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Tremadoc-Arenig-Llandeilo-Llanvirn

Goldenhill

Empty Light

Consolation

Shining Tor at Twilight

 

Electricity Variations

 

A Small Kind of Triumph

 

Rain

 

A Conversation

 

Empty Light

 

Next Time

Next time The rivers we will cross Next time The mountains we will climb Next time The stars will bow before us Next time There'll be no-one left to stop us Next time There'll be no lights left to blind us Next time I promise I'll be kind

Cascade

The Thing that Beats Like a Cracked Bell

Consolation

Chase Music for an Imaginary Low Budget Cyberpunk Movie

Consolation 2

https://youtu.be/omYqNVqhdIA

The Cone

The Cone     It's a forgotten war. Spiraling burns, strange cancers, shrunken hard torsos like fragments of bleached rock.     I've heard it's like that over there – whining assholes complaining about the changes pulling out cost. Pulling out always costs -- people hanging from helicopters or eyes of garnets. You choose.     We all remember the Stone Field. Impossibly high horizon, low, stained denim sky. It's a work of art that place. Chunks of dirty sandstone scattered across a striated limestone pavement. The sandstone draws the eye, something about the delicately coloured lichen painted across the russet and gray rock. The lichens are gray and gray-pink and gray-blue and so on. A world of very pale grayed out pastels. Some lichen are like paint spills, others are little sharp florets.     Look too closely and time begins to slow, to pass in a slurping stream like hair clots in molasses.     Now you have a choice. Go back and take the...

The World Behind the Sky

The Sky Those who love the azure sky, beautiful Limitless, a place for the soul to play Should know that the sky they see is a lie A cover for the glories behind, that The horizon is too low, a jagged Cheapened line carrying far too much Sky, far too much weight, unlike the past The Cliffs There were cliffs so high they curved above us Striped with geology so old, so rich It had no names, not even those of the Miners who died in the winding holes they Dug into the cliff walls, holes to the sky Rapidly closing as the rubble falls Behind the miner who looks over His shoulder, drops his pick, sees darkness fall And outside, on the cliff face, another un-named dot appears, revenge of the cliff The Cities There were cities up there, intricately Carved into living rock, up and down a Thousand feet, fifteen feet deep, elegant Homes, one room after another, shallow Caverns containing formal gardens, scents Of mountain flowers drifting over rocks that Were encrusted with lichen, pale gray, rose...

Cromarty Firth