The Guidebook
For everyone who took the time to read this
Contents Foreword Introduction
The Eye Recording The Guidebook Part 1- The State of Things Narrative 2.3 Pieces of Paper Narrative 1.5
Narrative 1.1 There Was a Bridge Narrative 3.1 Narrative 3.2 Sea Lock Love Narrative 3.22 The Reality Thrown Narrative 1.2 Narrative 1.3 Head or Heart?
They Speak Narrative 2.12 Narrative 2.2 Empty The Window Was Open Narrative 2.1 A Being There. Getting There B Coldness.Keys C The Noise Resonates
The Guidebook Part 2- The Household Environment Narrative 2.4 There Was a Girl Narrative 1.7 The Guidebook Part 3- Design Limitations
Mcdonalsa D roots, passages
So WhatĘźs it Actually Like? Lady The Memory of Past Events Rolling
Foreword Idea reality what is it? How should we use it? How does it work? Is it broken? Notion we live how do we live? Why do we live how we live? Individual realities is separated from each other? Alone? Together? Manuscript what is a name? How to label? WhatĘźs the difference? Spot the difference? Rather than the form itself. Is it a whole? Connotations? How does it exist? In writing do you understand? Abstract? Real or imagined? Does it matter? Taken. Taking? Controlling? Holding? Where is it going? The form of a book used writing a tool. Moulding? Making? Manipulation? Not enough? Demeaning? Hidden. To unearth and fly through words to another place. To reach the point the other side of concentration. Inside a book a reality a place? A space? To think? Reader temporarily inhabits.
Is open but blind? Scripted? Encrypted? Interpret in any he or she desires. Flexible reality. Swimming through jelly. Dive in. Dive out. Swim around, under and through. Existing in a reality of perpetual motion. Nothing concrete. Are no boundaries of form? Exploring? Constrict as he or she embarks upon reality. His or her own? The writerĘźs? The reality of is not a but a concept embodying hiding? A book. Reading? Seeing? Hearing? Thinking? Given time and space? Words themselves fly through the air. They hover, too fast to catch. They do not exist to define but to expand, explore and open up reality.
Introduction Paradise Lost
Paradise Found
There are people. Small. Not heroes not special not particular.
That guy there with the checked shirt and short hair. Unknown. Nothing.
Irritating you. Yes. Important? Special? No.
That girl talking loudly on her phone so I canʼt think. Her landlord. I donʼt care. It doesnʼt matter.
Then Shut up!
The person youʼre sitting next to. Fidgeting, restless.
The present. A place. A context of now.
The scene is set for the present. The now. The rain. “...Itʼs not a major issue...”
Ask them. What would their side be? Ask them. What is their story?
Eyes are everywhere. You see them gazing at you gazing at him gazing at she. Pinpoint. But what of that person there: The one with the simple look? The wondering eyes and iphone. What of that view? {Iʼm bored. Iʼm looking at this phone, trying to think of different things I can look up. Hmm. The new Toyota. Something to look forward to. God I wish that girl would shut up. I hate people who talk loudly on their phones. I never do that...} A place. What place? Nothing.
Kitchen table. Bang. Biting. Itʼs this place. Itʼs the now.
An alcove of Dreaming. I canʼt help but be like this.
Wait and see. Then say no. You never know. {I could try playing a game. Donʼt know how good the signal is though. I would quite like to turn around and check that girl out. You have to be subtle. Iʼm not really in the right position. I think she was staring at me. Not sure though.}
Zooming in. That moving head. Zooming out. Shutting the window. Zooming in. Swings the head. Zooming out.
{I definitely saw her look this way. Or was it just a glance out the window?} Looks like a good film up ahead.
Found in the now. It has altered since the beginning. Who knew the landlord would pick up? You didnʼt.
I wish sheʼd shut up and “...lots of bras...” {I wish sheʼd shut up.} I think Iʼm going to kill her.
I donʼt care. Why is she talking so loud? Well I canʼt think of reality now. Iʼm locked in this stroke by phone; all I can hear
The rain across the window. Trying hard to keep up flying along side. What for?
“...heʼs got a new boyfriend and all that..”
Let the wind and speed spiral you out. Unknown lands across the bridge. The path crossing eye.
is an irritating person that I canʼt move away from. I have found myself in this place I no longer want to be. I can hear all her plans her relationships. I want to get away. I need to get away. Her recent history her life. When all I want to do is get away. “It would be so good to see you both at the same time...” And the iphone with the head waving.
Icy moonlight in the middle of the night. The sky adrift above ground in the blue and flower filled world with smiles and sex and sweets. He holds me in that world where I have been captured and thrive into. I meander into mysterious mists, gliding into the unknown with him as my guy rope. ThereĘźs no one else. Trees of green and purple and blue because anything is possible... The role is lowered. You donĘźt notice it at first so slow and free is the movement. Still in keeping with the rush of love. Down down you begin to drop me, near fear feel something shift. Dropping me. Deeper deeper you reach the ground thrown down. Dropped broken confused lifeless. Skyless. He opens up the hole into the depths. The man hole out of the ground into the sewers the tunnels. Deadened. The hole left open. Time closes the hole. You sit there in the water, piss and tears not drowning
but deadened. The darkened serve the broken. Solacing in muses. Moments pass sitting. Gradually, down there, something pulls you to your feet. But not sensing you. The first step. Walking. The start. Towards the end. Towards the start. The opening.
An eye recording the world go by. The excitement of a journey. Not knowing. Wondering when, if, itĘźs going to happen. CouldnĘźt help thinking what the fuck am I doing here? I fall. I jump out of a plane. Do more anywhere just in case.
