Jim Trainer

ARTHUR MILLER WAS WRONG

In Uncategorized on June 18, 2020 at 12:00 pm

8378e0829fecc95364ee272b25364d2bHam and egg salad on white bread, keeps me company on nights like this,
a pack of mentholated cigarettes keeps my air nice and thick…
-PRIMUS

Personal Journalism is a hard dollar.  The toughest job I never get paid for.  I trawl my own depths for a bit of your time.  I wrangle my blues, and put it down, 600 words at a time.  They say I’m a writer and I like when they say that.  I don’t slave over the text at least not all at once and I usually only edit it for flow.  I’ll tweak a post though, throughout the week and in this way a blog can get better over time like wine.  One thing’s for sure, I get it down and I feel better always.  Depending on what’s eating me and how deep I’ve gone, re-reading isn’t pleasant unless I nail it.  A good piece is a good piece even if it’s got some flesh in it.  I suppose I cringe the most when I’ve exposed myself and it’s not even good–posts that ramble and confess and anyway champion me and my own ego.  Who the fuck do I think I am?  I ask myself reading over these types of posts, cringing until the window is closed and I can convince myself it’ll all come out in the wash once the book comes out.  The Going For The Throat anthology ought to prune out these…I don’t know what to call them, posts that say too much but not really anything and where I go on and on about me as if I’m important or worth reporting on.  Just know, Good Reader and best believe–I’m only mining for the goods.  …in the coal mines of isolation are diamonds of solitude, or something like that.  That’s from MORE FROM THE TRENCHES, written last May and a particularly cringey Hi my name is Jim Trainer and I’m an alcoholic-type of post.  As a writer I know it had to be written but as a reader I judge the author for flesh-peddling and egomania.

Point is not every day at the desk is a good one.  I sometimes have to sell parts of my life I’d just as soon not admit and certainly not make public and available to over 70 readers a day.  It is what it is.  I nail it and all is forgiven.  Even now, with a post on personal journalism as plodding and fucking ponderous as this half-over–I am having the time of my life.  Writing and reflecting has sustained me in a way not much else has.  I make communion with myself and you bear witness and it’s perfect.  Call me a writer and it’s love.  I wrote inspired by pain and after 10 years posting here, and 35 besides, I found no better motivator.  I wrote on break–Saturdays or in the middle of the week when I tell ’em I’m on my way in but really my phone is still in bed and I’m getting down to the grainy part of the pot, the light through the blinds is perfect at the desk and it’s flowing molten, neat and fine. Goddamn.  Catch as catch can writing, inspired by what’s wrong with Jimbo, has given me this-ahem-career in the Arts.  It could be better served ain’t it and these days every time I write I feel guilty.  If I don’t write on current events I’m part of the problem and if I do I’m taking up valuable bandwidth.  You know where this is going.  This platform could be better served.  I just need to put in the research and research=time.

I’ve got the time too, Good Reader.  Maybe next week I’ll get right back to roasting crackers and pig Cops, slicing and serving up my enemy because fuck them.  There’s always room here for it but we’re gonna need better fuel.  There’s something deeper than anger that I’m hip to and it’s health and probably a cleaner currency.  Something to help us run on for a long time that doesn’t blind us but helps the world to see.  The way out of the dark, Good Reader, and not some cheap, sugar-high whiteboy armchair outrage either.  Like I said I got the time.  I’m only doing 30 at the non-profit and I’m more than inclined to make kicking against the pricks my vocation full time.

JOIN JIM TRAINER IN THE STRUGGLE FOR PERSONAL JOURNALISM.

2031 thumbnail

2031, JIM TRAINER’S SIXTH FULL-LENGTH COLLECTION OF POETRY, IS AVAILABLE NOW THROUGH YELLOW LARK PRESS.

6059A1CF-8886-4309-84E2-011C2A92894D

…into it, brightly with pain…
Sign up at jimtrainer.net to receive an original poem in your inbox every week.

 

 

 

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