Jim Trainer

FAREWELL FOR NOW

In Uncategorized on April 29, 2021 at 4:39 pm

What has become of the green pleasant fields of Jerusalem?
Twentieth Century Man, The Kinks

I don’t care about these “jokes” being offensive. They’re just not funny. They’re not clever. There’s a reason he never made it anywhere as a comedian. He is not funny and he is not smart. He is, however, very good at capitalizing off of dumb people. For that I applaud him.
—EastSideFishMurder on Twitter

Luckily, the University of Vermont has begun an incentive program to encourage New England farmers to delay their second cutting, so the birds have enough time to breed and raise their young.
—Didi Jackson

I’m happy to announce that STRIDE, my 7th full-length collection of poetry will be released this year through Yellow Lark Press.  Supporters at the $10 level on Patreon will receive a copy of the collection, signed and acknowledged and absolutely free.  I’m thrilled to be able to offer supporters at any level what will become exclusive content.  

The amount of work I come across from poets involved in academia is staggering.  Most of them are teachers.  They’ve had books published and their collections benefit from the push of publishers.  I write poetry.  I’m not enmeshed in the Higher-Learning Industrial Complex. I don’t teach.  I won’t have to because I’ve got you.  My 7th collection of poetry will be out before year’s end.  Stay tuned for its news and announcement.  I need to step away from Going For the Throat.  This much craziness is too much pain.  I need to concentrate on getting my health in order and rather than impede the total access I’ve proudly always offered you, I’ve decided to just put it down.  You came for The Real and if I’m not in a place to deliver then I won’t.  I’d rather not say anything if I can’t offer anything crucial, or of import.  I’ve little to report these days because I’m coming down off a decade of outrage, and the anger is no bueno for your Writer right now.  This isn’t bad news.  

The bad news is that the channels are clogged with pseudo-science and amateur punditry.  I no longer wish to be part of the discourse and let’s be honest these terms are incredibly generous.  What’s happening in the world isn’t political.  What the fascists are offering isn’t an argument.  I’m not arguing.  I’m mad but I can’t afford to be.  With your help I’ll figure that out but in the meantime I’m through yelling at folks who are never going to listen.  I know it was never about them, it was about us, but between debilitation from illness and crushing hopelessness, I’m at a loss.  My weekly posts have become a diary, and when I see the unending stream of petty and self-involved concern that is social media I don’t want to add to it.  The bad news is it’s the end of the world and the public at large won’t include my voice throwing it down and cutting up through the fray.  

I’d like to invite you over the paywall in the meantime, and to join me on Patreon for exclusive products, performances and content—including posts from your Writer that would’ve normally appeared on the pages of Going For the Throat, were the discourse not completely sunk and my well-being not at stake.  Patrons contributing at the $10 level will get a copy of STRIDE, signed and acknowledged, in 2021 and I’m happy to offer supporters at any level what will be exclusive content during this respite.  

See you on the other side, motherfucker. 

THANK YOU.


But it’s written in the starlight
and every line in your palm
We are fools to make war
on our brothers in arms
—Dire Straits

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Click on “Get Reminder” to join us this evening as wonderful poet Steve Denehan shares a selection from his just released The Streets, Like Flowers, Come Alive in the Rain. Tonight at 7P.M. CST!

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10 Years At Going For The Throat
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ON WITH IT

In Uncategorized on April 22, 2021 at 9:50 am

FACTS:
The election was stolen.
Kyle Rittenhouse did nothing wrong.
Joe Biden is a puppet.
Gina Carano did nothing wrong.
Trump did not incite violence on 1/6.
Derek Chauvin is innocent.
Covid-19 is over politicized.
The vaccine is more dangerous than the virus.

Erik Bekke

The trial of Derek Chauvin is one of the three most important trials at the center of race and America of the past 100 years.
Shaun King

Every time I hear a political speech or I read those of our leaders, I am horrified at having, for years, heard nothing which sounded human. It is always the same words telling the same lies. And the fact that men accept this, that the people’s anger has not destroyed these hollow clowns, strikes me as proof that men attribute no importance to the way they are governed.
—Albert Camus 