The Guidebook The State of Things To initiate this living, you must ensure that your environment is suitable: comfortable but not luxurious. The surrounding area must be the opposite and have three other people living under the same circumstances. Situations you may find yourself in: At the beginning of your living, it is essential that there is a strong group. In order to do this you must spend senseless time with the members of this group, living. You may find yourself in the situation where you could either leave the conversation or continue. EXAMPLE: It is the first day of the group living together and you are sitting in the bedroom that belongs to the last member to arrive. It will be their living environment but it is, at this moment, important that you also make yourself comfortable in their environment. In other words, do not feel unnerved by the intimate circumstance you may have found yourself in, but embrace it. Do not leave the conversation unless completely necessary.
WhatĘźs Occurring? For the first night in your house, with whoever may be there, food is going to be important. Having moved in a few hours ago, you are not going to have any food in stock. When this situation arises do not exacerbate the situation, a decision will be made between the
group and you will be part of the decision. Thus the group has already begun to form its bond. What may have occurred is that one person has paid for the ingredients of your tortilla wraps which creates the problem of money. Money between housemates can be a conflicting matter but as long as it is clear to all parties there should be no hassle. The person may wish the money to be repaid, in which case, he or she will state as such. In some circumstances, there will be no talk of money, this will mean the person who purchased the goods does not see fit to ask for money from his or her housemates. As you all begin to settle into the new environment, you may find that housemates will bring people from outside the group into the house, unexpectedly. Here are two examples: EXAMPLE 1: You may wake up one morning and find some unknown person sleeping in the kitchen/sitting/ dining area. In this situation, it is important not to panic or jump to any conclusions. Your housemate will probably have a simple explanation for this occurrence. However, if this becomes routine you must stand your ground and ensure it does not persist. The behaviour is neither good for the group nor the environment. EXAMPLE 2: Bumping into a half naked Frenchman as you walk up to bed. This is not something you should worry about initially, as it probably wonĘźt happen very often, but if it does, looking at a half naked Frenchman is no cause for alarm.
Narrative 2.3 If I hadn’t a clue what day it was, I could rely on the number of smokers to tell me. Walking up the stairs was quiet too but that happens most days now. I always get that niggling feeling that I’ve come in on the wrong day or there was a letter about something going on that I didn’t get. So I sat there at my little table that I ‘borrowed’ from the hairdresser people, wondering two things: 1. What am I doing here? 2. Is anyone else gonna turn up? I think everyone asks themselves these questions at least twice in their lives. I went in 101 for a bit, worked on animating photo faces, added a few frames, changed the background; still no one around. When I say no one, I mean none of the people I hang out with, friends I guess you’d call then. “Hi.” Oh God not him. “Hia.” “I saw some of your work yesterday!” “Did you?” “Yeah. At the shit hole you used to go to.”(He didn’t actually use those words but that’s what he meant.) “Oh really!”
...Pieces of paper are part of society...paper was formed ink... context of their existence and placement but they negotiate around the stability of ownership... control barriers and rules of permanence in society. But there is a contradiction within the urban space. Permanence of living (even in tramps) ...but the effects of life, the waste products that happen as a result/ byproduct of living. Litter. Flying around the city...that street through **** (**** road?) The permanence does in fact happen as a result of living... if no one lived or if people lived in a different way there would be no permanence. Permanence of existence in an urban environment...litter and byproducts of living are temporal in space; they move around and eventually get to the place society has placed them...their place within society. Even litter has a permanent existence. The air itself...where nothing is free because everything has a permanent place of existence. The creating of things which exist behind permanence...it never can stay in
the mind forever. Going beyond the permanent place into another reality. The thing, idea, creation is process of existence within the urban environment. What happens to them?
Narrative 1.5 “No. Seriously. We have a chance to see things some people will never ever get the chance to. We should make the most of it.” “You really think so? You‘re not just all talk?” He shuffled closer and rubbed his hand along my thigh. “No talk. Action. We should do something.” “Now you’re talking!” I giggled. “Ok. Yes. But later.” He really did know how to spin things. I knew I had to put my foot down, this was too good to miss and I was prepared for a tantrum. He could tantrum like the best three year olds around. “Right now we should explore a little. Never know what we might see.” I hoped this would be good enough for him not to get too wound up and grumpy. “Later it is.” I was relieved that there was no little quarrel but slightly disappointed in the way he gave up with such ease. I mean, yeah it can be irritating but it’s a good feeling being wanted. We carried on walking down a narrow lane having swapped roles as rucksack carrier, my back was beginning to kill already.
Fields of cows were on both the right and the left of the road, dignified and beautiful looking, very unlike the muddy manure trodden ones I saw growing up. To our left, over the fields, was the sea. If I stood on tip toe I could see the horizon. I stopped and stared until my toes gave way. Where the sky meets the sea. Romantic you would have thought. Something to ponder on for a brief while, it wasn’t the same as back home, it appeared more measured, the division more clean cut somehow. “What are you doing? You look like a right loon standing like that on the side of the road.” “Can’t you see it? Come here. See?” I pulled him closer and pointed to where they met. “Horizon. Is that the hold up?” He stares at me in that way that says, ‘What are you on, woman?’ “It seems different. Don’t you think?” I look back at him hopefully. “Hmm maybe. It’s the stillness I guess.” He turns towards me. I can’t help but smile. Vastness all around. I can feel my cheeks growing icy in the escalating wind. That’s one good thing about keeping hair up and keeping it messy. Although, with a wind like this, it’s not really a choice.
Narrative 1.1 How refreshing to wake up somewhere new. I find the zip in the bottom right hand corner. I love that sound. I unzip to the top. A fan of bright air simpers its way through my sleeping bag and light bursts into my eyes. The landscape has a different sound here. To do with the mountains perhaps or snow maybe. The air cleanses the pores and you can feel the freshness lifting you. Everything has an edge. Crisp. Giving the grass, the mountains, the sky, an otherworldly feel. We managed to get a spot at the front; as he said not sheltered. But revealing this dream land when you open your eyes, is worth the icy shower I’d say. He disagrees and feebly tries to kick me as I lean out but his penguin feet merely nudge. I grunt back at him in disapproval. “Come back to bed. It’s too cold out there. Nice and warm over here though.” I lean back, prop myself up on my elbow and gaze at him. He has something over me. We are here. We had been trying to get here for eight months, we finally got here yet that lazy lear needed no effort to prize me into his embrace. He slipped himself into my sleeping bag and leant towards me, drawing me in. I was under his spell.
