Jim Trainer

Shrieks of Paradise#22, Dear Tara

In Uncategorized on February 1, 2019 at 4:47 pm

The Office of Jim Trainer
In The Garage
Bro Country, TX

Tara Edicott
The House That Roark Built
Media, PA

4/15/18, 4:29PM


How goes the unlucky territory, are you talismanning your way through, are you finding magic in even the tight breathless spots and have you given every beggar your smile? Hello.  I write letters so I can get away with questions like that.  This ain’t poetry.  And it ain’t nonfiction.  It’s not official in any capacity and I’m inspired by the love I have for folks.  It can come in handy, I’m sure you know, when inspiration is running low.  And I like writing here on the loveseat, instead of at the desk.  The desk is where work gets done, where the machine and the calendar is, the lamp and extra monitor and large Webster’s dictionary.  I write this with the door and windows wide to the wash of traffic on 35, drinking cold coffee with non-dairy creamer and only my love for you to inspire.  I knew I’d write you as soon’s we left your place next morning, just as I knew the night before was singular and magic.  I can’t explain why but nor would I want to.  It was the trees that I missed, the familair chill in the air that took me back to childhood and parts of childhood that are only locked inside me.  It was laughter and the fire and Beach House making me feel like I was on drugs or in a bad 80s movie.  So, here it is.

The courier job fired me and I ain’t even mad.  I worked a 9&1/2 hour wedding last night and slept until 3 today.  What a drag it is getting old. I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression about me.  I’d never dress up how hard it’s been, nay, how hard it’s felt being me. It wasn’t for the payoff but the payoff’s been grand.  I had to burn out so much of the under forrest, and forge deep the vessel to hold this much wine.  I’ve battled depression for almost thirty years now and the hardest part can feel like you’re not getting anywhere and living half a life.  That still happens to me but I’m excited to learn I’ve made strides against it.  You can feel good again.  And I do, Friend, I certainly do.  I feel better than I ever thought I would.  Now, I wouldn’t take away the long, sinking hours in the black but I’ve got to watch out.  I might end up shacked up with my own dysfunction as a lightning storm rages kinetically-wild outside, or miss a phone call with someone lovely who understands because I’m only coveting wounds.  All is well and all is not well. We get along thanks to each other and love and friendship are the uncanny wild cards, ain’t it though, proof that maybe there is something beyond all our suffering and we can be saved, if for a night playing rock and roll or writing a not-at-all sane and deeply flawed poetic letter to the Friend.

I would tell you not to fight so hard but then I’d have to tell myself first.  It’s hard clearing out all that old karma because the tools we were given only destroyed those who gifted them to us.  It can be done and there isn’t anything in this universe that presence isn’t good for. I see you out there, in the territory and doing just that, with the little and the Meadow—just being there, and, considering all that we’ve been through just being here becomes the miracle.  Ain’t it though.  I’ll be writing for a grant this week.  Making plans and shucking jives.  I am the King of the Side Hustle, a factotum, and when I’m not terrified it’s alright.  My Father worked all the time.  It’s horribly hypocritical to criticize him, he provided for me doing just that.  I know he would’ve wanted this, though, and if he could see me on stage he’d be proud and tell me so.  Death’s taught me, Tara, how useless anger is.  I use it for most everything else but it only damages love, which is a shame because love is the only thing not bolted down they ain’t got a racket on.  The masters have us, coming and going, but the Dalai Lama was right about everything.  It will be love that’ll bring us back and love that will cast us away.  Dreams can be confusing but they can also be reinterpreted.  I’m willing to be wrong, about anger and the rest, if it means I can be happy and even better, at peace.  I am wishing the same for you my Friend.


Jim Trainer
Austin TX

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