Jim Trainer


In Uncategorized on October 4, 2012 at 3:04 pm

For all its timewasting&disabuse&useless jibba-jabba, Facebook has a sole redeeming quality-Block.  How many times in life have you wished not that your hated enemy would disappear but that you could somehow disappear from their lives forever?  Call me spiteful but it’s all I ever wanted.  Big Sister recommends 1 Block per month.  Block is thee very best thing about Facebook, oh and it captures the straight dope in real time about:  regimes changing and piles of bodies discovered.
The Office has been receiving some strangely similar correspondence as of late.  Most want some insight, some truth, some glimpse into what really happens in the ruined rooms of last Confederate Governor’s mansion, hmm?
Here ya go, Brother.  I am writing the story of my life.  In Literary speak it’s called Creative Non-fiction.  My goal was to always report from where it was at-inside.  Characters move in.  Characters move out.  Characters throw bikes&books through the windows on silly soaked nights, and bros&Fratlanders rumble in the hedges outside.  Your writer can be found staring at the Pride of Barbados most mornings in baggy sweats&flip-flops, Matte&MCD in hand.  Can be seen most of the time out back on the roof, w/the insufferable fucking chiggers&the redbird.  Saying hello and Namaste to all the strong&beautiful vixens who blow through Fox Den and park it in the back.  Also the construction crews, the cops&lawyers and the young, fucking off in the backlot of Khabele across the street.  I’m host to them all as I  sit on the roof typing.  And it’s only b/c I can’t smoke inside and I cannot write w/o my burning magic wand.
I go blind
when I stare at the sun
-Charles Bukowski
You might hear Monster Magnet or Dirty Three blasting out the fire escape window.  Smoking in the sun and writing upwards of 800words every day before 10:24a.m.

And that’s about it good reader.  Generally angry but specifically annoyed by the insufferable fucking chiggers&liberal radio.  We don’t care about Presidential politics here, but if you must know I’m voting for the black Romney, ok?  No need to rope in an apolitical, anti-social, anarchist/ex-Pat punkrocker/aging singer-songwriter/poet into any kind of political discourse b/c any and every argument you throw at me will just fume out when I tell you that
I don’t care
won’t you have some wine?
I’m feeling reflective these days.  The break in the weather here in Hippie Town has turned the focus inward and its pretty fucking gnarly inside, in here.  I’m coming to grips with lessons learned up on a mountain in North Creek this summer.  And those lessons are coming home to roost, brother.  For true.

I’ll leave you with this last little bit of insight, good&cherished reader.  I’m half-Irish.  Besides being the champion of lost causes the Irish have perfected a peculiarly pleasing type of clannishness.  When we Irish lean in, blow out a plume of cigarette smoke and speak lowly into your ear about them,  we are including you in our plight.  You are in the trench with us, warm with misery’s glow.  It’s like Whiskey, smooth&sweet&bitter.  Warms ye.  Yum.

There you have it.  Here at the office it’s the general and not-so-quiet voice of outrage that speaks to us.  It prompts us.  That and the ticking clock.  The ticking clock distracts me from you, Brother.  It turns my attention from your suffering and for this I am here to make amends.  I will soon hear your song and we will sing from the mountain top, together again.  For true.
Unless you just bring nonsense into my life in which case I will block you on Facebook and never talk to you again.

With Love Always,

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