Jim Trainer

The Religion of Art

In Uncategorized on March 22, 2018 at 8:03 pm

Recorded live at Metaphorically Challenged 5, outside at the Vortex Theatre in Austin, Texas on January 10, 2018.  Catch Jim Trainer on the East Coast here and here.  Tune in to Jim, along with Psalmships’, performance at Burlap&Bean on Saturday night, streaming live at Concert Window on the world wide web, here.



Even The Bad Ones

In Uncategorized on March 15, 2018 at 9:14 pm

When I was working at that bougie place on the row, they offered health insurance but I got fired before I could get it. Maybe it was too many Saturday nights in the summer calling in sick while I was selling ounces of mushrooms and burning my feet on the beach down the Jersey shore. I think it was because besides the manager I was the only one in that place lucky enough to fuck this singer who worked there. He got his feelings hurt and took it out on me.  It was hard luck in Philly then. Bitter cold, February. We shared a cab. When she got out I followed her in. Her hair glowed red in the cab’s brake lights. We could see our breath when we laughed.

It wasn’t until summer that he got his revenge. He fired me. On the payphone at 83rd&3rd, in Stone Harbor. I leaned right, taking the weight off my foot. It was bandaged and burned. The sun was setting on the strip. It lit up the water-glass of Wild Turkey tilting in my hand like a jewel. The beach was deserted no families no one. I hung up and dug for your number in a pocketful of cigarettes and sand.  Your boyfriend answered so I hung up, limped across the street and back to my sad throne. I drank in dusk with gulls crying in the salty air. I had no apprehension of anything. My dead car, my sudden unemployment, the black September cleaving in.  Nothing. I sunk low in my chair and drank. It was the end of the summer and I blew it again. I felt old and foolish like only the young can.

The Shits

In Uncategorized on March 8, 2018 at 5:19 pm

The first thing we do in the morning, we should crap in a bowl and eat our own shit.
Tim Heidecker

The path is not monolithic.
Brown Thought

Welcome to the terrordome.  Trainer here, squeezed out from the grief and strife the world’s been giving me.  I see a ray of light and I’ve a specific blues that probably looks like paradise to most of the Other Hemisphere.  A working class hero is not something to be unless you don’t need healthcare.  Or you’re not black.  Or you’re willfully blind and so rank with racism you believe this administration has your best interest in mind.  You want to know the savage truth?  This country doesn’t give a fuck about you.  They’d rather you die but not before you’re shook down for your net worth and manufactured consent.  They want your children to fight their imperialist war and they’ll rally you with cheap jingoism and beer commercial logic.  Fuck outta here.  I wouldn’t turn a dark corner with most Americans but if I ever slipped the cops would be the last people I’d call.  My roommate’s got me for $1,750 and been overcharging me $250 a month for rent since I moved in last August–but he has trouble coughing up the $28 he owes me for Internet.  My monthly gig of 6 years tried to fire me after I quit last week.  They lowered my fee without telling me, until after I’d performed my end, but even then they only slipped me some folded bills I didn’t bother to count until I was in line for groceries at the yuppie market.  I’m working 50+ hours a week with irritable bowels, driving a 16′ stake bed in the freezing rain.  It’s supposed to even out to 45 but I’ll be working there for 5 weeks before I see a full check.  My guess is the check will be so harrowing as to almost not be worth it, but with 5 weeks in and debts to pay and travel plans made, I’ll suck it up and hold my shit in like a good American laborer.  AT&T just got me for $300 and that can only mean I’m caught up in the age of information game, paying for data to access sites that only keep me distracted and inured.  Point is I’m taking some hits good reader and it feels like the world was only winding up.  I caught a ray of light last week, though, and it’s a good thing.  The frequency and velocity of blows I been taking had me shook and thinking I was on the wrong path, that everything I was doing was wrong and I should give up and move back home or hang myself from the cross beam of my loft bed.

It is what it is and if it weren’t for this extended period of duress I might not know who my friends are.  I certainly know who they aren’t.  People are horrible but my people keep me alive.  With phone calls and dinner, gifts and letters, they remind me of who I am when I forget.  That’s luck and love and magic no matter how you find it ain’t it though.  I wanted to give you the straight dope.  Tell you it ain’t been easy and practically impossible to keep my cool.  Blowing my stack wouldn’t accomplish anything but when you’re up against it and the room is filling with weasels, any fighter’s inclination is to torch the place and walk away.  I’m taking names you bet.  But I ain’t holding on and it’s for a very selfish reason and ultimately an act of preservation.  If I lost it on all the rotten people in my life since I took up with a live in gig and subsequently struck out on my own, there would be wounds and bodies, there would be blood and jail.  That’s how bad it’s been and how up against it I felt.  The colors of the world aren’t wild and there isn’t anything compelling or brave out on the street.  Since I got sober it’s been uphill and revealing.  Point is if I gave in to my hatred of them it would consume me and you can assume that of all the damage I’ve described I’d have bore the brunt of all of it.  I’m just trying to get free and I’ll remember them.  You bet.  And I’ll never forget you, Good Reader. This is the path with heart, the good red road and the work of true liberation.  I know I’m righteous and I know I’ve a visionary anger.  I know I’ve so much left to do and I’m as primed and piqued as ever.  This subterfuge, and these mortals and their trifling bullshit are only a stepping stone.  Their bodies are for casting off.  If it doesn’t get you higher then cut the line.  If winning was everything we would’ve said quit a long time ago and I haven’t been performing for almost thirty years to give up now.

We are going to make the nut, pretty babies.  We are going to survive and not only survive but thrive.  Coming through with what we were born to will never feel as good as punching them in their smiling cunt mouths but keep climbing with me because the next time we look back we’ll know we’re free.

From the peak we’ll only see the range.

Ab irato,