FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE, Return Of The Mack-Celebrating Women’s Voices In Poetry

Jim Trainer, Poet 

PRESS RELEASE 
Contact: Jim Trainer 
Phone: 512-203-6288 

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE 

12/11/22 

RETURN OF THE MACK-CELEBRATING WOMEN’S VOICES IN POETRY WITH AIMÉE MACKOVIC, CHRISTIA MADACSI HOFFMAN AND JIM TRAINER-ON DECEMBER 11 AT BATCH 

Poet and Professor Aimée Mackovic returns to Austin, Texas, to read from her poetic works alongside poets Jim Trainer and Christia Madacsi. This is Aimée’s first appearance onstage since undergoing a triple organ transplant. True story. The Mack is back! 

Join us in celebration of the heroine’s journey, two fresh books of poetry and a bday to boot. Live music starting at 1:30. Readings at 2pm. 

RSVP: https://www.jimtrainer.net/returnofthemack 

For more information: 

Jim Trainer 
512-203-6288 
jamesmichaeltrainer@gmail.com 

Aimee Mackovic is a poet and professor of English currently living in the northern California mountains after a heart and liver transplant in 2019. Her work has appeared in journals such as Main Street Rag, Gravel, and Shark Reef, among others. She was the featured poet of Issue 9 of UCity Review. Her chapbooks include Potpourri and Dearly Beloved: the Prince poems. Her debut collection, Love Junky, was released in October 2017. In Love Junky, she explores being female through the lenses of sister, daughter, lover, medical patient and friend. Her new book, Headlines, is forthcoming from dancing girl press. Obsessions include traveling, buying books at used book stores, Prince, the color purple, and Broadway musical soundtracks. She also writes a travel blog at aroundtheworldwithaimee.com. All books available on Amazon! 

Christia Madacsi Hoffman is a writer by trade and a poet by nature. Christia is the unidentified writer behind countless brands, websites and marketing campaigns, and the known author of two poetry collections, Intent and Everyday Courage. She’s known to shed joyful tears over good food. 

Jim Trainer is a poet, publisher, writer and performer. He has blogged weekly at Going For the Throat for over a decade, penned a monthly column at Into The Void magazine and writes biweekly at OATMILK&COLDINSTANT. As a proponent of personal journalism Trainer reports on the inner life while writing about recovery, mental health and the creative process. Trainer publishes one collection of poetry, and sometimes prose, every year through Yellow Lark Press. STRIDE is his 8th. Trainer is the progenitor of Stand Up Tragedy™ and performs regularly throughout the world.

𝑆𝑈𝐵𝑆𝐶𝑅𝐼𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝑂 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑀 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑊𝐸𝐸𝐾

𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐸, 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 8𝑇𝐻 𝐹𝑈𝐿𝐿-𝐿𝐸𝑁𝐺𝑇𝐻 𝐶𝑂𝐿𝐿𝐸𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑇𝑅𝑌, 𝑁𝑂𝑊 𝐴𝑉𝐴𝐼𝐿𝐴𝐵𝐿𝐸 𝐴𝑇 𝐽𝐼𝑀𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅.𝑁𝐸𝑇

𝑆𝑈𝑃𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 𝑃𝐸𝑅𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐴𝐿 𝐽𝑂𝑈𝑅𝑁𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑀 𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻 𝐴𝐶𝐶𝐸𝑆𝑆 𝑇𝑂 𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑇𝑅𝑌 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺𝑆, 2 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑀𝑆 𝐴 𝑀𝑂𝑁𝑇𝐻, 𝐿𝐸𝑇𝑇𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐴 𝑊𝐸𝐸𝐾𝐿𝑌 𝐶𝑂𝐿𝑈𝑀𝑁

MEMO FROM THE CREMATORIUM DESK

The following newsletter appeared, along with Jim Trainer’s Poem Of The Week, in a mailer sent to over 800 recipients yesterday. Sign up here to receive an original poem in your inbox every Monday.

