Diary: January 23

I travelled with Charlie to Lindisfarne, Carlisle and Morecambe. Roamed surrounding areas of Selkirk (Ancient woodland of Yair), Galashiels (Scots View) and Hawick (Wilton Lodge Park).

30th

In addition to bootstrap, I have now started implementing masonry. For a while sections were collapsing into each other, but installing imagesloaded, a JS script written and developed by the same author of masonry, fixed the issue. However, I won't be installing infinite scroll, I find the lazy concept of endlessly scrolling down a page mind-numbing. It's incredible how little of the internet we actually see, considering the scale of it. My website still doesn't appear in any of the search engines, despite being referred and having a regular site map. The size of this website is over 3 GB, so hardly small, and with much historical information contained within, significant enough to be worth indexing.

There is significant work involved in hand coding a multimedia website. Content Management Systems (CMS) / MySQL, PHP driven Wordpress, Ghost, Drupal etc have taken a lot of effort and time out of publishing. Libraries such as Imagemagik and GD Graphics Library process and scale down images; text editors such as TinyMCE have also replaced the requirement for writing HTML code. However, these CMS's, often bloated with code, can and do have recurrent security exploits, not only with coding mistakes contained with the CMS, but with the vast amount of plugins written and distributed by many, many different authors. It is much securer to have a none interactive website hosted on a locked down server, allowing only SSH/SFTP access, monitored by fail2ban.

The only reason my pages are .php is that I utilise the use of includes, other than that all pages would be ending in .html; there are no cookies used on this website, tracking visitors. I have no idea, no do I wish to know who or how many people visit this website. Also, this server, utilising open source code, is reimaged every six months with a fresh installation of Debian Linux.

29th

Today, I visited the view point in the daylight, there appear to be many other viewpoints in the hillsides that surround Hawick.

Heading towards Charlie's farmhouse, we saw some deer. Need a 300 mm lens to photograph these.

Later on in the evening, emotional tides of BPD curdled and stirred.

28th

Driven through Selkirk with Charlie to visit the ancient woodland of Yair.

Many of the pictures appear grainy, I am pondering over whether I left on the macro setting. Returning to the car I crossed a road to take a couple of pictures of the beautiful river Tweed.

In the evening, after tea we visited a scenic viewpoint overlooking Hawick.

Night photography is not that great on my Oppo A53s, require a DSLR full frame camera.

27th

Briefly went shopping then returned to my flat, with knitting wool and a new candle. Last night was sleepless, as I was very anxious.

26th

Today I went to Galashiels to deposit some money so I can pay for this websites hosting this month.

Returning to Hawick, me and Charlie visited Scots view point, I took some pictures with my new Oppo phone.

23rd

Tired from yesterdays adventure I am seated in my warm flat updating this web site today.

22nd

Today I visited Lindisfarne, in remembrance of my Viking ancestors; I do not refer to the location as Holy Island, as the Christians in contuinuim of that name have held nothing but unholy contempt for me. The journey, east, through the Scottish Borders took about an hour and a half from Hawick, stopping at Sainsbury's in Kelso for refreshment. I arrived just as the tide was coming in, the car slushing through rising waters as other cars were turning back.

The isle is beautiful, the sun radiates vibrant oranges and yellows upon reflection of the sea. I do enjoy coming to this place, feeling my ancestors draw closer; more so if I ignore the occupation of this isle to find a place in my mind to let the abundance of natural ascetic flow through me. But perhaps my ancestors would not draw so close, if they had not been devouring us soulless; which they've been ritually rehearsing every Sunday morning for centuries.

The times when our ethnocentric ancestors cared and nurtured each other as a greater homogenous family, as an indigenous people belonging to what we refer and know of as ethnicity. That today is scorned and deminished with cruel, defacing and ostracising partisan tollerance. But here, they gather, and walk with us, never about us, because we can be recognised by them, our likeness, namesake.

And not defaced unrecognisable by a despotic, sociopathic interloper encroaching through marxist concepts of alienation. Tokuni, bridal beast of burden.

I don't take as many selfies these days, as the people who I initially took them for, to let them know I was well, after abandoning me hapless, now despise me dead.

