Jim Trainer


War&Mouthpiece: Punk Rock, Poetry&Peace

In Uncategorized on March 25, 2014 at 9:30 am

Pre-gaming on the roof. Where else? Construction bols downstairs raising the foundation of the mansion. There’s a high snap in the air and what could it be but Spring, here at the end of blustery bastard March? Yesterday during therapy I had a gorgeous and buxom vision. I had to tell him to wait and put the phone down. I waved to her, at first. Then I said ‘hi’ in a high-pitched voice that made me feel like a teenager.

Besides this wash of a cold, wet wind this morning and the excitement that sailor weather always brings, I’m in a good mood. I got word this morning that my copy of No Slam Dancing, No Stage Diving, No Spikes An Oral History of the Legendary City Gardenshas shipped and is on its way to the mansion. It’d be most auspicious if it indeed arrived today as writer Amy Yates Weulfing will be on the Daily Show With John Stewart tonight. Oh yeah, it’ll be her and former Austinite and punk-rock freakazoid Gibby Haynes.
Aho. In my line of work today is what you call a Hot One-there’s work to be done and not enough hours in the day to get to it all, nor enough drugs to help, nor any other life for me, Brothers&Sisters. This is the shit. Real media, real time. Transmission Aho.
Yep most days the mid-line, as you’ve heard me write before. Although far from ideal, assuredly better than the days you see me on here dippin’ into the codeine blue. Melancholy shits of days when I give up with a Bloody before noon and hang a sign on the office door that reads NO NEWS TODAY. FUCK RIGHT OFF. Let’s face it, shit can get grim.
But days like today are why I got into this business. More than enough news that means something to me&my People, and from my vantage point right here on the front-lines.
Ok the plane is still missing. And Russia’s committed the finest land grab since Iraq I. And Obama’s butthurt and righteous and here comes the fucking freedom talk; rhetoric clogging up liberal media outlets like CNN when I go downstairs in the mansion to smoke out my boss.
World Events bum me out, or rather-the reportage of World Events really gets me down. Good thing we have Peace Correspondent Brother Don Bajema on the masthead here at GFtT. He’ll be weighing in on all this WWIII beeswax.
My political stance is a re-immersion into art. Museums, books, theaters, music-back into the physical world of exertion and challenge.
-Brother Don Bajema
Peace Correspondent, GFtT
Leave it to the pros, Brother. Eat the Rich and Fuck The Rest.

Oh, and all you poets out there-I want to hear from you. April is National Poetry Month and if I have my way there’ll be 30 new poems up on GFtT by May 1. Be some fine ammo in the stockpile and right on time as I plan to be gone by then, off and down the good red road to Olema, Shephardstown and Hostile City. I KNOW YOU HAVE A POEM. So tell the world. Make ’em know! And send it off to:

the Editor, GFtT

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart
on Comedy Central (check your local listings for times)

the Editor, GFtT

Spring has sprung. It’s sailor weather.

c’mon baby eat the rich
put the bite on the son-of-a-bitch


the Iconoclast





“Punk’s not dead, it just sucks now.”

In Uncategorized on February 24, 2014 at 4:38 pm

Life is waiting for the next thing to happen. Am I right, Brother? Might as well sideline it with a Michelada on the roof of a Dead Confederate palace and wait for the phone to ring or the mail to arrive. No use hopping in the CRV and heading downtown looking for kicks with every other hapless fool in the Live Music Capital of the World. Right?
I call bullshit on the lot of ya, but mostly on myself. I like a good Michelada in the afternoon. Yes the hated afternoon, when the young promise of morning is gone and the dreaded hammer of night is yet to fall.
Ian MacKaye was right about, well, everything. Time waits for no man and if you want to do something right you’ve got to do it yourself. Do you think the punk rock movement had time for Micheladas in the warm Texas sunshine?
I’ve been hit too hard, I’ve seen too much
-Bob Dylan
Tomorrow night we’ll be listening to Brother Sicko and Sister Amy Yates-Weulfing talk about No Slam Dancing, No Stage Diving, No Spikes: An Oral History of the Legendary City Gardens, so pull up a chair. Come on in and learn something for a change. I tell you good&cherished Reader cuz I am old enough to know-there used to be an underground. And it hummed along vibrantly in cities like D.C. and San Francisco and Los Angeles. But, you knew that already, didn’t you? Well, what about Philly?
Philadelphia-the town that gave Tom Hanks AIDS.
-David Yow
Philadelphia, where they shoot ya fer yer shoes. Heh. Yeah but ol Hostile City cain’t hold a candle to Trenton. You know, Trenton Makes, The World Takes? Yeah, that Trenton. Stanchioned down the foul river in that great backwoods quagmire of a state they have the nerve to call “New”, fucking Jersey.
I saw some shit at City Gardens, back in the day, heh. Indeed. I saw Gorilla Biscuits, Judge and Sick of it All there one summer night, back in 1989. That would be before Nirvana for all you teeny-boppers out there and before it all turned to shit. At least for me it did. I had to turn my back on the underground and head for greener pastures. But there ain’t a thing wrong with punk rock, Brother. Except that it’s all over now and there has been a no more profound or lasting social movement of the Twentieth Century. Aho but the Twentieth Century is over too and you can’t even see Thompson’s high-water mark from here (although my generation never really could to begin with). It’s gone, Brother. The way of the rhino. Ah but don’t too wise. In the New Century legions of American kids are recording, pressing, distributing, promoting and marketing their own bands. It’s all shit but that doesn’t matter.
I mean, for all I know or care the flame still burns but-there was a time!
Good Goddamn there was a time when it meant something. Christ it could mean your life in my high school or on the streets of Trenton. Back when there was such a thing as Nazi Skinheads and our music shocked the squares to their core so irrevocably and more profoundly than any whiteman blues band of the Flower Power Generation ever could. My point is that punk rock showed ’em how. Made ’em know. Punk rock didn’t need the music industry 40 years before Steve Jobs gave you GarageBand and rock&roll somehow became retro and cool again. Fuck you.

Whoops. I’m out of beer. This rant is over. Tune in tomorrow night and turn off your radio. Pop punk erodes your street cred and shrinks your testicles. It’s got to mean something to the folks back home, n’aw mean? You don’t? Oh well, whatever, never mind.
Dying poet, hack journalist, antiquated troubadour. Farewell to Armor, Jim Trainer’s full-length collection of poetry is out now through WragsInk and available on Amazon.com. Trainer currently lives in Austin, TX, where he serves as contributor, curator, editor and publisher of Going for the Throat, a semi-daily publication, at jimtrainer.wordpress.org. Plato was right.