Edinburgh │20 February 2018

The disconnecting opposites have been forced to conjoin.

Emotions are subjagated to unusual behaviours of reticence and stagnation.

There is an element of freedom in the release of emotions in their pure condition of direct enunciation, however undesired in the contentions of extreme sorrow.

The freedom to feel is a corresponding attribute of the celestial scientific deity of multiple forms of chemical assemblage and the sunlight-management conditions of application and consistency.

Taking articles of justification for a fecund existence.

Only emotions of pure intent can ratify the crepuscular expansions of the sky as something more than mere colour.

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Edinburgh │19 February 2018

The cold spreads like a virus throug the body parts of weather portents.

We shift between the weakening viewpoints of terra firma, seeing nothing beyond the miopic parameters of working life.

Whose idea was this?

To settle into codifications of human life and be distanced from our inclinations to wander.

When habits become a restricive circle of obligations, it is time to favour our actions of choice.

It is time to take matters into your own hands and, with a crushing determination, to mould them into your private destiny.

Edinburgh │18 February 2018

They foretold of merriments that couldn’t last.

Wane without the provocation of further tensions.

Morbid blocks of better tomorrows.

Languishing in the fragile stillness of unstable rains.

The ruin of all of us.

Edinburgh │17 February 2018

The space of the day is tightly bound by an animal skin of pallid stratus.

It is a drum of startled silence with a hollow centre that needs beaten with sticks of thunderous awe.

It needs an echo and a throbbing circuit of dreaming that goes beyond the circumferance of its limpid shadow.

It needs to fill the void of its pale refractions with a cloud burst of irridescent booming.

It needs to develop a new dimension.

It needs to set an example for the world hereafter.

Braemar, Glen Shee, Edinburgh │16 February 2018

The embankments of Glen Shee were caused by glacial intrusions that left an eternal faery kist of riches for all to see.

Today it is filled with an enriching overkill of Winter sunlight.

It assesses the glistening charms of its melt waters.

It wants to cradle us in its arms of prehistory.

To leave the Glen is to abandon the memories of its enormous sequences of ancient purpose.

Cenruries are diminished in the primordial grooves of its timescale.

To return to the city, its poverty-stricken and prosperous remnants, is like the shedding of a skin that has allowed us to absorb the many wonders of the world we have encountered.

Now their is a cosmetic indifference – an effacement of the valuable confrontations we’ve experienced with the prospects of realising the favourable status of knowing nothing.

Cities make us feel that we assume control over things that we can’t even scratch the surface of.

Edinburgh is a delusion of grandeur embedded in the brickwork of its tenebrous sandstone and the antiquated castle walls.

Braemar │15 February 2018

The morning comes with incantations of stillness and the incremental palisades of obliterating whiteness that merge all senses into one great sense of stupefaction.

The solitary destinies of individual frameworks are trusted with the convergence of their separate will forces.

It is an act of finality that cannot be sustained beyond its presage of melting ice.

The brightness of death is visible through these guises of Winter.

It proposes the end results of entropy while burying the evidence of its emphatic decay.

The grunting Ptarmigans of Glen Shee represent a sudden contrast to the bludgeon of Winter.

They nudge their way across the hillside like pieces of evolutionary progress sensing their accession to the final outcome of their species.


We are caught up in the nets of the cosmic drift.

We experience the existential numbness of its lowering gyrations.

The Earth spins on its axis like a failure of energy.

It comes to a standstill.

It ceases to care about its reason to be.

This is as close as we can get to feeling nothing for whatever it is we’re meant to be feeling something about.

We are presented with a kind of bliss that is too dumfounding for us to appreciate perfectly.

If ever we could appreciate it at all.