Lindisfarne castle appeared more impressive, nearer, than at a distance. My friend (Charlie) said people queued for a mile to gain entrance to this castle, now managed by the National Trust.

I adore the sunlight views of the sea here.

We took a walk over to the lyme kilns, Charlie said they'd been cooking dry lyme, and elaborated how he was amazed they did not blow themselves up. The lyme was written to have been transported by sea boat to the city of Dundee.

Walking down to the kiln enterance, a family signalled another to quickly stop what they were doing as "people were approaching". We walked through the dark and dusty kiln tunnels.

I decided to film closer to the shore, across the water to capture some of this amazing light on film to share here.

Passing north of the castle the walk returning us to the car did not seem to take very long.

In the harbour were fishing sheds made from boats that had been cut in half. Horse shoes were a sign of hospitality to way fairers, until we were all alienated with partisan tollerance, through centuries of witch hunts and displaced within a hundred year collectivsation, gutted and skinned from the soul of our people into an alienating victorian gulag, known then as the workhouse.

We stopped at the manor house hotel, Charlie ordered a coffee and chips whilst I had half a pint of blonde ale. The establishment was empty, service was prompt, but the music was terrible. Outside were two selkies, I had a feeling the banana republic had swarmed here and influenced the mindset with its insidious despotic utopianism, outside a twisted facade of happy clap smiles, inside boiling in despair and misery.

Road out was flooded with tide, we were not going to be leaving the isle for Banborough castle, as we had planned.

As we returned to the village we drove past an open church, attempting to peer inside through a haze of gentrification, its oppressive, emanating vulgarity made stomach fill with emptiness of cramp; from a reinforced glass window, impressed upon the safe distance of our passing car.

The next pub, from the outside appeared to be more local, we had two hours to wait for the tide to recede, so we entered and ordered a drink. The management, a pot-belly man from southern England, looked us up and down as though we were scum. On the walls hung vivid, garish artwork that made one squint for fear of the invasive impression burning itself onto the eyes from disdain of the mind.

It was a mere five minutes before a banana republican strolled into the pub; addressed the barman as "comrade" and ordered a pint before settling himself on a table, placing before himself a thick paperback book. Abruptly he stated that "Rasputin was his friend", [Rasputin was a seductive sexual deviant, interloping with a monarch whilst disguised as a monk] mythed the management carried on with his job, but seemed to know him with some familiarity.

Both disgusted and humoured, I played a cheesie 70s disco track by Boney M titled Rasputin from a YouTube app on my phone. Thou detest the stigmatising starvation of "socialised" Communism with a depraved passion. Against the impression of being unwelcome, we left the pub early, and waited in the car for the tide to drain away from the road. The sun had set, we followed the car in front of us, nearing the end we overtook and got through to the other side by 6:45pm, the time officially stated to travel across safely.

It took an hour and a half, passing through Coldstream and Kelso to return to Hawick. The timeless haul up my flat block stairs easily equalled the length of the journey to Lindisfarne. As a note, there were no cars waiting to enter, but a lengthy line had been waiting with us to leave the isle; No plans to return to Lindisfarne, unless the isle becomes uninhabited.

20th

Need to shift some pounds, poor mental health and confort eating has made me slightly obese, to fill the empty void so took a walk down to my local park, test out my new smart phone camera. The phone, an Oppo 54s is supposed to have a fifty megapixel rear camera, but I don't feel I am getting that quality from these pictures, maybe it's just my depleting eyesight.

And a video.

The last day or so had warmed from a cold snap, with snow thawing I scanned the park for some worthy frames to shoot.

I view this voided world as a systematic detachment, divided by an altercation of continued depravity that I define as an extremity of filth, a pervasive nihilistic contempt that pushes invaluable consciousness, through collaborative ignorance, into marginalised thresholds of isolate oblivion.

As if my peoples existence together never mattered, within this world, after "all".

19th

Yesterday Charlie gave me a lift to Galashiels, on the way he stopped for a piss, and I took a picture of a field covered in thick white snow.

Revisiting Galashiels was a dark and dystopic experience, I do not want to return to sterile coldness of this towns ostracising oppression.

After visiting a supermarket, I was anxious to leave the town. We drove back to Hawick, glad to leave my memories of Galashiels behind.

