13th April 1671

Today we walk with violins,chattering on roots and leaky radiators and pianos waiting to fall. This landscape resembles candle wicks and dashes of Morse code.  The table has left us for a packet of parsnip seeds and the promise of pizzicato lessons after the 4th of Never. I think about kicking the chair, but my toes are attached, so I don't. We lie together, imagining geese instead of stones beneath our heads. Tomorrow is a hermit crab,stalking the horizon so I roll leaves into my ears for protection and hope it's crumpets for breakfast instead of slugs.


12 April 1671

Dear Diary we are lost, we souls reflected in each other and given to sly remarks are no more in the habit of finding firm ground than seeking that which drifts above it, we have no forwardings save the roads on which we walk and no purpose save the absence of which it dictates, we are unusual in our shortcomings and profound in our own disdane. We are skyline drifters and this world is undecided of our repute.


11th April 1671

The soft air of spring sends clouds scuttling to faraway scarecrows to leave the roads
clear from rain, Threadbare stairwells rise at roadsides and beckon us to climb, but
 I have seen the futility of such journeys and the vacuums that lie beneath. We stop
at noon to watch an army of silent movie stars march into battle, bowler hatted,
awkward and likely to slip on banana peels.


10th April 1671

Today we met a roadside minstrel who treated us to ballads of his misspent youth which mostly involved an unfortunate incident with a horse cart and a lady of ill repute. My time is a grandfather clock ridden with woodworm and faulty of springs.

9th April 1671

There is a dearth of logic with each forward step I make and yet the illogical has always huddled closely as a friend. We eat a cooked dinner of field mice in a graveyard of stone statues which leer at us through candle lit fog, I fall asleep on grass well trodden by foxes and awake to a sky blanketed by spectres of days yet to come


8th April 1671

The thickets seep trouble unto empty country roads like crows in sullen skies, I fear reflections and shadows and walk the moss covered byways with growing unease, Tree creatures pad the path behind us, all whispers and distance, hung heavy with rags. By sunset we reach shelter by a broken wall and sing ourselves to slumber.


7th April 1671

A long night of visitations and grandfather clocks tapping on windows, the musty first breath of morning smelt of dampening walls and fur coats long hidden in closets.On the far side of a green mist that reminded us of Tuesdays we met the ghost of Charlie Chaplin who politely asked me for a cigarette, I told him I did'nt smoke and handed him a cigar.


6th April 1671

The broad sweep of daylight sends chilled night dwellers into hastily clawed holes to leave we three alone, out on open plains I spend time throwing a rescued leg bone to my chair who returns it without irony.


5th April 1671

A soft misted morning fresh with promise gave way to blue skies filled with hot air balloons and strange victorian gents riding awkward machines. My sleepy fellow travellers sprung to life as an army of hares marched past, medalled, proud and reeking of shoe polish. This town is prone to war and foolishness and holds no interest to one such as me. At the edge of town I see distant daylight stars crowding the road ahead and know I must move on.


4th April 1671

We drank wine today in a dank and smoke filled tavern, the rafters hung heavy with
the corpses of banditry and innocent alike. The afternoons drunkenness brought
 thoughts of melancholy and regret and groups of straw hatted peasants who leered
and shone candles at me through cracked grimy windows.

3rd April 1671

Soft early drifts of morning run thick with monsters hugging shadows and bellowing my name, all thoughts of peace and quiet dissipate like spring frost upon windows. My shoeless feet pad the cobbled streets followed by the clacking of an unwanted  table and chair who have now become comrades and bedfellows to my journey. By afternoon hard rain forces refuge in allyways where we eat of meagre foods and ponder our path. As I watch my new found friends slumber under stolen blankets I think of  my future paths and seasons and how thin on the ground firewood might be come winter.


2nd April 1671

Inside an old nicotine stained cafe I whiled away the day watching creepy twig people
clutch soup bowls to their chests. In the corner a small orange man stroked his heavily
bandaged head and smiled. A feeling of deep unease came across me then and
followed by my table and chair I made my way outside.


