My Diary

I got up and reflected on the transformation of our rented house into a rented pair of lips (they smile crookedly). June was the dark pupil of a bungalow eye and winced as it blinked. The family wore black as it congregated like rooks on an old tree to say goodbye. The dark sun shone and after the rose petal dust had settled I trudged home as a walking pine tree; followed by my circus friends: the bearded man and the bearded lady; the latter yawned seductively and then made a little heart from spider web.

My Diary

I left the house early, before it yawned, and caught a fish on the main road; I wrestled with it for nine miles or more before relaxing in a talking chair and taking music directions from the tone deaf choir master. The music in my head descended slowly through several layers of perception like the settling of artificial snow in a Christmas toy; once at the bottom of the hill I dusted myself off and went off to find Jack. Jill had arrived home earlier and was pasting butterfly wings onto her new spectacles.

My Diary

June opened the large wooden door and waltzed through, I followed behind holding onto the copper coloured leaves that Adam and Eve had decided not to wear. As she turned into a cloud lady I looked up at the high vaulted ceilings and grabbed an umbrella – several Canada geese flew by in formation. In the story book the little girl was carrying I became a king with a octopus balanced on my head in lieu of a crown. I found the book again later in the day with one of the pages torn out.

My Diary

I skipped out of the kitchen door just as the architect rolled up the children’s play area and put it in his pocket. I already had several bristle cone pines planted in the pockets of my jeans and I drew my water pistol out of my brief case which was walking along behind. Dancing figures were reflected through the waterfall as I sat in my studio holding onto a pencil which reached from the floor to the ceiling. After a quick lunch I became the human torch and followed a procession of paper people into town.

My Diary

I opened my head like opening the door to the postman and receiving junk mail. Several chairs had recently been upholstered and the windows shaped like eyes had new curtains made from pages of Famous Five books. I had to test out the twelve labours of Hercules before I could settle down to work and was holding the world on my shoulders when the cat jumped up on my lap – we exchanged secrets from the Second World War before I pushed a recipe for a witches cauldron under the door.

My Diary

June went out early again – just before the ceiling turned into a pterodactyl wing and flapped away leaving me alone in a giant breakfast bowl looking up at a tortoise who had just landed by a pretty pink parachute. I examined the shadows it cast on the side of the mausoleum as a totally reformed Jack the Ripper walked by with a fresh pancake on his head; he was muttering the names of people who died without becoming famous. I stayed indoors and grabbed the grey stallion’s reins from the safety of a day dream.

My Diary

June left early, walking inside a paper Chinese dragon as it slowly ambled up the road; I rose like the god Poseidon armed with the lines I wrote after a misdemeanour at school. A troop of ancient warriors (with lipstick marks on their swords) followed the lines to the oasis where parasitic plants blew bubbles from large voluptuous lips. We talked in a tent before it got up and walked away – I had to give Ghengis Khan my spectacles before he tripped over one of the words I had written on the side of the Great Pyramid.