The following is a guest post by Jim Trainer. Click on the link below to follow him on Patreon and sign up for his Poem of the Week.
Any sufficiently advanced incompetence is indistinguishable from malice.
I don’t want to throw in with them anymore or even check in and see how remarkably little or original passes through their pea-brains. Chalk social media up to more of the trouble with Jimbo and add it to the list with anything close to public consensus. I like small rooms and hot lights, coffee shops of creaking wood and mortar, and I’m in love with communicating with you this way—one on one and from behind the microphone of this platform, as it were.
Yo. Trainer here. How’s your epoch? I’m torn from the lengthy torpor, poking my head from the morass and rejoining the doomed brand of the failing human race. I’m wont to agree with Steve Earle—kinda digging this global warming thing and anyway relieved to learn my old boss lost 6 people of an 8 person team, relieved to get word on the socials about the hardcore scene aping normalcy and even embracing fascist attitudes, and happy to see a dude in a dress at the Round Rock 4th of July Fair, as segregated and diabetic as it was. Some dolt in a baseball cap and cargoes with Aryan-blue eyes tried to nudge and wink me into his conspiracy, and well, I wasn’t havin’ it. Uncle Black Flag tee came over to break it up but by then dude was a pasty-white mess. I took my funnelcakes and camped on the black side of the fair and otherwise had a mighty fine close to one of our last weekends in the Anthropocene. My days are free and easy, comrade and I rest in the true Wisdom of Karma. It’s got nothing to do with me. Folks are dying days after posting their plandemic nonsense. Marjorie Green is closer to an indictment than she’s ever been and while the fates are throwing dice it’d be a charm for the next building in Florida to collapse on top of Governor DeSantis, and anyone he loves or cares about. Truth is he’s in his own Hell. It just sucks that others have to be victimized by it. I take little faith that dude just ain’t as cool as he thinks he is as he’s the fucking guy reopening everything and has the say-so on curriculum and the general morale and decorum of the worst state in the U.S. barring Arkansas. It’s striking how well that choad could fit, right into the hardcore scene, an off-shoot of the most relevant socio-political movement of the 20th Century. Couldn’t you just see The Ronald broing down and mugging like a hard guy in front of the felled walls of the Surfside, talking ’bout the movement and staying united? Don’t ask me, I left the hardcore scene before I was even in it. It was supposed to be about thinking for yourself but time and the lie run in smaller circles the older you get. You either live it, or try and learn, or end up playing the same downtuned cheap-metal you’ve been playing since High School. As long’s the gang vocals back you, you’ll never have to look at the cause of your anger and spend your life reacting and missing the whole fucking point.
I’m no better but I’m alone so there’s no one to tell me otherwise. I beat the same 3 tired rooms daily and put off writing more than any other activity. I think about exercise, which could technically be an exercise, and re-addict myself to coffee and cigarettes while staring out the glass doors. A wasp got in this morning and I took it as a bad sign but it’s action and it beats the swarms of lizard on the plank fence keening an eye on our end all last summer. Last summer was an aneurism even if I gladly lost so many cop-worshipping dick-for-brains on the socials. It got hotter and hotter and now it rains all the time. Chauvin’s been sentenced and as COVID exposures dip you get the feeling that despite the conversation and sloganeering, justice and right and truth will prevail. That’s how I feel at least but either way I’m not doing my part if it means I should elevate the nutter discourse to conversation or God forbid debate. I’m relieved about the end of the world and not for reasons of being right or just desserts. I’m glad I can have a conversation based on reason, that I’m surrounded with folks who’re glad to traipse the thorny path of truth. I’ve got health insurance and I’m vaxxed. Gigs are trickling in and best of all is I’m writing again. I couldn’t hang thinking of my personal journalism and otherwise anti-essay writing pitched up next to somebody’s so-and-so or fucking opinion for cry eye. I shut down Fascism deftly, in all its whiffs and odors now. I don’t try to reason with them and take their very existence as a threat. I’m not condoning violence but I’m not considering discourse or conversation either. It’s punkrock time, Brothers and Sisters. Time to disabuse your manners and any mores of decency and take their vague slouching toward authoritarianism as an affront, every hint and subtle innuendo as a blow to counter with a punch to their throats. They lost and they’ll continue to. Resign to fighting them, not persuading or convincing them, and it won’t matter who wins. Live for the fight, Reader! It’ll charge these end days and give you a reason. Plus I’ve got your back. I learned how in the hardcore scene but punk is an ethos. We know who we are. We’re the bearers of common sense which is what, if anything, I’d like you to take from this missive. Don’t honor an honorless man. Rush Limbaugh is dead. Don’t feed the Nutters. I’m telling you it’s something to live for, because I do. I’m back in the game, smoking Export As and writing again, having sex at the end of the world and living down my career as a Personal Journalist with more to report on than ever. Life was good but now it’s over but the end could be even better—especially if it’s the end of all this folly and nonsense. Chicken Little was right. Let’s fight and die together, for love and reason, beauty and ire.Yours,
Jim Trainer is a poet, publisher, writer and performer. He blogs weekly at Going For the Throat and writes a monthly column for Into The Void magazine. 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 letterpressed and perfectly bound-by-hand collection of poetry every year through Yellow Lark Press. KEEP BLEEDING IN THE ANNO FINEM is his 7th and an anthology of the 10 years he’s spent writing at Going For the Throat. Trainer is the progenitor of Stand Up Tragedy™and performs regularly throughout the United States.