Jim Trainer

Posts Tagged ‘fun fun fun fest’

Our Art

In Activism, alcoholism, anger, ANTI-WAR, Being An Artist, depression, getting sober, mental health, politics, PROTEST, self-help, sober, sobriety, straight edge, suicide, travel, yoga on June 15, 2017 at 12:35 pm

…when you’re sitting across from a doctor in New York and you know that you’re going to have to live out the rest of your life without drinking, and know that it’s entirely impossible to do, to almost 17 years without a drink-it’s impossible not to have some sense of gratitude.
Richard Lewis

You don’t just fucking fall into the abyss
.
-Vinne Paz, BSBB

without which
bones
are the only trace
of our being
having been
-Christia Madacsi Hoffman

Bury me in the colors that everybody hates, and I can take them with me.
Omar Lahyane

You are God hiding from yourself.
-Hafiz

Aho.  This could be some kind of epilogue to the “suicide blog” I wrote last week, drinking Americanos and Bui at the bar in Paradise.  I’m back from the island and healthier than ever but I’d still kill for a cigarette.  I’m in love with Yoga again and it’s a healthy love.  It’s devotional and daily.  I think I might’ve mistaken it for a panacea, and rightly so-the way it made me comfortable in my own skin, something I hadn’t felt for decades before that shiny Fall day in South Austin when I first went to a Yoga class.  Of this I don’t need to remind.  My time at Bat Manor is well documented.  Scroll back through the letters and screeds, the posts, rants and interviews for a Portrait of the Artist As A Beer Swilling Pussy Hound.  Somehow in the middle of all that anger and madness I found Yoga and it’s blossomed in me, and put me through the ranks from a pouch of Norwegian Schag and 6-pack a day to the odd and dysfunctionally sober writer before you.  I still fantasize about smoking, but my desire for bourbon in the a.m. has ceded.  I left it in the sand, out front the patio of my hut where I talked about alcoholism with my friend Jenni.

It’s back to Babylon and putting the time in, on the job and living out my end days in this commune, waiting for some warm thing to come along.  Politics are fucked, that’s nothing new, but I can’t in good conscience sit here in apathy, typing in my underwear with a cold cup of Italian Roast, and not reach out to my congressmen.  It’s the least I can do, especially considering I don’t do anything else politically, or actively, barring this blog and opening the channels of communication about sometimes feeling like you should end your life.  When Affordable Care first came through I really had to reevaluate my anarchistic beliefs about government and man, but that was back in the heady days of the New Century, when Obama was the man.  It was a gravy train.  I was high on the hog living here, sleeping with my Editor drinking whisky in the jar.  Then the other party moved in.  They fucking swarmed.  They had you behind them, The America, because you’re afraid of black people.  So they’re trying to take it away.  It’s business.  It ain’t a two party system but a system that either fucks you outfront or from the back and it used to be the best show in town before you voted in a pro wrestler to lead the free world.

As far as mental health and suicidal blogs are concerned, y’all really surprised me.  You get it and I’m never alone long, here at my outpost in the wasteland.  You understand being in pain so acutely the only way you can see out is the Great Exit.  Or, you don’t, and frankly, some of youse’s ideas about depression and suicide are as archaic and ineffective as bloodletting.  Shame on you if you’ve ever blamed someone for mental illness and what the fuck is wrong with you?  You know that’s their game, right?  Mike Pence would love to try and fix you if you love anything other than a hetero partner you call Mother by your side at all times to keep you from getting The Gay.  Christ.  Sorry.  Ain’t even been back a week and anger’s rising, the angst and ire, my friends and fuel, flooding the veins like a fix.  Now I’m at a loss and I don’t know what to tell you, Brother.  Except this…

Shit’s fucked.  We know this.  People like Mike Pence and Tucker Carlson are walking around breathing the same air as me and you.  But in the other hemisphere they’re learning that empty patriotism and tired American tropes are deadly, Sister-taking out villages full of mothers and children who, like you, only want to live and see another day on this shrinking black ball.  If you can get away then you must.  Disengage. Get the fuck out of dodge and get the world off a you.  I’ve pulled myself, back from the brink, and I’m here to tell the tale and do what I can.  You’re not alone.  You’re one of us.

And if you’re one of them, well, I’ll see you on the street motherfucker.

Shrieks of Paradise, Correspondence&Rails#21: Fun Fun Fun Fest 2009

In Being A Writer, media, Music, music journalism, Writing on February 10, 2015 at 5:28 pm

1500 North Street#A
Austin, TX 78756
512-203-6288

10/26/09

Britt Walford
Editor
Squirrel Bait Magazine
squirrelbaitmagazine.com

Fun Fun Fun…won’t get gooled again…contact for bands and
performers…PR contacts…Advice

Britt!-Compared to Austin City Limits (ACL) and South By Southwest
(SXSW), this one should be a blast.

ACL blew through town weekend before last.  Austin
may boast itself as the live music capital of the world, this once
homegrown concert series featured headliners Ben Harper and Pearl Jam.
Plus, fans had to deal with something called “dillo dirt”-a
combination of compost and treated sewage used as fertilizer for the
fresh laid grass in Zilker Park, and the incessant rain we been
under since the summer broke.  But-what would a music festival be
without over-hyped bands and mud?  Let’s not forget the port-o-potty
situation either.

The horrors of ACL are nothing compared to the notorious South by
Southwest Music Conference, which I of course will be pitching to you
shortly.  To prime you, just imagine a music festival as big as SXSW;
featuring on average of over 1,800 bands for two warm&crazy weeks
in March.  Now adjust yourself to the reality that although SXSW is hosted
by a city with over 200 venues and an estimated 1,990 musicians, it is
not kind or supportive of local acts.  Once you discover that the
sponsors of SXSW are PepsiCo and Miller Lite, it will perhaps make a
little more sense to you.  And if it doesn’t make sense then perhaps
you’ll understand that the fuck-ton of traffic that descends on this
already small&congested town like a nightmare hipster-parade is
not okay even if some out of town band does get signed.

I would hope that a musicfestival created by those in “the scene”
such as Fun Fun Fun Fest wouldn’t try to insult me with something
as mundane as Ben Harper for$145.   I’d like to catch some sets
from some great independent bands and see what these punkers
can do with a music festival.

Rest assured that between Cayte and me you will have a story on your
hands.  Port-o-Potty’s-Ahoy!

your Writer,
Jim Trainer
Austin, TX

FFF 2009