Soulweaving songs

They dis­ap­peared when I couldn’t sleep or when my slum­ber was chem­ic­ally induced, but now, dur­ing these warm nights when everything phys­ic­al rests as oth­er scur­ry­ing foot­steps turn my mind’s fix­tures and fit­tings upside down, the soul­weavers come to me on a fre­quent basis.

I wake in the cradle of dark­ness, my can­opy briefly illu­min­ated every few seconds by the glid­ing lights of for­ward motion trav­el­ling north and south, and spy one of their select num­ber sat in the corner beside the win­dow. The fig­ure is framed in a pin-pricked city­scape that demands com­mu­nic­a­tion and end­less engage­ment, yet with­in these walls is just so much heat and noise. These soul­weavers sew the threads of me togeth­er with intense con­cen­tra­tion, know­ing the pre­cise hues and strengths that serve to make this vari­col­oured clash into the hushed meet­ing of muted shades you see before you.

Life is too short to won­der what happened to the noc­turn­al weavers who used to sit by oth­er win­dows in oth­er years and oth­er lives, thread­ing togeth­er the dif­fer­ent days they had planned for me into some form of patch­work sense. They are gone. Long gone, mostly for­got­ten. The here and now is call­ing in words of ink and of dots and of cut out and keep, in voices real and trans­mit­ted through the vir­tu­al air­waves, as live and as recor­ded for pos­ter­ity, from near and far, in unreal and real. And in per­son, with­in minutes.

Comments: 17

    you’re so beau­ti­ful, can I touch you, are you real?

    Peach | 05.06.07, 16:11

    I have no idea why you sit with me.

    andre | 05.06.07, 19:16

    You make me want to sit at my piano and dream up some­thing.

    seahorse | 05.06.07, 20:08

    Peach — I think I’m real, though I some­times have my doubts when I write here.

    Andre — Because you get it, that’s why. Well, that’s one of the many reas­ons, any­way.

    Seahorse — Please do. In my piano-play­ing days, I think I would have done exactly that. Right now.

    An Unreliable Witness | 05.06.07, 21:45

    Muted shades have the most depth to them.

    Angelalala | 05.06.07, 22:42

    I have. It was suit­ably soul­weav­ing. And strangely sooth­ing. I’m really get­ting into the piano dood­lings. But, like most dood­lings, they are some­what tran­si­ent, but no less mean­ing­ful for that. Is is May flies who flit about for a day then die? Some­times tun­es do the same but they can be lovely to have around.

    seahorse | 05.06.07, 23:36

    a vari­col­oured clash in one set of eyes, can be seen as a multis­pec­tral rain­bow in another. You nev­er know, a dream­weaver may get lost upon their way to the hills and hap­pen upon you instead, and ask to sit with you for a while.

    …or a pen…

    Miles Away | 05.06.07, 23:45

    I don’t know what to say without sound­ing trite, but I wish the word beau­ti­ful were new­er so it could have the impact I require to respond to that. Thank you.

    fionat | 05.07.07, 11:37

    MRW — has any­one sug­ges­ted that you’re a film-writer? Everything you write, I can see so clearly in my head.

    the lamb | 05.07.07, 16:37

    Miles Away — I have a hun­ger for dream­weavers, yes. I con­stantly go in search of them every night.

    Fiona — Thank you. You are too kind.

    The Lamb — I see many films in my head. Ones that I can’t put into words. Where­as the words I write don’t neces­sar­ily put the pic­tures in my head. This can be infuri­at­ing.

    An Unreliable Witness | 05.07.07, 18:44

    You have depth and sub­stance, but is it down to the soul-weavers? Shall I there­fore blame them for mak­ing me trans­par­ent?

    Ariel | 05.07.07, 21:26

    I’m an empty ves­sel, Ari­el. It’s all down to the soul­weavers, I prom­ise you. I’ll send them round.

    An Unreliable Witness | 05.07.07, 21:51

    *doesn’t believe that last com­ment for a second*

    Miles Away | 05.07.07, 23:07

    i am pack­ing a pic­nic hamper…

    {albeit a little slowly}

    annie | 05.08.07, 11:55

    so much i could say.
    but i will just say this:

    Rachel | 05.08.07, 15:10


    I think The Lamb has it just right — your words play movies in my head. I make films (that sounds grander than it is), and your writ­ing trans­lates beau­ti­fully — but I also under­stand when you say that your inner films don’t express as words, and your words don’t neces­sar­ily belong with images.

    This is why the pro­cess so often needs more than one pair of hands — more than one voice — more than one set of eyes.

    Still, per­haps the life we indi­vidu­ally give it, dir­ect from the page, is purest?

    Thank you for being beau­ti­ful,


    stray | 05.11.07, 00:45

    And thank you, Stray, for such a thought­ful and thought-pro­vok­ing com­ment.

    An Unreliable Witness | 05.11.07, 13:37

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