there was a mashup
off 2222
this morning
I saw the guardrail
twisted up like a fist to God
speeding by, making a delivery
on shift,
at my pickup a slight woman
of indeterminate Asian origin
poured cold water and I sipped
looking up at the Buddha
above the bar,
I read somewhere
we’re only Rome with cars
well the highways of America
are a perfect analogy
we’re all moving
deathly fast
and going nowhere
I had to loop around twice
to get to my bank
and even then
drive IN through the OUT
past the teller windows
because traffic on Burnet
wouldn’t let me in
just to cash a check for 120,
my roommate can’t afford toilet paper
and asks me for the rent,
the letters on the Selectric stick
sometimes, Steve at Duncan
shakes like an alcoholic
when I bring the machine in for repairs
so maybe that’s why,
there’s always been
something so oppressive
in me, it sunk me
through the hometown
and I’m still falling
I’ve made a little peace over the years
a very little but enough
to keep suicide as an option
I know folks who’ve taken it
the suicide option
and I can think of some I wish would
whatever it is, this
oppression in me, and my tiny valiance
against it
is fine and well
makes it feel less impossible
but the world
smacking into the sun
the world imploding in
the graft, the murder, the rape
and the squalor, the most horrible
never
living up to our beautiful potential
I don’t know what to do about that
I still don’t know
what to do about the end of the world.
The internet is dead. Of the all the things you’ll hear folks complain about in the coming weeks, the fluidity and control of this new media is the most important sociopolitical issue of our time. I’ve got no dog in any other fight but even this one I’ma have to sit out and see how the worm turns on a pig named Pai. Send an email to jamesmichaeltrainer@gmail.com and I’ll send you the latest post of Going For The Throat. This way, we can enjoy it alone together, away from prying eyes and without the narcissistic and hateful and unimportant. They’ve been running slipshod over this site for years and I’m tired of writing about my life. It’ll all make sense when you read what I wrote–and I can’t wait to hear from you.
VOX POPULI VOX DEI (The Voice of the People is the Voice of God)
Ab irato,
Trainer
Going for the Throat 
[…] changed me and keeps me on a dark and narrow track. I tried to disengage from this blog. I shared poetry and performances and I wrote about others. Writing about others came home to roost when they […]
[…] I still don’t know what to do about the end of the world but writing this has shown me that what I think about myself and living is depression. I’m thankful for the truth and recognize that the ability to see it is ubermenschian, a godsend, something I can thank my black Irish or Italian ancestors for, and why I’ll always write. Some people live their whole lives in the dark. Being different than the madding crowd doesn’t mean I’m happy with who I am, however. The world is going to pot with velocity now but at the end of the day I’m alone or snuggled up with a sweet lady, wide awake and staring at the walls. I’ve been worse but I’ve hardly been better. February 25 will be 4 years without alcohol and the hardest yet, a real doozy when all my resentments came to the surface and I’ve weeded out 90% of the people I used to interact with. […]
[…] wisdom because it’s been brewing in me awhile now. There isn’t anything to do about the end of the world, Good Reader. Nothing we can do about the arctic floor or the hundred or so species who’ve […]