The transience of passing forms.
The lack of permanence in organic matter depends on the perpetuation of generations to sustain a lasting impact.
Stone is capable of self-determinations we can only dream of.
It outlasts the energies required for consciousness, with a refusal to develop beyond the limits of grit.
Stone is the opposite of the clouds.
Yet, they come together over the peaks of mountains and the wild summits of the north.
They exchange their attitudes of dramatic interaction to form a perfection that cannot be matched except by additions of the oceans to the panoramic flux.
Ragged stratocumulus are easily departed by the rousing measures of sunlight.
There is a uniform tonality of grey strata divided by shapes. The darker lines of edges have established a criteria of distinguishing features.
The clouds are mimicking the appearance of stone, as if to discover, for fleeting moments, the condition of permanence that geology aspires to.
Imagine yourself as something else at the close of day.
I am a star that endures the silence of distance from other stars.
We come together in the collapse of our gravitational fulcrum, a collective mass of being, swallowed up by the enigma of our pro anima singularity.
The gallery of untold fortunes.
Altostratus beyond that erratic rifts of cumulus.
The wind describes a barging angle.
The lower levels of human activity are a troublesome segregation from the matters of importance of Nature.
I wonder how they can live with themselves, these humans, whose distorted attitudes have destroyed the pageantry.
The fake realities that define them define all of us who are forced to exist in the same cultural mainstream.
How to escape all of this is a question of how urgently the clouds become a reminder of what is truly real.
It is a failure of the human spirit.
People no longer fight for ideals.
People no longer conceive of them.
The western world is a comfort zone of mundane tasks, of mundane pleasures, all of which are experienced within a safety zone of banality and crude self-worship.
(The worship of the unworthy is a comedy of human errors).
None of this has any meaning. There is no significance of lasting import in the shallowness of doing what you’re told without thinking.
It is a self-contained absence that consumes itself without an awareness of itself.
The drama of cumulus – the veracity of insights of ultimate formation.
The shapeless masses acquire the shape of a rampant whole.
Rain spills with abundant saps.
The sky is awash with the clouds blown out of proportion.
Their contortions are a signal for us to break the mould of our inability to worship the gods we once imagined as we derived them from the world we saw.
Central Edinburgh is a magnet that attracts a spillage of light.
We are able to bathe in its transparencies.
We are unreasoning in our commitments to watching the clock, as time slips from the diurnal motions of the day, melting away like the dream of something that was never real.
Fragments within an insulation.
Sometimes moving through air is to discover the connectivity between moments in isolation.
The air we breathe is a shared resource.
We are not alone in inhaling and exhaling its vast resourceful mixture.
It enlivens us all in the same way, like an ocean in reverse.
We live, instead of drown, as we swallow its substantive charges.
When the horrors abide, are decided upon, the skies become a compact of funereal proclamations that deliver the eulogy of rain.
This is what we are suited for – the indulgence of dullness, the levitation of the mundane to heights of pompous superiority and the ability to lie as a strategy for winning the hearts and minds of those who don’t have any.
Which of these abominations will take flight in our human circles as the master eagle of our domain?
Dismay in abundance is radiated out of the human soul into the heavens to form this turgid mass of public opinion – the wet ends of stratus that combine their amalgam of justified despair.
And then we come to the sky restored with fortunes of light – cumulus incorporations of previously tyrannical aftermaths.
Light veneers of altocumulus, in tortoise shells of screening the sun and causing corrugations of light and shade with an emphasis of empowered beauty.
Summer is spiritualised by its refulgences of opposition.
It is the classic poise, restores us to the pinnacle of awe.
It makes us aware of the simple need of acquiring the freedom to enjoy the spectacle.
Let no one of ignorant multitudes stand in our way.