My Diary

I got up unusually early for a chill out day. I actually got up early enough to discover that the only living beings about at this time of day are man sized walking fish. I said hello to one as he walked by to get his paper. Poppy and I took our usual walk past the nursing home and saw all the young people. Strangely, the house with the spaceship in the front garden is still up for sale.

The rest of the day was spent in the drum that the elemental spirits bang. I had a 3/4 morning and a 4/4 afternoon.

After nightfall I had to pour boiling oil off the battlements again.

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My Diary

Poppy spent a large part of the day chasing an unknown smell. It knocked the door as a trace of existence in the early morning and it has evaded capture ever since. June was out so I built a fortress made of ice in the bath. We later joined forces to put a line around the mill stone.

The people next door tore off all their doors and burnt them. I believe they are Ancient Britons. The cloud chariot riders that speed by always glance down at the spot in their garden where they sacrificed their clothes line. It was simple ceremony.

The evening was used up searching for numbers lost on the carpet during previous generations.

My Diary

A foot in both camps today – a road was built between my legs. Through this all the men on the way to the front marched singing their songs. I put on the radio and danced to a funeral dirge. The plastic copy of myself, alone on the mantelpiece, repeated the steps through telepathic communication.

The elders of the tribe congregated in the hollowed out building to measure the space where the machines would sleep. They did this with skipping ropes and beach balls. Music could be heard emanating from beneath the floorboards

As I walked up the path at the end of the day, the Easter Island heads filled up every window. One nodded as I touched the feather on my hat.

My Diary

I woke up, filled in the spaces that hung over my head, and went out into the country riding on an asterisk. We all had to stop off at semicolon and turn the corner when a question mark popped up. This signified either the Sword of Damocles or a cloud. I then rode off into my past on a metallic steed (I wished I could stay there). I can still see the flowers walking at a steady pace along the fence line – being careful to remain hidden from the Zombie Queen who resided on the other side. Stragglers would be put in vases.

On the way home I saw several, I am not sure of the exact number, old fashioned sailing boats glide between the clouds with wailing people standing inside; their long hair trailing.

I had to tap dance in a minefield in the evening.

My Diary

First thing, a thick mist filled the bedroom, distant sea bird songs could be heard echoing. The bow of an ocean liner turned me in bed. I woke up, grabbed my quiver of arrows and walked to the stern of the house. The wake in the water spelt out my name. I dropped a buoy to act as a full stop and laid down on a piece of toast.

I had quite a bit of time to paint, so I coloured all the feathers that had grown through my skin over night. I wasn’t sure if they were for insulation or to help in supersonic flight. I levitated and tapped out a tune on the ceiling with my head.

I tied up the evening with string. I hope one day to be able to unravel it again.

My Diary

Recognition of my mortality hangs like an old beam over my head. Today the builder found a crack in the beam – right between the two windows that stare out on a blank wall. He believes it is a danger to the public and is in need of immediate repair. It is destined to disappear from view as a ship named Nirvana ties up at the dock.

I went to the dock land in search of some magic glass. Unfortunately it was too expensive for me to buy. I bought some paint instead; four colours, two for the sky, one for the earth and one to colour the desert under the early morning sun.

I spent the afternoon trying to rescue a sheet of coloured paper that had fallen on bad times. I eventually carried it upstairs, cradled like a baby in my arms.

My Diary

I climbed downstairs a bit later than planned; a hair brush pulled up at the front door, I climbed on and it drove off. We went by way of the comb underpass. In the distance, the hills were breasts with stone age barrows as nipples. Under each barrow there was dead muscle. I pulled a nail file out of my pocket and the dressing table stopped.

For dinner I decided to hang from an aperture which had suddenly appeared in the great hall where our ancestors met. I kicked away the stepladder while holding a hair dryer. Luckily I had a toffee in my pocket and I was able to stick to the ceiling.

As an experiment I wore a hair net for underpants – I put a tea bag on my head and saluted a passing spaniel.