My Diary

I started the week on a spaghetti tight rope with a phone dangling from each ear; these contorted my landscape hair but did allow me to talk to myself as June prepared to sail with the Argonauts (I made sure I gave Jason a tip when he brought the wine – Gigondas: my favourite). In a strange blue light I ascended the vertebra steps to my medulla oblongata studio, I stayed there for most of the day, counting the numbers of cars that went up and down the road and dividing by the number of books in the Old Testament – I later used the result to calculate the number of full stops in Dante’s Inferno. June came home with her very own rain cloud who I called the Duke of Clarence; she had a one act play inside her mouth, pushing out her cheeks and bringing her eyes together.

My Diary

I spent the day inside; I couldn’t get out as each door was blocked by groups of small antelopes who had stopped off mid migration to exchange their travel money. June had taken down the curtains and the little boy inside my head walked the path between a scale model mechanical digger (who had been busy recording bird song for a new album) and the invisible home of a family of fairy tree surgeons (who had been out pollarding dandelions). As he skimmed a small stone across a placid lake I remembered the dew pond at the top of the hill and my mother having to go behind it – June put new curtains across the fish shaped windows. After this I pulled a white rabbit out of a pot of white paint and draped the closed doors in simulated waterfalls – when I opened them again steam came out.

My Diary

As I got out of bed I imagined painting a set of gleaming white teeth on someone’s buttocks – June was accidentally talking to an American trucker – I imagined him sitting on his smile. Instead of breakfast I painted my face a dark shade of grey and then painted the house doors white. June walked to town with broom stick legs as I settled down to paint the bannister. I was equipped with brushes at the end of my cricket bat arms and a radio chair mimicked my harmonica mouth, I breathed out a tune until June signaled like a recently extinguished light at the end of a tunnel (to communicate properly I had to become a Victorian engineer and build a railway). I saw her again at the railway station alighting from a white horse – our shadows touched even though we were several feet apart.

 

My Diary

I got up early, with a semi-detached house on my back – I am waiting for planning permission to add a conservatory. June was downstairs nursing a bungalow when I descended with a parachute made from scraps of unused wallpaper (cream and beige stripes). I caught the bus at the Cyclops roundabout (red and white strips) and travelled back in time; each hillside had a smiling face and each modest dwelling had a door like a flying fish (all dreams return as flying fish or swimming birds). The old king and I talked about facial expressions on hillsides and I then built a trench in the garden – the Germans are the other side of the fence and we will have a game of football on Christmas Day. I came home inside a beer tankard and immediately pulled a glass of water.

My Diary

Apologies for not posting last week but I have been away on holiday (the first for ten years!).  Here are the posts from Saturday 20th September to Saturday 27th September:

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I got up with a balsa wood glider replacing the features of my face. June was preparing for lunar orbit and we both expressed concern for the people with turtle heads before we took off. We landed where crumpled faces congregate and looked for silhouettes hidden among the brick walls and buffer stops of a fashion terminus (I call it the void although I did look for a bright green hat to go with my red beard). June bought shopping bags to put shopping bags in while I waited on the top floor for the lift to come down. We came home by dodo express and I immediately parted the waters for an old man with a beard to walk through – the turtle heads were taking part in a fashion shoot for a well known glossy magazine.

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I got up in an unbrushed hair morning and felt the top of my head. I fed the mythical animals to the sound of geriatric choristers while June got ready for her quantum mechanical meal. Having caught a bus at the urban armpit I travelled down arm and met the old man for a second hand breakfast – I then went out into his family heirloom garden and turned some soil. I noticed the child had changed into a digital copy and his mother a piece of Eighteenth Century furniture (complete with cabriole legs). I gave my child goodbyes and came home via a black and white spotted mail coach. June was waiting to cling to a tree like ivy and I walked the dog before she went to town as a crucifix on the head of a stag. Finding myself alone I went upstairs to paint a head on a guillotine blade.

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I designed a pineapple house while in a semiconscious state and lived in it for a time in a tropical dream. June was living in a different house and got up before me; she was riding a mechanical raccoon around our termite mound living room when I came down to find a breakfast bowl to sit in (after filling it half way with milk – as I did so I placed words in a safe place ready to hand them out next time the tree children drop in). Having decided I had the RMS Queen Mary as a shadow I steamed out into the garden; coming back almost straight away with a paint brush and a ladder – my shadow was by now a floating hotel and a film slide which unfortunately had turned pink. I climbed the ladder and viewed the paint brush from a great height.

