I had to climb out of the picture earlier than planned; leaving June still inside and resting on a log (until it dramatically changed into Saint Anthony and the surrounding vegetation into young women with reptile scales). Looking at a circle above his head I wondered if everything eventually returns to where it started out. I later mentioned this to June when we stood like unhammered in nails as the carpenter’s plane removed the last slither of wood from the plank - I am not sure if even he knew what he was making. June and I stayed in the same shell all day even though outside the others had exchanged seas. I sat in an art chair painting tables and she laid on a rock listening to the song of the sirens as an empty ship sailed by with absolutely no one tied to the mast.
I got up holding the hand that had emerged, fully grown and armed, from my forehead during the night:. I let it go when the dog frightened the cats cradle and an imaginary spiral staircase walked down our stairs from the first floor (I call our bedroom the belfry). As June was part of an artfully arranged still life I left the house alone and walked across the bog person ground using open hands as stepping stones - I got across before they came together to clap. I returned in the arms of a diurnal bat, with wine glass epaulettes and car exhaust hat. June was clinging to the scaffolding surrounding the Statue of Liberty when it started to move - at first measuring its footsteps in both metric and imperial and then walking off into the gunpowder confetti of the pretend revolutionary distance.
Neither June or I went out. With the weather transformed into a line of just washed petticoats it was too wet to hold hands with the tree people even when the sacred grove opened out as if a mouth about to speak - I was quite pleased when it didn’t as I hadn’t bothered to learn my lines. I looked through the raindrops algorithmically changed to dragonfly eyes and watched the fortune cookie ladies and mop bucket gentlemen enter and exit the stage. As I stared into the almost infinity, June surrounded herself with a necklace of wild west wagons and spoke to a voice that had entered the room like a cartoon cloud - She said it was the past wrapped in the present and I said it was an angel trapped in a tar pit and subsequently threw myself down a well to retrieve the feather covered spindle.
I got up a bit earlier today, holding onto a liana that hung down from the sun forest canopy and swinging between the nodes where parallel worlds meet. I had a short spell as President Charlie Chaplin before June emerged from our nuclear submarine bed and told me to pull my trousers up. After this I donned a space suit designed for giant mice, punched the calendar in the face and surreptitiously added an entirely fictitious date As I did so a lady, who I had met a few years ago when she accidentally stroked me instead of the dog, walked past our front door with a small galaxy for a hat; I asked if it was one of the Magellanic clouds and she pulled an unplugged electric guitar out of her handbag and fingered a C sharp minor chord. I pretended to listen but there was no sound.
June and I started the day in a fruit cake of conversation (although it could have been a pudding). After which I got up with a glove puppet on my head, nodding this to the postman puppet as he delivered the mail we didn’t want instead of what we did. He pulled on his strings and then went down the front path with a Viking long boat stuck in his back. I looked at this and then up at a giant saw cutting the cloud with a silver lining in half. Neither June or I had to go out and we pulled a pair of tights over the house before our neighbours went by with legs as long as stick insects. I spun round in my roundabout study while she came down the helter skelter in a room full of cannibals - I rescued her later with a corn dolly in my mouth.
I climbed out of the alligator mouth dressed as a nurse from the Crimean War. June was wearing a hessian sack which had only recently been emptied of its contents on the amphitheatre floor and I stood on cinders that had fallen from the everyday dragon’s mouth. A voice that had issued from the corner of a room instead of a mouth slowly receded into the distance like a song than no one noticed until it had ended. I shut the door after June had shut her handbag and we sailed up the road on the back of passing stranger’s hand - its shadow made a goose shape flying into a seemingly infinite distance (I still think infinity is just a CD without a hole in the middle). When the snow geese had reached their destination they both picked up small bodies and exchanged large giggles.
June and I fell out of the silver skinned UFO moments before it crashed - the pilot was spirited away by the authorities although they always denied it afterwards. I tied up its vapour trail into a goblin shaped bow and got ready to go out by bathing in an old woman’s shoe and dressing in the grass box of an indoor lawnmower. June and I followed a present trail although we still got ourselves lost. We met tall and short people and our memories embraced. I then became one with the carpet and June became one with the ceiling - eventually sliding down the wall into an easy chair and laughing as baked bean can people were knocked over by a pangolin curled up into monosyllabic ball. I have a rule to always express myself in polysyllables and strung myself up like a handmade paper decoration.
I got up early, before June the body but after June the voice. I checked the garden quickly for pottery shards after the frost giant’s party during the night and then walked up the chimney pot road as introspective smoke; the lady with the fluffy cat hat looking baffled by the miniature mountaineer climbing up my back - apparently he was trying an ascent of my unconquered North Face. I remembered to wave to a fragment of a person in the last house but one (unfortunately that was the only fragment not looking). I then found a pair of marching boots at the top of the road and climbed inside; disembarking outside a pair of clapping gloves. Cold feet talked to cold hands and then came home with a solar flare in a paper bag and a warrior ostrich in a haversack.
I started the day paper thin, adding layers as the morning progressed and the weather worsened. June went out in the pouring rain with shoes on her head and her raincoat in her bag while I stayed at home writing with gale force ink. After a photograph dinner (a bush baby eating a grasshopper) I noticed that the big black cloud in the loft had started to rain through the ceiling; I telephoned the landlord - who was being painted in deck chair stripes in a room studiously modelled on a kangaroo’s pouch - and then telephoned June before she changed into a marsupial cardigan with very long sleeves. When she got home we both entered the placental vampire den with spoons in our mouths (hers were silver) and then had another photographic meal (a grasshopper eating a bush baby).
June and I started the day in black and white before going out for a meal in full colour. In a restaurant of intersecting lines June and I surrounded ourselves with attractively patterned clouds. She thought vertically while I day dreamed in horizontal layers - the night dream archaeologist would later find the footprints of an early hominid in the lowest layer, as well the plastic casing of a transistor radio. As the luminous dust began to settle in the aborted launch pad room I told the waiter that my meal could foresee the future although in reality it could only remember the past. He later showed me a hole in the wall where something had entered the building which has never been found; I emptied my pockets when I got home.