Jim Trainer

untitled

In Poetry on September 11, 2014 at 6:38 pm

and so are our days now
locked in tight
to Paradise.
the sun
is high&white
the nights
are punchdrunk&numb
our Life has become
bracing for the next hit,
the next
blow
we saw what we wanted and it made us blind.
even our dead
know no peace
while we lie in ambush
in clover with a brickbat.

gftt

  1. […] What follows wasn’t written by Henry Rollins.  I wish it would’ve had the same ringing clarity no matter who wrote it, but, before I became friends with its author on Facebook, I probably would’ve just scrolled on.  This is our world now.  I suffer a terminal defeat and worse—I poo-poo on the rabble rousers because it’s how I was raised.  There’s something more visceral to being jaded, and I can only assume that apathy keeps me protected and anyway I’m too goddamned to believe in this system anymore.  That said, and as much as I bitch about the Election of 2000, I’ve never lived in a country that’s been bombed, or under a government that comes for your people in the night.  Don’t get me wrong that shit was a sham—W. won with less than 600 votes in FLA and just like that the American Century was over.  Anyone who thinks Jeb didn’t hand Florida to his little brother probably believes in God and supports our military without another sleepless thought about it.  This is our world now.  I asked the crowd at Siberia a couple weeks ago—what kind of discourse is available when we’ve lost the narrative?  Like Sicko, I want to know—when did Facism become a viewpoint?  Christ now I sound like the rah-rahs, the world changers—God love ‘em.  I’m sorry I’m a shit about all this.  Bruce Springsteen was right.  I should like to do my part but even if I don’t, the decisions I make aren’t for me.  They’re for the people who can’t make them, the ones who can’t vote—the locked down, the silenced and the powerless and the insane. Truth is, the triumphant screed below wouldn’t of made a shit to me if it wasn’t misattributed to one of the biggest influences of my life.  I rely on Uncle Hank to tell the truth so I don’t have to.  I can go on writing apathetic screeds about how hard it is to be a writer while 5 journalists in the greatest country in the world are shot down and killed in cold blood.  The news out of Annapolis had me shook.  It steeled me though, and I took to the territory.  We traveled 26 hours yesterday and today, making thousands of miles, crossing an ocean and 2 time zones.  Have heart and give of it, if you can.  I will, too, Good Reader.  This is our world now. […]

  2. […] in amber, viscous and stuck and twirling towards a hot disintegration in the heart of the sun.  This is our world now.  Living without healthcare in a rogue state.  All we can do is be together, have a cold pretzel […]

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