Cumulus, Cirrus, Stratus and Nimbus were the names that he introduced.

i dodge rainshowers. we are adults with very important jobs to do. my scarred head is cramping in its pillows. we smear warpaint on your cheeks, and send you to yr deep dark doom. there is nothing to talk about, or worth explaining. we convince each other, or else we do not have to anymore. we are denizens. even though we are rich and bored, we cannot afford to live here. we are cumulus, puffy and pastey-white. floaters and loafers. concluding to dissipate. griffins and gargoyles atop our pedestals and pillars. getting bored when we talk about sex. lost souls that just must be burning, inadvertently left in hotel rooms, forgotten when the bus took roll and left town. whiskey and ice grimaces. intending to mean something. we are cirrostratus, thin and wan and scraping against the glass at the top of the world, like cigarette smoke that has traveled a thousand miles, haloing with distances we might try to fathom if we were more conscious than this, thousands and thousands and thousandths. never having loved anything but myths and legends and fictions and sleeps. we are nimbus, trying to represent an aura of godliness but just ending up a shitty gray raincloud. ffffffffffllllllllllhht.-unflyable.
-tim, st.patricks day, billcorgans birthday, drunkw/headache.