A Much Earlier Weekly Diary


My imagination was pulled by a team of fluffy cats as I returned the keys to the secret door. I only had time to swim in a tea cup before going out again to pin maps of the world in the large house the girls in white live in. I came home – having acquired a hat with a windmill on top – only to have to go again (this time in disguise).



The morning was an ordinary museum specimen wrapped up in cellophane; however, the afternoon appeared dressed in railway signals and wearing a supernatural sheep’s head. I pulled the wardrobe of the high priest centipede out of a bag and made a landing strip for the flying saucers of the sunshine legions. I went home whistling songs I had never heard.



After pulling myself off a lady’s tiara I went out in search of the wisdom of ancient trees. I listened to the sound of blue birds – I noticed they had scraps of paper hidden in their feathers – and I saw the containers where the sighing leaves were kept. Aimless people wandered into gaping wounds in the martyred walls. In a revelatory mood I came home carrying a bag of diamonds which would metamorphose into lumps of coal when squeezed.



I had to get up early as the dinosaur train was already hurtling down the varicose veins cut into the curtains (when I pulled my eyes across). I shot out of a cannon and landed in a hair net once worn by Admiral Nelson. I had to stay in the fairground a relatively long time before I could go and whisper lugubrious truths to the nails driven into the Mouth Man’s walls.



Another hay fork long morning handing out once proud possessions to anyone with enough sense to bring a bucket instead of a head. I put a cloth cap on my bucket and went out to find the horses which know everything. I found one with wings.



I had to go to Badger Town a little later today so I had time to tuck in my imagination which was hanging out after a morning of exercise. The afternoon sped like a crossbow bolt but the evening progressed as inexorably as a lawn mower – fifteen suns took turns to set while I saluted the shadow figure which has silently stood on the horizon since my childhood.



Out in the morning, through the portals guarded by now old ladies with computer controlled shopping trolleys. After one cup of tea I returned to the spider’s lair, having glanced back at the silver hill with it’s secret pathways in the middle of the hedge rows. I got home in time to dance on a pencil tip. When I glanced down at the map I had drawn it revealed the house where I used to live.


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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