Blank-canvas blues, ain’t this a bitch? I’m pitched up at the Whole Foods Industrial Complex. I loaded up and headed out of Castle Hill this morning with the MacBook, chargers, iPad, notebook, paper, pens and a pair of Sony MDR-ZX100’s. These earphones are as crucial to writing as the laptop and pen. Lucky for me the music they’re playing today is middle-of-the-road corporate fare, nothing too mawkish or cloying and certainly not the kind of rock and roll that is threatening, i.e. good. Whatever they’re playing can’t be worse than suffering the sounds of construction at home. The high whine of the digger, carving out tunnels beneath the street for Google Fiber, forfeits any chance of peace and quiet. Naturally one tries to drown out the sound but, for me, discovering I’ve been putting more effort into NOT hearing the long-suffering bastard machine than actually on the task at hand angers me. Anger is no bueno for your Writer and getting worked up would only mean a visit with the foreman and anyway suffering another of the rages that have rendered me constipated or incontinent. I’m still suffering with colitis and at times quite sick, but the point is I can’t do this anymore. I can’t look around or watch the news and I can’t report on it either. Ask you, what the fuck could I possibly say to the shit-for-brains author of the quote at the beginning of this post? “You’re wrong?” The nutters have sunk the discourse. I’d much rather enjoy a haddock filet and sip this peppermint tea than “argue” with someone that fucking dumb. Ain’t the half either as what drew me to him to begin with was his argument on Twitter that Chauvin may have saved Floyd’s life by choking him to death, being that he was on “3.5 times…” the lethal dose of fentanyl and “lots of other drugs.” It’s not that I don’t care about the rotten bastards in what passes for Police in this country. I just can’t stoop that low. The nutters don’t deserve it, for one thing, being that the basis of their whole argument is an unstated and full-on racism. The other thing is my aforementioned anger, rages that have found me here, at 46 without an intoxicant in my system and all my dreams of travel and conquest on hold and drying up. Homeboy’s not getting any smarter and I’m can’t help him. Or this country. I’m nursing my own heartbreak anyway and lamenting all that I haven’t done.

Being 46 is a bummer. Not for the mastery and typing quietly (hopefully) in a large 1BR in the live music capital of the world. Not for my mostly ok health, actually, and the fact that I can get out of bed and drive my car and sleep solid for 6 hours a night. 46 sucks because of all that I haven’t done coupled with the supposition that I might not ever. It’s fucking me up, Reader. I’m not going to be who I thought I was going to be, and instead I’m only me. If that ain’t spirituality and anyway an invitation to start experiencing life as it is or at least find for adventure as a personal journalist trawling the same citywide beat. Even then the territory for your Writer only spans the Whole Foods I’m in right now, the Office Max across the street and Little Brother’s on the east side. I thought I’d make tracks down the same roads as Rollins and Thompson but I live more like Papa, without the booze and women or acclaim. The writing always came and that saved me. You read and dug and supported me in so many ways. You bought the collection and were as integral to the realization of Jim Trainer The Writer as writing it down. I can’t deny that I’ve self-published and have at least been realizing this dream. It’s been a half life living like this, though. Suffering depression and dead after the catharsis and transformation of art and craft. Week by week, this blog has got me through. It’s been my raison d’être, my sword and shield and a reason to endure: bureaucratic fuckarounds, chlymadic cunt bosses, amour fou and even the bearing-witness industry of social media while rapt as a mark watching the world wind horribly down. But now I’m at a loss. The easy answer is often the best but when it comes to taking a break or sabbatical I feel my identity as a Writer is at stake. Without deadline I’d have to face myself. I’d just be…me! The truth is I used Art to get me through, and praise be. My heroes reached me and showed me how. Praise be that it spoke to you in ways I never could while trading skin in Babylon or engaged in the silly game of killing time in a culture that worships youth and death in equal measure. Without anger and trying my best to abstain from its foul humor, without outrage and without the drive for this quest of being The Writer, I’ve come down with the empty-canvas blues. As No Doubt plays in this bougie supermarket, intoxicant-free and at odds with myself and all I haven’t done, regretful and without love but ok, me, Jim. Ain’t this a bitch?

CELEBRATE NATIONAL POETRY MONTH WITH JIM TRAINER ALL MONTH LONG.  RSVP TO THIS EVENT PAGE FOR UPDATES AND LINKS TO LIVE READINGS, INCLUDING GREAT IRISH POET STEVE DENEHAN AT THE END OF THE MONTH.  IF YOU’VE MISSED THE READINGS SO FAR GO HERE, HERE AND HERE. PATRONS CONTRIBUTING AS LITTLE AS $2 THIS MONTH WILL GET 1 ORIGINAL POEM FOR EVERY DAY OF NATIONAL POETRY MONTH.  THAT’S 30 POEMS FOR TWO BUCKS!

