maybe this is about my inward war against selling, which is a war for my sovereignty over…my father? still? no, can’t be, don’t tell me…

Portrait of Arnold Schoenberg by Egon Schiele

management: developing people through work (isn’t/aren’t God and desire my managers? I work according to divine plan without artificial scarcity or scenarios to avoid; nature doesn’t hurry yet everything is accomplished; perhaps I am trying to wring out coercion or obedience for fear of the alternative rather than doing things only for pleasure and for the redemption, the ‘earn anew what your fathers bequeathed to you’ aspect…this is above temporary numbers, and in fact one feels the fear of not meeting one’s own needs…so, this may be a long romance with self-sabotage, but for the sake of getting underneath it

the style of being in trouble may be the only thing that survives ’til tomorrow: is your desperation interesting? Cinematic? A real person trying to climb up and out of Gmail/marketing/monetizing/fitting in/getting OK hell seems to be the form calling to my soul ~ am I here to liberate my similarly stained, strained and stranded peers?

talent hits a target no one else can hit ~ genius hits a target no one else can see; also, no one can know what it costs (or cost you) to dare to steal from the greats and now represent them ~ digestion…is an economics of entitlement … online, in the media, we’re all hungry for digestion and absorption—it’s sexual desire, it’s a desire to see our name and picture go high; some are happy playing supporting roles; I am not here to advocate for the Genius, for I think it only leads to pride which leads to a fall; and even if it is all a glorious oscillation, I can’t quit trying to win, and the lack of winning leads to a stalemate, and one gets older; time wins

new old name: oh yeah i was gonna rename this too

i suppose we’re all saved by being pretty mediocre and tired, and

i’m afraid it’s all a competition of shoehorning wholenesses over one another, trying to reign supreme, so i think i quit and retired from the game of Apparently Winning long ago, seeing where Gmail Jail leads ~ here and now, being more tired, wretched, bitter, and demanding other young people go through the same hell, and we become the terrible older generation…ah, ah, so much to reverse, this can only be poetry and brightness; I try to anchor on the ground as a man, then my consciousness only ascends higher to God, as Anaïs Nin (blessed auntie!) said her hair was being pulled by the stars again; I will not professionalize or amalgamate! I am gone, gone, gone! A musician onstage, demonstrating immersion and annihilation, hosting my soul being called up to the Majors (there: baseball, a solid metaphor for the man of arts and letters; it’s got design and engineering, it’s got perfection…

but wait, if i include that, i have to include this

old title: maybe everything I can tell you about work

was gonna call this ‘market animals’ ~ market sheep, market cow, market goat, market pig, sold by the pound, buzzed to the flesh (was also gonna tell Carla Gannis that the game of online is called Whack-a-Man, because another man wants you to read…dot jay-peg, Mr. Jay Peg, a list of listicles looking for round hole, a Her-shaped hole; I think poorly/badly about gender dynamics; I don’t edit, I open up, I trust the volcanic eruption and the guitar solo starts; I can’t help but fleck my academic work [see how I freely bogart your/their sacred words? I steal, a great poet, G.P. Lewis great poet Louis XIII and Versailles, his MacBook copacetic, in perfect hors deurves (devotes!) (spelled wrong! Horse d’Erves—no! What is it? I pledge allegiance to ensure my childhood and freedom from boring adult strictures and gavel-bangs, for all they can do is judge, say Yes or No, say “this doesn’t fit; this is askance,” well look at that, the askance police with another mystery solved, score one for the good team. Not.

adding something for a friend

“pockets of work that are essentially unmeasured or unique enough”
— so then: it’s about your eyes to see; having a sense of what can be done given the information available; Looking is divine, Sensing is everything, Understanding (yes, i’m just in love with these words, in love with reality, in love with 15-hour days of health and work and Love, that missing ingredient, the thing that makes life bearable, onscreen trying to win every battle, make every number go the right way…

he said we’re in the same boat; it’s true ~ music keeps us going

[lost my train of thought; will find another one; this and all my writing is simply a photograph of awareness; it could be mined and milked for knowledge but i don’t dare impose boundaries or negation; if there is something it could be, i won’t stop it—i let the lake flow anywhere; like my mind, it will encompass the world

all this leads to where you want to go, and contemplating what happens once you’re there ~ but some things are so juicy you have to go—what is love telling you to do right now? (See, work was meant to surrender to love, by nightfall

