My Diary: Flying Above Blood Red Clouds

As usual for a day that begins with a gargoyle balancing on the rim of a teacup I left the house early,‭ ‬an aerial pinned to my lapel and a television handkerchief in my pocket.‭ ‬I gave the man sat in an over ripe vegetable marrow my money and he spat out several numbers and a white dove of paper which I caught before I or it could fly away‭ ‬-‭ ‬I knew I wouldn’t go far but doves sometimes become peregrine falcons.‭ ‬After shopping in a blue whale carcass awaiting resurrection I boarded a long tongue and sprung back into a cavernous mouth.‭ ‬The chameleon was toasting a fire alarm and we sat down in a wind tunnel and made up words out of smoke.‭ ‬The lizard king left before I had climbed a tree but after a tree had climbed me.‭ ‬When it had reached the roof we knew everything was safe.


My Diary: As Usual I Descend While Everyone Else Ascends

June stood in the bedroom as the end point of feline evolution‭ (‬in my science days I never thought that evolution was that linear‭) ‬while I went downstairs hearing the constant drip of dirty clothes hitting the bedroom floor.‭ W‬e both coalesced as wet paint on the ceiling of a railway carriage with a little prince and princess below.‭ ‬We painted a multicoloured line beside a neutral grey river,‭ ‬overlapping like the neurons that make thoughts and sometimes stopping as silver and golden figures moved up and down the periodic table.‭ ‬We had a meal in the dorsal turret of a Lancaster bomber before coming home via the bomb bay,‭ ‬hitting the ground as the light faded and a small group of Edwardian craftsmen crawled out of various holes in the floor and walked to whatever had become of their homes.

My Diary: Discovering A Plasticine Soul And Making It Into A Butterfly

I woke up in a strange room in an even stranger house.‭ ‬June was downstairs talking to an open cupboard‭; ‬she shut the door quickly when I descended the stairs with an apricot fairy in my hands.‭ ‬When I gave it to her it had changed into a peach and family of sub-temporal snakes made a series of exclamation marks on the unreality of the wooden floor.‭ ‬I would have waited for‭ ‬a series of question marks to appear but the dog had already put on her reading glasses and was studying a map.‭ ‬I pulled a place off the paper and we suddenly found ourselves there‭ ‬-‭ ‬it was only when the clouds formed bookends for an extended line of unread books that I realised it was a long walk back.‭ ‬When we finally got in I found June sat on a shelf with the cupboard now talking to her.

My Diary: There Is A Flame In My Head That Will Never Go Out

I woke up as many times as a cartoon character in the night.‭ ‬The wind was plaiting itself into the hair of an Anglo-Saxon princess and the usually whispering trees were shouting obscenities‭ ‬-‭ ‬I went back to bed leaving a silhouette of concern in the window light.‭ ‬When I finally got up in my sedimentary rock suit I found the multifarious entities that live in the garden had remained safe.‭ ‬As the metamorphic sky brightened I made a promise to the hidden people to meet them inside my own head‭ ‬-‭ ‬the film crew were already prepared.‭ ‬I looked at the spaces they had once occupied and wondered if time could be measured with elastic bands.‭ ‬I looked up from this thought and saw a man walk down the road with several belts round his waist‭; ‬none of which appeared to be holding up his trousers.

My Diary: My Heart Is A Tolling Bell Within A Crab’s Carapace

I got up as a weather forecast and met June as the early morning news.‭ ‬I went out into the garden with a mouthful of rock and spat out a flower bed.‭ ‬I had to prepare the garden for the arrival of a sea monster‭ ‬-‭ ‬making sure that the speaking trees were ready for a storm of words and random numbers.‭ ‬June was busy indoors making cakes for King Alfred to burn.‭ ‬After all the people I had ever wanted to be had walked to the end of the pier and looked down I came in like a high tide.‭ ‬By then June had curled up into a monosyllabic word‭ (‬although a polysyllabic dinner was talking to itself in the oven‭)‬.‭ ‬I decided to wear a transistor radio instead of clothes‭ ‬-‭ ‬only to be told off for continually changing channels.‭ ‬I later thought a long number had entered the house but found only a decimal point.

My Diary: A Chorus Without The Rest Of The Song

I called to June when I discovered a hand instead of a head on my shoulders‭; ‬she held onto to it just as I steadfastly hold onto the notion of a universal spirit.‭ ‬I hope to prove it one day like King Harold with thought arrows buzzing round his head.‭ ‬I knew today was going to turn bad when the black clouds in the hall made an odd number instead of an even‭ ‬-‭ ‬if it had been even they would have rained.‭ ‬After a nonexistent breakfast we had to let the astral explorer go.‭ ‬Before we did I said I would come and find her‭ ‬-‭ ‬and I will.‭ ‬As the reality we are trapped in stopped for an advert break‭ (‬underwear that forms a new continent when floated on a shallow sea and pencils you can eat if you want to draw with a ginger biscuit‭) ‬I imagined everyone having fish for eyes although some fish can feel but not see.

My Diary: Living In A Cellophane Universe

My astral soldier friend is seriously ill.‭ ‬She is curled up like a distant memory and wont take in food or kind words.‭ ‬The boy in me shrunk into the cellophane wrapping a long discarded toy was brought home in.‭ ‬We made plans for future existences in case we parted in the glass eye of the night.‭ ‬As the wrong curtains were brought down on the wrong play I wished we could all live in many times at once as I am not happy about being alone in this one‭ ‬-‭ ‬I wrote this as a pair of shoes climbed the stairs with no feet in them,‭ ‬they paused and then climbed another flight even though there isn’t one‭ (‬I looked to see if there was a pair of gloves coming down but my fantasy and fancy didn’t stretch that far‭)‬.‭ ‬I went to bed with the soldier and we reminisced about our campaigns of invention and imagination.