Edinburgh │ 15 December 2017

Sometimes it seems like automatic writing.

It comes with the willingness of crows to the feast of wet corpses.

It sings through the grid work of the emotions like a cipher.

It follows a process that replicates the endless spontaneity of actions of weather, compiled by a minutia of impacting factors, like an intersecting map of chaos in motion.

The kind of chaos that we secretly wish to live our lives by.