Badenoch │ 17 June 2017

The inconsistencies of drizzle become more evenly spread.

A range of consequences are delivered in the precise wetness.

The clouds harry the mountain sides with a phantasmagorical fleetness of shifting – sifting the light though the haggard robes of nimbostratus, reckless in the pursuit of unknowable treasures.

Here, beneath the granite escarpments, within and among these teeming glades, the twilight refuses to abandon the visible world, half-seen through screens of elaborate dampening.

There is no nightfall this far north.

At three o’clock in the morning I still see the banished clouds performing rituals of naked departure, leaving summits blanched and drenched in their shame.

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Edinburgh │ 16 June 2017

Anger grows at elected politicians who deserve our maximum scorn.

The portion of the population who brought us this disgrace have stained their characters for life.

They have blighted Scotland’s projection of marvels.

There will be no forgiveness for them because they won’t admit their shame.

Or realise the extent of it. They are incapable.

Disgrace requires a certain lack of self-awareness they have revealed in tumblers of vacuity.

They drink from these tumblers with an habitual preference for stupidity.

Greed and selfish preoccupations that are the preserve of the reasonably well off.


The weather presides over us with a greatness of purpose that is unnoticed by the minions who depend on it.

In the past, when the dependency was obvious, and accelerated by the immediacy of our proximity to harsh conditions, the weather was an object of reverence and awe.

It was realised that sunlight and rain were complimentary sources of life. A proportionate humility was felt by those who imbibed its force.

What we have now is a lack of respect for the forces that enable us to have any.

Edinburgh │ 15 June 2017

Admixtures of billowing froths.

A sea of overlapping curiosities.

Waveform stratus. Cumulus breakers. Reptilian scales of altocumulus.

Screens of offset dapples of blazing seams.

The air aspires to be stifling.

A good day for pollen to spread.

Scenarios of rebirth within the fecundity.

We enjoy the welter with feelings of respecting the vegetation.

A product of the weather, such as we, enjoying the mutual celebration.

Edinburgh │ 14 June 2017

And the voice of the weather says:

We wonder about the human filth that votes for cretins. About the frailties of democracy when the lowest common denominators are reached as a matter of course.

We wonder about the inadequacy of human life to deliver objectives of universal value.

Everyone has an opinion. But most people are incapable of holding good ones.

There are no applied sciences within the ideological crux of bigotry. There are only the dead ends of reason and the annihilation of romantic principles as a means of loving the inanimate features of your environs in order to protect them.

Nature is a mechanism for ensuring your survival as a species. It allows you to thrive.

But thriving for humans means a simultaneous tendency towards decay.

From the point of view of the weathersphere, this results in a misalignment of priorities that are repeated to points of comprehensive ruin.

Those things which matter to people most are often the least important in terms of your survival.

This is all well-documented. The difference here is that I advocate the unloosening of the passions and the application of unbridled scorn where they are inhibited by stupid humans whose views you are meant to accommodate within constraints of fairness.

Conversely, you should celebrate the hatred of stupidity, not humble yourselves as perpetrators of an imagined equality that doesn’t exist in the inferior attitudes of those who would laugh at your weakness of loving Nature.

Knowing what is right is not an elitist proposition. It is a question of knowing.

You wonder about ideals, about how the point is missed in regards to what they stand for.

An ideal is an impossible target that you should strive to meet in order to ensure that the highest possible standards are met.

Being an impossible target doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be sought after.

The capability of self-reflection proves a greater distraction than the power of instinct as a trustworthy factor in determining the rules of survival.

And that’s what humans forget – that the political world is a set of rules for how to survive for the mutual benefit of all (not just human) things.

Those who fail to participate in the mutuality of survival are the ones who ruin its application.

Petty prejudices perform no practical function. Let that be the mantra the warriors sing.

The clouds weep with the pressures of adapting to the ruination.

You should do the same.


The yellowing twilight brings a measure of solace.

Not of peace, but of the throng of mysteries culminating in a single sky scene.

Twilight is the time of day when all the days of previous epochs come together in a conflagration of refined presence.

This is why it feels timeless – not because it divests itself of time, but because it brings together the enormity of time in one simultaneously moment of being.

Edinburgh │ 13 June 2017

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 oceanography to the panoramic influx.

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.

Edinburgh │ 12 June 2017

The gallery of untold fortunes.

Altostratus beyond the erratic rifts of cumulus.

The wind describes a barging angle of squalid air movement.

The lower levels of human activity are a troublesome segregation from the matters 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 us all who are forced to exist in the same cultural mainstream.

How to escape this is a question of how urgently we plead with the clouds to become a reminder of what is truly real.

Edinburgh │ 11 June 2017

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 to 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.