1st April 1671

I did not bring the life I have upon me, Its true I have embraced it with partially open arms but as A child I was thrown into open fields and told 'Go, Run.Seek out truth, feast from the gristle, tie sparrows to trees, have faith in midgets' I reach an old wooden town lit by blue streetlights and crumbling with damp, A sign hangs before me 'Fortune favours the long of tooth' I doubt its sentiments but admire its typeface.


31st March 1671

I walked through purple sodden fog to a field of  rusted tin men seemingly frozen mid battle, Strange animals whisper insults from the trees and throw odd pieces of masonry at my head. After sundown I wrapped myself in strange animal skins and whistled myself to slumber.


30th March 1671

They say that God is real and sits in judgement, but the wreckage at my feet serves no higher purpose. Fell asleep in a corn field while watching clouds crawl past a sun long given up on human affairs. In far off places they are drinking wine and laughing, boats launch from harbours, babies are born into chaos and I lie awaiting blankets of crows. I awoke in time to see a huge statue striding through the fields, destination unknown


29th March 1671

In Recent days I have grown accustomed to the followings of an office lamp named Douglas, Douglas is an office lamp with ambitions, An office lamp who will go far, Douglas has seen the future and it is a future which is littered with offices in need of lamps, He tells me of his past ridden with bedside lamps and candles, Lamps with no ambition, lamps with 40 watt bulbs who will burn out and fade. I wish Douglas well but I have no need of lamps, the sun rises and falls as it has always done, we walk into the future because we have no choice.


28th March 1671

I find pleasure in the strangest things, clocks raining on hillsides, dwarfs digging holes in which to hide vagrants, Vegetables uprooting en masse and running down country lanes. They tell us 'the world is ours' but I find it slipping through my fingers each day


27th March 1671

Strange weather holds horses to paddocks and flattens early morning grass, I awake to the smell of bonfires in far off places forever taking me home. To die here would be pleasure but footsteps take me on, outwards to new worlds and the scream of life forever new, new distance, new troubles, I dream of winter and coldness that sets to the bone


26th March 1671

By an old swamp filled with half submerged office furniture I shook hands with a sad faced wastrel who carried a birdcage filled with bats, He talked hesitantly about Belguim and trenchfoot and smiled warmly when I mentioned he reminded me of tuesdays, Later in a clearing I found a wooden leg roasting chestnuts and singing songs of its youth.


25th March 1671

Distant drums call from coastal villages, waking me from slumber. I walk a pathway through suburban gardens filled with ancient sunhouses, ghosts of cats and dogs run at my feet. My bag is packed with memories and sandwiches and morning clouds seem to follow with ease, shadowy gardeners leaning on wooden spades and hoes watch me as I pass, forward there is future, behind me broken paths

24th March 1671

There is nothing wrong, nothing untoward or amiss, No one is hiding in hedgerows or crouching unseen on pantry shelves, no black dogs scratching at doors or bats in distant belfries, my gardens are clear from ghouls and unwanted guests, the madness and flux run of unwanted, my windows bring only daylight, dark clouds seek someone else but me


23rd March 1671

I have no foibles with the passing of time, no regrets save for that which causes me harm, I stand aloof from crows and decedents and yet with face pressed into windows I see only worlds turning which shall never be mine. Bring on the mad seas, let me taste the madness before I reach the sheltered port.


22nd March 1671

Today I met a blue frog collective singing ballads of their youth, by the 10th verse of 'Bad Toad Goes To Market' I moved  down the road, onward to shelter from quickening storms and crows who carry chimneys in their feet


21st March 1671

I walk into faded misted morning, the landscape cracked, sodden and ribboned by guilt. Far off in the distance I see a huge bird with a green lantern in its beak. I walk forward wishing only I had shoes.


20th March 1671

I reach an attic through damp peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpets, the daylight through a small window greets me like a friend. An old lady with black swollen fingers and hair of cobwebs sits in the corner chanting the words 'Seek wolves and they shall find you' I have not lost my task, I have not lost my way, I pick leaves to fashion a coat of nature and break out into stars, all is familiar and broken and forgotten in time. I am a wall of strength and my time is not yet at an end.


