June and I started the day as lizards on rocks – typically her rock was bigger than mine although I had more of the sun. I came indoors mid morning to record the spontaneous voices of angels even though they all sang on top of each other like climbers on a badly squinting rock face. When the angelic climbers had left, having taken a bite out of every apple in the house, the praying mantids moved as one for a blinking eye and then apart when June went into the front garden and I went into the back. She went into the house again when the seaweed tree curled up – I came in some time later as a merman with a limp and we talked in silken strands instead of words until I eventually went upstairs to work when our sentences got irrevocably tangled up.
The morning blew its nose as June and I woke with paper handkerchiefs on our heads. She then went out as a ship in full sail and I stayed at home dredging up ideas from a silted up waterway. A man with a green head wanted to come in as I emptied a hollowed out glass eye of putrid water. The water became tributaries of the Nile and I a Pharaoh in a square pyramid before I decided to change my religion and worship the sun (before I had included rain clouds and black swans). June eventually came back disguised as a lawn and I made a deckchair instead of a cup of coffee. I imagined, while eating a biscuit, flying cuttlefish predating ladies head wear and cognizant lapel badges which spoke on their owners behalf.
I had to visit a thatched cottage in my dreams and then a dream in a thatched cottage. I was visited there by a couple of friends I didn’t know – the man had a revolver for a head and the lady a salad bowl of ten pound notes which she said were lettuce leaves. When I got up I went to town with a lettuce leaf eater and then June and I called ourselves relatively short numbers and waited too long in the garrulous jungle for a meal. We walked the postcard route home, through an intestinal countryside which previously I had felt rather than seen, and picked up the lettuce eared being by a freckled lake – thus finding the world we live on was actually a lifelike bust of Aphrodite orbiting another sun (I named the sun “a flaw in the theory of evolution” and we walked home).
I started the day in a glass case; the morning had already proclaimed itself a Mobius strip (the afternoon would call itself a Klein bottle) and was preparing to move into an intangible state. June said that this was the state I already exist in when she dressed as wardrobe which she feared she wouldn’t be able to fit into her dress because of lack of space – I personally tend to throw all manner of bedroom furniture in a heap on the floor. The wardrobe went out before lunch, closely followed by a standing stone from Stonehenge and a hollowed out log which until quite recently had been still rooted in the ground. I couldn’t find the way to my studio and worked instead in a part of the forest that had remained unchanged since the end of the last ice age: pure colours grew like trees.
I woke suddenly when a someone outside the bedroom window called my name. It was early when I went up the still mumbling road to catch the bus. This arrived as a geriatric chorister and was propelled by singing although when I opened my mouth it stopped. The other passengers sung along until we reached a point when a shadow boarded on its own (I found out later that the person got on after I had got off but didn’t find his shadow until the end of his journey – I thought this was probably true for everyone). I met the mountain god in a valley and we talked, as usual, about straight lines touching the edge of a circle and of circles themselves which contain the reassembled thoughts of all our ancestors; I pictured them as iridescent hydra as I dug the garden for a row of runner beans.
The yacht which is sometimes my head had its sails furled up when I sat down to a breakfast of reflections on my past – unfortunately I had run out of milk. Both June and I stayed at home, I went out into the garden and she stayed indoors watching time itself grow older. I came in when our visitors materialised; they then occupied the space between the refrigerator and the sideboard like vowels between consonants. I didn’t think it strange that they appeared to have the legs of large dogs but was a little taken back when they produced their mouths from a pair of shopping backs – luckily they didn’t need feeding although I absentmindedly ate one of the dining table legs while engaged in conversation. The conversation and I never married and I returned to the garden.
I woke when the trees started a conversation between themselves – they were some way from our house but sound carries when the sky is a seagull. I could only make out the occasional word and I resolved to collect these up and keep them like letters from a loved one in a box under the bed. I went out into the garden as a spark of electricity and pottered around until the electromagnetic people arrived to conduct me away. I had to walk up the road countless times (although it is rumoured June did actually count them) balancing parts of a building only inches from the ground. Stopping when the long legs of railway tracks grew arms and set up an independent state under the bridge. I thought the dying should shout as loud as they can and then see how far away the sound could be heard.