In the large head that hangs over the town a pendulum swings backwards and forwards, underneath, a girl come forwards and a boy goes away. I had to give a performance wrapped in sellotape. It was called “I whispered my secrets to the ribbon of the wind”.
I spent too much of the day going to and from the various places in town where the ritual fires are lit. I lit my own candle and used it to paint. When the paint dries it will grow dark.
I took the green carpet to the place where the day is spent, filled up the computer with coloured liquid and sang a dirge by our long forgotten ancestors in the public library. At home, in celebration of the day’s events I dropped my dinner on the carpet and danced on it.
I chilled in the morning sunshine before the guillotine blade of afternoon came down. During the evening I had to be a figure from ancient mythology in a Nineteenth Century Parisian night club.
I have arranged to have a springy mattress, wall to wall at the bottom of the dungeon. The smell of last night entered through the only window while I chatted with wood nymphs. The Korean Master and I plan to walk between every animal name in the country.
Out in the frying pan countryside before first light. I had to get back early as I was the head jester at a banquet given by Henry II in the evening.
Poppy and I are taking long walks again. Today, we went to the reed beds where the space rockets are born – walking past Cerebus like two red uniformed soldiers. I marvelled at the willows in the sunshine as I leant against an old gate with a Russian lady on my head.