un poco de flame

Geoffrey Lewis
4 min readNov 23, 2022

wait until they hear about atemporality for the creative artist

i let ’em have it, for the culture:

and what i enjoy about typos in my own work is, it raises the question, why is an error an emergency? Who are we performing for? The people we didn’t think we’d fit in with are gone, moved on; there is no more enemy, which is terrible news for the catastrophizer who needs an object for their sadness, leftover childhood, not having gotten the support or admiration they needed or deserved; it is very sad, how badly we need security and how we haven’t found a way except by swearing allegiance to violence we construct little art temples to forget about, ignore, not pay the psychic costs off; yes, outsourcing the psychic costs of awareness, that is the economy—perhaps because most don’t want to have to think, or acknowledge that no one has answers, there is nothing solid anywhere, it’s just somebody making it up, ill-informed, their best is never good enough for standard and spec, yet planes take off and land; we are human yet we do it——is it amazing? Are you still mad? It’ll take a lifetime to figure out who you’re really mad it, why God is not enough, why life is a shipwreck.

what else are you gonna eat this morning? other people’s ads and ploys for inclusion? i’m gonna get mine, make my name and face the one you see — — to be saved from the market, which is a black boot stamping on a human face forever and ever and ever ~ no one is good enough, yet, all are saved somehow; i write only about my demise, my exclusion; it is no longer true, i climbed the mountain and have the gross tonnage of artworks on paper to prove it ~ the long quest was only simply: don’t abandon yourself; you become the one who keeps going — it isn’t about being chosen, it’s about you not giving up on yourself; now, who to share the story and the stage with? Where to go with having won? Do it again, from scratch? Nobody to show; everyone trembling to show and get seen; no one qualified to relieve you but you — — this is Here Comes Everybody Volume Two! Now everyone is here to get Rescued, Cured, Protected, Financed, Resourced, to keep following their intuition; what conservative Congress would possibly justify or condone all this rascal behavior? These kids in the “creator economy” extending their childhood, making jokes on the internet, finding furry friends, delighting in splendor — how dare they? Go to the factory and suffer! Go make something go! Go play a role in the game! LABOR! CAPITAL! Crunch crunch crunch. Let’s make it a song for employees to sing; and they’re employees because they’re terrified of the weather; they outsourced their risk to a Corporation, and now the Lawyers and Bankers run the cities, but really what could run it is a Grand Massive Release of sexual tension, violent urges — oh, all the anxiety and depression and rage and grief and sadness stored up the last few years wound tight like a spring, if only you knew what could be unleashed, sirs and madams, trembling behind a perfectly manicured social media dashboard: your armor, you’ve insulated yourself. Now the truth is here and knocking, won’t go away; the kids don’t want to suffer nor should they have to; they don’t have to; it could be rearranged. Now, fight and thrash and kick and protest, for your comfort and insulation are evaporating. WINTER IS COMING for those who haven’t embraced and given themselves to the throb. The throb; listen — it’s everywhere. Slow down; eat carefully, close and open your eyes, stop breathing for three seconds ~ we all possess the dream and the pattern, you are it, we are it, she is all of it, her desire organizes the universe of spectral incisions, leaps and bounds, hurricanes and reciprocity, you can’t make a mistake if you let go and fall in to be changed by life, by awareness, and their fierce need to wake you up, WAKE YOU UP, from a nice long slumber, IT’S ALWAYS DAY ONE, it’s only day one, this is the end of the dream and the beginning of death, but it’s gentle, it’s been her the whole time, it’s the clock; all your measuring yourself and not being good enough, the whipping, the flagellation, the thinking too much at night, the faked enthusiasm, the drainage you couldn’t tell anyone ~ all is welcome now: saying it is your only job now; you don’t have to suffer or worry, but you have to be honest and give it all away.