My astral soldier friend is seriously ill. She is curled up like a distant memory and wont take in food or kind words. The boy in me shrunk into the cellophane wrapping a long discarded toy was brought home in. We made plans for future existences in case we parted in the glass eye of the night. As the wrong curtains were brought down on the wrong play I wished we could all live in many times at once as I am not happy about being alone in this one - I wrote this as a pair of shoes climbed the stairs with no feet in them, they paused and then climbed another flight even though there isn’t one (I looked to see if there was a pair of gloves coming down but my fantasy and fancy didn’t stretch that far). I went to bed with the soldier and we reminisced about our campaigns of invention and imagination.
I walked out of the house with my cup of tea converted to a brown mist floating some way above the sailing boat on my head. Both the mist and the boat dispersed before I caught the mechanical camel to the bird haunt and finally the primate Olympus where the gorilla god spoke using several words at once, I replied with multiple silences. I came home to take the chocolate princess to see a pair of hands; the hands pointed out bad news and June and I crept into stone towers to shuffle home. I heard a strange whispering from the cellar we haven’t got and saw a premonition of the sea above towns of municipal coral. In disgust I broke mere words into pieces and handed them around; only one person refused the gift and he had arrow slits for eyes - I drew a picture with arrows instead of trees.
June and I visited the Noah lady again to pull animals from her pretend beard - over enthusiastic as usual I also removed the stone entrails from a sedimentary rock yak as well as the diamante launch pad of a V2 missile, several probabilities from a quantum mechanical computer and a frying pan last used by Thor to hit Loki (both were in drag and wore stockings in complimentary colours). We didn’t have very good news about smudge face (although worse was to come for chocolate girl) and we came home wearing African land snails as hats - I was amazed that mine had reached my breast pocket by the time I had got home as June‘s was still acting as a light house on her promontory head. I pulled a periscope down from the light rose and pretended to see the future instead of the past.
As an exercise in astral art I painted staring eyes on the battlements of my stone head. I could hear the enemy in the distance composing rhyming couplets beside their ragworm camp fires; as a mandatory response I wrote rather abstruse verse on the camouflaged carapace of a mechanical crab. There was apparently a brief respite from the dark winged days and I curled up in the powder chamber of my heavy artillery piece to fire the lead shot of my imagination. As a pacifist I fired only at blank patches of earth; having cleared it of all recognisable forms of life. I then followed the faux animal foot prints out of my old stamping ground and onto pastures new, where I spent some time measuring the distance between dead flowers in readiness for the promise of a Spring display.
June and I dropped in quick succession from a star shaped hole in the ceiling. She picked up a piece of lunar rock in the shape of a Martian and I picked up the cat. We walked to town with the shadows of animals on the pavement before us and the shadows of people behind. The cat admired her shadow of a man in a trilby and I admired my Bengal tiger - we then all came home with the sun behind clouds. While June used the cat as a ball of wool I climbed into the hayloft to clutch at straws and work with a wild animal of a pencil - it let me scratch out pictures from raw emotion. I could hear wailing in the distance and saw a premonition of land floating above clouds. June meanwhile made a cottage pie for dinner; I admired the heart shaped windows.
I started the day in a reenactment of the Battle of Hohenfriedberg artfully frozen in fifteen dimensions (plus time) behind my artificial eyes. June went out with a partially smudged cat while I stayed behind with the entire Prussian army. I had planned to raise myself from the ink blot lake like Excalibur but in the end had to settle for the emergence of a naked hand (which briefly performed a naked hand ballet) and then let it take its antithesis into my mollusc shell study before the rain touched the embroidered hem of my demurely arranged petticoat. I wrote in spirals about the golden mean and not mean - as usual I sided with the not mean - and then fitted together brief glimpses of another reality which I hope to capture and keep for those times when nothing actually makes sense.
I got up with the head of a spider monkey and the tail of a raccoon; June remained in bed talking of redecorating the zoo. After a breakfast of old pictures I walked the dog along the sharpened edge of a razor, painted a clown’s face black and then went to lunch with myself and June. We both ate minutes instead of food before being served a meal of ball bearings and brake fluid. I came home to sew badges onto flying carpets while June stayed in town garlanding shopping malls with conversation. She came home eventually as the contents of a hypodermic syringe; being injected into the living room (which was wearing Boer War camouflaged stockings and green vegetables freshly grown in the Crimea). I saluted like a Great Western Railway signal and poured boiling hot tea from a ball point pen.