By three, I managed to drag him out, reminding him there was more to see and, luckily for us, plenty of light left in the day. I opened the tent fully this time. The air hit us full on, smack in the face. Wonderful! “Fuck me it’s cold.” For God’s sake I thought, live a little. So narrow minded. Why are we together again? “Come on. It’ll be fun!” I took his gloved hand and lead the way. Standing right there in front of us. This huge great thing. The beauty of something naturally magnificent. I’d almost forgotten what that was like. Crags of snow topped bundles of rock. “It looks climbable.” I mutter. “Huh?” “I wonder what we could see from the top. Come on!” “What! Up there? Now I know you’re crazy!” I wasn’t waiting for some immature grumbler to ruin my holiday. But I didn’t have to, grumblers don’t like to be alone. Who would they grumble to?
There was a bridge I remember. It has, what would you call it now, alcoves to sit, concrete seats, part of the bridge. We sat there, drawing to avoid, to ignore. You, there in a different mind. Two days and stranded. Away from the known. In love. Overthrown. Sat on this concrete bridge. Black lampposts. An alcove for lovers. That lost, pathetic look of you on that unforgiving concrete bridge.
Narrative 3.1
So I had my 18th. There was a party. It was good. People came and went and generally enjoyed themselves. I tidied up before everyone came home, so all was good. There was something else though, an encounter if you like. He wasn't drinking so driving wasn't a problem. I said I'd go with him. I dunno what made me do it. I didn't feel strange but I guess I was slightly drunk. Give me a break, it was my 18th. There was me in my creamy-gold party dress and black stilettos. I didn't think to bring a coat of course, and there I was walking up the middle of the road just after eleven; it was cold.
Narrative 3.2 “Shit it’s cold.” I rubbed my arms which, let’s face it, never does much. “You can have my hoody if you like.” “No. It's OK.” “No really. I don't mind.” I dunno why I didn't take it at first. I think maybe it changes something. Or rather how people would see it. But it was really cold. I took the hoody. I expected the car to be black but it was a silver, Toyota Ago something; the one that used to sponsor T4 on Sunday mornings. It was surprisingly clean inside, yet another one of those guys who adores their cars. We sped off. It felt kind of bad, like I was doing something I shouldn't be. At the end of the day, a party needs booze and that's what we were doing, completely innocent. I can't quite remember how this happened but the conversation turned. Now I'm not one for talking about sex. I mean at college, yeah obviously it came up often but I rarely joined in, not having had any real experience in the field, so this surprised me. I surprised me: “Yeah sex on the beach. I think that would be good.”
“I dunno. Get sand in your crack.” “Ha ha ha ha. Yeah 'spose you're right. Hadn't thought of that! Thanks, ruined that fantasy!” It may feel uncomfortable for you now but for me nothing. I tried to figure out why. I thought maybe this means this guy and me we could... something could actually happen between us. It felt real. All the other guys I've fancied have always been... I think I've always idealized them. They seemed so... untouchable. This was different. I didn't even think I liked this guy. I had no intentions, I wasn't aware that either of us had. I'd heard rumours but brushed them aside.
Co-op first. It was Tequila he wanted. Who am I to complain? He was paying. “Can I see your I.D please?” Ah. Now there was a problem. At Seventeen I.D is pretty much a stupid idea. When you’re trying to get into an 18, having I.D in you’re purse saying your 17, doesn't really pay. So naturally having only been 18 for what, a few hours, I.D was definitely not something I was used to. ‘Yay I'm 18 I can buy alcohol!’ Not this time.
Sea locks love questionable trust sun gardens new sky isolation confusion things speculations hidden a front appearances truth show travel right people time remembering resembling places association longing not knowing thought thinking. Excitement. The window open air wind thrashing around the carriage anticipation for what is to happen. I can feel the... itĘźs rippling through my hair. I have been longing for the adventure. Approaching something new. Past.
Narrative 3.22 For some reason, even though I knew I didn't have it, I went to the car to get my non existent purse to see if my non existent ID was there. Surprise! It wasn't. We left with no alcohol. “Where next?” “Hmmm. I'm not sure. We could try Tescos Express.” “OK. You know the way? This time maybe you should stay in the car.” I think it was Vodka in the end. Can’t really be sure of that though.
Then I had another party. It was strictly speaking not supposed to be a party but that’s how it turned out. Me and
The reality thrown in my face. You scared. Would I catch? The complete inability of everything. No idea of anything. I miss you. Someone so unappealing. Completely compelled to have, to see no other reasoning. Blind sighted. To what? To life. To understanding the reality of opposites and difference. Unwanted. Hunger. Following. That shop small, typical. The whine as if the world may end for you. As if I was there for you. I was me! You had left yourself in London. Not knowing, in that small shop, the basic knowledge of being alive! Sensations. Hunger. The comprehension of not living? No. Not possible. But true for you. ‘Time flies when you’re having fun...’ Really? You’re gonna rip that one out? Seriously?! Security in not living.
Narrative 1.2 “Hmm nothing.” I kissed him on the cheek. “Shall we head back down then?” “Ow. Can’t you carry me?”He Whined. “Aren't you the one who’s ‘sposed to carry me?” I knew I was pushing my luck. “You’d be lucky.” I pulled him to his feet. “I know”. I mumbled “What?” “Nothing.” “Good.” Getting down was not so bad. The odd slip here and there, nothing really. We sat down at the foot of the mountain for him to rest his weary feet and to plan our next move. **** had the initiative to suggest packing drinks but of course not the will power to make them. He handed me his rucksack and I took out the flask for me and water for him. “Ah. Better. He Wiped his mouth. So. What’s next?” “Hmm I’m not sure. You know we could just...”
