I opened the sachet and climbed out (checking my Best Before Date as I did so), June was still downstairs surrounded by a fence of knitting as she prepared her walking about lunch. We came together and then parted again (like dentures in a bedside cup); I went out advertising a bed and breakfast vacancy in my back pocket while she went up the road cutting the day into almost identical lengths - there was one short piece left, which as usual I eventually got! Fast forward and the dog patrolled the dark side of the moon and I sat in the sun unravelling my ideas and then getting them entangled again; we went indoors when June came home in the mouth of a pelican and straight away wrote something in her address book that can only be read by people with Seville oranges for eyes.
I woke in the centre of a bright orange rose. June had been up some time and was smelling a pink stain on the curtain covering the garden window when I fluttered to the ground like a rubber band powered toy from an inexpensive set of Christmas crackers (I usually get a small plastic comb and a differently coloured paper hat to everyone else). While feeding a line of open mouths that had replaced the tuning pegs of my classical guitar I imagined a face hidden behind a cloud and thought for the briefest moment that if the world had been created rather than evolved there would be clues left for us to find. June banged the door and then said goodbye while I grew to over thirty feet tall and planted my balconies with a variety of attractive summer flowering annuals.
I donned a suit and tie and then scrambled about in the mud by the garden pond, picking up each lily leaf in turn as if it was a telephone - the last caller hung up on me when I pronounced my name in a regional dialect of modern day Orangutan. Immediately after this a tree in our neighbour’s garden surprisingly stated that unborn children hide inside atomic nuclei and blasted off on the latest space mission. In a terrestrial response I took the dog out for walk, coming back after she had preened herself in a clump of goosegrass - she then went to man the barricades during the Paris Commune and I signed my initials in reverse on the Bourdon bell of the cathedral of Notre-Dame - we met up later as twin nuclei in a parenchymal plant cell: thus proving once and for all that all life is one.
June went off to work while I had a mechanical digger breakfast, feeling like butter just scraped on a piece of burnt toast. I trudged behind a plough in the rain pierced heat; occasionally picking up a lump of marcasite, imagining it turned into an exquisite piece of jewellery and then throwing it down again. After my final trip I sat in my studio and tried to paint a number of coloured bands floating above my head, I thought I could see letters in the bands but I couldn’t make out any words - in defiance I threw myself to the floor and then drew round the shape I made. Knowing that June would be late home I imagined myself in a place where all knowledge is stored - finding out straight away that marcasite jewellery is actually made from iron pyrites.
This was a collapsed star sort of day: somewhere in between a revolving neutron star and a black hole (which in my werewolf Mother Teresa story I place in Calcutta). I followed the faintest of pencil lines for the merest moment in the morning before going out in the jaws of a great beast. My friend and I climbed out of the unblinking cockpit eye and met the old woodsman away from the woods. I collected holly leaves for a barefoot dance while my friend went through the dustbins: which had been arranged to look like the ruins of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. After I had performed my dance to an audience of tree shrews we came home in the same mechanical beast as we had left; the flag on its tail belonging to no country in particular.
June was still in bed pretending to be an aircraft carrier during the Pacific campaign when I got up using the dog as clothes. I had already disguised my own carrier frame as a tropical island, hiding my funnels as palm trees. As the first saint of a new religion (it is practised in at least five distinct dimensions simultaneously) I threw a line to the drowning people in the still dry garden and then with a specially sharpened pencil amended the line into the silhouette of a little girl feeding birds in the park - unfortunately June and I frightened the birds as we left the house. We ate a meal in a printing press and then held ink stained hands as a pair of clothes rails danced to the music of the Glen Miller Big Band free falling through the Earth’s upper atmosphere.
Immediately after jumping out of bed - with an ancient Greek goddess not fully emerged from my forehead - I invented a form of non moving athletics (although I still found this too tiring) and laid on the bed while June arranged dark shadows downstairs. I went down with blinding lights issuing from the eyes in my hands and then found my sunglasses and my keys. In the mirror I noticed my beard was slowly eclipsing a sun in the constellation of Orion: June wants me to cut it off so she can paint a zebra crossing across my face - so far I have shut my Belisha Beacon eyes and refused. I took Poppy to the footplate of the World’s first transgenic steam engine and the driver cut her hair while the fire man stoked the fire. As the fire subsided for the day we took her for an unscenic route walk.