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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.