Jim Trainer

J2157 BLUES

In Uncategorized on July 16, 2020 at 11:07 am

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Sign of the times

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Play stupid games win stupid prizes.

-Bernadette Klaus

A budget is a moral document.
-Martin Luther King Jr.

Work on your intellect, ability to reason and your humanity.  And goodbye.
-Billy Brent Malkus

I just hope that karma and Darwinism does its stuff.
-Nick Barber

Believing passionately about the palpably not true…is the chief occupation of mankind.
-H.L. Mencken

Another week at the chipper blades.  Days winding down and peeled off the Anthropocene.  Hours mired in cesspools on the people’s platform while getting fleeced and mined for habit and political persuasion online.  I don’t need to get into it.  Without presentism and the belief that life, as is, was how it was and how it will be, there’s little to no hope in the day-to-day.  It’s compounded by The Stupid, of course, and the end of the world can’t be comprehended or felt fully without some armchair pundit telling you it ain’t so or it’s all because Masks Guns Gays Blacks Muslims China Obama.  Whoops.  Said I don’t need to get into it.  The sun’s heat, trapped in a carbon layer we put up there, will melt the polar ice caps which in turn will release methane into the atmosphere, trap even more heat overhead until we’re burned right off the face of the earth–but they won’t stop and it looks like we won’t even be able to die in peace with the noise these nutters make.

Don’t get me wrong I’ve made a career of evasion.  I like you but not them and I make my money and come home, pull up to the writer’s desk and get busy writing it down and anyway chronicling life on a dying planet in a Pig Nation full of science-deniers.  It’s one thing to have to die this way and another knowing the New Dumb will already be at the extinction event, decked out in Reich-red, angry and armed and looking like the beer line at NASCAR on flag day.  I tell you I don’t engage and that’s nothing new.  I fight my own battles and sing my own blues.  The worst thing about having boundary issues is not that people can’t be good but that I’ve resolved to a life alone rather than have to fend them off.  I’m not lonely but I’m sick and strange.

They mean no harm.  Ok, yes they do, but underneath their authority fetish, behind their ALL CAPS screeds and white trash talk radio they’re scared.  Ask you who isn’t?  What’s wrong with me on the other hand, well—The Problem With Jimbo has been fine motivation, some might even call it fuel, and anyway I know I’m never out of material as long as I maintain this heady mix of Catholic guilt and a shunted sense of self stuck somewhere around the age of 15 when the bottom dropped out.  Those were some days Good Reader.  Adolescence in the township, carrying a wrench in my bomber jacket for any jocks or Nazi skins I met on my way to school and back home to lying parents who played each other and us kids as a second and third thought.  Whoops, don’t need to get into that either.  Took me 473 words to get to point and the point is this–I haven’t been affected by the barbs and throes of the final century, at least not in any grave or catastrophic way.  They bleed us incrementally.  I wouldn’t tell you otherwise.  I’m angry but I’ve always been.  There’s a fight happening but for me it’s not with them.

I’ve coped with what was wrong with me and I lumped what was wrong with them into column B.  With my rent paid and food in the fridge I could close my door and so I did.  What was wrong with me only trumped what the world was going through and I always felt like I could never make a change as long as I was a depressive fuck up with zero self-confidence and colossal intimacy issues.  So, I kept the world at bay and I did this work and it got me here.  I’ve come around the bend though, Good Reader.  I laid my burdens down.  I got better and the world got worse.  I’m happy to be alive and choked with regret–in blinking fluorescent clips.  I needed writing to get through and I’ll need to write to get through.  This much hasn’t changed.  It’s been a gorgeous and thorny thirty years.  Days of beauty and ire.  Days feeling like I’d never survive.  Though, I did.  I survived.  I’m up and looking around.  I’m here.

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