Northside of the Masonic Lodge

This is nothing to do with Freemasons. It's on the cemetery side of the grand dilapidated lodge, the once proud meeting place of the great, the good, the mediocre and the troublemakers. Let's face it, in more recent times,  getting into the Masons was always about your face fitting more than your actual character, that and sopping up as much cheap beer as your face could take. So perhaps this is something to do with the Masons, maybe I've something to get off my chest. Maybe not, nothing worth saying other than that my own prejudice and dislike of them is based on my own family history and that skews my view. This is after all Central Scotland, an area well known for wonky and spiteful opinions, mindless cults and stupid followers and of course bigotry with a capital B (except that's not how I formatted it). 

I'm not sorry for you and your big grinning gravestone. Perhaps you were a good family, perhaps you were complete bastards. The stone tells us nothing other than you're gone and that for the safety of the family souls you carved a piece of Bible text on your front panel. Nobody's buying this stuff anymore and guess what, your pious text makes no difference. As useful as a Trump bumper sticker. (Obviously I regret saying these dumb things about something I know nothing about but I'll just leave them away).

A frame without a name, sad really but then we all come and go alone. Some marks and chips in the stone don't make much difference, time wipes everything clean. For the best perhaps.

This grave looks like it was designed for some Triffid or an early attempt to visually describe the central nervous system of an alien visitor caught, beaten and killed up by Masonic vigilantes who blamed it for the poor crops, turning the water to wormwood and befouling the local tabernacle with green slime and strange unmusical sounds.