QUIET & EMPTY SPACES THE FINE LINE BETWEEN A CLEAR MIND AND THE CLUTTER OF EVERYDAY LIFE
ROCK 6 – 13
PAPER 14 – 27
SCISSORS 28 – 41
FIRE 42 – 53
WATER 54 – 65
“ PLEASE INSERT A QUOTE ” THANKS
LIFE, AT ITS CORE IS SIMPLE, UNCOMPLICATED AND CONSEQUENTLY EASY.
OH, STOP WITH YOUR FEET ON THE AIR AND YOUR HEAD ON THE GROUND TRY THIS TRICK AND SPIN IT, YEAH YOUR HEAD WILL COLLAPSE BUT THERE’S NOTHING IN IT AND YOU’LL ASK YOURSELF WHERE IS MY MIND? PIXIES
I MISS MY PRE - INTERNET BRAIN
HAVE NOTHING IN YOUR HOUSE THAT YOU DO NOT KNOW TO BE USEFUL, OR BELIEVE TO BE BEAUTIFUL. WILLIAM MORRIS
TITLE HERE PLEASE I’m a light sleeper. I have been for as long as I can remember. My dad is too and I seem to be some sort of a carbon copy of him. We both worry, a lot. So this sleeping thing is something I’ve accepted from the day I acknowledged it. I know it’s not a big deal and a lot of people suffer from it too but it can be very inconvenient at times. It’s great when you need to wake up early and don’t have to set ten different alarms around your room but when the slightest sound wakes you up it gets a little tiresome. Pardon the pun. My bedroom is at the front of the house, my bed is positioned above the front door: not something I’d recommend for those who sleep ‘light’. However this is what happens when the design of your room takes priority over the possibility of a good night sleep. I had trouble falling asleep that night; it must have been after one when my eyes finally closed. I remember waking to a lot of banging in the hall way, I felt terrible, having only been asleep for one hour but it sounded like my roommate- whose room is below mine, had come in intoxicated from a night out. Two things instantly didn’t make sense. Number one, Kat has never come home that drunk before and two, she did her routine that she does every night, of putting the house chain on and locking her bedroom door before going to sleep. I instantly felt panicked at the idea of Kat walking around the house drunk, stumbling everywhere and even though I knew Kat would never come in my room, something inside me told me to lock my door, I peeled the covers away from my body, conscious that the fabric would give away someone was awake. Standing on my tiptoes I moved quietly
across my room, trying to avoid my creaky floorboards. I turned my lock so slowly with the hope that Kat wouldn’t suspect that I was consciously awake and listening to everything going on. I heard someone fiddling with the chain, the metal crashing against the door as the links passed through the latch. As her door sounded like it was closing shut I started to calm down, knowing that she was back in bed, allowing me to get back to sleep. This was until the house alarm started beeping, it needed reprogramming and I’m the only one who knows that code. I started to panic yet again because I knew Kat would eventually get back up. After a couple of minutes I heard her run upstairs as she began screaming, "YO, WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?” I listened as she carried on, yelling so loud. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU WERE IN THE HOUSE, I SAW YOU!” I sat up in bed, scared stupid, not able to comprehend how much I wanted it all to end. As she shouted at someone outside, I instantly thought, she was now yelling at an innocent man. When I finally plucked up the courage to open my door, Kat was stood in the bath, her hair in disarray, the kind of style you see when a girls had a crazy night out. Her choice of clothing also left a lot to be desired. A burnt orange Primark tank top, not the most weather appropriate, with the price tag still attached sitting on her collarbone and in her hand she held a onelitre vodka bottle. When I put two and two together the situation I’d been thinking all along was quite the opposite.
THAT SOUNDS LIKE A BLOKE... The banging that woke me was a man climbing through our bathroom window. His steps echoed against the high walls as he made his way around our house. I heard him fiddling with the chain in his attempt to open the front door and in his drunken state, he banged on Kat’s door, maybe thinking it was his own. Like myself, Kat woke up in a startle- conscious of the chain moving through the latch. She instantly thought she’d locked someone out, feeling confused and guilty she lay half asleep trying to understand what was going on. As she tried to piece everything together, just as I was in that moment, she suddenly shot upright in bed, panic running through her as someone tried to open her door, “F**K, THERE’S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE.” Know knowing it wasn’t one of us; she kept trying to understand what was going on. “S**T, F**K, ARE WE BEING BROKEN INTO? THAT SOUNDS LIKE A BLOKE.” She listened to the person, pacing around outside her door. In her dazed state she climbed out of bed, with only her phone as a light. Rummaging around her dark cold room, so dark she couldn’t see her own hands, she silently walked around, trying to avoid her creaky floorboards as I did.
Grabbing anything from her floordrobe, she questioned, â€œWhat shall I put on?â€? but really, what is the outfit one should wear when confronting a burglar? The anger she felt from knowing a stranger was in her house, led her to picking up the vodka bottle and confronting him once and for all. As she flicked the lights it sent her room into darkness. The electrics blew. Knowing it was now or never she left her room to figure out what was going on? Charging up the stairs, she screamed at the guy as he attempted to crawl back through the window and hit him with such force, I believed it was a wall she was beating. I still fail to see how that man got through our tiny bathroom window, walking on a slanted roof whilst intoxicated from a heavy night out. That night was the first time in three years I did not want to sleep alone.
DING, DING... Exactly one week after the first incident, someone rang the doorbell late one evening. It was dark and cold outside, yet I thought it was a good idea to go and answer the door. I looked through our glazed peephole but couldn’t see anything. I opened the door a very tall, dishevelled and unwashed man stood there. His clothing, hung loosely from his fail body, his hair matted, greasy, and wild and his skin was sallow and grey. I was shocked, confused and for a second thought he was a TV licence man, who needed a good wash. His wide piercing eyes just gazed at me, like he was just waiting for me to greet him. I looked at him, a blank expression across my face; I couldn’t speak, so I just stood there, judging the man before me. I tried to utter the words that were running wild in my mind yet, nothing. Panic seething through me, I yet again, felt insecure in my own home. He finally spoke, “Have you got any food or money? I haven’t eaten for five days.” He asked. My expression must have spoken a thousand words. “No, I’m really sorry.” I stuttered. Which was a blatant lie since my cupboards were full of food. Looking disappointed he replied, “You have nothing, no food, no money?” I felt guilty but in the
moment, the only words I could process in my mind were, â€œWhy me, why is this happening to me, again?!â€? It kept playing over and over again like a broken record. Should I have given him something? Had I done something wrong? Was I being punished? I just didnâ€™t understand. Instead, I shut the door, frantically putting the lock and chain on, picturing him trying to break into the house in his attempt to find food. After making sure we were securely locked in, I nervously walked back to my room, shaking like a leaf. I was told to call the police, just in case, but I never did. They always say; everything always comes in threes.
HE TAKES ME IN HIS ARMS, AND THEN I WAKE UP. YES, ITS ONLY IN MY DREAMS. CHARLES PERRAULT
LOST IN TRANSITION PHOTOGRAPHY BY: TIM ADAMS
WHEN I SAW YOUR THAILAND PICTURES, I IMAGINED SOMEONE ON A JOURNEY. JUST ABSORBING ALL THE SIMPLE THINGS, LOST IN A WAY.
THAT’S HOW WE DID IT, JUST GETTING LOST IN IT. WE WERE THERE FOR FIVE WEEKS, WE ONLY BOOKED ONE FLIGHT, THE REST WAS JUST WHEREVER FELT GOOD.