Back to Mouth Town today. More red Indians on the way down the descending grey carpet. This trail is where the memories of naked horses reside. Once in the round house I communicated with all the guests, human and machine, and was glowing like a burning fish until the power was suddenly cut.
June and I took the Snake Boat to the city today. We had the water melon coach on the way there and the aubergine coach on the way home. As is often the case, we were chased by red Indian rain drops. In the city we traced are traditional path and, as usual, ate our meal in the place where canvases have their throats cut.
I did a slow motion dance on a floor of papier mache while holding up the roof of a derelict gothic mansion. I subsequently managed to glue together the hands of ribbon people with an artist’s palette for a halo. I finally discovered the secret of the reptiles who live under the floorboards in a childhood house.
A morning spent in the garden of Stalingrad. Flowers sprouted like incoming shells. I did odd jobs on a see saw while June made paper smiles on a to and fro swing. The old plum tree in the centre of my memory burst forth with machine gun bullets.
Back to the Coliseum today to walk to and fro like an angry gorilla. I spoke to the girls made from rose petals and listened to old people carried around in shopping bags. I said a prayer for all the animals that ate Christians. I escaped the volcano in the evening by carrying my wife across a sea of ice.
A quiet day as the Easter Island family stood around like discarded thimbles. The floor was littered with lipstick and unread notes. Becky hung from a giant kite as she introduced her mother. I almost did a lot of things.
It was not as good a day as it should have been. I am still attached to the elastic band that pulls me back into the spinning dancer box. At least the music is better than it was. I had to put on my space suit helmet and watch the goldfish nibble my eyelids for a lot of the day.