Jim Trainer

Shrieks of Paradise#23, It Feels Good And I’m Gonna Go Wild

In Uncategorized on February 8, 2019 at 1:34 pm

Cenote Cafe
1010 E. Cesar Chavez
Bro Country TX

Jason S. Woolery
119 Cheatham Street
San Marcos TX 78666

8/20/17, 1:06PM

Well. Here we are. Drinking weak coffee in the shit heat with bougie dogs barking and 80s music on. I’m glad to be writing, even if this will bear no good news. I’ve been constipated since Election Night, suffer arthritis on most of the fingers of my left hand and I haven’t exhaled fully in over a year. Everything is so fucked and yet I keep walking around, dumb-lucky and old, misunderstood and pelted by barbed smiles.  It’s 90 in the shade and as they play Tears for Fears, I’m seized with the feeling that it’s been a long time I should be far from here.  I’m done with Blair October 1 and I got a place in Hyde Park.   It’s quiet and clean. I surprised myself, out on the road this summer, when I considered leaving the country.  I dream of a place where there are seasons and healthcare and your Art is subsidized by the government–Norway or Amsterdam, for example. Fuck a whole lotta here.  It’s fucked. I don’t feel good but why should I?  My only hope is that after 2 weeks of good night’s sleep, the last 5 years working as a servant to a millionaire will recede into the past.

Enclosed you’ll find Spray Paint The Walls–an interesting read, to be sure.  Author Stevie Chick’s an outsider to American Hardcore, he’s a Brit for fuck sake. While I admittedly wasn’t up on all my Black Flag history (they were never my favorite, not even in my top 5), Chick maintains a distinct spin on it. I feel like he doesn’t have to look cool so he doesn’t even try to and he’s able to come across with something different–even if suffering at times from aggrandizing testimonials of bit players and hangers on.  Keith Morris surprised me more than once in this book, and it’s amazing to think that 2 or 3 kids growing up in a shit port town can change the world.  Morris’ book came out not long after this one, and that might be a good place for you to continue your research on American punkrock. My point about changing the world (it happened in D.C., too, spawning not only Black Flag’s longest running singer but my favorite rock and roll band of all time) is that, sadly, I don’t think it can happen anymore.  There’s the world wide web, for one, but also–I’m not sure if we’re at the same dire precipice those kids were at in the early 80s.  Once upon a time, the fear that the U.S. or Russia might blow up the world was very real. These days? Do me the favor. Ain’t that right Reverend. 45 talks about dropping the big one and I’m like, “Ok.” No protest.  It could be the depression talking but you won’t see me hemming and hawing about politics on Facebook. Point is have at it.  I don’t care. If I was outraged at every ominous turn happening in the New Century, I’d never leave the house. I hardly do anyway so what the fuck do I know? I won’t be jumping through hoops or showing my outrage, though, on Twitter or anywhere else.  It’s a hall of mirrors and an echo chamber, the writing is on the wall and if you’re going to blow us all away then go right the fuck ahead.

Whoa. Told you this wasn’t going to be good. There are grackle in the short trees and my coffee is tepid and tasteless. My fourth collection of poetry should be out December 1 and I’m still sitting on copies of September and All in the wind.  If there is anything promising about my newfound nihilism, it’s acceptance–the world and its worries have fell away, and my hopes of doing anything in addition to subsidizing my Art have lost all zest. Which is a long and writerly way of saying that if I have enough in my PayPal for the next book then I’m good.  I still dream and I always will.  I just need to get my health in order. I’m sure an attitude adjustment will follow. At this point, I’ll take 10%. If I feel at least 10% better, that ought to carry me home.  I mean, I’m functioning now.  Barely but incredibly, considering I feel like I’m falling and the world is ending right before our very eyes.

Christ it’s fucking hot.  I’m done here.  The music is terrible and the vibe has shifted.  I’ve grown accustomed to moving through their world as a stranger.  Immune to their fears and culturally non-plussed and numb.  Please pray for me.  I’ve got big plans but I feel stuck in a way I’ve never felt before.  It could be that I’m looking down on myself from on high and all that’s happened before is only a husk, and all that got me through won’t get me through.  The intrepid 3rd Year of Sobriety.  I’ve never wanted to burn as bad as I do today.  That could be the difference.  Before, in youth and love I was always burning and I sought refuge.  But this is different.  Now I seek the heart of the Sun.  There is so much yet to do.  I gotta move.

Let’s visit soon. I want to read and speak and play in your town. I’ve got books to sell.

Yours,
Trainer

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