Jim Trainer

Posts Tagged ‘10th&McKean’

Celebrating National Poetry Month

In Uncategorized on April 4, 2013 at 3:25 pm

People say I’m crazy. They have no fucking idea. I’m out of my balloons, as Bobby Lemons would say. Good old Bobby Lemons. The Mayor of 10th street. The years I spent in South Philly were a mad slipshod blurring of the lines between love&death. I was crazy enough to live there and I was crazy enough to leave.  Aho. I pulled stakes and closed a chapter of my life that will always  affectionately and ruefully be remembered as “The Never Ending Summer of Evil Kanevil.”
Now I live in Paradise.  Sometimes you got to rattle your chains. Am I right, Brother?

A little bit of madness goes a long way and a lot of madness goes nowhere fast. At this late stage of the game, some of us are taking our Crown while the rest are just taking shit. Oh well.  Had I not been there it would all be for naught and you probably wouldn’t even be reading this blog.
I miss the days of amour fou and ruin.  It’s amazing the things you can accomplish with the single-pointed focus of dying before the age of 30.  But then 30 hits and you take a look around.  There comes this feeling of gratitude.  You get to the top of the mountain and suddenly you see the chain.

This blog ain’t about being crazy on the streets of Philadelphia.  I’m tempted to touch on the particular and startling lunacy of a journalist who reports on the news with a story about how he couldn’t give a fuck about the news-but it only gets worse and I’ll spare you.  I ain’t goin down that rabbit hole.  I’m in a good mood today and it’s National Poetry Month.

My point is, after battle, after War, after trivial half-love and virtues that needed to be proven, we rise.  We discover a no more worthy adversary.  We find that despite our bitching and moaning and haggling and hustling down the beat ends of dirty streets, there really isn’t anything standing in our way.  I’m mostly speaking to those of us living in the First World (as if anyone else is reading this).  Whatever misery it’s been honey, and whatever was so heavy Jack, put it down.  Come take your Crown and sit with us  in the high rooms.
There’s room for us all.
-Hot Snakes

Rattle your chains.  Get free and die laughing.  Or, peck-peck-peck your way through the lead tumblers of the late night, like I do.  Send me a poem and I’ll post it.

Because fuck ‘em that’s why.

Put your motherfucking game face on and read some real killers this month.
Josh Britton

We’re all mad here.
The Boy Bandit King
billy the kid

In Uncategorized on February 3, 2011 at 10:13 pm

I started this journal when I lived in South Philly.  I called it Cream&Sugar.  We lived across the street from Bobby Lemons’ shop.  He sold groceries, Christmas trees and coffee.  Plenty of cream plenty of sugar.

We weren’t deep South Philly. We were thankfully far from the stadium, far from that once cruel cohabitation of Italian immigrants and oil refineries.  We were at 10th&McKean.

Me and my roommates moved to South Philly when the honeymoon on Antique Row was over.  I was heartbroke and hellbent and we all suffered.  I took my shots and now I got the Philly in me.  I’d rather have the Philly in me than be in Philly that terrible summer with a Nissan Sentra and a bottle of Xanax.

It was the Year of the Cock and I’d fell out of love.  Me and Evil Kanevil couldn’t quite get back in the saddle.  He couldn’t make that ride on a cold October day in MN and I took my final ride to the slower-lower on New Years Eve 07.

The right people payed.  We all payed.  Those guidos from Ocean City who broke my nose are up a foul river from the good life.  That fucking woman got back together with her football player husband like nothing had happened.  2 out of 3 of those catering companies went under and we’re still waiting on the third.

Philly’s got a dirtiness to it that is weird and strange.  There are plenty of vacant lots and cold shells of warehouses for someone to get lost in and never be heard from again.   Just ask the Franklin Slasher or Gary Heidnik.

I was riding high between addiction and madness.  Even when I was out of my balloons I was lucid.  There is a  difference between lucid and clear but neither is what you want when you’re living in Philly.  It was paranoia theatre at its finest and most certainly mutually assured destruction.

I live in Austin now.  It was 80degrees on January 31.  I go down to the bario store to get my coffee.  Plenty of cream plenty of sugar.

Halloween, West Philly 1999

Halloween, West Philly 1999