Category Archives: series 3

Sleeping rough, series 3 – Episode 9: Forward

I remember taking refuge in the endlessness of the horizon as it contained and carried all of the seas right to my minds eye. I noticed the infinite variety of greys and greens and taupes as the waters shifted and swirled underneath a dull sky. A grey that continued itself into the curly white sands dancing at high speed over the wet and flat beach. There was blue in the sky but not enough for the water to receive it.
One view with nothing left in or out. My eyes did not focus on anything. They did not look. They just cried with the wind and sand. I am not sure any more they even saw.

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Sleeping rough, series 3 – Episode 8: Deal done

I remember taking refuge in the deep fear that filled everything. Me, my surroundings, the sounds of the wind and water splashing up to the dock. The movement of the wooden boards as I walked them. Being a machine. Amidst all the fear I could only be a machine.

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Sleeping rough, series 3 – Episode 7: Gaoithe an iarthair

I remember taking refuge in the gentle bobbing of the boat. The tapping sounds of tiny waves against the hull. The rapid tick-tick-tick-tick-ticking of the thin iron threads along the aluminium masts of this boat and others at the dock, swaying in the light wind.

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Sleeping rough, series 3 – Episode 6: Silence

I remember taking refuge in the sounds of the silent night. In the sound of my footsteps echoing from the façades of the houses where no light was coming from. In how the sound of my own breathing changed passing the gap that was an off-street. And changed right back to how it was before as soon as I had crossed that gap. I remember taking refuge in the silent sounds of my own trousers rustling every step. And in the sharp crash in my ears when swallowing some saliva.

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Sleeping rough, series 3 – Episode 5: Shelter

I remember taking refuge in the clean softness of the pillow underneath my head. The soft cotton. The smell of ironed cloth with starch in it. My head was sore and I felt dizzy and drowsy. I might be coming down with something. But at least for the moment I was warm and safe and comfortable. A pillow. A mattress. A blanket covering my shivering body. My eyes closed. The bunk bed moved a bit as the person sleeping in the top bed rolled to her other side. That swaying of the bed. The squeaking of the joints between the metallic parts. It was all good. It was all right. I had found shelter. At least for the night.

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Sleeping rough, series 3 – Episode 4: Tuppence

I remember taking refuge in the arrhythmic movement of the many legs that passed me by. Like a slow flow of thick water with a lot of debris in it. Not much colour, not much movements on individual level. Just a constant flow of movements too much alike each other to identify one.

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Sleeping rough, series 3 – Episode 3: Vixen

I remember taking refuge in the light of the flames as they tried to fly off the very wood that was giving life to them. They danced rhythmically to their own song of cracks, whispers and roars. Sparks would blaze off as if a mad fox dug his snout into the core of the fireplace and shook it around like live prey, every time a kid carelessly threw another one of my precious blocks of wood in there. That shattering of one light into hundreds of pieces swiftly drifting upward hypnotised me into a carefree state of accepting. This was it. I never really owned that wood in the first place. How can you own anything at all that is as temporary as a log of dry wood in a blazing bonfire?

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