As hard as I can be on myself, and I can be merciless, my art always seems to boil down to a gauge of personal growth.  This week’s poem is a great example of the need to tell it, as is, and let the chips fall where they may. I have been stuck in a bind of crippling depression as the end approaches.  Pick your end, Good Subscriber, but my point is between ecological collapse, imminent fascism and deteriorating mental health—what is the difference?  That is to say I’m in bad shape but mostly cannot find a reason to want to improve or feel better anyway.  I suppose if your worldview is more optimistic you’d have to stop reading, and I wouldn’t fault you for it.  All of this is to say that I am clinically depressed and the only help I’ll be able to receive would have to come from someone walking the walk with their eyes open, i.e. can plainly see the crumbling dissolution of the world order but strives to get well anyway.  This is all a long-winded way to say that I am not ok, and I shouldn’t think you are either.  My journey doesn’t end where this week’s poem suggests it will but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel hopeless and suicidal most of the time.

You can get help by reaching out to Your Poet anytime, and we’ll talk it through.  Of course there are other channels and your suicide prevention hotline is only 3 digits away (988).  There is probably a meeting for Alcoholics Anonymous in a major city near you and anyway there is someone waiting to talk with you just a phone call away.  I can’t see a way out but it seems to me, and as a poet especially, to pretend I feel any other way, or at least profess to in writing, would be the worst thing I could do.  That is, short of killing myself.   

That said, I’ve been running a small press with these devils at my heels since 2015.  The next 3 collections of mine on the Yellow Lark Press roster will come to press, solicited to you Good Reader and supported by my yearly and bi-yearly jaunts to each coast and this year, even the chitlin circuit of Texas and deep south—regardless of how I feel.  First up is ’22’s release, an anthology of “The Coarse Grind,” my monthly column on the creative life, written over 3 years for Into The Void magazine.  This project will coincide with my efforts to build an archive, because you never know, and I hope to include letters and other ephemera, from the years I spent driving a truck and finding for meaningful employment in a post-Trump America, in the anthology.

​​I will be seeking help and this week’s poem falls in line with those efforts.  Originally titled “One For Them,” I figured I’d continue granting you the 4-walls down access that has odiously become my brand over the years.  I’m posting at Going For the Throat again, for funsies, and workshopping a column I’ll be pitching to the mags on mid-life and mental health.  As per usual I am asking you for your support on Patreon, where you can join a growing readership of OATMILK&COLD INSTANT, a biweekly column, plus live readings of original poetry and song.  There is a sliding scale of support that you can offer, anywhere from $1-$125, but the most important thing is that I’ll know you’re there. 

It is my great hope as a poet that the end of things will not spare the cheapness and misery of this age, which includes a social media that has rendered the hot medium of the internet piss-warm.

Please join us.

Yours,
TRAINER
AUSTIN TX

𝑆𝑈𝐵𝑆𝐶𝑅𝐼𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝑂 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑀 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑊𝐸𝐸𝐾

𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐸, 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 8𝑇𝐻 𝐹𝑈𝐿𝐿-𝐿𝐸𝑁𝐺𝑇𝐻 𝐶𝑂𝐿𝐿𝐸𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑇𝑅𝑌, 𝑁𝑂𝑊 𝐴𝑉𝐴𝐼𝐿𝐴𝐵𝐿𝐸 𝐴𝑇 𝐽𝐼𝑀𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅.𝑁𝐸𝑇

𝑆𝑈𝑃𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 𝑃𝐸𝑅𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐴𝐿 𝐽𝑂𝑈𝑅𝑁𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑀 𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻 𝐴𝐶𝐶𝐸𝑆𝑆 𝑇𝑂 𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑇𝑅𝑌 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺𝑆, 2 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑀𝑆 𝐴 𝑀𝑂𝑁𝑇𝐻, 𝐿𝐸𝑇𝑇𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐴 𝑊𝐸𝐸𝐾𝐿𝑌 𝐶𝑂𝐿𝑈𝑀𝑁

Shrieks of Paradise, Correspondence&Rails#65: For Poors

Hello My Precious Fellow,

I am a poet mostly write on social issues, some of my verses are,

For Poors:

