I felt a bit down as I got out of the Juno Beach side of our Normandy landings bed. The dog was wearing a suit of armour and we went out for a joust before I walked to town with a shopping arcade on my back. I left it at the bottom of the High Street and came home with my shopping floating in the middle of my Tokamak haversack. I entered my studio with my head feeling like a slice of burnt toast and I had to scrape off several layers of dark thoughts before I could settle down to work. I painted a city of acoustic guitars with doors as the sound holes: it took me some time to tune the roofs - I could then play the music written by birds on the telephone lines (it proved to be a lament). I would have sung it to June when she came in if she hadn’t been holding a fragment of wing from a Junkers 88.
I got up with a race track all the way down the front of my body; I couldn’t see what was down my back but I did occasionally hear engine noises. The dog and I flew to a house of books (mostly hardbacks although the shed was made of paper ones - mainly Mills and Boon); as usual I didn’t have time to read the masonry, however I did sign a pebble and give it to a Leyton Orient football fan - I don’t know why as I don’t support the club. I spent much of the afternoon painting my legs with black and white squares as I danced on the top of an Ionic column. June came back from work but couldn’t find the chess pieces even though our neighbour had called his home a castle and was wearing a full Samurai uniform of the Kamakura period.
June and I were visited by caterpillar emissaries of the butterfly people with recently found sea shell smiles and recently purchased penguin socks. We talked of hideouts in multistorey gardening boots and then laughed out loud when a band of fish people swam by with paddles on their heads. On our way to a fairy tale castle we walked on a molten lava bridge and then along a crocodile teeth path before stopping for a meal in the cavernous eye socket of a very large skull - it was precariously balanced on the single hump of a stone camel and called us a sand storm. After a meal of moa eggs (they make an especially large omelette) the little ones enjoyed a space flight in an old shoe while the older ones stood and watched - I thought like saguaro cactuses remembering their lost loves.
A trumpeter announced the early morning beside our sleeping bed until the mud covered man hiding in the wardrobe of my mind got out and shot him; my eyes fluttered and the wardrobe rose like a Galapagos tortoise and ambled off towards the dolls house book shelves - coming to rest by volume one of Steam Engines Of The Northern Part Of The Southern Railway which I had compiled a few weeks earlier while in a traction engine trance. As a symbolic representation of the state of my life I clapped my hands moments before a heavyweight boxer came up the stairs en pointe; June was flat on the floor in earnest conversation with a map of the British Isles in the late Nineteenth Century. She got up in the Pennines and got ready to go out with a South Downs smile on her North Downs face.
I got up very early, as usual unbuttoned in what was largely a necktie morning. I spoke to the bow tie milkman (who moved so fast he was connected to the National Grid) and the bus driver had a cravat so he could integrate properly with the rest of my story; he dropped me off half way and I was then picked up by another bus driven by a cravat wearing a driver in, I thought, a rather foppish way. The old king was in his shepherd’s hut watching over memories instead of sheep; several escaped just after I arrived but we soon caught them again. I stayed a little while watching the eyes in an artillery shell bust communicate with others by flashing in morse code - I could work out the letters but not the punctuation. I came home with a sow’s ear made from a silk purse.
June got up on a different island to me although I could see her standing on the shore with her back to the tank traps built during the last war. My island had marble columns which she said later looked like decaying teeth and a small bust of Dionynus on top (he was holding a bunch of grapes in the same way as I hold a glass of wine). I pretended the cherry tree avenues (now out in bloom) were full of sharks as I counted the number of steps it took to reach a carton of milk. The man who sells park benches to vagrants came down the road as I went up - I smiled but didn’t speak. The trees reminded me of severed hands in gloves and a watery hand reached out from a grey cloud and tried to shake one, coming away with only silken fingers and a wedding ring with a skull and crossbones on it.
I had to go out, random words pencilled on my paper clothes - I had to be careful as the lady I met had a lighted candle on her desk (in my calla lily head I saw her childhood self come up and blow it out). I came home with the previously locked doors in my chest opened although, of course, a voice from inside complained about the draught. Once home I changed into my caveman work clothes conscious that my Frankenstein monster costume had dropped from its hanger (I had ordered The Mummy but they had apparently run out of bandages). I called my studio the second or third Olympus and populated it with classical ideas. When an apparition of Aphrodite opened her mouth I noticed she had no teeth - which reminds me: I have toothache and need to get a dental appointment.