In heaven all the interesting people are missing. - Friedrich Nietzsche

Scottish diary

I have double vision after my eyes open like suitcases, looking out of the window at the pomegranate coloured twilight and a moon of red, Perhaps I am being invited to record my thoughts in this colour. Outside a chorus is led by an unknown bird singing the sky's song. I compare photographs with memories of my travels in Scotland, recall is different depending on the time of day or night-they are like two tattooists whose needles meet and conflict. Staying in Glasgow after being in Edinburgh and comparing the two is like trying to inflate a balloon from within. I wonder if someone somewhere in another dimension is recording these same events, ready with two suitcases. I have a vague yearning for a place never visited, that is hard to articulate, like the rain trying to cry-perhaps it is the same impulse that makes people want to believe in the loch ness monster. I visited the Fyrish monument which is now like a finger-less glove and Dunrobin castle, contrasting the two is like stroking a crown with a finger-less glove, but of course the glove is equally as valuable, restitching fingers with a golden thread. Had a ghost entered the dreams of a windhorse?, the winds blowing from the south west on the Isle of skye were tremendous. I believe the underworld is overcrowded with ghosts and they are in search of alternative accommodation. My mind is filled with far too many images to quantify, I don't have the movements of a windhorse, but perhaps a ghost could enter a dream and share their judgment, which images from the Isle of Skye are the best and which ones will remain?- how far into the dream does the ghost have to go before being unable to find it's way back?, it will be difficult returning home after being stroked subtly into Scotland's slipstream and it will be a long time before completing the cache of echoes. My dreams about Scotland are trampled on by a windhorse, making wine, the moon is now it's normal colour and has thinned to a candle, maybe I could place it in a bottle with this page-the wine will probably be pomegranate coloured. Daylight approaches I have thoughts of Ben Nevis, people are waking, dreams will be cascading. Now I must accord with English protocol, the night has poured Scottish memories and my glass is full.

© incantation

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