18th

Rediscovered an apt quote today.

“If I had but one bullet and were faced by both an enemy and a traitor, I would let the traitor have it.”

I would most certainly do the same.

17th

Some evenings I spend by a warm fire place, in a remote farmhouse.

15th

Made Cullen Skink soup for the first time ever today, I got the chowder right first time, although there wasn't enough and was short of cream. Very unwell in the evening, after kicking friend (Charlie) out I sprawled out deflated upon the submerging living sofa, deadweight and unable to get up and do some typing upon this website until after 10pm.

Been talking to friend (Charlie) about lambing season, he seems to think I'll enjoy it, stating there is nothing more fulfilling in life than farm work, but I am not so sure. Whilst lambs are cute, am really not so sure about witnessing still borns, or observing mutant lambs being cremated; or appreciating a sleepless six weeks acting as a midwife to over seventy ewes.

14th

Today I journied by car over to the Cumbrian city of Carlisle, England to purchase some additional clothes during the winter sales. I also visited the Lancastershire seaside town of Morecambe briefly before returning to Hawick, Scotland.

Arrving back to the farmhouse, tormenting, cruel messages were pouring through my mind, straining my emotions; I am amiss as to what environmental factor triggered it other than somebody walking along the wind swept, rainy promenade along Morecambe sea front.

Northbound, we stopped at m6 service station and enjoyed artisan food, a hot pie, chips and a coffee for about 10 pounds a head. Other than these experiences the evening was quiet, I retired to bed early but never slept a wink through challenging disturbia during the night.

13th

Despite my trimonthly B12 injection two weeks ago I am still very anaemic, this time I have not fully recovered, delayed two weeks late, and the longevity of the injection fell two weeks short. I am quite literately rotting away (red blood cells provide oxygen to body tissues) and falling to pieces (B12 being one of the essential vitamins that affect various systems in the body, including the central nervous system). Neglect that damaged my physical and mental health came from catatonia inflicted from being ritually subjected to incremental traumas. I have nobody who cares about me, because detractors as inhumane monsters are after my humanity, so I am delegated worthless unto a inconsolable world without care.

I know if something bizarre doesn't take me first, I will die from this disturbing condition named pernicious anaemia; which will most likely send me insane before it kills me. Nights are the worst, I wake with a broken heartbeat, without a clue of who or where I am. My heart deregulates from the motion of my lungs, which in turn rolls over into a panic attack, duvet grabbing confusion. During severe bouts of illness both eating and drinking causes me to faint, just drinking a cup of coffee can initiate passing out, a depthless fall, sometimes lasting for hours. I have endured this condition for decades but have, for the last decade, been too traumatised to acknowledge it, until overwhelmed into necessity to get help.

Eating copious amounts of meat, beef, chicken, pork etc in vain attempt to reinvigorate stomach absorption of b12, has not helped in the slightest. In this instance, pernicious anaemia, has been inflicted by a coping mechanism, involving years of alcoholism coupled to a poor vegetarian / vegan diet. Despite being self absorbed, there is outlook, knowing my ancestors light the way to where I am required to be, without distance to see how to be is centred within me.

9th

Visited the doctor's surgery by the River Teviot in pursuit of bringing perscibed trimonthly B12 injections forward. But the masked doctor refused, stating she wanted to do a blood test at the time I became unwell; about 10 weeks of the 12 weeks the trimonthly injection is supposed to last.

Why didn't the health professional just say she wanted to see me unwell again?

Instead of spouting scientific fable about how hard B12 is to detect and monitor.

The symptoms of B12 deficiency, which in this case is pernicious anaemia, can become permanent as b12 regulates the central nervous system. A fortnight withdrawal from the previous injection left me half dead, and the climb out of this pit of lethargy took significantly longer than before.

“Covid” spelled backwards is “Divoc” - a Hebrew word meaning possession by an evil spirit.

The cult of Covidian appears to be creeping back into Scotland via the closure of non-essential shops, pubs (village) etc, and the toxic protein clot shots are still being promoted in doctors surgeries irrespective of petitions from thousands of doctors worldwide, calling for an end to mRNA vaccination.