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June went to the hill top meeting and came back with a glass of water on each eyelid; I reached for my umbrella as she fluttered her eyelashes. After the rain had died down we went out to buy a can of white paint even though there is one already on the kitchen floor with sharks swimming it; I pulled out a swimmer and called her a brush – a cloud entered the open window but left before we could close it again; I tried to mark its flight path on the floor with a pencil line, surprisingly it resembled a figure with wings. June cooked a camp side meal as I painted the flames on the fire (I recollected that I have been waiting my whole life for a person with fires in their eyes, the nearest I have got was meeting a man with smoke from his ears).

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June had to go to work to be taught how to talk to dolls; I wasn’t sure if I could feel my hands and walked on water to the shop and back – I spoke to a lady with sailing boat shoes and then crumpled the grey sky into a grey ball. I waited a short while for a leg to kick the ball but only arms emerged from the built-in cupboards. I then worked in my canal boat studio, remembering childhood games as I placed pencil lines into tight formations like advancing soldiers. Most of the soldiers were shaped like landscapes, one of which was covered in snow resembling a celtic cross in a remote churchyard. June came in as the marching band started to play and the cat dancers jumped from ethereal laps – I was surprised when I found out later that the drummer was a girl.

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I listened to the wind rattling the picture frame window (I prefer to see a painted landscape when I rise) and then spoke to trees as I entered the kitchen by way of a very long rope; the dog was coiled up on the cat mat and I unknotted her tail ( I think it was a granny knot but it could have been another relation. I only ever knew one grandad: not sure if I will ever meet the other one, perhaps in a battlefield in the sky – however, by then the fighting will have stopped and all territorial disputes would be settled with lawn mowers). June and I had to hang wallpaper as the smoke settled; she stood in a hole while I stood on a ladder – when we reached the door that no one is allowed to open we decided to stop. A sky god knocked on the door and let himself in.

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I stepped into a picture book straight from a dream; I ticked the first page illustrating a hedgehog in a gun barrel and a severed hand wrapped in Sellotape and then made myself breakfast on the second. June and I were hanging wallpaper again while the rest of the animal occupants of the house were busy solving lagrangian equations. I spent all afternoon atop a ladder which had earlier expressed an interest in walking on its own, eventually stepping out of the front door to Colditz freedom; as I would have been clinging to its top I was glad when I finally persuaded it not to – recommending instead that it learnt to play the lute (I mentioned the music of John Downland as a good starting point). June and I stood like castles either site of a strait, both watching intently as two mermaids pulled themselves out of the water and started throwing clays pots on a revolving rock.

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A return to Indus Valley civilisation normality: June went to work although a bit later than usual, partly because she was carrying the parts of a Crimean War cannon on her back which she promised to reassemble at the foot of the old man’s bed (reputedly he has a moustache which is several yards long and writhes like a snake when bathed in moonlight; I told her to bathe it only in salt water). As is my want I locked myself into my postbox studio to paint letters as they fall like mechanically substituted bison – incidentally, I look forward to an era when all plains are covered in bison again. June came home, not much earlier than usual, riding a water buffalo. I made her a coffee while a man stepped off a flying boat in the back garden.

My Diary

June went back to work followed by three and a half men riding camels – I had to get up early to wait for the mountain to arrive. As I couldn’t take the dog out for a walk she decided to learn to touch type on a grand piano. I talked to giant reptiles who, surprisingly, had knocked on the back door with tickets to see The Phantom Of The Opera; I explained I hadn’t seen the show but lived it most of the time. The man who had invented an upside down boat (for a sea that flows on the ceiling – just above plastic kits of a Junkers 88 and Lockheed Hercules complete with Blood hound missile) knocked on the door just before dinner and just after the man selling yesterday’s newspapers had parked his car on a fly agaric fungus that had pushed up through the concrete drive.

My Diary

June and I went out for the day; this was proclaimed by a giant mouth that appeared in an otherwise empty wall – I thought it would make a nice aquarium and was just saying this to a pretty black and white dress that issued from the letter box when a pair of huge concrete boots walked by (June thought she saw a pair of concrete legs being lowered into the sea near Weymouth but couldn’t be sure). We looked at rolls of wallpaper: June in an attempt to find lines that could be measured to a fraction of a micrometer and me in the hope that a maidservant to Cleopatra might emerge holding a small turtle and a first aid box once used by Florence Nightingale in the Antarctic. We had a meal in a cave before coming home to find a signpost which was found before on the savannah of Argentina.