Today was a strange day and I never found out what to call it. I called the evening Emily (it called me Christopher Robin) and diligently sorted out all the sparkles on the surface of the sparkle machine. I pulled a rope home, remembering all the people who were never in when I called. Once inside, I swam in a glass of red wine which had been stirred with a tuning fork. I settled down to sleep in middle C.
Large fish were hunting for small men as the stair rods came down like old people in wheel chairs. Having several sacks of time in my hands I sat in the Red Indian shed chanting and moving my peace pipe pencil in complex spirals. The lost tribes walked round aimlessly in the prison yard. I went out to unlock the door and then went out to lock it again - having never gone inside.
The start of a new snail person era. I felt tired as I was peeled of the backing paper and spread on the arena floor. I picked flowers and planted myriads of model Earths while the sellotape clock kept ticking. The voice in the sky was learning a foreign language and the police came to the water rats who live next door. I raised the flag and lowered my eyes.
This is my last week of forming part of the floral pattern of a plush international carpet. Seagulls called within the hanging bells as I trudged to the shops across the solidified lake made from facile facial expressions. I briefly held up the Earth while Atlas visited his mother. I then dug a hole in the past and buried myself in it.
After a brief period swimming on my studio floor, June and I took the slime mould machine to a medieval city on a rain cloud. Rain dropped from the fish plates that shone in the artificial sun illuminating a facial map of Australia and a procession of country bumpkins on their way to the lost isle of Avalon. I came home with a picture of a girl swimming on her living room floor.
I stood up and stepped out of the page far too early in the morning. I found the cat inside the television and I turned him over. The kittens were practising the Indian rope trick - June was lighting the filter end of her cigarette and smoking it . I was late going to the dentist. When I got back I put a balaclava on the ceramic guard dog and pretended it was a terrorist.
I looked out from the canopy of the spitfire mark five a bit later than planned. I made myself even later by stuffing a fully functioning weather station into my spare pocket. I then spent all day moving the green damsels in distress that populate the nether regions of the purple world. As I didn’t have to paddle my canoe along one of Titan’s methane rivers during the evening I built a new town in an old armchair.