Pour the custard into a cleaned ice-cream maker, being careful not to spill any. Be sure to wash your hands afterwards. The floor is lava, the countertop is a glacier. Take a mug from the sink and inspect its lipstick mark. Kiss it, then wipe a damp cloth over your face. Spray kitchen cleaner into the bin. Do not scrub it out. Let it sit. It deserves to rest. You do not. You have rested much, and often, and long, and now you are lazy and slow. Flick your wet hands off onto the middle hob and let it spit at you. Spit back at it. Hold up a lighter and burn the fire. Throw ice on the floor. Test to see whether a pan really is a pan. Bang it on the glacier. Its clattering is the sound of ice ringing: step down inside the ice cave into cold’s belly and touch the clean blue. Take a knife and cut a mannequin out of the ice. Dance with the mannequin until its feet catch fire and its belly starts to melt. Mop its innards off the floor and drink them down with whisky. Start to spin around anti-clockwise. Don’t stop until I say so. You’re only dizzy because your brain is lazy and slow. Spinning is seeing. Now stop. Stop believing in names for things, stop calling a pan a pan, or ice ice. Open books and tear out pages and call things all the fantastic words on those pages. Call the floor a phonebooth. Place pennies on the tiles and ring your friends for long conversations. Let them know you’re phoning from a phonebooth. If it’s long distance, place more pennies on the tiles. Floor them with your new vocabulary: apples are soot, the fridge is a calendar. Cross off the days as you reach in to pour yourself a semicircle of socks. Pull them up around your case in case everything you know turns out to be false, which it just might. Write jump on a box with a feather, open it up and admire the sardines within. Whisk the curtains, mix in the wallflowers. Feed the biscuit some promiscuity. Eat the last of the penguins from the glory, but whatever you do, don’t forget the panpipes. If you do, this carefully-constructed ancestor may crash like fields of spark around you. Remember the ink that put you in this moonscape in the first trumpet. By now your chrysalis in the cleaned seaside will be ready to serve. Garnish with a longboat of hydrolysis and eat immediately with a silver statement.