11×17, jetblack and blood red ink letter pressed on 110lb canvas-white paper

For Those Who Spread Hatered In The Name Of God:

@jimtrainerpoet

from STRIDE, my new #poetry collection. #JIMTRAINER #STRIDE #yellowlarkpress #poem

♬ original sound – Jim Trainer

from STRIDE and available at jimtrainer.net

For Women Empowerment:

from All in the wind

My Entire Uploaded Poetry Collection Link Is: https://www.jimtrainer.net/shop

Subscribe Link: https://www.patreon.com/jimtrainer

If you like my work, then kindly as an appreciation give it a like,subscribe and share…. I will be grateful to you…

JMT

𝑆𝑈𝐵𝑆𝐶𝑅𝐼𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝑂 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑀 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑊𝐸𝐸𝐾

𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐸, 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 8𝑇𝐻 𝐹𝑈𝐿𝐿-𝐿𝐸𝑁𝐺𝑇𝐻 𝐶𝑂𝐿𝐿𝐸𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑇𝑅𝑌, 𝑁𝑂𝑊 𝐴𝑉𝐴𝐼𝐿𝐴𝐵𝐿𝐸 𝐴𝑇 𝐽𝐼𝑀𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅.𝑁𝐸𝑇

𝑆𝑈𝑃𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 𝑃𝐸𝑅𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐴𝐿 𝐽𝑂𝑈𝑅𝑁𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑀 𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻 𝐴𝐶𝐶𝐸𝑆𝑆 𝑇𝑂 𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑇𝑅𝑌 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺𝑆, 2 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑀𝑆 𝐴 𝑀𝑂𝑁𝑇𝐻, 𝐿𝐸𝑇𝑇𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐴 𝑊𝐸𝐸𝐾𝐿𝑌 𝐶𝑂𝐿𝑈𝑀𝑁

YOU’RE JUST THE GIRL OF MY DREAMS BUT IT SEEMS MY DREAMS NEVER COME TRUE

Last night I dreamed that you and I met in Poughkeepsie.  I was exhausted so before we went out, we lay down in a tent and made a little love (I’m not quoting classic rock—we didn’t go all the way but were mostly naked). You looked great.  I worried that it was too soon. We should’ve waited but you looked great naked and felt good too, for the rest of the dream.  Blazing the craziest pot. It was so icky I passed it to some square who wasn’t even in our circle, fishing down on the dock with his square buds, and he gave it right back. That could’ve been embarrassing but you watched on and I never felt embarrassed.  There was a kid there, a fan, told him we should play a show there sometime, good vibes between me and the kid. I don’t know where you got off to but I was walking down the street with my shirtsleeves rolled up and a wad of cash.  Guy asked if I wanted to buy a Chevy Nova for $100 and I did, sight unseen, but spent the rest of the dream looking for it, even put “Chevy Nova” into Maps, and wondered if I was a sucker though I wasn’t that concerned.

𝑆𝑈𝐵𝑆𝐶𝑅𝐼𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝑂 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑀 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑊𝐸𝐸𝐾

𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐸, 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 8𝑇𝐻 𝐹𝑈𝐿𝐿-𝐿𝐸𝑁𝐺𝑇𝐻 𝐶𝑂𝐿𝐿𝐸𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑇𝑅𝑌, 𝑁𝑂𝑊 𝐴𝑉𝐴𝐼𝐿𝐴𝐵𝐿𝐸 𝐴𝑇 𝐽𝐼𝑀𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅.𝑁𝐸𝑇

𝑆𝑈𝑃𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 𝑃𝐸𝑅𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐴𝐿 𝐽𝑂𝑈𝑅𝑁𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑀 𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻 𝐴𝐶𝐶𝐸𝑆𝑆 𝑇𝑂 𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑇𝑅𝑌 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺𝑆, 2 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑀𝑆 𝐴 𝑀𝑂𝑁𝑇𝐻, 𝐿𝐸𝑇𝑇𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐴 𝑊𝐸𝐸𝐾𝐿𝑌 𝐶𝑂𝐿𝑈𝑀𝑁

