The alarm sounded as I found myself standing in a house slowly collapsing around me (a little boy in another dimension was hoping for Lego for Christmas). Marks on the floral carpet rose like Grecian columns - the time lapse movement of honey bees mapped out the shape of flower heads on their barefoot tops. June and I wore headdresses of sunflowers and went to town where we looked through filaments of bright orange, me dressed in broadsheet newspapers and her wearing a costume of ancient paw prints. We walked home through industrial estate rain.
June went out for the day and I was left with the animals; the dog tried on her favourite little black number (we later walked both black and white numbers round the digital totem pole before climbing it like antithetical firemen) and the cats sat on a mat discussing the philosophy of Wittgenstein. I decided to clean out the pockets of an old pair of jeans that I saw walking up the garden path and found a black and white photograph of a zebra and a wrist watch shaped like a fob watch. I put the watch on – it was permanently kept at a normal human body temperature.
I left the house (called Nautilus) very early. I rose in an air bubble to the little house in the valley where the old man made breakfast out of slabs of concrete. We compared pictures of open and closed eyes and then signed our names on as many pursed lips as possible. I pushed my hands into bare earth and came home by parcel post landing on the doormat like a postcard which arrives after the sender is home. June had been swallowed by the hula hoop I sometimes call her job so on finding my legs had grown to over six feet long I took my shadow out for a walk.
I noticed that the tortoise cat suit I was wearing first thing in the morning was becoming worn and looked for a bush I could use as a changing room – I changed into a chest of drawers and June later found the socks that were missing in my bottom drawer. After a brief sojourn climbing the Empire State Building with my butterfly wings bullet ridden and crumpled I returned to attaching old tin cans to the recently painted wall and finding stones small enough to sit inside them. I was conscious I did not have a tall enough mountain to shout from and went into a deep cave system to think.
I got up like a pilgrim who lost his religion half way into the pilgrimage and did not manage to settle down to serious work unto mid morning. The dog was trying to play herself at scrabble and lost the game when I spelt walk using letters from old envelopes – I changed the addresses of all the places I have lived at into a piece of poetry and was reciting this aloud when the postman knocked the door and handed me a glove with a hand already contained within it. I spent much of the afternoon painting all the light bulbs black and turned the lights out when June came in.
I had to go out (wearing two hats for a change) and found the first signs of a disembodied consciousness on the playing fields behind King George Road. I communed with kings without crowns and came home riding a surf board across the freshly laid tarmac. I worked all day inside a sculpture of solidified surf and then changed out of my desert flower swim suit into a costume made from the portcullis of a Norman castle. June returned as I was just about to climb the ladder I had purposely made too short to reach the roof. Two stone birds looked down from above.
I began the first chapter of the day astride a pebble skin dragon searching for a field of cabbages to plunder. I was served by the first in a new era of pocket sized robots and came back home with a picture of an octopus in a bathing suit on my banner. I worked in the white, grey and black towers until June returned as a damsel not in distress and I went out again sitting on a mobile windmill. It would be some time before I re-entered the page I was being read from and settled down for the evening attached like a footnote to the rather discoloured margin.