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.