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KEEP BLEEDING IN THE ANNO FINEM:
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READ THE COARSE GRIND AT INTO THE VOID

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SAME AS THE OLD BOSS

In Uncategorized on April 15, 2021 at 10:47 am

Former House Speaker John Boehner was on the radio this morning. It was dark in the Office and I had little on my mind so I closed the glass doors and sat smugly down. We must be the masters of our own delusion and if Steven Inskeep ain’t ashamed he should be. History is kind to the victors and steamrolls over the rest. Trump went down in infamy though his ineptitude is debated by shit-for-brains like David Harris Jr. and Steven “Fuckface” Crowder. Rush Limbaugh got more respect dead than he ever gave to the living and one can only hope he died with regret or at least in pain. George W. Bush found a new cache hanging out with Ellen, hiding candy from Michelle Obama and grinning like the luckiest bastard of the 21st Century. War still rages overseas thanks to that clown and we’re all living down his forever wars and recessions. Obama’s legacy can’t be touched. His shining image is a testament to the power of his charm, even if he ushered in the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression. He tried, I’ll give him that, and his efforts were thwarted at every turn by the Tea Party and stacks of shit with book deals like John Boehner. Time marches bitterly on leaving us with the impossible task of reasoning with all this blood on our hands. There’s no justice and the worst people in the world won’t look bad in hindsight as long as the media plays nice and puts them on.

I’m having some luck with my diet and I’m drinking more water, even if I never seem to meet my goal of half my weight in ounces a day. I eat veggies mostly, very little processed food if any, and only as much desert as I can fit in my hand. Flare ups wreck me, relegate me to the couch or send me back into the throes of a cigarette and coffee addiction. It’s hard to keep your diet when you’re only shitting blood and it feels like glass. I have hope, generally I’ve been feeling better, enough to attempt some Yoga but as long as my gut is bad my mood is dour and sunk. I’m due for another call with Good Specialist Rocco, and I’ll be taking advantage of the extended enrollment for Affordable Care with some help from the good folks at HAAM.

The Element failed inspection. Two different mechanics said it was the catalytic converter and OEMs are going for up to $1,000 online. I’m deep in the research and wont to get an aftermarket and put the profits from the sale of my CAT right back into the car. 4 new tires would be nice but not crucial. Passenger back panel could be replaced and the fender. The seats need to be pulled out and power washed and it never hurts to get an oil change. It might’ve failed inspection due to faulty O2 sensors but whether it’s the sensors or the CAT, I’d rather climb underneath the car myself than give $1,200 to a mechanic who won’t let me keep the old part. The first order of business is getting on the horn with Honda to ask them why the CAT, guaranteed for the life of the car, is crapping out at 74k miles. It’s running a little loud, nothing dire but not exactly smooth either. I’m hoping an oil change will work it out. A higher grade gas and replacing the plugs and filter could do wonders, though, I may be talking out my ass. I need to double down on my research and butt heads with the know-it-alls on the Element Facebook Group. The most worrisome would be rust on the undercarriage. I’m not saying I have it, just that I need to keep an eye out and anyway get a good look at the wheel mounts.

The blog is a bust but I appreciate you being here. My stats are down and so is my enthusiasm. It must be a trick of the mind or anyway depression because reading Pete Hamill inspires me to be the writer and live that life. Poetry collections and novels from friends inspire me as a publisher and I’m hoping to get some more writers in the Yellow Lark stable. The hard part is convincing my peers that the price is worth it. Money’s hard to come by but once your project is funded there’s money to be made selling the printed word. So, what’s to happen at Going For the Throat, as I’m mostly missing my true ballast of anger and unease? It’s hard to be angry and keep it as my anxieties are already working me overtime. The days are blowing by. I’m posting a poem every day on Patreon for the month of April and I’m keeping the dream alive. My physical and mental health are getting tweaked and I’m getting better even if I’m knocked back and need to start over. Ideally I’d be playing music every Saturday night, designing and printing collections through the week and coming hard at journalism and taking my camera with me everywhere. I got vaccinated this morning but I’m not overjoyed. I’m glad I won’t catch CORONA but otherwise not exactly thrilled with the Johnson&Johnson shot I got in Castle Hill this morning. Spring’s here and I think I’m done with being fallow. The hard part is how to get back up and kick it, as ever I am besieged with depression and bereft of the torch of anger that burned and lit the way for so long.

SUPPORT JIM TRAINER’S POETRY AND PERSONAL JOURNALISM AT PATREON

KEEP BLEEDING IN THE ANNO FINEM:
10 Years At Going For The Throat
NOW AVAILABLE AT JIMTRAINER.NET

“2020’s been a year of death and graft. Survival is this new paradigm.  It used to be Art or writing and Rock&Roll but now living in The America is its own end.  There’s nothing past this.  You make it to the end of the month congratulations, you’re broke.  You catch this disease or anything under your deductible you’re insolvent or dead.”
—KEEP BLEEDING IN THE ANNO FINE
M

KEEP BLEEDING IN THE ANNO FINEM is almost sold out!  Get yourself one of the 35 remaining copies, bound in a letter pressed cover designed by Snakes Will Eat You, at jimtrainer.net.  You’ll find a selection from the collection below.

READ THE COARSE GRIND AT INTO THE VOID

Yellow Lark Press is opening its stables to writers, poets and anyone who has something to say.  I’d love to discuss publishing your next collection, broadside or zine.