A Much Earlier Weekly Diary


It was a cold morning, which I spied from a telescope held the wrong way round. The ships moored up against the garden fence were covered in hoar. I took a newspaper to town, crumpled it for a couple of hours and then returned garlanded with dolls holding hands. The evening was spent in one of those places that bridge the real world and an alternative one. I came home in the cold – the ships were moored in anticipation.



From the stick man’s observatory I parachuted quite early into a new reality. The flotsam and jetsam communicated telepathically and the music concert was interrupted by the involuntary cancan dancer. I gave her several words to sit on and she packed my lunch box with dried moss.



I looked out from the canopy of the spitfire mark five a bit later than planned. I made myself even later by stuffing a fully functioning weather station into my spare pocket. I then spent all day moving the green damsels in distress that populate the nether regions of the purple world. As I didn’t have to paddle my canoe along one of Titan’s methane rivers during the evening I built a new town in an old armchair.



I was expecting to put on my armour and mount the old war horse early enough to join the caterpillars in their interstellar foraging; unfortunately I was late and missed the boat to the island where the trees communicate with dog barks. Poppy, the collie/policeman cross had dropped all her leaves by the time I got in.



I stood up and stepped out of the page far too early in the morning. I found the cat inside the television and I turned him over. The kittens were practising the Indian rope trick – June was lighting the filter end of her cigarette and smoking it . I was late going to the dentist. When I got back I put a balaclava on the ceramic guard dog and pretended it was a terrorist.



A busy day. I soon found out I was the only human not on stilts and I ended up having to run through the melee like a clockwork mouse. I soon spied the clockwork cat and went home with artificial kitten food. Once in the ice palace I placed the feeding bowl on a blue and red kite and went to work in the clouds.



I was out in the morning; fired by a bow into a haystack. I got out clutching a handfull of needles and sped home by centipede bus. I spent the middle of the day in a whirlpool; getting giddy and pulling an unknown Shakespeare play out of a hat. I wore the hat home.


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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