”  asked old crotchety man who is now being nice.
“Jack…Jack Tait.”
“Scottish?”
“Yeah…Scottish and Irish.”
“What’s your name?”  asked Jack.
“Morty…Morthy Kloserneck.”
“What is your background?”
“I’m Jewish.”
“But where are you from?  Poland?”
“No.  Russia.”
“Cool…I’m hot.  Need to get out soon.”
“For sure.”
“So what do you do?”  asked Jack.
“I’m a high school teacher but also a magician and I even do weddings.  I will give you my card.”
“Very interesting Morthy.”
“yes it is.  at school I get yelled at all day by bratty students so the magician thingy and the marriage thingy is a nice break.  people like me.”
“very interesting.”
“yes it is.”
more sitting.  more sweating.  more stretching.  more drinking.  Jack wished he had a beer at this moment but all he had was water.  piss water.
“Do you have any Jewish in you Jack?”  asked Morthy.
“What do you mean?”
“I can guarantee if you checked your family tree that you are Jewish.”
“Why do you think I’m Jewish Morthy?”
“You have a Yiddish soul.”
“what does that mean?”
“You are open.  you are spontaneous.  you use your hands a lot and your beard.  I can guarantee that you are Jewish from way back.”
“interesting.”  said Jack as he covered up his uncircumsized penis and one ball.
Jack stood up and left the hot and steamy steamroom.  so did Morthy.
Jack went to his locker and opened it up.  it smelled like old socks and bad sweaty body odour.  Jack Tait sat down and drank some more piss water.  he eventually put on his clothes.  his face red and sweaty.  he walked toward the exit and saw Morthy.  he said “bye.”  Morthy said “bye” back and they all exited toward the front area where the shoes were.
Jack sat down.  so did Morthy and his 22 yr old son.
Jack put on his boots while sweating and red and Morthy continued to talk to him.  he told him about his younger son’s ( 20 yrs old ) struggles with life and his disappointment in him.  he asked Jack Tait if he could help him.  Jack Tait…the drunk.  the one nut.  the pig.  the busy mind.  the foggy soul and foggy eyes.  Jack Tait felt important for one second.  he discussed childhood and friendships and parental responsibilities and art and freedom and sucking and fucking every single thing that comes close to him and then Morthy smiled and said “you are Jewish Jack.  Don’t forget that you are Jewish.”  they all walked out.  new people.  new friends.  new acquaintances.  new opinions and new hope.  Jack Tait jumped on his blue tricycle and rode home.  his Jewish beard flowing in the cold and wintry Orangeville wind.
Jack Tait is friendly.  Jack Tait is sad.  Jack Tait is open.  Jack Tait is mad.  Jack Tait is bad.  Jack Tait is a Dad.  Jack Tait does not want to die.  Jack Tait does not want to leave Taylor and Chloe alone.  Ever.  “I still can’t believe my Dad died when I was 10 and he was only 36.  my Mom must have been devastated.  she still is.  maybe she needs a hug.  a talk.  life is too short.”
Jack Tait is Jewish with a Yiddish Soul.  Heart and Soul in a cold world.

construction banging outside.  girls talking downstairs.  dogs barking next door.  doorbells ringing.  music playing on stereo downstairs.  on the computer upstairs.  wife talking to Jack Tait about her burnt finger from the curling iron while trying to curl her hair.  Jack’s Mom calling about Taylor’s Christmas present.  Hare Krishna’s knocking on the door in their dumb blue suits and short hair.  television cranking out nothing but noise and bad outfits.  bad costumes and bad wigs.  bad conversation and bad jokes.  then an amazing song by The Jonestown Massacre comes on the computer and it makes everything better.  “The Devil May Care” is filled with pain and torment.  Jack hears fluff coming from the stereo downstairs.  it could be Taylor Swift.  it could be Beyoncé.  It could be Jennifer Lopez.  or it could be anyone of the so called musicians who are actually strippers and whores and slaves to an industry that is run by bean counters with small dicks but big ego’s and even bigger guts.  maggots who feel they are important but will die losers of the worst king.  non contributors. 
Jack Tait drinks down his fifth coffee of the day and tries to keep his eyes and heart open.  his pants have been at his ankles for two hours trying to blow out a big blob of semen but nothing seems to be working.  porn.  Victoria Secret models.  Women Tennis players.  Women musicians.  Jack is sweating and frustrated.
