Jim Trainer

A Blog About Nothing

In Uncategorized on January 28, 2013 at 12:23 pm

I awoke today
and suddenly
nothing happened
-Colin Hay

Going straight to hell, boys.  One day at a time.  Last night (Day 2 of a 4 day shift) the Boss had us drinking shots of vod with lemon chasers.  No big whoop.  Just Sunday night with the boys,  hailing mutiny on the ship, “the captain has been drinking!”
I’m ok today, just generally blown the fuck out.  You feel me, Jack.  The brain scraped clean.  Being hungover is like electro-shock therapy.  Its record of effectiveness should’ve shamed this behavior out of existence a long time ago.  But it hasn’t.  And so here we are.  ‘Twas ever thus.

We’ll just forego any thoughts or observations from my inner critic and get on with it.  I’ll tell you-I’ve been involved with the mechanics of promotion&sales of the book and etc. and I haven’t felt safe to sit down to the type and let the music play.  Which isn’t to say that I haven’t been writing.  Sure as shit, right as rain.  But today, this overcast morning in the middle of our nuclear winter, beat-down and hungover, nothing’s pressing and nothing’s  pertinent.  I can just jackoff this screed and get it off to you.

I’ve got nothin for you man.  And it feels good.  All’s well on the third coast.  It has not escaped me that even when reporting on nothing, I feel the need to report to you.  We know this blog is nothing if not transmission.  But I wonder how long I will need you to give myself permission to write, and I wonder about the future of what Hipstercrite has called “selfies”:  self-referential, self-branding type writing.  The over-personalized saga of my ridiculously tragic&lucky life and times.  I guess if you’ve been with me this long I don’t need to question it.
I do however wonder when I’ll be able to sit down in the late evening and get some real work done (sadly without you).  Instead of blowing down the nightstack with clear liquor and honky-tonk music.  When will I grow up?

Or better, when will I truly reclaim the teenager I want to be, take his crown and set him free from chilled bottles on  jailhouse junkyard nights, talk him down off the roof  where he’s sharing cigarettes with deadly-young women,  and convince myself of a better business than bitterly bloviating on Facebook and chronicling all such delusions of grandeur on this blog?

There are no easy answers.  Sometimes there are no answers at all.  What do you want from me?  You want answers, ask Thich Nhat Hanh.  This blog is about nothing.

Para Elizabeth con amor.

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