Ballater│ 27 December 2017


Spacious enclaves shuttered by the defiance of explicit patterns that favour darkness.

The hills are encrusted by whiteness.

They challenge the obstinacy of the winter gloom with an unsuccessful radiance of elaborate refractions.

The windows of opportunity are limited to solemn walks on the lower hills, the humbling escapades of wandering through death scenes of Nature.

The evening weather is for drinking in pubs.

We bask in the artificial warmth of beer and fireplaces.

We exist in the ideal comfort zone.

The Cairngorms are a culmination of all the places in the world we wish to be.


Kinneff │ 26 December 2017

The reckless cliffs of Catterline Bay. . .

They reassess their static eruptions with a tendentious rejection of the evolving gateways of time.

Their cave mouths are openings into a prehistoric retention of volcanic movements.

Land is formed through geological convulsions of renegade shifts and episodes of pain.

Its geophysical boundaries are shaped by the shattered nerve-endings of catastrophic outcomes.

Its features are pushed through terrible motions to points of ultimate stillness, projections in defiance of numerical clock-scapes.

And there they stand, braced against the cavalcades of the mauling oceans.

Heroically defined by their passive acceptance of the savage contours of permanent torment.

The Crawton Waterfall breaches the sudden edge of the narrow cove by the braes of Fowlsheugh (The Ravine of the Birds).

It is revealed by the parting darkness – by the sun that causes the sky to collapse with elations of light.

Proof that the sun is your god without you knowing it – that it replenishes and destroys the fitness of life with omnipotent firmness and a finite radioactive grip of the core resources.

Proof, also, that gods must die, like shadows of passions dwindling under the assaults of the bitter truths that engulf them.

Other stars, other planets, will evolve in unknown places – cosmic harbingers of new prospects of creation  – emissaries of cause and effect.

New life forms will undertake the genetic conflux of their continuous arrival..

New gods will be worshipped. New laws obeyed.

New rebels will challenge the ideologues of the useless arbiters who impose their stunted will against the counsel of aesthetes.

All of them will die in their abundance like diminishing candles in the cover of darkness.

New waterfalls will form over the edges of cliffs on other planets.

While all the while, confined to our diminutive plane, we will know and feel nothing.

Kinneff │ 25 December 2017

In awe of the transitions of solar pulses.

The impact of seasons on the prospects of survival.

The pageantry of former eons.

Imagining the recovery of lost ages.

The convergence of time in one moment of recreating everything.

Aberdeen │ 24 December 2017

There are no concessions to the glories of Christ in a Scottish winter.

Savage rains tear apart the idealism of the perfect scenes.

The nativity is trashed by excruciating wetness.

The ache of darkness is populated by depressive states of opportunistic grief.

There are no stars of Bethlehem to guide you through the formless evocations of nothing happening on Aberdeen streets.

The world exists in the suspended animation of its unexplained fury.

Fyvie │ 23 December 2017

The earth’s atmosphere has a constricted space in which to operate.

It is an entity of forceful intentions confined to a virtual stony enclosure of empty vacuums.

The grey matter of its cloud base is an expression of ascendancy through the opposing motions of unequal tendency that enliven its factual compactions of to a virtual limit of false impressions of its infinite distance.

There is nothing more finite than the Earth’s atmosphere.

There is nothing so restricted as its dimensions squeezed through ever-funded energy reserves .

Within the containment of its forces, a blend is reached – an obstreperous exaggeration of tonal resentments, a catacomb of transitions that rip through Time.

The result is to cause a cavalcade of focuses of attention, an anomaly of multiple centres of activity that cannot be presented as an absolute centre.

The weather systems are a constant assertion of the cancellation of the centres of everything.

There never was a centre that cannot hold.

The cancellation of multiplicity as a means of acquiring the uniqueness of a core acts as a metaphor for the wastefulness of too much thinking.

When heading north, the obliteration of the centre is like the surface of a balloon where the centre is impossible to achieve in relation to a random assertion of fantastically false belief systems.

It is a journey into the headwinds – into the brunt of the storms that swing towards us  in the mid-flow of careening assaults.

Episodes of brightness appear as daggers of eventuality in the breasts of tortured heroes.

In the tragedian ebb and flow of the half-lights and the darkness, they will not form a cohesive pitch of anything beyond the supernal glow of mysteries contained without release.

We see ghosts in the bottle glass windows of the castles.

We see spectres of propositions in the depths of copses where the shadows lie.

Edinburgh │ 22 December 2017

We suffer the solace of our apprehensions of death at the end of the year.

A numbness of overcomes us with the gravity of festive rites.

We drink in order to contain the presentiments of our dread forebodings, with a sense of convergence of the greater things we cannot imagine.

The full weight of our existence collapses upon us like a crushing fullness of falling buildings.

We stand at a juncture. There are options presented we cannot choose.

Instead, we must obey the law of trajectory in the direction of time.

Only then can we unburden ourselves of the realisation that we are nothing.