19th March 1671

It is a sullen wind that blows through the empty rafters of my mind and disturbs the cobwebs inside. On the first hallway I found three doors guarded by shop dummies. upon the first door was written the word 'guilt' on the second the word 'sorrow' and on the third 'teaset' I thought briefly of Holland and decided to pass on by


18th March 1671

I hide in nooks and crannys and random shadows while far away the moon holds a telescope to spy me through missing rooftiles and shingles. Upon a stairwell lit by coloured glass I find a small boy made from twigs holding a broken rabbit.


17th March 1671

I sat for a while on lost threadbare carpets waiting for my next move to become apparent, In the next room an elegant man and woman danced without sound, beside them two old men (clearly asleep) clutched Violins covered in dust, after a while the woman curtsied, the man bowed and they started again. I gazed out the window in time to catch sight of a gentleman in striped pajamas leap of across the rooftops holding a ginger cat.


16th March 1671

Feeling hollow and uncertain I entered into the house and felt the hands of destiny at my back, forever pushing forward without time or pause for thought, something lies within which may not let me leave, to continue on my path is all I want and all I cannot have. Inside I found a large room filled with paintings of a man at different stages of his life, as the paintings progressed so to did the sense of loss in his face, In the final painting he held a rose. I sat be the fire and poured myself wine from a blue glass bottle.


15th March 1671

Portents of doom surround me like early morning fire, 'I have my life in hand ' I say ' I shall not waver from the path' but the path I no longer know, everything is flux and madness and instructions read by lamplight. Secretly I know nothing and belief in nothing will hold me through storms and laughter from birds and small men with axes. I found a cobwebbed mansion upon the edge of the forest, a rusted sign read 'Seek shelter here for secrets lie within' I walk without choice or reason.

14th March 1671

At a latern lit crossroads I met an impossibly old man holding a clock and smoking a pipe, weeds grew from the cracks in his velvet top hat and his old great coat. He talked for a while about shrubs and foliage and the shadows behind him which could never quite be seen, We drank from a bucket of wine and I fell asleep upon his lap dreaming of cloistered halls and flickering sunlight, by morning the spring air was already drifting insects from his beard onto my face so I made my leave, pausing only to steal his shoes.


13th March 1671

I forget more than I remember and remember everything that I forget, except on wednesdays when I forget to remember the things I had forgotten  but I put that down to the drink, I passed by ancient fireplaces at a watering hole, troubled by wasps and bad karma and the knowledge that all will end in time. In the evening I fashioned a coat of leaves and chatted with swans as the moon drifted like a strange balloon above our heads.


12th March 1671

Today I sat In a nearby tree and watched a ceremony of moles dancing around a larger central mole, upon each mole there sat a hat and upon each hat there was a smaller mole made from sticks, after the music had stopped the moles attacked and killed the central mole, raised it into the air and threw it into a nearby lake, I rarely give credence to moles as they rarely make me laugh but today my opinions changed


11th March 1671

There is an insect under every rock and upon each rooftop a crow, I pass by twists and turns and oddly named paths that sing their way .. 'Come to Lavendar Gardens' ... 'Dream upon Jasmine way'.. I will not commit to a world that is not mine, There is work to do and bright mornings  to come.


10th March 1671

Life Is Smoke and shadows and lightning appearing in early morning skies, I met a girl today who knew the names of trees and the reason why cats hated dogs, she handed me a owl and spoke in symbols, I smiled under rain sodden clouds, handed her an umbrella and continued on my way.

9th March 1671

My mind is filled with questions that answers will not touch, Who are the strange victorian gentlemen hidden by distance and cigar smoke? Why do crows circle but never approach? Who thought up the word cow? my train of thought is driven by an alcoholic, I must seek shelter to rest my weary head and perhaps make shoes.


8th March 1671

Spent today climbing 'Joseph's Tree Of Time' (no one remembers who Joseph was but all evidence points toward him owning a very big tree) The branches hung heavy with corpses, the clothes dating them from branch to branch. Upon the highest viewpoint I ate a lunch of lizard pie and spoke with a cluster of nervous owls who claimed to know the origin of the word Table and why rabbits lost their wings. On my decent my eyes were drawn to a black cloud drifting with dark intent upon the horizon.


