My Diary: The Unrecorded Consequences Of Having An Octopus In Your Head

As an exercise in astral art I painted staring eyes on the battlements of my stone head.‭ ‬I could hear the enemy in the distance composing rhyming couplets beside their ragworm camp fires‭; ‬as a mandatory response I wrote rather abstruse verse on the camouflaged carapace of a mechanical crab.‭ ‬There was apparently a brief respite from the dark winged days and I curled up in the powder chamber of my heavy artillery piece to fire the lead shot of my imagination.‭ ‬As a pacifist I fired only at blank patches of earth‭; ‬having cleared it of all recognisable forms of life.‭ ‬I then followed the faux animal foot prints out of my old stamping ground and onto pastures new,‭ ‬where I spent some time measuring the distance between dead flowers in readiness for the promise of a Spring display.


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