My Diary

I woke with a small village pictured some time in the Seventeen hundreds as a hat (it was expecting snow) and clothes made from music – I was dressed in William Walton casual style but kept my little Bach dress for later. June went out covered from top to toe in small green frogs – their hearts beating as one – I followed some time later with a roll of plastic and a jar of drawing pins. The small person resting on my shoulder was talking of the house hitting an iceberg and sinking – the small green frogs would then change to small red birds and fly away. As the aircraft I was piloting got entangled in a giant spider’s web I replaced my snow hat and walked down the ancient village street to the house where the young witch lived; she was caught by an old man but escaped dressed only in white noise.


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