My Diary: Clinging To The Rim Of A Classical Urn

June had to work,‭ ‬at first in a sniffy nose and then in a half closed eye.‭ ‬I walked with Poppy along the top deck of a Royal Navy ship at the Battle of Cadiz before writing my shopping list on a rogue cannon ball and throwing a Polaroid photograph of a water drop into the emerald green of our garden pool.‭ ‬As the wind blew with a lisp I spoke to old clothes about their departed wearers and then hid an empty notebook under a rock‭ ‬-‭ ‬as a precaution I hid a pencil under another and then lined up plants like seaweed messages on a Sargasso page.‭ ‬I noticed that the people next door use what looks like withered arms for fence posts.‭ ‬I had this in my head when I spread my pterodactyl wings like a table cloth on the crinkled chip ground just moments before June returned from work.

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My Diary: Dropping Through A Man Shaped Hole In The Floor

June made a tunnel out of newspaper and then read herself to work.‭ ‬I had to wear my time machine hat and go back to the place where tall trees were just young boys.‭ ‬I talked to a thin sapling and then to myself,‭ ‬ate a handful of kaleidoscopic biscuits and came home with the telephone in my back pocket waiting to ring.‭ ‬As the doughnut in the sky began to ooze jam I retired to the sanctity of the cat cave and made poetry from paw prints instead of words‭ (‬although I was stuck when it came to punctuation‭)‬.‭ ‬A bugler sat on the roof holding a harp,‭ ‬I climbed up about midday and replaced it with a frying pan‭; ‬he came down sometime later with fried eggs as eyes‭ ‬-‭ ‬I thought to myself that he would have a strange story to tell‭; ‬but then so has everyone else who cries on our roof.

My Diary: I Opened My Shirt And A Diesel Engine Rushed Out

It had rained during the night‭ (‬water tricked down our dinner plate roof‭)‬.‭ ‬I looked at my reflection in a razor blade and then painted on my summertime beard.‭ ‬June went to work,‭ ‬cellophane wrapped like a cheap greetings card.‭ ‬I noticed that my card had been signed by a gap year hippopotamus and then wallowed in its words like mud.‭ ‬In the other room the cat was playing a piano in a syncopated style‭; ‬I used the musical notes as hair and tried to make a pony tail of sound before walking the dog in a sequence of puddles.‭ ‬We came home with a Moog synthesizer over our heads raining sounds,‭ ‬although I went into my studio in sepulchral silence.‭ ‬I worked like a blanket on bare ground until June came in wearing steam powered clothes and we left the railway station house as a two carriage train.

My Diary: Jumping From An Aeroplane Dressed As A Gunfighter

I got up moments before June‭ (‬who was encased in an ivy clad tree trunk‭) ‬and carefully laid out the dream figures who had entertained me during the night on the daylight tongue‭ ‬-‭ ‬this dutifully curled up.‭ ‬June slithered to town in her slow worm suit while I jumped into the garden as if it was a pair of camouflage patterned leisure pants‭ (‬she returned some time later wearing two pairs of shoes at the same time,‭ ‬I promptly pulled a wedding veil over my face and steadfastly refused to believe that time had moved on from Nineteen Fifty Five.‭ ‬I had spent much of the day attempting to find geometrical order in the push button chaos of life before June and I flicked a switch and went out for a meal in a wild west saloon.‭ ‬Wild Bill Hickok showed me his back but I forgot to pull the pistol trigger.

My Diary: Waiting For A Rocket To Land With The Voice Of An Angel

June used the horizontal ladder we found in the thinking man’s shed and crawl climbed to work‭; ‬I wrote my initials on the nose cone of a V2‭ ‬rocket just before myriads of small white mushrooms emerged from its piebald casing‭ ‬-‭ ‬I thought if I was tiny enough I would be compelled to climb them‭ (‬even though clouds of fungal spores hung in the air:‭ ‬making silent faces before a smiling sky‭)‬.‭ ‬I then made a fairy face of my own and walked a baleen whale with a small comb as my mouth‭ ‬-‭ ‬I couldn’t engage the lady on the corner with meaningful conversation so pulled out my handkerchief as if it was a sentence‭ (‬this meant,‭ ‬of course,‭ ‬that I subsequently had to blow my nose with a little known Elizabethan sonnet and then clean my glasses with the last words of Sir Walter Raleigh‭)‬.

My Diary: I Shake Hands Through A Brick Wall

I rose like a paper boy,‭ ‬rolled myself up and travelled to the cardboard countryside thinking all the while that I was in someone else’s head‭ ‬-‭ ‬they thought themselves that there were in an alien cave system with an ominous scratching sound getting closer.‭ ‬I met the man of rock and we talked in green cubicles:‭ ‬initially of violet and purple things and then as the morning moved forward at a leopard slug pace we replaced the colours with numbers and I came home as a mathematical equation‭ ‬-‭ ‬the lady opposite tried to solve me not knowing that I have never yet managed to solve myself.‭ ‬June was using a small market town as her life history and came home with a dress several sizes too small and her very last school report.‭ ‬I painted leaves in the garden as she came out partly turned to stone.

My Diary: A Romantic Face With Handprints For Eyes

While June slept in a bed of soft hands I woke in the middle of the night to find myself clinging to the side of the Raft of the Medusa mattress,‭ ‬childhood memories of Marine Boy and Saturday dinner times‭ (‬mashed potato with cheese and beans‭) ‬reflected in the vampire mirror.‭ ‬Using the inside of my head as a page I wrote myself onto the back of a giant bird,‭ ‬which then took off with a small car in its talons‭ ‬-‭ ‬it goes without saying that I rescued the occupant:‭ ‬a small faun with a large splinter in his foot who apparently had a bit part in a film about the iceberg that hit the Titanic.‭ ‬I subsequently wrote myself onto the dorsal fin of a hammerhead shark just moments before June came home with a question mark on her face and her reading spectacles on her handbag‭ ‬-‭ ‬the handbag later read her mail.