A Much Earlier Weekly Diary


I went out very early, as ancient mariners have to. On the way back to my yo-yo home I discussed the life style of early hominids with the anthropomorphic dawn and carried a model of the empire state building (complete with fully animated King Kong) in a supermarket shopping bag. I came through the door with my pre-birth exam results and a wrist watch that gives the time in fourteen different languages at once.



I was in a Wild West town for most of the day, smiling at gunslinging baboons and hoovering the “half a horse town” saloon. I came home quickly, holding a message from Mount Olympus for an exiled Juno. After signalling to Road Runner I went out again to lie down in a vegetable lasagne as the candles were blown out one by one.



I felt today was a bit like a sandwich with a semi-sentient filling of Marmite in the middle. I paced around the bridge of an underwater helicopter for some of the time – having made a pleasant start winding lengths of tape round the mummified remains of ancient heroes. The evening was rather disjointed and I came home as a paper handkerchief – which my wife used immediately to blow her nose.



A heron caught in the first shards of dawn kind of day. I rolled about in a tin can until it was picked up by several smiling goblins. They had parched pyramids for hats – each with something like a furry sea urchin on the end. On the way home I was certain I saw several loaves of bread riding horses on the horizon.



The day split open like a nut hitting a rock, I climbed out of the space capsule to meet a prohibition gangster. I then made wings from cricket bats and flew to town. On arriving at the big spider’s house I was surprised to see David the pirate walking his own plank. He laughed as he showed the soap girl his dirty photos. The plank became a lolly stick and the baby ate pizza and spaghetti shapes.



I held on tightly to the umbilical cord of multidimensional time as I skipped to town, the playground characters gradually disintegrating as the jigsaw pieces fell apart. When I walked into the Nordic banqueting hall I could just about detect the remnants of yesterday’s conversation. As always in this sort of situation I pulled out an old rag doll and blew flowers into it.



I went out early to see the old bearded godman who holds up the world while Hercules looks for magical oranges. There was only a short gap – like a modest sandwich filling – between migration flights. Later while tending the lunar llamas on the revolving space station I resolved to find a new reptile skin to grow into. The only one I could find was a python masquerading as a street lamp.


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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