My Diary

The secret agent in me was uncovering a plot as I walked the dog along a row of front doors, one of which was open even though all the back doors were closed. After watching Europa escape carrying the bull I went back to the house to make classical columns out of gothic liquorice. I worked in the black ruins as much of the day as I could; the children outside happily making a moon out of the contents of a skip and me making an eclipse out of a significant stream of coincidences. As the light began to dim I heard the children again in a tree, not as high as me when I was young but still able to reach out and unzip an old wall to reveal a new wall inside. A tortoiseshell cat walked the entire length of the new wall for a fuss even though all the man with a walking stick could offer was an empty glove.

My Diary

I had a lay in on the bed of a circular saw (three thousand, seven hundred revolutions a minute), frantically trying to recall the shreds of the dreams I had just had. June had risen sometime earlier to watch a trestle table climb the stairs unaided; the cat, who had been asleep on the computer keyboard pressed the escape key and all the skeletons in the cupboard turned to dust. I put the table up with small electric fans forming satyr horns on my chest of drawers forehead. We had to go out, so June laid out the cutlery for an invisible meal while I picked up all the clothes which had performed as extras in the action film shot outside. I met all the other cast members up the road and we pretended to be vampire werewolves again. I was also a merman bear dog.

My Diary

I wasn’t up early even though a shark fin slid through the bed with an advert for a local pizza house emblazoned in its side. I walked the dog as the meat filling in a sandwich and then June went to town pushing a pram with a large head in it; she rang up later to talk about the leg of a lamb – I imagined it in a black stocking even though I am a strict vegetarian. In the middle of the day I pushed my head into a screen and felt the fresh snow on my face; the tide came in as the sun came out – I set a step ladder up in front of it and imagined the annunciation in the subsequent shadow. Standing beside the curtain in the window I thought up a story while the lady with light houses on her chest put herself out immediately after the ship had hit the rocks.

My Diary

I was up very early and followed June up the darkened road, overtaking her where the bridge grows a forked tongue. I crept up moving stairs while a reincarnation of Florence Nightingale handed out lamps on the lower deck. After a stop off in lee of a giant’s armpit I found myself in a photo album being peered over by people with sunsets in their eyes. I talked at length to the old king and then left beside a man with an elephant head; I carried his suitcase rather than his trunk and we talked in Italian before the local bus recounted its first trip though a snow covered landscape. When the barefoot dancers emerged from a flat white sky I dedicated a love poem to the demise of Shanklin Pier – June came home later with wet feet.

My Diary

I slid out between the typed A4 sheets of paper that have been serving as bedding, corrected the spelling and got ready to dress. I did this as quickly as possible as figures looking like Carthaginians flitted in and out. Looking at myself in the mirror all I saw was a series of lines, some were straight and some were bent. June has already walked up the road as a collection of circles so I spent some time in my studio before having to watch the dentist circle the light fitting like a bird of prey. I came home with a plastic model of a Tupolev Tu-144 in my mouth only to feel it fly out halfway though a meal of desiccated miners fingers. I had shook the hand of at least one miner before I painted a black person in a black dress against a black sky.

My Diary

I spoke to the climbing rose rambling up towards the bedroom window (remember it is the side shoots that produce the flowers). I then dressed in wrist watches instead of clothes and arranged the time before walking the dog. A troupe of performing monks came up the road as we walked down it with the various geological epochs balanced over our heads. I looked back once and saw religion somersaulting over their own heads like a view of the African Savannah floating above a suburban street. I imagined the scene when I first moved to this town. Before this I lived where the outside lavatory was several hundred yards away from the back door and there was an orchestra of rodents in the thatch – the dog gnawed on Lee-Enfield rifles instead of bones.

My Diary

I woke up inside a television. I wasn’t sure if I had to perform or develop jagged lines. I dressed as a penguin and went downstairs with a wet fish behind my ear (I would have worn a cloth cap but needed somewhere for the helicopter to land). Finding two girls in crates I took them down the hill in the back of a hay wagon where angels changed to demons and demons changed to individual stitches in the Bayeux Tapestry. The girls sunk to the bottom of the crates like sediment and a lady in green leaves had to fish them out while I kept the boat steady. We came home in full sail, all standing on deck like chess pieces; the old knight fell over when we hit dry land and had to be picked up by a rook. The rook then flew off.