The Encampment Diaries – Lockdown




I intended to do an anniversary post, on the 13th of March, a look back, despite the ensuing threat of COVID-19, and my previous post, but ultimately things just… Well…

It’s hard to feel compelled to get out of bed, to sit down, and to focus. Always has been. Any distraction from illness, from depression, from the life that is unable to be lived, has been the only way to survive each and every day. And now, when it’s taken to its fullest extreme, with the whole world experiencing the Andrew Jones style of life, well, it’s been more a game of balancing spinning plates of friends’ mental and physical health, and being there for others rather than ever giving myself a time to be me.


I’ve sat at a screen every day, sometimes distracting myself, sometimes distracting others, and sometimes finding that juice to write, or draw, or play a little something in a creative world, but holy shit is it so hard right now.

I’m here listening to Nirvana and with Adobe Audition open, a whole slew of audio files needing editing into scenes, into pieces to turn into animated segments later, the part I still feel so broken about my artistic abilities about that, man, I don’t think I can do this.

But then I know I have to. Because only I can. Nobody else ever will, ever cares, ever inputs. So it’s just one lone loner on a laptop, trying to be themselves, trying to free themselves, in a world where freedom is only artificial, virtual.


And then I look to the future, now ever more uncertain, will this go anywhere? Will we ever go anywhere again? What is creating? Writing? Cinema? Drama? People, do they give a shit? Do they just want to escape, or do they not want creation, over real life ‘characters’? I’ll never understand the masses, they who leap to something for a day or two, then the next thing, brief distractions that don’t satisfy more than an immediate itch, don’t dwell on thought, feeling, just pure empty hollow moments for the moment. Is making something more worth it? Will folk ever care for things beyond the brief flash of an idea?


I’m not making anything for anyone except myself. And that idea sickens me. I’m far and away the opposite of a narcissist. I am compelled to create things not to make myself be seen as something, but because I love to find worlds, people, ideas that can be explored, lived in, experienced. The only one I don’t like to explore is the world we’re currently in. Unlike drama, there is no structure, no runtime, no understanding of tone or climax.

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