I spent much of today standing as a football goal post. I waited for someone to kick a ball but no penalties were taken. In frustration I kicked one myself – flowers erupted at the back of the net (which was actually a portal into a new dimension; Jimi Hendrix was president). On the way home I spoke to the silent sculptures hanging from a gibbet at the aural crossroads – I just picked up the phone and said hello.
I got up suddenly after accidentally swallowing the telephone – it rang once as it entered the small intestines. I had to plough the living room floor before breakfast, after which I was free to paint pictures on the soles of my feet. All afternoon I slowly drifted downstream in a bottle, gently bobbing and nonchalantly pulling strips of wallpaper back and writing messages on the reverse. The evening was as long as a giant’s tongue.
I have been tired most of the day; admittedly it was a long way down from the spire of the medieval cathedral which I found myself on when I awoke. I had the morning to dance around surreal objects (like a harbour inside a fossilised head) and then went out – changing the door into a mechanical hedgehog as I did so. I came home dragging a sack full of tiny wood fragments. These became cuneiform writing when tossed on the floor.
I had a casual day, wrapped in robes like an assassinated Roman general. I surprised everyone when I undressed and was found to have an armoured car body. I cut a path through the chocolate morning while my twin slaved in his studio. During the afternoon our roles were reversed. Later, a young friend was caught talking to a motor car and I had to give evidence in court. Afterwards I had a lunch of ball bearings and then went to bed.
Out into the garden quite early in the day. It had sunk several hundred feet during the night and it took me a little while to climb down. As I descended I noticed all the moles and other subterranean creatures were climbing up. After a short nap lying on a cloud I went to the wine shop to push myself into a bottle. I put imaginary numbers on the foreheads of everyone who walked in with a corkscrew in their hands.
The sun was dripping fat as I pushed the frying pan out of the kitchen window. I had meant to tie flowers to my tea cosy hat but stuck an old steam engine there instead. Inside I drew a portcullis on the face of a beautiful girl – June stuck a sail into her hair and sailed away. I followed her some time later with two chandeliers for earrings. The butler walked by with a message for the kitchen maid.
June and I decided to spend some time inside envelopes posted to different parts of the country – she was sent first class while I remained second. I spoke to a lot of people with unseasonable frog spawn on their hats (the snowman played with his carrot). I pushed the button in the afternoon and shot into a large window glowing like the eye of Polyphemus. I knew the window cleaner’s daughter from a previous existence.