My Diary

I raced out of the front door with mountain bike earrings. I picked up a plain brown envelope of flying saucers for the dog’s forbidden planet and crash landed in my studio after orbiting the town centre playing a Moog synthesizer like a million monkeys accidentally typing the entire works of Shakespeare. I soon found my feet and shortly afterwards found my hands as well. I incised a hundred different nome de plumes on the trunk of a baobab tree before June came in wrestling with a new poodle hair style; I took the dog out for a walk while she went to find a hat. She left the house again with me following some way behind holding the edge of a large cardboard box like the train of a wedding dress for an invertebrate bride.

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