My Diary

I got up as a plastic kit (I think USS Kitty Hawk around the time of the Vietnam war) and had to tear myself off the sprue before sitting like a knitted top in my shop window studio. I stayed there for some time, carefully painting muddy footprints on a Stradivarius violin and then had a dinner of orphaned canal boat flowers before settling down again in a dug out log. Apparently by then I had morphed into a Jack Russel dog but didn’t realise it until I bit the postman. June came home later encased in contradictory thoughts like a parasitic wasp inside a cabbage white caterpillar. In the evening we had to go to the outskirts of lunar town with the sole occupant of a cage protected by rainbow packaging – we came home with Iris and her box of dreams.

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