A Much Earlier Weekly Diary



I spoke to the man with a yacht for a head before I spoke to myself; he was waiting for the breeze to start blowing and I was waiting for a rope ladder to drop down from a passing cloud. The rope ladder never came but I consoled myself with the fact that this was because no clouds came either.




A busy morning gliding on the smiling skating rink. The classical Greek girls hummed songs of the heroes of their youth while I faded away in the colours of old age. Later I was the tall lighthouse lighting the way for lost ships as Ben told me the story of his friend the Lion Jelly fish.



In the hopeless garden most of the day. This comprised of miles of imaginary roadways with parts of cars cemented into place like faithful guards at Pompeii. Among the twists of steel a mirror sat, preening it’s feathers and singing forlorn songs. I dug three holes and filled in two of them sometime later.



I was feeling depressed all day – in a waking dream a frog came in and insisted on a kiss, after which I turned into a prince and a hand emerged from the quicksand and grasped a red rose before being sucked back down into the depths. All the men on the horizon were hunched and grey.



Still depressed I swam in the blonde lady’s coffee cup in the morning before donning my superhero costume and hanging from the ceiling like a coat hanger. I was feeling strangely dignified until someone came in out of sunshine and hung their coat on me. I felt myself as I would feel my wallet.



Right from take off from my private launch pad I was the Toby Jug Man who could eclipse all other Toby jugs. They pulled the apple out of my mouth and I was found to be holding old pins, washers, boiled sweet papers and date stones. I went to town as a paper yacht and came back stuck in a plastic bottle.



Dismal Times – this was originally named after a newspaper written for people of little hope by an old man in Eighteenth Century costume – which I read sitting on a slice of toast with shackles on my wrist like a plastic dummy in a library. Afterwards I turned into a butterfly as the room flew away.



About Gerald Shepherd

Gerald Shepherd is a painter, graphic artist, sculptor, digital/multimedia artist, photographer, writer, curator and arts administrator. He has also been involved with science art, performance art, conceptual art, installations and environments (as well as peripheral creative pursuits such as garden design).
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