(GPL 9/13/22; proof of being here, proof of I thought you were worth it

do you want to think about X meaning through words meaning reading and writing and organizing a point of view or an audience or a listening event (a poem is called a listening event

see i cascade down possibilities, this might make me useless, maybe i can’t help like i thought i could; i used to lecture, i used to Know, maybe i fell too hard into poetry and philosophy and now give free reign to my Thoughts and instead of writing for you i start with you then write Past you—see, another double entendre, another choice to make; playing with myself is the Choice Olympics (see, that could be a story; why double back? Why cut my journey short? Why not go to the far reaches of inside my skull, follow this line of thinking all the way to the end, a train that need never return, a train that can’t get lost ~

*

what this post is keeps changing

“When I’m in writing mode for a novel, I get up at four a.m. and work for five to six hours. In the afternoon, I run for ten kilometers or swim for fifteen hundred meters (or do both), then I read a bit and listen to some music. I go to bed at nine p.m.

I keep to this routine every day without variation. The repetition itself becomes the important thing; it’s a form of mesmerism. I mesmerize myself to reach a deeper state of mind.

But to hold to such repetition for so long — six months to a year — requires a good amount of mental and physical strength. In that sense, writing a long novel is like survival training. Physical strength is as necessary as artistic sensitivity.”

*

I remember this, before Ankit Shah nominated me for Clubhouse, and late one night I got to talking to a stranger and I realized I could recruit readers and editors live and they could click through and read posts quickly and give me feedback real-time, it was a magical discovery but I have done nothing with it, and might do nothing with real-time except continue to dive deep into my own voice and write it endlessly in a cataract of apparent productivity, sounding sometimes like a real philosopher, a lover of wisdom, a mystic and shaman plunging into his own depths to listen hard to the song of the universe, letting go of all preconceived notions about what my life ought to be… (6/23/22, adding to old works as if I am ever going to be clicked. Maybe I accept this is all just practice, and the true thing to do is the next thing we say; maybe art and writing are just practice for living, but of course living is fodder for writing and art; maybe the loop never ends; but what about finished work and money? What about paying rent? What about worrying about there not being enough water, food, shelter? I used to be afraid; I have been governed by fear of not being good enough—I am fearless now, and want nothing, and will simply take time to keep writing my interminable scrawl however little sense it makes and however unsexy it is, and however obscure and unemployable it makes me; when I am writing it, it seems of infinite depth; the sunny world outside the glass window shows me time isn’t going anywhere, there is no rush, nothing needs to happen, yet the earth is warming and the employment and income numbers are not good, climate refugees will soon be fleeing and arriving on our shores, We being the viewers of FOX News who are going to vote No on immigration, because we are afraid and unhonored and will put stronger locks on our doors, buy more guns, enforce boundaries, say No, continue blazing our tirade against anything separating us from convenience, ease and being left alone (6/23/22)

*

how to be on fire from within, trample the image of your father, become the father; kill the father; save the father; america is daddy issues on speed and exile, command and control — this is poetry approaching truth, approximating the feeling of driving fast and barely in control, holding both possibilities at once: death and success; always both rise in the throat and become scream and music at once — who sells what? who owns what? the gnawing of fear must become something other than self-destruction; oh, thrashing at the edge of this wall, aching with want for closure, for an ending, but all that ends is nerves: we are intolerably open, more than notes, more than information and pictures;

oh well let’s make this the corpus

i like this because it says become what you need; for a man, becoming is the answer

and of course ORDER UPON ORDER (who said that? Someone I looked up the other day. Anyway, the next order of business is:

Goethe said only incomplete knowledge is creative

incapacity, tenderness, rage, sorrow, lust, memory, refusal, anger, shame

humans paint with color, the hands of a clock with bleach

now i know what things are, how things work 3/27/22 now the scroll of time simply unfolds, and these are my/your/our active years, years active, like a volcano; a long stretch of short time before death

solvency demands a worthy government

so who is your enemy? who is the boss? it’s an open question being asked at the top of the hierarchy; possession is now seen as ridiculous, absurd; the social sugars have melted

Wendell Berry was right:

displays of loyalty rule the television / it’s a fun game to play: daring to disobey and invent a new way of thinking, being original; surrendering to progress, committing to living alone at the black edge of the unknown, thrashing into virgin forest with your kissed and sharpened knife

running a business sounds very hard, failing artfully is a nice fall downward into oblivion and unknowing *but* at least I don’t need to read the Wall Street Journal and I can forget all those company names I used to know ✌️ but I think work is interesting: it’s a site to become yourself, a war zone; OK, here’s what I remember

I apply my reading, writing and thinking life to creative entrepreneurs as a coach and content curator, helping with ideas, strategy, branding, communication and leadership through mutual understanding and continuous dialogue.

