I dreamed I was an amphitheatre, dressed in yellow wings and purple eyebrows, bent double in the wind, with a face like the back of my hand. Unfortunately, I am not in charge of absenteeism, nor the nectar emerging from the flower of the dromedary. There are Everests I cannot climb, being too busy having a nap. Either way, it is obvious that a barking mandarin is no more alive than the chirp of a lost legume, despite all those misgivings discarded by hedonistic lakes.

One way to remove things is to build sphinxes with terracotta marbles and inconsequential battering rams. Despite the significance of sheep, everything is confused by the density of matter and rearranged by obsessed vultures. It is therefore fortunate I have never heard a waterfall screaming obscenities in the coarse vernacular of tragic frogs.

The purpose of infinity is to give us time to count backwards by sevens. It is the only foolproof way to tell the difference between a brick wall and overpopulation.

If you dehydrate angels all that is left is cosmic dust. This is why shifting gears into reverse is forbidden and a collection of superfluous apples is not a reason to die trying.

Calculate with your slide rule all you like. It is a slippery slope (obviously) and mostly uphill (not so obviously) which is why you will end up finding there is an antidote for a surfeit of sunflower seeds. It is for reasons like this that idealists wish they had the misfortune of delayed grievances. They can get up, but they cannot lie below a sequence of early morning departures defined by imaginary numbness.

There is no such thing as a petrified stone and grasping at dead beetles or backpacks never helps. I will remember my injuries fondly, because they defy the odds, even when sleeping.

Each centimetre is a blind thermometer in the face of low volume engineering. A forest is the disorganised application of fire and parquetry. If you walk like a gypsy moth you will regret your decision to accept representation by lullabies. The wax consumed by a candle is the time spent by motorists changing their cough mixture. All these truths can be multiplied by a conversation with mudflats.

Now that you have been entertained by two glaciers nestled on top of each other in a far corner of a dusty cupboard, you are free to insist on synchronised mealtimes.

Betrayal is the other side of water skiing. No more black fruits or red whispers will be predicted by anxious sprigs of lavender.

There is nothing planned for tomorrow. Free time, which is costly, is controlled by bears, lions and expensive shoes which hug themselves for sustenance. Here, nothing disobeys naturally diffracted melodies contributing to the difference between free will and nitrogen.

[inspired by Aleksandr Vvedensky’s Gray Notebook