A Much Earlier Weekly Diary


My only full day on the beach resort orbiting Saturn the entire month. I tried to make the most of my limited time as I yoga wrestled with aerial multi-armed organisms – the hats they were wearing glowing like the aurora borealis. I was then the captain of the sinking ship that slowly disappeared in a sea of spent flower petals and faded magazine adverts.



A breakfast cereal box day which I shuffled about in while pretending to be the free gift – I was always a disappointment. The clockwork mechanism in my briefcase – which operated the angelic wings with RAF roundels and 20mm cannons – had failed and I was forced to stoke the fire for the only working steam brain. The great face which pushed itself through the badly marked floor was silent.



I was trapped in a cage suspended from a many eyed ceiling all of the day – only the myopic pattern of fields spread out below me ever changed. As evening crept out of the handkerchief box I was extremely pleased that my collection of lipstick coloured pebbles had pulled me back down to earth – Once landed I looked round in surprise at the carnival masks the toy animals were all wearing.



I read one of the notes glued to the inside of the capsule before the rocket motors were engaged and it was propelled through the launching tube. The note was concerned with the issuing of the correct numbers of toilet rolls. I wrote the longest message in the world on one of these before riding to town on the back of a frozen ice horse.



I crawled out of the letter box and slid to the ground using an old pair of my wife’s tights. I was much later than normal in performing this manoeuvre although I had already performed it inside an empty TV and a crowded goldfish bowl. I passed the Emperor Nero on the way to town and I pulled out one of the feathers from my head dress and gave it to him. He gave me the thumbs up.



I rushed home from the cacophonous caverns cut into the mercantile cheese so I could be the world’s first digital mouse – I then fed the cat. I cleaned the vast halls of Valhalla; sweeping the dust under the fallen warriors to save time. When I had saved enough I used it all up again working in more dimly thought caves – this time cut into the Antarctic ice cap.



I sailed alone in my match stick boat under the scratch marked sky. I parked it in a tree and slipped on a coat of apples and bananas for comfort. I drunk tea with the kindly old sea god before swimming up the waterfall. The waterfall became an anaconda and I became a stick thrown by a hirsute member of a race of giants who ruled the Earth before the rabbit kings.


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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