I am not an unreadable set of signs, said the cloud. I am a shifting text that occasionally produces rain.
I am very like a cloud, said the shifting text. Any rain produced is produced by you, dear reader. I presume it is rain you want to read.
Look, it is night, said the text. The clouds exist, you just have to learn to read them in the dark.
Cloud, text, rain. The metaphor of night. Precipitation as an image of unreadable meaning. Climate disintegrating into weather.
It is dark outside because it is night. The rain of the text is elsewhere, in another climate, among untranslatable clouds.
Not a single car in the proximate dark. The clouds are purely conjectural but where there are clouds there is the possibility of rain.
Think of rain as a highly punctuated text produced by cloud and translated into water. Billions of tiny raging ellipses.
It is impossible to translate clouds into a language of rain but I offer you this text to read clouds into. Translation is precipitation.
[no.2 to follow