7th March 1671

A stark morning of helicopter dragonflies and long necked birds, I dreamt of a dark figure in the distance watching me, listening to my voice, forever faceless and far away. My road met a fork and sign saying 'This way or That'  I thought breifly and chose the other.


6th March 1671

An Orange  mooned morning found me at the edge of a forest, it was there I met a small girl dressed in victorian clothes with the severed ears of a white rabbit pearched upon her head, she was feasting on the charred carcas of an emormous caterpiller and quoting poetry, 'curiouser and bloody curiouser' I thought as I past on by.


5th March 1671

I take wooden hands along the roads on which I walk, sing to birds, welcome clouds, I am 20 feet tall and am aware of every second that my heart beats and the clocks count down, I see the future as a friend and the past as a sunken ship from which I have escaped, No more brain shrunken bad teethed tree fingered oily garden hugging fiends, no more hair curling baton tossing snail eating sink friendly shadow chasing shallow corners, The sun shines on every road


4th March 1671

Taking bearings from the moon I followed angry clouds down to the outskirts of a town where men dressed as badgers drank Gin and shot at occasional greenfly. I asked directions from a small man pearched upon an impossibly high chair who handed me a photo of a rusted metal fox and began to laugh. I am clad in the finest oak and lost to all that is normality, I have nothing to believe in but myself.


3rd March 1671

We seek the future and ignore the past, we throw ourselves upon days which pass like bonfires burning into grass, Our lives are balls of wool chased by cats and still we think to change, I look upon the shoreline and see only that which I have run away from, I hope to stand tall and that my wanderings are not at an end.

2nd March 1671

Arrived at the shore through seamist and ghosts, the trees calling to me like long lost friends. A choir of large wooden puppets sang hymns as I disembarked, A cracked wooden clown handed me a cat, I smiled politely and nodded my head.


1st March 1671

I awoke to a morning filled with butterflies and pollen. If I have learnt anything from life it is this 'To take flight with wingless birds one must first learn the full extent of ones capabilities and ones misgivings' The irony of this has not been lost on me, I am a stranger in a strange land, poor, cold and misunderstood.


28th February 1671

In early morning dolphin littered seas we passed by a lighthouse long gone to ruin, huge black owls with human faces watched us, throwing out warnings and bearing their teeth. 'Pass on by' , 'Remember us not' they seemed to say. Later we came across a man who had been tied to a buoy for two hundred more years, his empty seagull ravaged face spat and shouted 'The barnacles have me, choose your future well' . The sea is a monster, I pray for mad weather to take me to land,.

27th February 1671

I have given nothing and asked for less, All those who know me are flotsam and jetsam on a minimal shoreline and still I breath and wonder and ask. The world turns through clocks and stars and nothing in peticular, I curse dim salted sailors and lobsters who hang on every word. Bring on the mad sea, bring on the surf and tide and twist of life lived upside down, give me an end that I can see and trust and a story written large.


26th February 1671

A note to myself in future times : Steamboat crewsmen are salty and dim and believe dolphins to be a type of fruit. We set sail at first light out into the endless ocean dragging clouds on pieces of string in our wake. I have no clear idea of where we are going and felt sad waving the sobbing lobsters goodbye, but the future is a bright country the likes of which I have not seen, the shadows must be kept at bay.


25th February 1671

Reached the shore just as the sun had burnt through the ocean, hundreds of rusted robots lay half submerged in the sand, all pointing out to sea. I sat lonely in the surf while many lobsters giggled and knitted me a coat of seaweed. 'The sea has you'  they seemed to say 'let the ocean take you home'.


24th February 1671

I fear strangers at every turn, I dream endlessly of  metal objects in large empty rooms tying me to the past. I am dying, I know I am dying.My soul walks beside me, head bowed, arms outstretched.

23rd February 1671

Weather changes swiftly and clouds drift out of sight, These days of open roads and clown thickened hedgerows would trouble the happiest of hearts. I must make towards the sea, feel salt air upon my face. I came across a battered sign.. 'Under Deadwood Peacocks Flew' The future is open, the past is a broken home.