Jim Trainer

Archive for April, 2012|Monthly archive page

lost missives from the Lonely Winter#3

In Uncategorized on April 30, 2012 at 9:59 am

The Office of Jim Trainer
Between Temple&the Bad Road
Bat Manor, TX

G.Razas
Below the Devil’s Navel
Medellin, Colombia

2/9/12
9:27pm

Mi Hermano en Brazos-

I’ll spare you sage advice about ditching gringoes in order to find the right Sex Hotel for your stay in a strange land. I mean, Colombia’s the motherland for you, right? They’re YOUR people. For all I know, those people think you’re Quezicotl and right now you’re covered in white lotus flowers on a bamboo throne and sipping Cat’s Claw on the beach.
What do I know? I’m just a dayworker and a hapless Yanqui living in Paradise.  Just wanted to drop you a line and wish you the best for your moratorium below the Devil’s Navel.
And to ask a favor.
Can you procure something from the Houngan-Man that will help me run this voodoo down?
I’m kind of scared, or lucky, but probably both.
It all began with that woman. We were stowed away like snow bunnies and hiding from the holidays. But when I woke up on New Year’s Day I knew I would have to leave that old dream behind me. That’s when things got a little screwy.
I remember backing down her drive with her on the hood until she rolled off onto the lawn. She was screaming and cursing at me in a language I couldn’t understand. Something about negro mágico and other incomprehensible nonsense. I don’t remember much else.
I came to at a place called Earl Campbell’s, by Gate 15 at ABIA, last Thursday; with no memory whatsoever and no recollection of 30days prior. The only explanation I can come up with is Black Magick G, and that’s bad. I broke free of her but days are Dark&Heavy at Bat Manor. They closed the pool and a bad depression is crouching down.
I’d like to believe that no red-haired witch is gonna shut old Jimbo down. I mean, it would take more than some million-heiress’ juju to stop the Fun Train, right G?
Just bring back a little bag of mojo, if you can, for your brother.

I like you and your people. You’ve always been good to me.

En la Victoria.
the Nightman
Bat Manor, TX


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lost missives from the Lonely Winter#2

In Uncategorized on April 25, 2012 at 12:33 pm


AHO!  POP-POP!

WE’RE OFF THE DAYSHIFT NOW AND IT’S NIGHTS OF SEX AND DAYS OF SUCKING SUGAR. I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT MY FRIEND THIS PLACE IS A PARADISE. A SHANGRI-LA. A DON’T-MIND-IF-I-DO.
YOUR LIBERAL RADIO LIED.  AUSTIN AIN’T THE NEW BROOKLYN.
BUT IT SURE AS SHIT BEATS PHILLY WIT A BIKE CHAIN!
MAYBE YOU’D RATHER BE BACK IN HOSTILE CITY HEH? OR HOW ABOUT OMA? MAYBE YOU’D LIKE ANOTHER STAB WORKING ON THE RIGS?
I DIDN’T THINK SO.
LISTEN CUZ THE LAST 30DAYS WE SPENT ON THE DAYSHIFT WERE A FUCKING BREEZE COMPARED TO WORKING FOR SHITHOUSE AND SWEETITS IN THE YARD THAT HATEFUL AUTUMN WE SPENT IN THAT SCUMFUCK OILTOWN.
BESIDES, ITS’ ALL OVER NOW.
AHO.
INDEED ANOTHER TEMPJOB, DAYSHIFT, SIDEHUSTLE, MONEYSCRAPE IS BEHIND US.  YOU KNOW THE DEAL. WE MADE IT AND WE MADE IT THROUGH.  WE’RE STILL CLICKING VICTORY, DEFEATS TOO, ALTHOUGH THEY ROLL ON THROUGH AND WE’LL HAVE SOME MORE DAYS HERE.  THE DAYSHIFT-IT KEEPS US ALIVE BUT IT FEELS LIKE DEATH.
BUT LISTEN CUZ STRANGE THINGS HAPPEN TO A MAN. HE GETS DEPRESSED. THE TIME GETS LONG BUT IT FLIES BY QUICKLY. HE’S ON HIS OWN RADAR AND NO ONE CALLS.
STRANGER STILL, THE SAMSKARA, WHEN A MAN OUTLASTS HIS DEMONS BUT HE DON’T EVEN KNOW IT AND HE’S ENSLAVED BY HIS OWN SELF.
SO YOU GOT THEM LATE NIGHT RADIO BLUES, HEH?  YOU SHOULD VIEW YOUR RECENT UNEMPLOYMENT AS AN OPPORTUNITY, LIKE I DO.  AN OPPORTUNITY TO GET FAT&WASTED BY THE POOL WITH A TUNA MELT A CIGAR AND A DUMB BLONDE. BESIDES, WE’RE A COUPLA HAPLESS YANKEES LIVIN IN PARADISE COMPARED TO OUR BROTHERS&SISTERS OUT THERE ON THE ROW.  REMEMBER THAT.

WE’RE ALL JUST PILGRIMS BETWEEN TEMPLE&THE BAD ROAD.
yr UNCLE JIMMY
J.Holmwood

lost missives from the Lonely Winter

In Uncategorized on April 16, 2012 at 10:45 am

A poem of mine is featured in the first issue of Divergent Magazine. Order your copy here.

You’re welcome.  Some poetry brought to you by 30days working in a cold building for 8 dollars and 50cents  per hour. Walking around in circles with a handtruck and a box full of binders at the campus bookstore. Days and days and days of this. When the bell rung in the old clock tower I’d go next door to campus market for my employee discount and what I got was a 50cent cup of watered down joe. Then I moved breaktime operations to Cafe Medici, a little further down the drag. I’d sit there on my lunch break dreaming of Berlin over a hot Americano for 2 dollars and 74cents.  On my way back I’d pass the squatters in the alley. Some shit went down between me and them but me&Pauly jr. shut it down and put their trouble right away. It got to where none of them would even dare to EVER ask me for a smoke or to buy one of their Occupy rags again. Trouble was and trouble is.
If it wasn’t for Pauly and Stu and my Uncle Jimmy I might have walked out of there allot sooner. Thank god for friends. And for Art, shit.  I stuck around for my bonus and I didn’t even get it. The University’s a bust and so is this town but you develop some appreciation for 30days on the dayshift when you’re inches from the row in America.