Narrative 1.3 We did eventually get to the top. It wasn’t without its dramas, falling over, bugs and beetles etc. But we did it, we always made it somehow. An almost indescribably sense of freedom and invincibility greeted us. It was truly spell-bounding. The clouds seemed so close. We seemed to be floating in the land of limbo not on Earth but not yet in the sky. It looked a lot easier than it was, I have to admit, and I did feel slightly guilty for putting **** through it. I’ll pay for it later I’m sure. But right now, he seemed to love it just as much as me. “It’s... It’s... I... There’s so much out there. Look! It all looks so... so foreign and...like a distant world. It’s amazing. Really. We made a good team. We conquered this mountain.” I giggled. That’s one way of looking at it. There is so much beauty out there and I’m not sure he could see any of it. I sat down. Disheartened at the thought. **** joined me. “Hey, I’m sorry I grumbled. It was worth the climb don’t you think? It’s amazing.” I looked at him. It’s good he sees things differently. It’s what makes him ****. He looked back at me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Head or Heart? I think I know what I want now. But is it a possibility? Should it be a possibility? There must be alternatives. Are we being really stupid? Does it matter? Why do you want to? Why not? Like hanging Be like before Spending it Hard Se Not enough time Excat Pressure What if itĘźs the wrong thing to do? Part of me canĘźt bear it any longer. Part of me wants it to last forever.
But can we?
They speak. Growing up not knowing who they is, asking who they are: “Who are they?” “Oh. Well I don’t know. Probably people in important places living in London.” Well now I can tell you. They do live in London. I have met one. Slightly round in the belly like you’d have expected, with not a lot of hair. Round face and short legs. They speak. Oh how they speak! You will listen at the start. They do go on. The world might just end. Shot. Shot down. The will leaves you. Snap goes the sanity that keeps the face on. The mask on. The expectation of these wires contorting muscles. How could anyone expect, believe possible, this? Forever? There is no understanding! When did humanness exit humanity? Who made that dispassionate demand? Oh the loss!
Narrative 2.12 “Are you sure you don’t mind?” “No. Go ahead.” I knew he didn’t. I knew he’d let me do anything I wanted. That’s just how he is, always has been, I think. So I began, his left cheek first, the moistness of his skin stopped the first layer from sticking. He kept still though. I knew he would. “OK this might be a bit cold.” I began to peel it off starting at the skull. I hadn’t done it all the way round, I thought it would lose its shape. So far so good, the shape seemed to have stayed. “Thanks.” “No probs. I’ll do it again if you like.” It’s true, He would. He’d do anything for me.
Narrative 2.2 “You going in today?” “Yep.” I filled my bag, a banana an apple, one of last week’s I think, and two rolls. Usually it was sandwiches. Ham and honey rolls today. I stood half on the sofa to look in the mirror, fiddling with the positioning of my scarf. The red and gold one with flowers. You know, the one **** gave to me for my birthday a few years ago. It’s beautiful. The first way looked better, the usual, double it up and then pass it through. It didn’t make up for the bad hair though. Ever since I had it cut, drying it has been a bit of an issue. Today I tried hair drying. I don’t have a hair dryer, so I had to borrow ****, she won’t mind. I could tell it wasn’t gonna be a productive day. Call it what you like but I had this feeling or maybe it was tiredness. “Have a good day.” “Thanks.” It was quiet but that’s not unusual for a Monday. Nothing seems to get done anywhere on a Monday and if it does you wouldn’t get that satisfying feeling of having achieved something. Only two smokers out today.
There was a point when I thought is there a future? How can it go on like this? How can he go on like this? Empty. Day after day of nothing. What have you done today? There was nothing. And inside? Dark, hopeless, lifeless. In that 8 hours a life is born of. Sat all day with nothing. Empty mind. Empty days. Empty life.
The window was open. I heard a sound and looked out. I didn’t find the source. However, I did happen to gaze upon a man, small and grubby, on the opposite side of the street holding a suitcase. He stopped in front of an alcove almost opposite the window from where I stood on the top floor. He began to inspect a pile of squashed cardboard boxes, seeing how large and if any were still complete. There were now two piles either side of the alcove. Two aside to the left behind his suitcase which was leaning to the right of the alcove. The rest of the boxes, he spread out so the net of the box was visible and lay each down purposely with precision and experience upon the floor of the alcove. When completed, he collected the boxes from the left, then the ones from the right. By bending down one of the sleeves of the cardboard boxes, he expertly created a headrest. He then opened the suitcase and pulled out a a blanket and a pillow which he turned in his hands, plumping it. There were a few other items which I assumed were clothes. After this ceremony, he took off his shoes, again with great deliberation and care and placed them underneath the makeshift headrest. Hidden. He had a Billa bag which contained: a roll and a bag that appeared to have some sort of liquid inside. He broke the roll into pieces, placing them on his duvet to his left. Wiping crumbs off his bed onto the pavement as the alcove was slightly raised. Taking it in turns between the swigging of the bag
and the chewing of the bread. He finished and drew out something else which he held between his fingers before lighting. I could imagine this man to be my father. Kicked out. Left with nothing but a suitcase with a bad cough inside.
Narrative 2.1 That’s how it is now. “No …I have none. No…. That’s how it will be for the foreseeable future. OK… Bye.” You would have thought there would be so many easy ways out, so many other options. He just didn’t or couldn’t see them. They always phoned. Mostly in the evening I think, but then again, I’m not in during the day that much. I bet that’s all he does all day. Answer the phone from people wanting money. He doesn’t bother walking the dogs any more.
