My Diary: How To Be Imperfect In A Perfect World

I sat,‭ ‬squashed between a row of gardening books,‭ ‬on a shelf in my library.‭ ‬June got me down instead of a book and began to read‭; ‬before she had finished‭ (‬I hate endings‭) ‬I showered in the garden and then took the dog out,‭ ‬me on a pogo stick and her on a mobile trampoline.‭ ‬We came out from the underpass with sore heads and on my return to the copper kettle house I diligently squeezed myself into a tin can to work.‭ ‬June sat with Poppy on a row of sardines:‭ ‬they collectively dreamed of being architectural columns holding up the widest viaduct in Western Europe.‭ ‬I thought they should be lighthouses shining vertically up into space‭ ‬-‭ ‬as‭ ‬I thought this a raven landed in the very centre of the amphitheatre and made a sunken galleon out of an electric violin and a piece of brain coral.

My Diary: Thinking Of Ways Of Turning The Lost Into The Found

June wanted to go out,‭ ‬pulling behind her a collection of kites who had grown too old to fly.‭ ‬I stayed in the Nautilus tying string together before leaving the inverted bridge‭ (‬sometimes called a rainbow reflection‭) ‬for a short while in the company of Joan of Arc and the goddess Athena‭ (‬I didn’t find out until later that they were one and the same‭)‬.‭ ‬I came home a long time before June,‭ ‬talked to a dinosaur who was thinking of taking the vows and then to a nun who wanted to be a warm blooded reptile.‭ ‬Apollo and Artemis brought June home,‭ ‬I removed the skeleton that had been transformed into a drum kit from the boot of their car and then patted the black hole which will eventually swallow the entire solar system as if it was a small dog.

My Diary: Hanging On A Broken Branch Like A Leaf

I came down from my tree bed,‭ ‬several hundred feet up in a Sequoiadendron,‭ ‬and found June under a duster almost as big as the room itself.‭ ‬I drew a door and went through‭; ‬on the wall was a portrait of Vittoria Colonna,‭ ‬who I pretended to know‭ ‬-‭ ‬I discussed her poetry with the artificial coal fire and then resolved not to bathe for the rest of the year.‭ ‬Outside the distant hills had crept nearer during the night,‭ ‬I calculated they would be touching the unopened window by the end of the month,‭ ‬and the sky seemed to me to be smiling to itself.‭ ‬I foolishly stated that it might end up blinded like Polyphemus even though as a small boy I had been promised in marriage to an elderly sheep.‭ ‬June walked to town using several different routes simultaneously,‭ ‬she arrived at various times.

My Diary: The Difficulties Associated With Keeping A Hamster Wheel In Your Head

June wanted a day of baking gem stones and locked me out of the kitchen.‭ ‬Before working as a telegraphist for the Union Pacific railroad in the Eighteen Sixties I went out into the garden to talk to a number of Boer War soldiers busily reenacting the Siege of Mafeking in the rabbit hutch‭ (‬the rabbit having moved into a penthouse apartment on the South Coast‭)‬.‭ ‬One showed me a model of the USS Nautilus he kept in a tropical aquarium and then extolled the virtues of breeding veil tail guppies‭ ‬-‭ ‬in response I showed him a picture of myself as a young child in the company of a group of dog headed men.‭ ‬June came upstairs after lunch with a slice of cake she had christened Marie Antoinette‭ ‬-‭ ‬I went down later with an empty plate I christened Madame Roland.

My Diary: A Story Told With Shadows

June spent the night on the floral patterned carpet while I stayed underneath‭; ‬we met again while pasted to the wall under a William Morris wallpaper‭ (‬to be honest I thought it was too intricate and was quite pleased when the council added double yellow lines even though we can no longer stand in front without getting a ticket‭)‬.‭ ‬I had to rush to town like a Casey Jones shopping trolley and then June and I went to the city we had previously likened to a medieval mouth:‭ ‬two strangers played rhythm and blues on its medieval tongue while I spied on all the figures below through its equally old eye‭ ‬-‭ ‬I was surprised to find that one of the figures was June herself,‭ ‬looking like she had been spread over a cobbled street and then burnished to a soft sheen.

My Diary: King Arthur And The Lawnmower Knight

I got up inside an old fashioned camera and then exposed myself‭; ‬luckily no one was looking.‭ ‬I had a bath in a cup of tea while June showered in coffee‭; ‬this part of our relationship has never changed.‭ ‬I carefully smeared myself in brown sauce and laid on a bag of chips moments before June went out hand in hand with a petrol driven lawn mower.‭ ‬I followed later with the tentacles of a red giant starfish still attached to my Richard the Lionheart front.‭ ‬After a meal of a robot’s teeth in a concrete bap we both came home through the teddy bear swamp‭ (‬by the rocking horse bridge‭) ‬and I wrapped myself in the blanket of my studio‭; ‬the movement of my hands forming a smiling face in a time lapse photograph of an electric arc.‭

My Diary: Am I A Colour In A Black And White World

I had my weekly early start,‭ ‬getting up with the inaugural journey of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway in my head,‭ ‬and looking out at a Shepherd’s Warning sunrise with the remains of summer still stranded on the door step.‭ ‬The step poked out its tongue and then superimposed it on top of a collection of Victorian mourning photographs,‭ ‬and this despite the fact that I was metamorphosing into a South American sun god and the house was built in the time of George the Fifth‭ ‬-‭ ‬although my astral plane neighbour believes it is actually Edwardian and somehow got lost when the multidimensional winds changed.‭ ‬I went out into the calm lands,‭ ‬stopping to say hello to the ancestral river god and climbing the playing cards steps to commune with a darkened nature in the unlit loft.