A few key reading materials: Ben Casnocha, “10,000 Hours With Reid Hoffman”; specifically, the idea that if you can give a powerful person critical feedback, you can earn access and mindshare:

I’ve realized I live on several “planets” at once, which is reflected in my reading and writing: tech and VC; poetry and literature; the coastal, liberal media elite; the working creative class who has their ass to the wall right now against landlords and cost of living yet every day fight on; the old guard who doesn’t quite understand Gen Z and either needs to lead, follow, or get the f*ck out of the way, to quote VC I quite admire Mark Suster, in his post “Lead, Follow or Get the F*ck Out of the Way”:

He also wrote a gem called “The One Word That Should Not Be In Any Entrepreneur’s Vocabulary.” Spoiler alert: the word is “No”:

Another key reading: Ryan Holiday on Shane Parrish’s podcast where he talks about his consulting work: $1,500/hr, no execution, just ideas, thinking and strategy. Now he is an uber-intellectual, has read all of the Stoics and has a brilliant reading and writing life. Surely a 10-hour-a-day workday:

I love creative work and pushing against boringness and bullshit. This excerpt from Cal Newport’s book Deep Work, a Medium post called “I Can’t Stop Dreaming of Eudaimonia,” about the ideal workplace and way of working, is really my vibe:

but i am not that excited about gathering with people to see what can happen; i prefer to go into my privacy and see what’s happening inside; this is obviously my task, it requires only time; others could possibly see what I am doing, read my links, read me all the way to the bottom, and say Yes, He Is Worth Supporting, his following his own thread is going somewhere; I have left the safe shore and am on the way to discovering something pure and original about what it is to be a human being ~ it is sort of a forgone conclusion at this point; I simply go wherever it makes it easy for me to relax and be at ease and write. It is not going anywhere solid, not to some knowable or nameable finished product; I do not know how I am going to go on into the future or what I have to say now and next, yet here I am, keeping going, maybe doing nothing else but writing my name; I’m not thrilled to be part of a community of writers or artists anymore, I prefer the lonesomeness of solitary encounter with the recording medium, which is why I am a writer; when I am not writing, I am taking care of myself so I can keep writing; I also like to sing, perform, but only for an asynchronous audience; oh, I am deliciously impossible, and someday someone will burn away all the unnecessary fluff and will leave only gleaming fragments, but God, there are so many writers who keep churning up a bunch of crap — maybe it took all those years to learn that indeed I write about nothing, I write out of the unknown in a time when the known has become extinct—all the good stuff is on the other side of legibility. I am not aiming to put these sentences or paragraphs in the right place. There is an intelligence and wisdom in what I am doing; writing a newsletter is not the thing to do; no one needs another website or newsletter or magazine article or white paper, there is already too much to read, too many voices to keep up with—yet my pointless endurance creates column inches; I am going on an unbroken spree of remembering and creating, even if it doesn’t sound or smell like Product, it is undeniably Material, Real and On The Internet, Right Here glistening in your plethora of neurons in bunches like carrots bundled under a tent at the farmers’ market

*

the eudaemonia thing above reminds me of what Buster Benson told me lately (after he told me diligently repeatedly for a year or two/three the same variation, bless his patience) that You have to make a thing, show up *and* Invite people, then be there, to be Worthy of Them; your own attention (which you’ve labored to make sacred) is now a Place for others to Gather and improve Theirs

to know this is to want to know it more, to give yourself over and be called to sharing, preserving

“But there is no winning. So what’s to be done? Say who you are, really say it in your life and in your work, tell someone out there who is lost, who is not yet born, someone who won’t be born for 500 years.”

so you go to war against selling, which is a war against your refusal to protect yourself and keep yourself alive, which is a psychic wrestling match against the demons and the voices, and your task begins and is preserved here in amber while you live (before you die) ~ you trying to corral and emerge superior over the voices…

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Geoffrey Lewis

Geoffrey Lewis

filling the blinking cursor with whatever comes up, letting the leviathan lead me to glory, singing popular music covers on video on Smule too, speaker, rambler