The day opened its mouth and I shot out astride a torpedo; my target had a multitude of tiny feet and managed to escape. I chased the invisible sirens with a paintbrush. I then draped myself on ancient masonry before walking among the fallen and sprouting trees in search of an entrance. After the silent prayers I placed a lampshade on my head and illuminated the hallway.
I met my sister as she drifted by among the Portuguese man o’ war. We had a hot lunch among the cold caverns I had already pulled my eyelids across. When I looked up there were sundry faces from the Dark Ages looking down. When I looked down I saw that my napkin had polymerised a host of tiny versions of myself.
It was a bitterly cold day and there was a whole queue of us space refugees walking along the knife blade edge. Smoke emanated from the top hat I was wearing and the fairies wished themselves into existence before annihilating each other with bursts of negative energy. I paced around the cold space as memories of fifteen previous lives sorted themselves according to density.
Today disappeared like a lavatory flush; someone pulled on a cord and all the bells rung. In time to the music I danced in the mud with small sheets of paper stuck to me – my wife meanwhile burrowed into the flesh of a huge sea serpent that sailed by with the whole of the Trojan war enacted on the broad expanse of its kaleidoscopic back.
I woke with a start and found a couple of dozen prehistoric animals laying on the bed. I consequently jumped out with a pair of tights over my head (there was a blue garter above my eyes like a Jimi Hendrix bandana). After a brief discussion about a tin shack in the middle of France I cast myself adrift in a wine bottle and bobbled along in a synchronous water ballet with a number of intoxicated dolphins.
An in and out day like the tale of the person who lives in a matchbox. I pulled a parachute from under my hat and pretended to make a bad landing. I juggled thin air and then went home with a colony of meerkats in my trousers – after going down the pit in a hot air balloon I went out and in again with my propellor spinning fast.
The blue touch paper burnt slowly and it was late in the morning before I unrolled the hose and pushed myself down it. The Christmas zombies walked slowly as I slid past wearing a pseudo snake skin. I managed to dance on a tambourine for the briefest period before having to sellotape my life story to the front of my vest and rolling down the hill to the glass lake of work. I had a message from my doctor.