It’s been a Jeffrey Lewis week. Heard and loved “Anxiety Attack” at the weekend, then went to the new Zine shop in Boro where I spotted a comic drawn by a Jeffrey Lewis, which I thought was an odd little coincidence, but then it turns out it’s the same Jeffrey Lewis, and he self-publishes comics as well as writing songs about what happens in my head. Then I get to Peg Powler gallery on Tuesday night to do a bit of faffing with The Story of Grass exhibition, and Rebecca says: “Hey, Gus chose the music that’s playing. It’s Jeffrey Lewis, have you heard of him?”. So… lots of Jeffrey Lewisness in my life just now. He seems like an interesting dude.

I really like this song because it’s funny and it asks some good questions about the kind of life I have found myself leading.

I was thinking this on the L train, intent on bursting my own bubble
How long should an artist struggle before it isn’t worth the hassle?
And admit we aren’t fit to be the one inside the castle
This quest for greatness, or at least hipness, just a scam and too much trouble
But then what makes one human being worthy of an easy ride
Born to be a natural artist you love or hate but can’t deny
While us minions in our millions tumble into history’s chasm
We might have a couple of laughs but we’re still wastes of protoplasm

Ah, well now, waste of protoplasm is going a little far. Sure, my protoplasm could have bnen used for other things, some of them quite beneficial to humanity, I imagine, but on the other hand would that protoplasm have been quite so good at drawing giraffes?