I donned a suit and tie and then scrambled about in the mud by the garden pond, picking up each lily leaf in turn as if it was a telephone - the last caller hung up on me when I pronounced my name in a regional dialect of modern day Orangutan. Immediately after this a tree in our neighbour’s garden surprisingly stated that unborn children hide inside atomic nuclei and blasted off on the latest space mission. In a terrestrial response I took the dog out for walk, coming back after she had preened herself in a clump of goosegrass - she then went to man the barricades during the Paris Commune and I signed my initials in reverse on the Bourdon bell of the cathedral of Notre-Dame - we met up later as twin nuclei in a parenchymal plant cell: thus proving once and for all that all life is one.
June went off to work while I had a mechanical digger breakfast, feeling like butter just scraped on a piece of burnt toast. I trudged behind a plough in the rain pierced heat; occasionally picking up a lump of marcasite, imagining it turned into an exquisite piece of jewellery and then throwing it down again. After my final trip I sat in my studio and tried to paint a number of coloured bands floating above my head, I thought I could see letters in the bands but I couldn’t make out any words - in defiance I threw myself to the floor and then drew round the shape I made. Knowing that June would be late home I imagined myself in a place where all knowledge is stored - finding out straight away that marcasite jewellery is actually made from iron pyrites.
This was a collapsed star sort of day: somewhere in between a revolving neutron star and a black hole (which in my werewolf Mother Teresa story I place in Calcutta). I followed the faintest of pencil lines for the merest moment in the morning before going out in the jaws of a great beast. My friend and I climbed out of the unblinking cockpit eye and met the old woodsman away from the woods. I collected holly leaves for a barefoot dance while my friend went through the dustbins: which had been arranged to look like the ruins of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. After I had performed my dance to an audience of tree shrews we came home in the same mechanical beast as we had left; the flag on its tail belonging to no country in particular.
June was still in bed pretending to be an aircraft carrier during the Pacific campaign when I got up using the dog as clothes. I had already disguised my own carrier frame as a tropical island, hiding my funnels as palm trees. As the first saint of a new religion (it is practised in at least five distinct dimensions simultaneously) I threw a line to the drowning people in the still dry garden and then with a specially sharpened pencil amended the line into the silhouette of a little girl feeding birds in the park - unfortunately June and I frightened the birds as we left the house. We ate a meal in a printing press and then held ink stained hands as a pair of clothes rails danced to the music of the Glen Miller Big Band free falling through the Earth’s upper atmosphere.
Immediately after jumping out of bed - with an ancient Greek goddess not fully emerged from my forehead - I invented a form of non moving athletics (although I still found this too tiring) and laid on the bed while June arranged dark shadows downstairs. I went down with blinding lights issuing from the eyes in my hands and then found my sunglasses and my keys. In the mirror I noticed my beard was slowly eclipsing a sun in the constellation of Orion: June wants me to cut it off so she can paint a zebra crossing across my face - so far I have shut my Belisha Beacon eyes and refused. I took Poppy to the footplate of the World’s first transgenic steam engine and the driver cut her hair while the fire man stoked the fire. As the fire subsided for the day we took her for an unscenic route walk.
June pulled herself off a fine tooth comb a little while before I jumped out of my hair brush bed. I discovered her downstairs trying a dress on a giant shop mannequin (it had grown to over fifty foot tall after finding a glowing orb during the night). I took an express train to my studio, my energy coming along later on the local freight and she went to town holding her hair as if it was a cornfield under the imminent threat of harvesting. She came home after a prolonged shop to form a missing continent on my revised map of the World. I dedicated my thoughts to all the lost inhabitants of Atlantis and then filled the space between the cistern and the sink with photographs of big cats wearing clothes made from human skin. I never answered the telephone as I knew it was a wrong number.
For once I got up before June, chose a voice from the voice cabinet and a hat with open eyes in it and walked quickly (or ran slowly) for the bus. I changed buses among feeding rooks and took the brightly coloured slime mould route to my childhood village. I heard the band leader issuing instructions from the pendulum pit and we both pulled coloured handkerchiefs from our mouths for breakfast. I then climbed a rainbow tree and collected up glasses for him to carefully wrap in the collected profiles of passers by. We stopped when I pulled out a full frontal face and couldn’t find a space on the Middle Kingdom wall for it. I came home in a capsule pulled by stone flies landing by the garden pond where a water lily had propelled a spear into the side of a crucified figure.