Untitled|seven eighteen – And Et cetera

Brambles, thousands to a soul, march on the English aorta – and others of that species – intent on crusade in the moist arch of her cut grass. Aye, revelation in the food bank at suppertime: isolation, Fentanyl analogues, bevvy, et cetera.

The second wound: The land moved away starting to turn in the orient of sky. And as the land moved away so too a sour melody turned without light into the wound your lance made in the canvas; the Verfremdungseffekt of a supermarket trolley, contactless payment, dry cleaning, flies, et cetera.
In the sky about the wound that your lance made in the flesh, the ur-psalm of a goldfinch spread the sweet shelter of a lime tree on the bleached grass; a teenage girl slept peacefully-foetal in a space between Lenor and Comfort on the bottom tray of a shelving unit in the Household Cleaning aisle. I ask, are we all too late? Have I seen your face before? I need help from time to time: Yes, I said, we would need the guns by next spring.
L. your discovery was more than just the hole, more than just nothing.

Collecting sticks in the wood, I went over to where he was found by a dog walker, where they fly-tipped his body; over here,
This is where the officers danced the Scottish dawn.

Friday 5 January, 2018. The Hirsel, Riemore Estate, Dunkeld. Snow fell over everything. Voices grew quieter and fewer. I was no longer ashamed of my love for you. On the far hill the snow came on again, but softly, as I watched the blue numbers huddle neon deep in the weather, perhaps six hundred of a flock surrounded by brilliant light; an immense protecting veil of steam inside which were ten thousand and more eyes. You needed to be somewhere. I cleared the windscreen and windows with a flat five centimetre square piece of Plockton oak and turned the key in the ignition.

The fifth wound: A rabbit arched its back. A blossom-killing fog hung over everything. I watched a woman in grey sweats turn slowly away from a memorial of flowers that were tied to a fence. She stepped over a puddle and walked towards the other end of the car park and a spirit-blue Fiat; towards where sickly bushes rusted behind the fence, the ground around them a poisonous blush of deep red. A train went by. She pulled the key to the car from a clutch bag and a silver bullet fell to the ground – a Cyber Colours avocado lip balm.
Woven into the fence behind her car were thin strings of human guts; cold viscera; wet human guts starting to dry in the gentle breeze. The rest had been bagged by early morning, and hastily stored in a chest freezer in the Coated Fish aisle before the red mud had had a chance to harden on it; before he had had a chance to harden on her:

The night bled outwith her; her room, saturated in a porcelain silence that flowed and flowed like starlight coming into truth in the white-washed air at the end of her bed: linseed, yellow ochre, plaster of Paris, carmine and hawthorn, taking form;

Daisy, dandelion, smooth meadow-grass, orchard grasses … pitiless small birds flitted around the wooden kirk, and to everything later, et cetera.

Untitled|six eighteen

M.H. Abrams, The Mirror and the Lamp: Romantic Theory and the Critical Tradition (OUP, 1953)
John Barbour, HARDSOFT (Australian Experimental Art Foundation & Yuill/Crowley, 2011)
James Brooks, Spoils (Offord Road Books, 2018)
Common Mouse-ear
Cross-hatching
14 degrees and breezy from the west north west.
David Hayden, Darker With The Lights On: Stories (Little Island Press, 2018)
Hinnonmaki yellow (Gooseberry)
Sean O’Brien, Europa (Picador, 2018)
Venus Durathin (Thin lead-coloured pencils / 50-9 Blue), Venus Pencil Co., Ltd. (England, 1950)


At Forest of Ae on the final stage of Round 3 of the POC Scottish Enduro Series – wearing the tartan sleeves of team Basecamp Bikes.


After the first three rounds … with Basecamp Bikes owner, Lindsay Carruthers, at the front of the field after an inspired performance at Ae Forest.

Untitled|five eighteen – Vine black

Amoxicillin
BASP UK – Outdoor Emergency First Aid
C366H384O228FeMg.

As a boy he would sit on the carpet with his back against his bed and listen, with his eyes closed, to the singing birds.

Highland, to plant limes beside the spring, to purify and sweeten the water.
Shaun Prescott, The Town (Brow Books, 2017)
Soil

The world, as wide as your sides, but masked by fashion and comfort.
‘Twice five, twice five, twice five …’
Vine black – rushlight.
Yevgeny Yevtushenko, Ivan the Terrible and Ivan the Fool. Translated by Daniel Weissbort (Victor Gollancz Ltd., 1979)

Untitled|four eighteen – The silence of a plane going through a fir tree contains everything within itself.

‘If I look at a cup I can name it, I can describe its design. I may be able to guess its value or describe its particular use. This is the everyday shorthand by which I orientate myself and make sense of the world around me.’


‘… In another vein of thought I may look at a cup and think of breakfast – a kind of first order association by which I logically connect a cup with a process or event of which a cup is a part.’


‘The most beautiful part / of your body is wherever / your mother’s shadow falls.’ (O.V.)

A wavy line of geese on the cool surface of the sky, like drops of water on black.
Donald Judd Writings (Judd Foundation & David Zwirner Books 2016)
Frost light on the slates of the helpless barn.
One day the patterned rug will go on without.

‘ … Things.
When I say that word (do you hear?), there is a silence; the silence which surrounds things. All movement subsides and becomes contour, and out of past and future time something permanent is formed: space, the great calm of objects which know no urge.’ (R.M.R.)

That life, perhaps, is no more than preparation for the hour suddenly stilled.
Talking to myself … the cherry tree’s going to blossom soon …

‘… Lastly I may look and see mainly a white curving shape. It might remind me of a bath or a seagull. I suspend my habits of vision – I let the object settle in my mind as an object and allow images to well up around it.’


It Never Touches The Ground | I left a cup under our sky / overnight to measure how much / it rained in my dream, with you.

The cup shifted on its saucer – by the nothingness of a bird – helpless.
Perfect day – Scotland, rain, ozone.

Untitled|three eighteen: Water and colour.

John Banville, The Sea (Picador, 2005)
Bliss
Cornelius, Mellow Waves (Warner Music Japan, 2017)
Virginia Woolf, The Waves (Vintage Classics, 2000)


Drops of water follow their natural course … | Tinsel, fallen into events ridiculous and chilling. | A worn Varamin rug under the cross. | Blütenstaub. From the series, Christian melancholy. Pencil and watercolour on Saunders Waterford watercolour paper; each measures 38 x 28cms.

‘Blume – ein Blindenwort. / Dein Aug und mein Aug: / sie sorgen / für Wasser.’
Flower – a blind man’s word. / Your eye and mine: / they see / to water. (Paul Celan)

One brown day after rain: a thousand Eurasian curlew in a field east of Errol.

People
Snow-sharn
Sudarium
Wine