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.