A Being there. Getting there. That’s the beginning of it all. That place with all its discreetness to the outside eye. The red, green, blue logo. And inside, discreetness to what? To truth. Holding it back. Some of them are nice. They look at you differently; a twinkle I saw once. Visible for those few seconds in that drink. As soon as it ended, again the malice and mundanity scored into my flesh. The day before. Seven Sunday anchors tearing. Tethered. Pulling, grinding you into the surface. Covenant: the selling of the soul for the next 8 hours. No way out. Nothing can stop it. If you look hard enough. No. When you are blind to the ways there is truth. But when you look and time trips the lens from thine eye you see deep into. You can talk sometimes. There is talk. You may find too that there is one or maybe even a group for you. For me it is one. And even that one would not be condoning this.
B Coldness. Keys, where are the keys? Right pocket, why are they never in the same place? You have to hold the door at a certain point for the key to engage with the lock. Always gets caught. Dark as I walk up the steps. Not even on drunk nights have these unusually steep steps out-smarted me. Not yet. Turn left. Usually a random lurking with the lights off in his car somewhere along this street. Leaves plastered to the pavement. Cross the road. Pass the now boarded-up estate, adding even more grey mass into our lives. Petrol station to the right. No cars to watch at this time of morning. Always seems like a misdemeanor walking through the forecourt, heading right. Never seen this road to the right completely empty, mostly buses at this time. Coldness speeding my legs. Giant blue moons in the trees to disguise negativity from the dying estate; lit like beacons hailing attention from no one. Approaching the traffic lights, you have to watch your step but once you get to know them, they are easily out- smarted. It’s green. I walk, through the middle and to the other side. More moons beam from the right and a brick path winds up to the doors of the Wonderland Estate. Bus stop on the right. Night bus or day? People waiting; of course there’s people waiting. There isn’t a place that exists where you do not have to wait. If there was, it would be called heaven. The face of the estate comes into view, cars racing on the left. Like memorials, their lights shine onto the dead patch of green
except on Saturdays. Balls’ n’ parents with players emerging full of vigor. Walk quickly on past Murderers Street, opposite the Saturday patch just before the bridge. Black. Never look up. Out. The shopping centre on the right battles with timeless enemies. Not for long. Three years of struggle left. Carry on straight through the underground walkway, in case you need reassurance the ammeter people, reading dials, doing everyday activities on the walls, should help. They wonder why no one likes the recorder, four or five notes in total, twenty or thirty pence in a cup, one beard and one tired knitted hat. Left up to the air. Round the barriers, straight up to meet with the turntable of roads. A few paces and there the line begins. Time is useless. It doesn’t exist in this moment.
C That noise resonates. It is time. You can deny it for 10 minutes knowing what’s waiting for you in 30. Locking the door. Leaving the house asleep. Walking that walk. Doing the wait. Playing the time. Starts naturally and transpires into another world, pillows of the clouds. Wind blowing shadows across. Someone? Not this time. Cars. Stillness. Walking to the opening where life starts. Watercolour roads bleeding from traffic lights, while stagnant old ladies sit with big green coats. Waiting. Pressing that button seems a strange contradiction. Cars. Flashing. Often walking before that man gives the way. Get there to wait. Unknown limits. That red plastic; sometimes shared with others, sometimes a big singing lady transposing the sounds from her world. Entering my world where they ring the prayer of life ‘...and speak unto him in a dream’ 1. That one with a cigarette between her fingers at her side. A small oldish thing. Straight, walking with bent knees and blue bag. Where to? 15 minutes. Look right. Step on. A chorus of nonbelievers give the look: ‘ownership of space.’ Black coats, blackness. To the back, three or four seats behind or maybe not. The surprise. People, ‘low-paid workers.’ Blind-sighted. What a ridiculous man. Minimal understanding and lack of consideration, how much generalisation can one man carry? Two sacks, three?
1
The New English Bible 1961, Great Britain, The University Press, 20:6
An explosion. Anything. Anyone? Nothing. Lines and lights and tautology.
The Household Environment The environment that you are living in may become tense at some time or other, which is perfectly natural considering you will see each other on a very frequent basis. You may find yourself talking for hours about a white box which doesnĘźt exist and should never have entered into the heads of the housemates in the first place. If this occurs, there will probably be another, more level headed housemate, to pull the feet of the said persons back to earth. You may find that the house itself becomes a bit of a mystery. Say, for example, this is in fact the first house you find yourself in and having to do practical tasks such as: light bulbs, bin changing etc brings difficulties. Your house may have a boiler for heating and hot water and it may be that none of the four people living in this house has experienced using the device. Once in this situation there are several possible options: 1. Discuss the issue of not knowing how to operate the boiler. 2. Discuss the issue of not knowing and think about calling the land lord. 3. Discuss the issue of not knowing, call the land lord. 4. Discuss the issue of not knowing, call the land lord, he may not know. 5. Look in the manual which is located under the sink and still not know. 6. Never know and begin to guess because it has become too cold not to. There are no standard rules written about the facilities your landlord is at liberty to install in your house. So you may be left with inadequate facilities. If this is the case and the vacuum cleaner is not good enough and
a washing line isnĘźt good enough because there is never any sun and heating food in the oven is not good enough, ask for the following: a hoover, a dryer (which may end up taking over the small single room) and a microwave. Your landlord may in fact not respond to these essential items, in which case ensure to call him regularly to remind him of your inhospitable environment. Once he has delivered these items, donĘźt expect to hear from him for a suspiciously long period of time. Tea drinking is traditionally thought of as an English activity and, in these times, an inexpensive one. There may come a time when three of the housemates group together and drink tea. Not only will there be the English Breakfast tea but a more varied diet such as: Camomile Tea Green Tea Ginger and Lime Tea Peppermint and Nettle Tea Ginger Tea Pomegranate and Plum Tea Peppermint and Eucalyptus Tea Peppermint and Camomile Tea Cherry and Cinnamon Tea This will probably become a social event within the household and many an hour will be spent drinking tea and swilling tea bags.
