I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we’re reading doesn’t wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.
-Franz Kafka
I mean, I basically never hear bad music any more because I can push a button and it goes away.
-Steve Albini
Rise above others who try and take you down… I’m at my BEST NOW…and that’s all that matters. I pray for all of you because we care. Jealousy is toxic, and toxic people are a waste of time. We walk away with nothing but a SMILE.
-Wes Scantlin, Puddle of Mudd
It’s not pretty, but getting people elected unfortunately has a lot to do with dividing. . . That is different from what it takes to govern because governing is all about finding consensus on difficult issues and bringing people together, people who don’t always agree, under some sense of common purpose. And we are obsessed with getting people elected, and we are obsessed with the show. And so are you, or you wouldn’t be here. So we provide daily entertainment; what we are not providing is serious solutions to what’s going on in the country. Not us, not Chuck, not Clinton, not Bush, not anybody.
–Mark Goodin
Something in the way…
-Kurt Cobain
Ever get the feeling you’ve been cheated? Rather than fuck you around I’ll get right to it and let the chips fall where they may. I’ve only had one thing, a very niche and private thing, that everything else revolved around for my whole life. Mostly it’s been small and secreted hours here, in the War Room, at a desk as wide as I am tall and at the wide green window as the world rallies and roils out there. I found some peace in the backroom of a huge 1 bedroom in the beginning of the final century, drinking dark beer and smoking black tobacco and swag and hacking away on my Dad’s Global or a 1969 Grestsch Single Anniversary through a Fender Pro Junior. All my life can be reduced to one thing. Everything else was in service to it, or because of it and anyway the closest I could come to a reason for going on as the torpors of depression rang like a wrench around my head and heart. Depression made it hard to live and this country made it hard to live. And she and you did. Motherfuckers but mostly I did. I made it hard to live but it was no matter. As long as I had this one thing. 8 hours crammed into a monkey suit, in and out of the kitchen of a dining hall with 20-30 other dumb bodies? No problem’s long as I had a place to come home to and sit down, plug in and get to work. It didn’t have to be so hard. Did it?
I can’t live down what I’ve done. You can’t know how much I mean this. The longer I’m sober the more I realize there’s a trail of dead behind me and worse–I’m the reason some people have a hard time living, today, and still. They’re out there somewhere, working through trauma that I caused. Think about how hard it’s been, think of all the things in your way to get to where you are today, things that came into your life unbidden, that you didn’t deserve. Now imagine that these same tragedies, fuckarounds and pecadilloes were caused by me. If this sounds like it’s a hard nut to crack well you’re goddamned right about that. There are things I will carry like a mark and should suffer for. The fact that I did you wrong is hard to live down but I will. I’ll be better but never free of the memory of what I’ve done.
That’s just one of the dark motivations that in isolation I’ve been brewing up some black magic from. I regret what I’ve done to me and my life too, as selfish as that sounds. I fucked around and hid out. I cursed everything and I ain’t saying I was wrong. Just that with experience I can see most of that suffering was born of either a shortage of dopamine/serotonin or lack of coping and any kind of mechanism to help myself out of the blind and dark SNAFUs of self-sabotage. My Father’s side of the family—depression wasn’t a thing back then. It certainly wasn’t a disease. My mother’s side is a whole other can of worms. Let’s just say I got it good and crazy and I got it bad. The loopy, fearless shit from my Italian side has served me well and probably kept me alive for many, backalley, never-should-have-been-there nights, bet. My Father’s honesty serves me, quite well Good Reader, as it’s his Black Irish Who are you that I should have to lie? attitude that informs, and in fact is the raison d’etre of this blog. Going for the throat. Pulling out the rug. Pissing on your parade. They’d all work as bylines here. Die laughing, though, that’s my own take and rests on the mantle for good reason. We shouldn’t suffer. We shouldn’t hurt each other. But we do. We should learn but nature has her way of sorting that out. If I haven’t learned that hurting you was wrong then you’ve no doubt had the good sense to get gone. The fact that I am going to try and laugh, despite it all, could just be spite (Irish and Italian, remember?). Otherwise, I am trying to laugh because it’s been so ridiculously tragic and lovely and I’m sorry, truly so very sorry and if I don’t die laughing I’d probably just up and die.
TO CELEBRATE NATIONAL POETRY MONTH, JIM TRAINER IS PARTICIPATING IN THE #30for#30 CHALLENGE–AN ORIGINAL POEM WRITTEN EVERY DAY FOR THE MONTH OF APRIL.
4/1
ANOTHER DAY OUT
4/2
UNTITLED DOCUMENT
4/3
POET AT DAWN
4/4
SHUDOWN#
4/5
SHUTDOWN#2
4/6
JULY IN SOFIA
4/7
SHUTDOWN#3
4/8
SHUTDOWN#4
4/9
SHUTDOWN#5
4/10
THE DEAD
4/11
THE MYSTIC DICE OF HEAVY BONES
4/12
UNTITLED
4/13
UNTITLED
4/14
LEARNING TO DIE IN THE ANTHROPOCENE
4/15
JUST KIDDING
4/16
DEPRESSION MAGIC HAIKU
4/17
UNTITLED
4/18
PALE LIGHT
4/19
NEW CENTURY MYTHOLOGY
4/20
DIMINISHING RETURNS ON PRIVILEGE
4/21
FOR BLOOD
4/22
EVEN
PART 25 OF THE COARSE GRIND IS LIVE AT 
Going for the Throat 
Jim, I read most of your April poems. As always, I shiver from the powerful images and growlunderneath most of them. I really like today’s entry, Even, especially since youare reading it. I also like your intro here, full of remorse and a heaping tablespoonof piss and vinegar. Your guilt — or whatever you’d call it — about the shattered people you’ve left behindmakes me think of the 12 Step programs. I know that one of the steps is to actuallygo to the people you hurt — in person or by phone or internet or carrier pigeon orwhatever — and acknowledge the hurt you caused them and ask their forgiveness. I don’t imagine that formal sort of program appeals to you, but maybe doing it in an informalway would help put the guilt to rest (at least you’re not Jewish! Our middle name isGUILT.) Of course, my old boss used to say Catholics have shame. Of course, theother possibility is that guilt is part of the stew you need to write. Another thing that comes to mind: Julian’s dad used to say that nobody ever wrotea song in a happy frame of mind. He believed that heartbreak, misery, depression,despair are all necessary grist for the mill, to prime the pump. Maybe all the shit you have gone through makes your writing possible. Who knows? When you speak about age 45 being a full life, I understand what you mean.I think back to that time. I had left my first career and was near the end of my acupuncture training. Julian was 8 years old. I was in a miserable marriage. I had turned to food as my substance of choice. It feels as if life before 45 was my first lifetime in this incarnation,and that life after 45 has been my second lifetime. Part of the second half has been unbelievably rich: seeing Julian grow up and becoming close with him; developing my acupuncture practicefor almost 25 years and feeling so close to my patients. I’ve learned howto be single after marriage for the second time. Mostly, I feel that Ihave not been able to choose the right partners and/or been able tohave a healthy romantic relationship. A big regret. However, as I’vementioned to you, I didn’t let any grass grow under my feet, and atthis stage, I feel pretty much at peace, being on my own. When I read your writings, I ponder how you and I are so different and yet sosimilar, in many ways. And I agree with you: Rock’n’roll will save our lives.It’s saved mine, for nigh on 70 years. Stay safe and healthy out there in the Texan wilds. All you need is love…. xoxoDonna