June and I compared raindrops as we left the house by different doors – I had to concede hers were definitely bigger but mine reflected the faces of early inhabitants of the town: their only means of communication. I had to reluctantly leave the stage when the theatre curtains opened and it became too wet to work. I found June back inside watching thoughts coalesce into ideas – some of which I knew wouldn’t work. I went up the wrong stairs to write (an image in my head of a flag hanging limps on a still air day) while June curled up in front of the log fire in her head to reply to a letter she had received like the bass line in a country and western song. In a correspondingly transcendental state I poured down the stairs a bit later and spoke as a puddle on the floor.
June went to town very early, pictures of ancient primate ancestors in both pockets – some of which later evolved into higher organisms (now wrapped up and sold in the better quality supermarkets). I stayed at home nursing my shadow – who in turn was nursing one of the cats. Before work I built a circular house as tall as a lighthouse and then turned in circles at the top; I stopped when a freighter purportedly lost in the Bermuda Triangle crashed into the back fence almost uprooting a lilac and severely disturbing the Virginia creeper. I had painted my version of the Battle of Anghiari on the front of a string vest (I had painted a landscape, the origin of which is a secret, on the back a very long time ago) before June had finally returned with an entire family of chimpanzees in her shopping bags.
I walked June across a plaited hair bridge to find a warm kitchen to work in. As we stepped on the military fatigues pavement June glanced up at the sky as if it had just spoken. I never heard anything although on the way back I took a photograph of the sun coming up behind a building that looked like a machine gunned top hat. After a race track breakfast I had to take the rabbit to the vet, coming home to push thoughts through a cheese grater before going back to collect him dressed as a religious ascetic. I met the shadow of Vardhamana Mahavira and then the nucleus of a dark atom which I wrongly thought was a dinosaur egg. A very small man by the railway bridge was trying to compose a song about infinity; I helped him with the first verse – there isn’t a last one.
I watched from a watchtower as June walked to town and then decided to follow her. I speeded up where the incoming trains slow down and we walked the rest of the way together; little figures with garlands of barbed wire floating overhead and slithering ripples in space time snaking along underneath. We parted in the bald headed high street and she walked up yet another hill to have lunch with a friend. I had never been in the restaurant myself although I was on speaking terms with some of the table mats. I boxed up some sounds and came home to let them out in the apparent silence of my studio. The cats, one of which is very poorly, were sat by the door like stone lion statues. I denounced three dimensionality and switched on the television screen in my head.
I got up after the ghost of Lady Jane Grey (who never did die young, this was a malicious rumour) but before June, who I woke just as I was ready to leave the house. I walked up the road pretending the incline wasn’t quite as steep. I was in the company of an eight armed sitar player although all the octopus people who came down the road in the opposite direction never noticed. I am not sure if they even noticed me despite my wearing the pagoda from Kew Gardens on my head. I boarded the box on wheels and travelled between counties like running ink, the scenery in my head not quite matching the scenery outside. I met the man from a thousand past and presents and as we spoke he added a few more to the list. I came home as part of someone else’s conversation.
I woke with the alarm instead of before it and dressed in the space between two rows of bricks; drawing in my head the silhouette of a young woman who looked like a block of flats from a distance. As I walked across through the hall I thought I could make out the shapes of people I once knew in marks on the floor; I spoke to one particularly flamboyant mark but they insisted that had never met me before. One of our cats is still poorly and sought out invisibility as grass as high as a bungalow rose out of the bottom of the volcanic crater and convalescent spears rained down – they looked like they were on fire but when touched were as cold as ice. June left the sailing ship house with an ocean in her bag, leaving me alone to write a letter to a person who I know will never reply.
The springboard got stuck in a nearly vertical position as I dived out of sleep into my default “as mysterious as Stonehenge reality” (actually Stonehenge is not mysterious at all – it is simply a work of art). When I came back to Earth June had proclaimed herself an independent state and was busy designing her national flag and minting her own currency. I felt compelled to go one further and hurriedly created my own universe where everything is transparent and no secrets can be kept. I was busy donning my Emperor’s new clothes when Athena knocked on the door as a young child (she was apparently not fully conversant with the Greek myths) and offered me a secret which can never be known – apparently a consequence of the latest version of String Theory.