Narrative 2.4 I can remember the first day. It was at the main building. I didn’t really know where to go but I knew from the interview that it was an extensive place that was easy to get lost in. There was a girl about the same height as me walking in at the same time. There was a bit of nervous conversation along the lines of
“Yeah,
looks like it’s this way to the refectory according to that sign.” We were greeted by two really big people, not fat just large, one male the other female. The guy did my interview and the women interrupted it. It was a small refectory with a lime green floor. We registered. They already knew my name, which made sense seeing as my interview was the week before.
There was a girl walking up the other side of the road with a powerful walk. I was thinking, look at that girl walking along all slim thinking she's beautiful. Someone shouted ĘťEh!Ęź She turned round at the end of the road. This beefy looking man marches towards her, not slowing down. They start shouting at each other and pushing each other, gesticulating wildly. The slim woman counts off things on her fingers. This plump woman appears and two police approach; the woman starts to continue walking but canĘźt resist turning round and continuing the fight. The man walks away when he sees the police. The plump woman tries to go Towards the man in a frantic manner. The policeman detains her while the policewoman listens to the slim woman as she recounts her story, with less passion this time but still using her arms to make her point. It looks like the plump woman begins to cry. The policeman takes her away to the other side of the street. The man, meanwhile, is walking aimlessly down the street, anger still in his stride. He crosses the road, presumably towards the plump woman. All that is left is the policewoman listening to the woman talk of her misgivings and grievances. They begin to walk up the hill at quite a pace.
There is nothing more lovely than noticing or observing or seeing intimacy between a mother and child. Not in a maternal way, just because of its purity, absoluteness and wholeness. Sat on the beach. Watching a family. A broken arm. How, when where? Irrelevant. The arm in a cast, she wraps cling-film around. Tight, secure, covering the cast. Nothing gets in; nothing gets out. Not even the wildness of the sea. In the sea together. In love. Intwined forever. The waves throw over the best show for two. Breaking the wildness. A moment caught by sight, seen by anyone, understood by no one. You think being alone would be good. Something to be enjoyed. Better than making conversation or feeling uncomfortable. As it turns out, itĘźs not so. Part of the human condition, preferring to be with people. In a beach context, I think this is x by 100. Not being with people takes away the majority of the enjoyment. Being unable to relax in one of the most relaxing environments known to man is excruciating.
Narrative 1.7 Ahead is the nearest town. I say town, but to be fair, it’s more of a village. As we grow nearer we encounter our first native citizens. A family going out for a walk. “I thought they’d look stranger.” **** mutters quietly to me but not quiet enough. One of them stares as he walks past. “****. Shh. I think he heard!” “I wouldn’t worry about it. I doubt they speak English.” “**** that’s not the point. I’m sure he got the general idea of what you said.” “Yeah well. What you gonna do?” It was only meant playfully. But it was still irritating to be spoken to like that. I let it go. There was no need to start a fight. We walked through the town/village following our noses. The buildings reminded me of fancy temporary classrooms except bigger, blank, characterless. When you saw them standing so assuredly in this masked landscape, dubbed by weather they made sense, they worked well together. “They are nice aren’t they?” “Yeah. Look like they’d keep the heat in well. Quite small though.”
Design Limitations In the house there is a chance that the layout may not be traditionally set. Originally, letĘźs say there was a large sitting area downstairs. This was changed into a smaller sitting area at the end of the kitchen and an additional bedroom. In this circumstance, you may find that there is a set of light switches located in the kitchen/sitting/dining area which operate not only this area but also the added on bedroom. This will invite the imperfect human to accidentally turn on the light switch of the occupantĘźs room in the morning thus waking them. The previous statement invites the question: how well was the house built? Here is the probable answer: The lock is missing a screw, the street-facing ground floor window has a broken lock, the board under the kitchen counter falls if touched and only covers an eighth of the area, broken bottom oven, hearing the neighbours wake up at seven every morning, hearing every movement from the housemate living in the above bedroom and not wanting to hear the goings on. The surrounding area of your house may be an area that, on the whole, is not an agreeable one but there may be factors which alter this view. The window that is situated above the sink, where theoretically you may look when washing up, may occasionally hold the view of an attractive, toned, tattooed on the right arm, late twenty year old man. There may come a time when the housemates will communicate to the others that the young man has returned and a wish for binoculars occurs.
If this does happen some may be produced, after which, the toned young man may be seen a lot less often. The original owners of this house may have had some idea of how they wanted their house to look. This may result in unusual occurrences, such as where you would expect a bath, a jacuzzi may sit. This could alight the imaginations of the housemates one tea drinking evening, to a gathering of people involved with alcohol deciding that the idea of the Jacuzzi to be inviting. Thus resulting in the filling up of the jacuzzi with said people involved with alcohol.
She sat there in Mcdonalsa with the tea and laptop as usual. Well, usual for the past few days after most people had left. More suitable perhaps for a little cafe tucked away somewhere. She had been there for about half an hour and had done all the things that needed doing like booking tickets back home for christmas. She began to wonder, one foot on the chair, hands draped backwards playing with the ends of her hair, dreaming. Two guys walked past. One good looking. He smiled and waved. She looked. He looked away. She looked back. He looked back and smiled broadly. She looked. After realising that was one of those moments where you leap and maybe fail or maybe not. In this case miss it all together. Lose. She lost.