“What are you doing Jack?”  asks his wife Chloe.
“Trying to blow my load.”  replies Jack.
“oh…we’re going out soon to get our nails done and then buy our Disney tickets.”
“Okay…I’ll stay home or maybe go snowshoeing in the park filled with coyotes and rabbits.”
“Bye Jack.”
“Bye Chloe.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“And you too Taylor.”
“Love you Dad.  Running hug?”
“Sure Taylor.  I love your running hugs.”
Taylor runs and jumps on Jack while Chloe throws down a big bag of laundry. Jack turns around sweating and chilled at the same time.  Taylor on top of her Daddy.
“Okay Taylor.  Love you.”
“Love you too Dad.”
They both leave the house.  Construction noises still pounding on Jack’s head.  Head foggy.  shitty music coming from somewhere.
Jack gives up and tries to read.  he then closes his book and stretches.  he then checks under the bed.  he needs some excitement.  some toys.  he wonders if he will live until he is 100 years old and create art that matters and piss off everyone and everything in the meantime.  Jack’s breath smells like urine and toast.
Jack collapses on the shitty couch.  voices still clouding his big heart.  his big brain.  coffee mugs.  pens.  shitty music.  shitty neighbours.  shitty town.  shitty country.  shitty world filled with hopes and desires but a life condemned.  a life destined for nothingness.  Jack hears a phone noise that indicates a message has been sent.  he once would attack his phone expecting good news.  these days he clings to his couch in lethargy as no news is good news.
Jack farts and falls asleep.  another day closer to death.  another day closer to failure.  another day closer to regret.  another day closer to loss.
LIFE.

Jack Tait woke up tired.  hungover.  frustrated.  frustrated with life.  frustrated with death.  frustrated in a world that applauds mediocrity and applauds “yes” people and ignores most.  he seeks love and acceptance but knows that this is a difficult goal in a fake and narcissistic world.  he also tries to connect with his daughter but this is another frustrating task.  constant frustrations.  constant battles.  battles about food.  battles about clothes.  battles about elf on a fucking shelf.  battles about homework.  battles about kids in school and drama amongst the girls and battles about television and more battles with food and then battles about bedtime and wonders how his parents handled him but then remembers that there was once a belt that was used and when that belt was used there was fear that was instilled and then when his Dad died he became fearful of god and fearful of Charles Manson and then looked under his bed and never saw anyone nor anything except a fisher price toy that he used to jam up his ass and try to blow his load to escape the hell which was now becoming his life.  “WHERE IS THAT MOTHERFUCKING FISHER PRICE TOY NOW???  I FUCKING NEED IT.  I NEED A RELEASE.  I NEED A PIECE.  I NEED A MOTHERFUCKING FLEUR DE LIS!!!”
Jack Tait puts on a song by The Brian Jonestown Massacre and closes his eyes.  he dreams of solitude and mountains and his little blue tricycle.  he also dreams of orgies and doctors.  he smashes his typewriter with his wrinkled fingers and his wrinkled penis.  he then ponders life…once again.
“what is life all about?  why do I struggle so much with raising a nine year old girl?  are all girls naturally moody and catty?  are all girls takers and the odd great one is a giver?  why do guys want to fuck everything in sight while girls want to make passionate love and then cuddle underneath the covers with the blue sky and orange sun seeping through the white blinds?  do women masturbate the way men do?  are we all fools in a corporate world run by corporate stiffs that inherited their boredom and riches from their boring parents?  a world of bores and peasants and do-gooders who revere the mental but do everything they can to stifle the mental.”
Jack Tait grabbed his bottle and thought about all the dumb people he has met or yelled at.  he thinks about taking off for good.  taking off to a remote mountain in a remote country.  he takes another swig and cries.  he thinks of his dead Dad.  his beautiful daughter who drives him off the fucking road of rational thinking of rational feeling.  he also thinks of his beautiful wife who has to put up with two busy minds and busy bodies.  he then thinks of all the useless parents who have four kids and treat them like long lost irrelevant dogs and teach them absolutely fucking nothing but compliance and then he throws his head down on the pillow but his brain does not allow him to motherfucking sleep.  he then pops a sleeping pill and drinks another bottle of Jack.  tired.  old.  sad.  mad.  bad.  Dad?
TGIF MY MOTHERFUCKING ASS!!!