Strange as it seems I woke in a room made of paper, wrote a scribbled note across the bed sheets and then down over the floor, reaching the door with a squiggle. As the walls were curling up at the edges I left the paper doily house and tossed a coin in the turntable garden. Neither heads or tails came up but somewhere in between. As a negative image I put fig leaves in my wallet and waited for another record to be played - above the clouds struggled with their seat belts in a racing car sky. I collected living testaments to the power of photosynthesis for the rabbit, who was sat admiring his brethren as they sat like the crenations of the Crusaders castle as it was about to fall to the forces of Saladin, and then went upstairs as a positive image to write more words on the walls of my long dead room.