I had a lay in, with a cheetah resting in a tree above my head. It had two hundred and nine spots and I named some of them after seas on the moon. I left the house through the tranquillity portal and almost immediately found myself in an alternative town, initially in a small brown box and then in a bright pink watering can – I spoke to one eyed people through the spout. June wore an ancient Samurai sword instead of a handbag while I sat on the table in lieu of a sandwich. We visited the garden centre with alarm bell heads. When the alarm sounded we came home, taking photographs of our escape as a convoy of mechanical men passed by. When we got in the moon had found a body and was sat in our ice cool room.
I had to get up early and walk the dog in a speeded up film; luckily she had grown wings in the night. Instead of breakfast I sucked a rope removed from the Mary Rose before she capsized and then visited the dentist with an effigy of Henry the Second tied to my wrist. He shook hands with the man in a white coat while I laid flat like a flower bed in front of a historical building – I saw chimneys as protozoan flagella, they saw me as a patch of lichen on a stone block which allegedly looked like a lion yawning after it had just eaten the liontamer. As it turned it I wasn’t crowned king but had to come back later in the week for the rough landscape to be smoothed down – I personally like tree covered hills. especially if they shelter the valley below.
I woke up inside a television. I wasn’t sure if I had to perform or develop jagged lines. I dressed as a penguin and went downstairs with a wet fish behind my ear (I would have worn a cloth cap but needed somewhere for the helicopter to land). Finding two girls in crates I took them down the hill in the back of a hay wagon where angels changed to demons and demons changed to individual stitches in the Bayeux Tapestry. The girls sunk to the bottom of the crates like sediment and a lady in green leaves had to fish them out while I kept the boat steady. We came home in full sail, all standing on deck like chess pieces; the old knight fell over when we hit dry land and had to be picked up by a rook. The rook then flew off.
I spoke to the climbing rose rambling up towards the bedroom window (remember it is the side shoots that produce the flowers). I then dressed in wrist watches instead of clothes and arranged the time before walking the dog. A troupe of performing monks came up the road as we walked down it with the various geological epochs balanced over our heads. I looked back once and saw religion somersaulting over their own heads like a view of the African Savannah floating above a suburban street. I imagined the scene when I first moved to this town. Before this I lived where the outside lavatory was several hundred yards away from the back door and there was an orchestra of rodents in the thatch – the dog gnawed on Lee-Enfield rifles instead of bones.
I slid out between the typed A4 sheets of paper that have been serving as bedding, corrected the spelling and got ready to dress. I did this as quickly as possible as figures looking like Carthaginians flitted in and out. Looking at myself in the mirror all I saw was a series of lines, some were straight and some were bent. June has already walked up the road as a collection of circles so I spent some time in my studio before having to watch the dentist circle the light fitting like a bird of prey. I came home with a plastic model of a Tupolev Tu-144 in my mouth only to feel it fly out halfway though a meal of desiccated miners fingers. I had shook the hand of at least one miner before I painted a black person in a black dress against a black sky.
I was up very early and followed June up the darkened road, overtaking her where the bridge grows a forked tongue. I crept up moving stairs while a reincarnation of Florence Nightingale handed out lamps on the lower deck. After a stop off in lee of a giant’s armpit I found myself in a photo album being peered over by people with sunsets in their eyes. I talked at length to the old king and then left beside a man with an elephant head; I carried his suitcase rather than his trunk and we talked in Italian before the local bus recounted its first trip though a snow covered landscape. When the barefoot dancers emerged from a flat white sky I dedicated a love poem to the demise of Shanklin Pier – June came home later with wet feet.
I wasn’t up early even though a shark fin slid through the bed with an advert for a local pizza house emblazoned in its side. I walked the dog as the meat filling in a sandwich and then June went to town pushing a pram with a large head in it; she rang up later to talk about the leg of a lamb – I imagined it in a black stocking even though I am a strict vegetarian. In the middle of the day I pushed my head into a screen and felt the fresh snow on my face; the tide came in as the sun came out – I set a step ladder up in front of it and imagined the annunciation in the subsequent shadow. Standing beside the curtain in the window I thought up a story while the lady with light houses on her chest put herself out immediately after the ship had hit the rocks.