My Diary

I had to get up early; June was gliding over the kitchen floor atop mechanical chickens which serve as shoes when inside the house – the house resembles a Saint Bernards dog head and I viewed the world through its left nostril; as far as I could see there were handcuffed harpists staring at the horizon. I caught the bus and travelled into this horizon myself, changing at a toy fort (where purportedly a battalion of millipedes learnt to march, personally I feel centipedes is more likely). The large man was sat in the dark with light radiating from his breakfast on a smiling face plate. I assigned the face to the middle to late Sixties. We talked of all the funerals we had missed and the self evident superiority of the one in four hill.

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