It was raining within the egg timer I had placed on the highest shelf in the house. I couldn’t wear my morris man suit so dusted my body in flour and sat in the oven; when I had reached a golden brown I went out to collect the flower petals I had scattered in the picture shop. I came back through several decades of countryside and watched girls in Victorian costumes pick wild flowers. June and I touched gloves and I climbed into the cockpit and started the engines. She wanted to go to a Venusian super store but I wanted to sunbathe on Mars.
June went to town wearing a baroque castle headdress – feathers were beginning to emerge from arrow slits like a dodo chick (who we christened Joan of Arc). I remembered the man made to sit on the top of a hill though the changing seasons and slammed the late summer door as I went out. I wondered if the castle in my dreams was being stormed and touched the ground; I could feel the vibrations caused by a charging beast and lowered the portcullis. Some time later I sat on the top of the hill remembering the man who fell in a stream.
June went out with the tropical flower tribe to visit the concrete island (complete with concrete sharks and pebble dash sailfish sails. I watched them go while balancing an effigy of Dionysus on top of an effigy of Ariadne. A lady with a poodle haircut walked down the street as I surrounded myself with stones – when I rubbed two together they turned on the radio (lips were looking and eyes were talking but I didn’t know this). I was attaching my flippers and tail fin (in readiness for standing on the roof) when June landed unannounced.
June was out yet again. I waited on the bridge for the boarding party – they bought some books which I packed in a clown costume. It was when searching in the box for a pair of extra large shoes that I discovered a feather boa with real eyes attached – it watched me and I watched it. The submarine slowly sank with a man tied to its hull; I stood staring with a differently coloured chameleon hanging from each nipple. I then went out to place my briefcase in a pelican’s beak. The bird didn’t say much and I talked mainly to the eggs it was incubating.
I spent the night in a house covered with newspaper. I left the Guardian door very early and caught the Times bus by the tavern. Admittedly I was a little surprised when a steam engine protruded through the building – I waved to the driver and he waved back with a foreign accent. I saw the man standing behind the waterfall (eventually we will all stand behind waterfalls, safe from the fallout). He and I were well and we told each other clock stories. I came home to find June hiding inside a bronze statue of a wild boar – I never found the sculptor.
I imagined a skull floating in mid air – June slammed the door in the cranium and went off to work; I crawled into the alarm clock and curled up. The largest of the many mouths set into the wall stuck out a very long tongue and I leant on it to put my volcanic ash shoes on (the two lionesses in a painting on the rough hewn stone wall started an African chant). I wore my Buddhist space suit and went for a walk in zero gravity. After crashing in a Sixteenth Century corn field I worked in my haywain studio for the rest of the day. June returned holding a corn dolly.
A chameleon climbed the traffic lights by the bridge as I pushed a model of a Convair Hustler into my back pocket (My jeans were so old they had evolved consciousness and several times they had considered walking away from my legs). I looked down the road as a procession of small people dressed as birds of paradise walked towards the hospital carrying stretchers. I noticed all the people hanging like bats under the bridge but never thought any more of until I heard the tapping on the glass. I went out to water the garden in the middle of the night.