In Spate
a river is
a passage
Postby cataclyzm » Sun Jan 14, 2007 12:00 am

I walked down to the river couple of years ago - and got talking with a couple standing near a weir not far from the kirklee bridge.

They told me they come down to watch the salmon jumping. I couldn't believe it.


Postby cataclyzm » Mon Jan 15, 2007 7:46 pm

Any river with a growing population of Salmon will have lampreys following them in from the sea. Ayr river also has a pretty large population of lampreys as it has a very healthy salmon population.

It would make my day to see a salmon jumping (;)) a weir in the kelvin or swimming passed some submerged tesco shopping trolleys.

I've also seen an animal that resembled a mink or stoat like carnivore running up the banks of the river near kelvin park. It could have been an otter - but i doubt it.

Not far from where I live - there are now Otters living on the River Lagan in the middle of Belfast.

Further up the river and just outside Kirkintiloch - the river is a lot narrower but it's full of trout and there are rumours of a 32lb' brownie.

Postby cataclyzm » Mon Jan 15, 2007 10:53 pm

It was a few years ago mind - but a local did tell me that a 32lb trout lurked in the river around the kirkintiloch area. Another small river joins the Kelvin at a small industrial estate in Kirkie and it widens from there. The upper reaches of the kelvin have always been relatively clean and have always had a population of trout as far as I know.

There is a rather beautiful old bridge in the fields outside kirkie that must have been used in days of old because it crosses the river but doesn't seem to have any destination in mind. Very similar to the one that Tam O' Shanta ran over but on a slightly smaller scale.


Postby scallopboy » Mon Jan 15, 2007 11:12 pm

Thank goodness it was called the Kelvin and not the Luggie, otherwise the king of thermodynamics (Lord Kelvin, aka William Thomson) would have called the temperature scale the Luggie scale.
to be chatty and gushing
resonating from all points of light
an emergency
in the quake of sediment
I watched her urr herself on. Formless except for gestures of movement, forever on the amble of a whim. When she began to have a tide it became clear she was searching.
tips for becoming river:
devote more time to relinquishing the vice of mastery

understand self-hood as residual

flood bureaucracy with liquidity

drink more water
Responding to the cramp economy aka neocapitalism by performing selfhood as unmoored and restless:

I took off my watch and lay it on the shoulders of the basin. The large crystalline rock that was kept on the lip of the bath as a ballast for soap found its way into my hands and together we smashed the watch face.

To remediate the affects of linearity would be an unwieldy process and I thought a good place to start would be in the bath. The bath made me feel resupine. Allegedly I was human but when my back writhed against the dimly slick acrylic of the bath walls I shrugged off phone apps and credit checks and became porous, damp, malleable, like my origins.
as a viable replacement to
"that's five hundred luggies pal"

"you got the luggie measurement for that one?"

"aye see what it is on the luggie scale"
Is it coincidental that river-edges are often home to mills; to that activity of grinding and pondering something hard into a fine and absorbable dust for consumption?

"A thin ‘soup’ of plant fibres, suspended in water known as ‘stuff’, was then spread thinly on a fine wire sieve, and the water was then removed either by gravity, or by suction. The resulting sheet of fibres was then dried to make paper. Both the Kelvin mills drew water from the river, filtered it, and then until the later 20th century returned the waste water to the river. This contained some fibrous material and if coloured paper was being made, water-soluble dyes. Paper-mill effluent fermented in its passage down-river, absorbing oxygen, making a foul smell, and rendering the river inhospitable to fish and other riverine life."

The foul smell of leftover anti-life ventures drying crustose on an evened rock.

A weir is
a pause,
restless and seeking
a holding ground for transmediation, it summons all of us to be conduits to each other. By overlapping, we have fallen out of chronological time and now follow water levels instead of the stock market.

withholding the sluice = the performance of refusing to be drained or be leeched-in-to

Our collective exhaustion rises like a tide to find a kernal of certainty. Watery matters elude to a subjectivity that is intra-active in its capacity to flourish-in-flow, to shift the contours of self-hood to meet place-hood in a mutual embrace. Maybe, in other words, we wish to embrace the uncertain through the lens of criticality?

~haha try performing rigorous grace or floating reflexivity in a queue outside the supermarket~

the river is a soup is a meeting place is a threshold
is a home to the six foot deep roots of the Giant Hogweed,
here after landing in the 18th century all the way from Japan
in a family of 5000 seeds

at one point, the disposal of waste into our river was a necessity. Then infrastructure engulfed the city, pushing edges and uncoiling limits and

at some point, we stopped

Feminist Subjectivity, Watered (Astrida Neimanis)

Kelvin Conference (Glasgow Natural History)

Forum posts (Hidden Glasgow)

general Astrology (Timeline)

River Kelvin, Glasgow, UK

India Boxall

Assembled for Issue 2 of Viral Ecologies, 2021

Words tumbled out of me and pooled into the situation, flooding the context and steeping any leftover rhetoric in a salty smear. Finding the time was easier now that we followed star patterns and goose gaggles. Transitory time revealing openings where there had been traps before. We had a friend who joined us at the river's lip and we submerged ourselves to our necks in the excretion.

The upcoming Mercury Retrogade stippled my imagination and upended some previous fears that had become snagged in my conscious. The fears would now resurface as questions instead of answers, guiding my anxiety into a ditch where it could be saturated with different waters.

Being a Piscean, the liquid parts of my being tend to surface regularly. Sanskrit readings of my birth timing, in the porous charters of higher consciousness, respond to an innate necessity to take on the emotional pull of an-other with whom I have shared time with. Seclusion beckons to me after these deep ruminations and I fold onto myself in a daze, scaffolding words into the sodden banks of my memory for future doubt bouts.

the river in spate is a passage, a constellation, an opening, an always-assembling landscape, a cosmic resonant, a green-blue tongue in a concrete mouth