Weekly Diary


We are now home from our holiday although I am pretending it hasn’t finished and cherish the lighthouse flashing in my head. Sadly we have come back to the usual loud voices on the other side of hedges and the garden snails of light creeping up windows. I woke as early as an urban child with dreams of laddered snakes and picture block childhood games. June took her blocks (which admittedly are more colourful than mine) to the hilltop station, where apparently she just sat down and smiled, and I took mine all the way to the Cyclop’s screen and eventually out into the bright light of the candy twist garden. June came home to stand on a box which earlier I had filled with blades of grass – all individually coloured and marked with the name of an extinct animal that will soon return.



June and I both started the day as clouds, although typically mine were darker. She took her fluffy clouds to town to look into shop puddles and I went in the garden briefly to pretend to place soil in my hat and then put it on my head in the middle of the herbaceous border (which is not looking very good at the moment). I had ascended the one thousand steps to my breathing lungs study by the time June had finally returned with a band of Etruscan soldiers in her shopping bag – despite trying hard not to I let them escape and they ran amok in the guise of very rich men who invariably want more money. In the end Athena (who was plucking her eyebrows as if they were lyre strings) got rid of them for us: immediately afterwards she became invisible again and I put on an ordinary person’s coat.



I took my rabbit ears to town with June and Poppy walking in front and behind holding the bow and stern of a ship respectively – in between was just water, which was slowly sinking. Our shadows met again against a cobweb background with an urban spider lurking in the air brick background – I offered it candy floss that I said I had plucked from a little girl tree but apparently it didn’t like entities from an artist’s imagination. I gave another gift to a creature with a cauldron head and then the three of us walked slowly home (unless our home was walking slowly to us). June went out again straight away as she likes to see all the episodes of a series straight after each other and I crept down some time later, taking advantage of the medieval shadows which still exist in the renaissance sunshine.



I took a steamboat journey to the fools gold garden – June having gone out with the real thing. I came in when I noticed a pair of antennae growing out the top of my head (I didn’t want anyone to notice even though the lady next door goes to work on a unicorn). After lunch in a bath tub, I poured a landscape in a chalice the Lady In The Lake had given me and went up stairs to work. I had earlier put a blue sky in the backpack of a complete stranger who had come in the back door and then went out the front. He never spoke and I pulled his name out of a hat I had borrowed from a fictional character in a second childhood story. I had connected up all my thoughts into a starfish theatrical scene by the time June had swum down the chimney with her predatory insect shopping.



I reluctantly pulled myself out of the vacuum flask bed and after feeding the animals random letters of the alphabet I syphoned myself to the bus stop for a sunglasses journey out of town. I met the lady who cleaned young dragon beds at a halfway way stop – we had a three quarters conversation. I then met the keeper of mythical beasts in his god dog court, we spoke of the changing years which we celebrated disguised as wardrobes; mine still had a mirror on the door although I don’t use it as much as I used to. I caught the bus home, at first in a crowd by myself and then alone in a crowd – I disembarked dressed like a space chorister (who is probably an atheist) and then had to meet a dredger of the imagination which had just left the turbulent river and was looking for a placid lake.



I took an early trip to town, holding a map for an entirely different place and listening to the only recording that exists of a werewolf calling out bingo numbers in the middle of the night. I walked past the railway station, which is replaced by a churchyard in my dreams: some people were waiting for a train to come in and others for a train to go out. This is supposed to be the last day of a belated summer and I made an almost lifelike effigy of Socrates from used alkaline batteries while a bat landed in the forest on my head in the middle of the day. A lady was sweeping up music as if it was broken glass as I walked by in bare feet (my shoes were walking a little way behind contemplating the implausibility of eternal life). In front a car jumped the traffic lights.



It was raining hard as I took a deep breath through a piece of space plumbing which had landed with a crash during the night; it was accompanied by a robot chimpanzee which turned itself into a lawn mower on landing and cut stripes in what is left of the hair on my head. I am waiting now for the insertion of cats eyes and I will then plug a gap in a nearby A road. I walked Poppy when the rain stopped briefly to tie its show laces and then June let down the portcullis in the afternoon and walked to town dressed like a prickly pear cactus. While she was gone I rolled a timepiece down the stairs and then looked at the dial; nothing had changed even though when I go downstairs every morning I feel a day older. June came back with feathers plucked from a dodo’s behind (the future is the past).


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).
This entry was posted in Diary, Poetry, prose, Uncategorized, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Weekly Diary

  1. Wow! Seriously epic! 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s