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.
Simple Simon's Diary: The Daily Art Work 