The picture on the last post looks like it is a lion roaring. He is actually yawning. As rumors circulate about us, it become apparent that we are the ones everyone wants to talk about. Are we such a threat? Whatever rivalry people think is out there makes us tired. We yawn. But, we would like it to stop.
The Trainwreck Union started as a bunch of people who were sick of the establishment choking and stifling our creativity. Old-school ways of doing things bore us. We don't want to be like everyone else. We have no use for established poetry groups or publications. We want to work with the people we think are cool and do the things we think are cool . . . have cool readings and publications that are for us and by us. The thing is, though, trying to get away from the establishment is like Jack running from the giant in the beanstalk. They want to crush us. The only golden egg we have is our zest for all that is cool about poetry, that is, what's left of it. That is always what talentless people want to smash to bits. They are jealous of our small successes.
We keep turning around and asking the drooling giant to stop trying to crush us, but it barrels forth. We plead with it to let us be us, and it only intensifies its insulting vituperations. Their blood lust is frightening. Where will the lies stop? When? We're not going away. People who we like like us and believe in us. The despicable efforts of the giant tick on our tails is ugly and petty. There is someone out there trying to destroy a really cool poetry group and the careers of those in it. New groups like ours are bound to draw negative attention from people who hold on to relics of the past. There are hurtful, bold-faced lies flying around about us; please don't believe everything you hear. It's likely just another parasite trying cut us at the knees.
let's stop talking about them. im no longer giving them my attention. in my little reality they do not exist. it is a nice place to be.
This blog actually deals less with "them," unless you consider the back-biting parasites of the world, the legions of haters, "them," than it does the anonymous mouthpiece that was gossiping about us on Mr. Ingersoll's site.
No more. I think of little posts like this as the salve, the balm, that I rub on the bites and sores "they" leave behind. They are a rash that is easily soothed with a little cathartic ranting.
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