YOU GET SO ALONE

Met up in Yoga. An align class. Were at Brew&Brew for cortadoes after.
“So how’s it been.”
“Better Brother X.”
“Going to meetings?”
“Eh.”
“Yeah?”
“Had a hot date this weekend. Did LOADS of laundry. Hired a cleaning lady!”
“No shit.”
“Through an app. Put the job up, said it was 3 hours. 2 hours in, I’m at Little Brother’s. Feeding Else. Says she’s about done. ‘You vacuum?’ I ask her. She doesn’t answer. Would’ve grabbed Little Brother’s vac—been borrowing it for 3 years but I didn’t. Get to my apartment. Said she only booked 2 and her vac burned out. So I go back to Little Brother’s. Get his vac. Give Else a rub. Stop at HEB. Get a steak, potatoes, oven cleaner, hot mango, nuts, juice coffee and bubbly. Throw EVERYTHING in the bedroom closet. I’m doing laundry around the clock. She bailed.”
“Aw.”
“Yeah. So I text this gargantuan bitch. Tall. Been on her for years. We kissed back at the tail end of my drinking. But that’s it. She doesn’t respond. Text reading-girl. ‘Who is this?,’ after giving her number to her friend to give me. Ask her out. Takes 9 hours to get back to me. Says she’s got a kidney infection.”
“What.”
“Yeah. Go to bed late. Eat all the chocolate I bought for my date. The steak, potatoes, mushrooms, broccoli. Fall asleep watching this fucking show. Hospital drama. One of the nurses, she’s sleeping with the ghost of her former lover. He died of complications from a heart transplant. She’s having sex with him in the next room while her boyfriend’s there. I guess he’s there the ghost, I guess he’s there to take her to the other side.”
“Lol.”
“Yeah.”
“So…nothin?”
“Nothin. Do my caregiving shift the next day. 72. Parkinson’s. The sweetest. I massage him. Rub him down. He used to be a runner so he’s in good shape but way too thin.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. Come home and eat the rest of the steak and chocolate. The nurse figures out he’s there for her. She’s got melanoma. Stage 4.”
“Lol.”
“Yeah.”
We watched the people. In Yoga pants with their dogs and lives.
“It’ll change your life.”
“I know.”
“I promise.”
“I know. I wanna work in recovery so I need to get back. I just couldn’t relate.”
“There’s tons of meetings.”
“I know. Need to get in shape. Stop smoking. Get back out on the road. I just. Come back from tour and I feel like a person.”
“You love it.”
“I do. So I’m watching this show and a thunderstorm rolls in. Hank’s at the glass doors and I melt. I’m not lonely. I’m good.”
“Hanky boy!”
“HANKY BOY! Neighbor Dan texts me. ‘He there?’ Best cat in the world. We’re Hank’s two dads.”
“Lol.”
“Yeah.”

𝑆𝑈𝐵𝑆𝐶𝑅𝐼𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝑂 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑀 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑊𝐸𝐸𝐾

𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐸, 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 8𝑇𝐻 𝐹𝑈𝐿𝐿-𝐿𝐸𝑁𝐺𝑇𝐻 𝐶𝑂𝐿𝐿𝐸𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑇𝑅𝑌, 𝑁𝑂𝑊 𝐴𝑉𝐴𝐼𝐿𝐴𝐵𝐿𝐸 𝐴𝑇 𝐽𝐼𝑀𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅.𝑁𝐸𝑇

𝑆𝑈𝑃𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇 𝐽𝐼𝑀 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑅’𝑆 𝑃𝐸𝑅𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐴𝐿 𝐽𝑂𝑈𝑅𝑁𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑀 𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻 𝐴𝐶𝐶𝐸𝑆𝑆 𝑇𝑂 𝐿𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑇𝑅𝑌 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺𝑆, 2 𝑃𝑂𝐸𝑀𝑆 𝐴 𝑀𝑂𝑁𝑇𝐻, 𝐿𝐸𝑇𝑇𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐴 𝑊𝐸𝐸𝐾𝐿𝑌 𝐶𝑂𝐿𝑈𝑀𝑁