Edinburgh │ 12 December 2017

A shift in the fabric that causes a rift in the imposition of certainty.

We live in the non-remain of a fragment –  a sigh expressed, not in a breath, but in a language of implosion – a wormhole cutting a dash through time.

There follows a period of mild inducements to the atmospheric disintegration of winter – a dissolution of its once solid heart of hardcore enterprise.

It is a god that dies a lonely death of inefficacious grandeur.


Edinburgh │ 11 December 2017

The sky accomodates the needs of thicker clouds.

Stratocumulus expanding with rotundity, dissolving in fringes of corpulent light.

A softening of the ways of winter, yet the cold is unabating.

The opportunism of descriptions is scuppered by the havoc-wreaking blackness.

Evening is an obliteration.

Edinburgh │ 10 December 2017

Nothing stirs.

The elements are compelled to a dreadful stillness.

A glamour is cast – a magical array of sparkling intentions.

The world is intense, like a microscopic detail.

It expresses a desire to lightly combust with frigid luminosity.

A prayer has frozen upon our lips.

For days like this to never end.

Edinburgh │ 07 December 2017

The winter sun is a projector of trance-like optimism over the frontiers of perpetual dismay.

It brings a calibre of poetic influence over the time-lapsing idiocy of day.

Night is the keeper of secrets.

It locks us in the restricted space of winter’s contrary evolutions of a resistance to change.