Going back in.

Will I always pine for those first few months of lockdown?

Is that my world war 2?

Somehow they still glow like halcyon days, a final flash of something other than this remorseless unending capitalism, pounding our hopes under its metal hooves until we’re only meat.

Sad sorry meat.

Is this all we are now?

Property. Money.

Probably. Maybe.

—

There was that little glimpse a few weeks into it all, that this was all a dry run for the big one. The real one that’s coming. Happening already. We know it.

The artists, the introverts, the dreamers; sharing in a moment, a pause, a last chance to hope for something better.

But now we’ve all got trauma wounds, mental health concerns, ptsd, diagnoses for adhd.

And so have the idiots actually won? The Normies. Dunning Kruger Krew. Social media sapped and moribund of thought. When they ran out of boxsets they bought new houses, and started wearing linen.

Self help coaches on instagram and shamanic retreats in Luton. Everybody pepped on hubris, ready to ‘go back in’.

—

For that fleeting minute I felt like I could beat this, we could beat this. Honestly. As idealistic and stupid as that probably sounds. I genuinely thought this was the beginning of the end of it, the start of the next part. Perhaps even digital art could help us in our escape route, a dynamic new space for both mutual support, genuine community, and creative independence. Now that too feels on a familiar course for the middle of the road.

Capitalism is the cause of all that’s wrong, and we’re all in.

We’re going back in.

Happy Friyay x