Lock-In Day Four

This is getting deeper now. Four days is fucking nothing but we have started to know each other’s boundaries and each others preferences. This kind of process is delicate. So many different skillsets, such a wide range of ages, and yet all pushing in the same direction.

I’m sitting around a table now, and we are talking about boundaries. This was a familiar conversation in the before time, but it’s not so familiar now, and it makes me more and more uncomfortable thinking about how we have been separated from each other. I remember being contacted by a journalist talking about the “me too” movement, and he wanted to try to angle it to my profession. “Because of the long hours and drinking culture”. He seemed to be trying to make out like the industries that had already spoken out – the performative industries where we have learnt how to speak out because that’s our job – that those industries and the speakers were somehow compromised. I said: “This shit is endemic. Great, people in my industry have spoken. But look at your industry. Look at Estate Agents. Look at industries where people haven’t had the courage to step forward. Yeah it’s good that people in performance industries have started to speak out. That’s our job. But if there’s somebody in the supermarket industry, will you give them a voice?” His response was defensive attack – as if I had insulted him personally. I told him I had nothing more to say to him. His article was targeted on theatre and specifically on Kevin Spacey. It was disappointingly lacking. But I guess his job is to churn them out to the editor’s brief. I think it was The Telegraph. “I want you to do a piece about how all this ‘me too’ stuff is just restricted to the acting industry.” The very fact that the dude that phoned me was a dude… They had clearly run the gamut of every female writer and been disappointed by their integrity so they’d gone with this eloquent fellow with a touch of ethnicity. Pfff. I didn’t give him a quote.

Anyway, fuck that guy.

The work today was a delight. As always, we made things quickly and with joy. One of my favourite tasks was to make one of the group into a beast, with very limited time and mostly newspaper as material. We only had about half an hour to make the beast, and in retrospect I’m thrilled that neither of the beasts were political. Considering our main building material was the Jersey Evening Post, the personal was pushed to the foreground. Thankfully, the articles we found were balanced towards human interest. The JEP we encountered is interested in “how did the creature feel upon meeting the creature…”

It’s about how they moved, and the sound…

I don’t think any of us can answer that apart from the creatures, but there was a joy in both sides. Kyriagos was our beast, on the right. He was a lustful beast, horned and beaked but tassled and with Madonna boobs and a willy. The other group’s beast had Demeter nipples in angry red, so many of them. They worked well together, our beasts.

“They always either fuck or fight.” Not an exact quote. But…

Our beasts were made for sex because we weren’t paying attention to the papers that made them. Yeah and sure we could read the articles in those papers and start hating those damn people who don’t. Whatever the don’t is.

Who knows? The whole beast thing was about an hour of a beautiful and curious day. The day brought so much more but I’m not here as a scribe and I’m way too immersed to document anything. I’ve given some of the guys the breadcrumbs that lead to this blog. But all I can really do when I’m this tired is to say that I’ve met and become part of a very strange group that will find a voice beyond Jersey. But in so doing I’ve plugged back into my own head…

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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