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 Whatʼs 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? Whatʼs 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 writerʼs?
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. Ask them.
What would their
side be?
Ask them.
What is their
story?
That guy there with the
checked shirt
and short hair.
Unknown.
Nothing. The person youʼre
sitting next to.
Fidgeting,
restless.
Irritating you.
Yes.
Important?
Special?
No. The present.
A place.
A context of now.
That girl talking
loudly on her
phone so I canʼt
think. Her
landlord. I donʼt
care.
It doesnʼt matter. The scene is set for
the present.
The now.
The rain.
“...Itʼs not a major
issue...”
Then Shut up!
 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. An alcove of
Dreaming.
I canʼt help but
be like this.

Kitchen table.
Bang.
Biting.
Itʼs this place.
Itʼs the now.
 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.} {I definitely saw
her look this way.
Or was it
just a glance out
the window?}
Looks like a
good film up
Zooming in. That ahead.
moving head.
Zooming out.
Shutting the window.
Zooming in. Swings
the head. Zooming
out.
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. The rain across the
window.
Trying hard to keep up
flying
along side. What for? Let the wind
and speed
spiral you
out.
Unknown
lands
across the
bridge.
The path
crossing
eye.
“...heʼs got a
new boyfriend and all
that..”
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
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. Thereʼs no one else.
Trees of green and purple and blue
because anything is possible...

The role is lowered. You donʼt 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, itʼs going to happen.

Couldnʼt 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.

Whatʼs 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 wonʼt
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... itʼs
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 itʼs the wrong thing to do? Part of me canʼt 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 doesnʼt 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 isnʼt 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, donʼt 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 ʻEh!ʼ 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 canʼt 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, itʼs 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, letʼs 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 occupantʼs 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 lie-
in 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.