D roots, passages The one passage I can think of is the one to work when the day is night but not night. It is not long, because it isnʼt. It would take about 5 minutes. Start at the last of the terrace buildings, the beginning of that great block and walk towards the end of the road which will take you a minute, if that. I havenʼt timed it, I have no reason to. All that is there are cars and sometimes a person. Sometimes people in the cars; but itʼs not the surroundings that makes it what it is. It is the time; time between times. Nothing quite fits. Breakfast or late dinner? Everything should have a place. Apparently. Isnʼt that what we are taught or isnʼt that how we live? With lines. The world is just lines isnʼt it? Look at a map. We did that. Whatʼs love got to do with lines? These times remind us that life would still go on without all these things. These laws, these mind sets. Some people see that. I wonder how many? I donʼt think they would be very happy people. Unless they lived in a different world. You can get by better there. I donʼt think many have the chance to live around it. Maybe in little ways. I donʼt know if anyone out there lives outside it all. A tribe somewhere perhaps? There is a petrol station on your right, donʼt turn towards it. Turn left. There may/may not be a lady sitting at that bus stop you are passing wearing a huge green coat. If not, youʼre going to be late. But it doesnʼt really matter does it? Does it? As everything goes, whatever position you are in in your life, it doesnʼt actually matter what time it is. Your unknowingness will have repercussions of course; it will affect things and things. But I think you will find that things go on. One man didnʼt build Rome. Donʼt stare at that lady, keep walking. Now stop.
You have reached the traffic lights no doubt. If you havenʼt, well youʼd better turn back youʼve walked too far. You may not need to use the traffic signal, just watch. Then cross. What you probably will find is that you stop and wait in the middle then cross to the pavement. There is a pub to the right. No. Wait, that might be the next corner. Iʼm not sure, youʼll have to check. Turn left and there you are. You sit. Watching. If you missed the old lady in the coat, wait about 10 minutes and it will probably come for you. If you are on time you will have the chance to see the man with his van go into the shop opposite, not directly but slightly to the right. I donʼt know what he does, but often he will hold the door open with boxes while he does what he does. Iʼm sure heʼs not supposed to. Iʼd do the same. There are all these things like doors on springs that make things harder. There are ways to make things easier for yourself which you have a choice over. However, sometimes that choice is out of your hands. I think we think we know everything because of the way we marginalise ourselves, our world. There is no room left. Economically we are beginning to feel that now? I donʼt know anything about economics to really say. But maybe its true. I can suggest it at least. People at their desks will make the decisions for you, making your life harder and not seeing what they are doing, ʻfor the greater goodʼ no doubt. He parks round the corner slightly but you can still see him from where youʼre standing. He leaves the engine running and Iʼm pretty sure that itʼs a double yellow. Iʼm sure heʼll get caught with that one at some point. The first time I saw him there doing whatever it is he does I thought of what could have happened. “No, Iʼm just gonna be here for a few seconds. Whatʼs the problem? Thereʼs no one about at this time anyway.” Hands flaring.
“Youʼve parked on a double yellow line.” Takes a picture. “I have the evidence.” “Gimmie a few seconds and Iʼll be outa here. Thereʼs really no need.” And there really isnʼt! They donʼt see anything else but that line. And they follow it all the way home.
The other day he seemed a little taken aback by it. Them there. Sitting, Iying in a lounger wailing his legs around. Not right. Not in life. Half in this world. The calling out. The shouting. Merging with the gabble from the TV. Talking across. Itʼs not really there. Itʼs not real. The not quite right smell. Problems in all areas. Not just flailing limbs. Covering, eating everything: the air. Armchairs moved around. A sitting room? Strange. Because it is. Sitting in another place. No context in those armchairs. Except physical. Afraid because they are real? Afraid because they look usual? Partly. Not understanding and misunderstanding in both directions. What age? Not acting. Real. But ageless? No. They have an age. But what would you credit them with? Youth? No. Yes. Hello? Who? What. The thing. Itʼs I donʼt know. Iʼll kill ya! Where did you go? Can I go now? Going home now. Away now. Where? What? I donʼt know. There she is. Itʼs time now. Where did you go? I hate it. Leave me alone. No! I wonʼt have it. I wonʼt! Thereʼs nothing here now. Letʼs go home. Take me home. Iʼve had enough. Really dear? Do you think so? Will you come with me? Youʼre such a good lass. Directions. Process. Procedures. Care? A job. Time. Consumption. People. Are they? Humanity. Comfort. Control. Temperament. Personality. Real? Or drugs? Morals. Ideals. Inequality.
LADY 00:02:39 A play in one act For J
Written in English in early 1990. First performed in Great Britain on 8 March 1991 at the Royal Gighcroft Theatre, London. First published in Moving Transmission (Autumn 2003).
CAST VISITOR 1 VISITOR 2 VISITOR 3 VISITOR 4 NURSE 1 NURSE 2 NURSE 3 NURSE 4 LADY
Retirement home. Huddled group walk across the stage. Elderly people surround them. NURSE 1: [Surprised.] Oh. Hello. VISITOR 1: Hello. VISITOR 2: [Quieter.] Hello. VISITOR 1: She through there? NURSE 1: Yes she’s still in her bed. VISITOR 1: Oh is she. [All Laugh.] Ha! NURSE 1: She’s just finished her breakfast on her breakfast tray. But she’s still lying in bed ********** in the shower. You can, you can see her. VISITOR 1: Shall we go and see her? [Looks to the Group. Blank expressions] Yeah O.K thanks. NURSE 1: Yeah no problem. [Exit NURSE 1] VISITOR 2: What if we can’t get in? VISITOR 1: Is she in there? [Points to sitting area.] NURSE 2: Yeah hold on. [Checks where LADY is.] Ah yes. She’s getting washed. VISITOR 1: Oh is she? We’ll hang around for her. NURSE 2: Are you going to wait? VISITOR 1: We’ll wait yes. NURSE 2: Ah O.K. We can bring her in the lounge. [Begins to walk away.]
