The alarm sounded as I found myself standing in a house slowly collapsing around me (a little boy in another dimension was hoping for Lego for Christmas). Marks on the floral carpet rose like Grecian columns; the time lapse movement of honey bees mapped out the shape of flower heads on their barefoot tops. June and I wore headdresses of sunflowers and went to town We looked through filaments of bright orange flames, me dressed in broadsheet newspapers and her wearing a costume of ancient paw prints. We walked home through industrial estate rain.
I walked June to work with bird song dropping from each street lamp in turn (blackbirds with ladies tights over their heads pushed barrows of fruit machines up the hill – at the top the organ recently escaped from the Royal Albert Hall sat eating). I came down the hill with my computerised earrings flashing messages – sadly one ear could not communicate with the other). Back in my studio I maintained the wind farm in my mind and reflected in the mirror like a bad headline. June and I had been talking about moving into a giant fungus but its fruiting body has squatters.
It was a very rough night. This was confirmed by the china doll who sat outside on the windowsill; it warned it would jump but I knew it couldn’t. Inside, the head without a body grew wings just above its ears, they grew larger throughout the morning and when I returned from town wearing fourteen different items of clothing they looked like a map of Greater London. I worked silently until June came back from the desert island on the roof when both the doll and I spoke at the same time – using the same words in different colours. June climbed into an old shoe.
June and I met my sister on the concrete landing platform in town; we then met my father, who head had become a giant chimney billowing out dream smoke. We ate our meal in the middle of the charge of the Light Brigade – I then had another pudding while everyone else stood and shone like street lamps. I contemplated the road ahead like the giant mechanical gorilla I have mentioned before. Later I saw a picture of myself with a mast on my head and the sail furled up – I waited to see if anyone would unfurl it but no one did. The concrete eagle flew over head.
I snuggled up inside an envelope and waited for at least part of me to be posted. The picture of a brain I had stuck onto the smiling face wall was looking more like a map of an unknown city every minute (in the city lived a toad called Emily; all the boys wanted to feed her with flies they had caught specially). As the first attempt at making an invisible man I went out to collect some boxes. I came back across a field of burning eyes; I stopped when they started to close – I kept a collection of variously coloured pencils in my pocket just in case. The rain lapped up the milk like a black cat.
I left the cloth cap house some time before the vulture abacus was fixed above the dying mathematician (I counted myself out and counted myself back again). I met the old merman sitting on a piece of toast in the middle of the bright green sea; I found my own toast and paddled like I had just entered my third childhood. Incidentally it was a long time ago, when attempting to measure the longest strip of seaweed in the world that I found the found the remains of the first electric poet. At that age I totally ignored the fact that he had an elephant’s trunk and ears like solar panels.
I got up early again – my eyes crumpled up like an old pullover. I left June sleeping like a Neolithic long barrow while I got ready, accompanied by a char lady from a Fifties television advert (I later saw the bright white dog from the same advert floating outside the double bedroom window). I caught the train to an Ancient Briton gap in a Roman road and lit a bonfire while the sentries were temporarily blinded by sunlight. I signed my name on the side of an old tractor and came home in a suit made from egg shells; the train was already waiting in the station.