I Don't Like Allegory.

The Summer Stretched Out The Daylight As If On A Rack. Each Moment Was Drawn Out Until Its Anatomy Collapsed. Time Broke Down. The Day Progressed In An Endless Sequence Of Dead Moments.

My Parents Were Hippies, And The Story Is That They Went Through A Dictionary Looking For A Beautiful Word To Name Me. They Nearly Called Me Banyan, But Flipped A Few Pages On And Reached "china," Thankfully. The Other Reason They Liked It Is That "china" Is Cockney Rhyming Slang For "mate." People Say "my Old China," Meaning "my Old Mate," Because "china Plate" Rhymes With "mate.

Subby Subby Subby," Whispered Goss. "keep Those Little Bells On Your Slippers As Quiet As You Can. Sparklehorse And Starpink Have Managed To Creep Out Of Apple Palace Past All The Monkeyfish, But If We're Silent As Tiny Goblins We Can Surprise Them And Then All Frolic Off Together In The Meadow Of Happy Kites.

Any Moment Called Now Is Always Full Of Possibles.

Perhaps The Window Is Not A Sun But An Asterisk, Interrupting The Grammar Of The Sky, With Me Sitting Below It Like A Footnote.