VISITOR 1: O.K lovely. Thank you. NURSE 2: O.K. [Exit NURSE 2.] [Enter NURSE 1. Walks to window.] NURSE 1: Is it too cold to open the window? VISITOR 1: Oh I don’t know. It’s not too cold outside. Is it? [Looks at group.] VISITOR 2: No. NURSE 1: Maybe just open the little one. For some fresh air. [Opens window.] VISITOR 1: Thank you. It was nice and sunny yesterday though wasn’t it? NURSE 1: Yes. Nice and sunny. VISITOR 3: [Whispers to VISITOR 4.] Probably out the window in a minute! VISITOR 1: **** can get up. [Ignored by all.] [Exit NURSE 1] VISITOR 2: [Looking out window.]That noise is really annoying. [All turn towards window.] VISITOR 1: Hm. Is it sawing wood do you think? VISITOR 4: No it’s a lawnmower. VISITOR 1: Oh. Is it? VISITOR 2: Strimmer I should think. VISITOR 4: Could be one of those blowy things. VISITOR 2: Oh yeah.
VISITOR 3: Does sound more like a train. Maybe not. VISITOR 2: [VISITOR 2 and 3 turn towards VISITOR
4.] What?!
VISITOR 4: Doesn't sound like a train! VISITOR 3: Never mind. VISITOR 2: [Gazing thoughtfully.]I
haven't
actually had a lie-in one day this week. VISITOR 1: No? How long do you count a liein for? VISITOR 2: Well I mean a lie-in as in I haven't had to get up. VISITOR 1: Oh. You didn't have to get up yesterday. VISITOR 2: [Defensively.]I did. VISITOR 1: Oh you mean for lunch yeah I s’pose so. VISITOR 2: Yeah. VISITOR 1: Which it was a 12 0’clock lunch, so she had to leave at half eleven which meant she had to be up... VISITOR 2: [Interrupts.]By ten. VISITOR 1: [Astonished.]By ten? VISITOR 3: Actually no I was up at half ten. VISITOR 3: Do you know what? I set my alarm this morning. [Ignored by all.] VISITOR 2: I was actually half an hour early. VISITOR 1: What yesterday?
VISITOR 3: I would do some work but then you came and woke me up anyway saying we had to go, I didn’t even know we were going. VISITOR 1: Hm I’m glad your getting on with your revision. VISITOR 3: I’m not. VISITOR 1: Oh. Why's that then? VISITOR 3: I don’t know. VISITOR 1: Why not then? VISITOR 3: I don’t know. I’m trying. VISITOR 1: I thought you were revising yesterday? When you were doing the maths. VISITOR 3: I did some. VISITOR 1: You ought to do some languages each day don’t you? VISITOR 3: Hm. VISITOR 1: Learn your words. Do you do so many a day? VISITOR 3: I think that it’s stupid that we have to learn a tense that doesn't exist in English. It’s so confusing. VISITOR 1: I thought it was ‘I would’. Or something you would use when you’re being very polite. I’m sure there was one. So when do you actually use it? VISITOR 3: What in? VISITOR 1: In French yeah. VISITOR 3: It’s after an extreme emotion or something or other.
VISITOR 1: I hate. VISITOR 3: But then you can also use it to say: in order that I or so that I may eat I washed the dishes or something. So that I can eat it is the eat. VISITOR 1: Doesn’t make any sense to me. VISITOR 3: No me neither. [Pause.] VISITOR 1: Do you learn your Spanish? VISITOR 3: Yes I do lean my Spanish. VISITOR 1: I thought it was je voudrai. VISITOR 3: No that's I would like. [Pause.] VISITOR 1: I like people singing in the shower. VISITOR 2: [Excitedly.] Yeah yeah me to! VISITOR 1: I used to do it. Singing in the shower. [Enter NURSE 3.] NURSE 3: Are you waiting? [All turn.] VISITOR 1: Yeah. NURSE 3: She was lying in bed eating breakfast. When I took her medication to her. VISITOR 1: That’s the way to go! SOUND: But luckily for Ben the sorcerer had a surprise in store. [NURSE 3 Checking patients around the room.]
NURSE 3: ****? ****? Your breakfast is here. SOUND: The sorcerers were excited that they were all staying as the group were getting on famously. NURSE 3: **** I’m just going to put this on your back. Lean forward. [Enter NURSE 4 With LADY.] NURSE 3: Oh there she is! VISITOR 1: Hi there! NURSE 4: Oh this trousers are not good. Your trousers is not ironed. [Brushing at trousers.] LADY: Don’t hurt me dear. NURSE 4: You don’t head? LADY: Noo. NURSE 4: But it’s not, it’s not looking nice. LADY: But I’m sorry darling. VISITOR 1: Mum do you want to go out in the car for a bit and have a cup of coffee? NURSE 4: LADY I know how you are feeling. LADY: I come to you then. NURSE 4: You come to me, come to me then. Come to me then. You see all these ladies? All these ladies have come to see you. LADY: ********where it is? NURSE 3: You know who they are? LADY: Yes I do.
NURSE 3: Your Grandchildren. They have come to see you. LADY: We can go. NURSE 4: You can go that's right. [Singing. LADY starts. Others join in.] NURSE 4: O.K. you’re going now to them isn’t it. I’ll see you later. LADY: What you know. Oh not another one. VISITOR 1: You’ve got another one? LADY: There. [LADY picking at other person’s breakfast of sausage, eggs and bacon on fried bread.] NURSE 3: O.K I’ll see you later. Do you want some of that? You want some of that? LADY: Yes, yes. NURSE 3: You can have all of that. LADY: Yes, yes! [All laugh.] NURSE 4: There is another one there if she wants it she can have it in the dinning hall. [End.]
00:15:53
The memory of past events rolling through my mind. Turning each over to discover new enjoyment and sentiments in them. These gentle musings strike in the heavy heart of a non committed soul; finding commitment only in thought. Wrong thing for the right reasons. The right thing for the wrong reasons. Then surely nothing is ever wrong but it is the conscience that sways us. The consciousness allows us to inform our hearts of the wrong we are doing and our minds the implications of our decision. Creating the illusion that both ride in tandem. The conciseness brings them together
this conscious regret in memories.
Do anything but stare.