Like insects, black in golden amber, they are caught in the past. Trapped by time, unable to move, unable to grow, they look at the world from the transparent matrix of their own captivity. I wish I could break their prism, invite them to step into the fresh air of ‘now’, stand blinking in a new decade, a new century, perhaps to acknowle…
Like insects, black in golden amber, they are caught in the past. Trapped by time, unable to move, unable to grow, they look at the world from the transparent matrix of their own captivity. I wish I could break their prism, invite them to step into the fresh air of ‘now’, stand blinking in a new decade, a new century, perhaps to acknowledge I am not the man I was.
They knew me then, they judged me then. Their verdict was cruel and accurate. I accepted it and, in accepting it, I was helped to grow. They saw the base thing for what it was, yet it is many years since I crawled. I am not the man I was.
Our time-lines are rarely straight. They braid and knot, they try to unravel, they always collect the rough debris of our existence; the pattern of one part is not the pattern of the whole. I yearn for a time when they will examine my first 20 years, years when the weave was clear and clean: or these last 20 years when the weaver grew in her craft and gave me the intricacies of age and experience, subtle in colour, soft to the skin. Oh I acknowledge there was a time, (look here at the middle 20 years), when the weaver grew careworn, the pattern was lost, the loom grew restless in it’s impatience to be done. Can we not ignore this part? Knot a scarf to cover the misplaced stiches? Wear life under a winter coat so only the finework shows?
My past cannot be unmade, but I am not the man I was.
Geoff, so so good to get this through from you. Such a tactile, tangible way of handling this theme. I'm just back from the Edinburgh Festival, and will set up this month's page in the story archive this evening and take great pleasure adding this to it. Will then come back on here with your link. If this is a glimpse of what it in your long work, then it bodes very very well...
Sorry again it has taken me longer than usual to get these contributions from you and others up - combination of travel and getting the children ready for school next week.
But it means I've had the pleasure of coming back to these words for a second reading, a third. If this is the voice of your long work, as I said a few days ago, then I think you are making a story that will speak strongly to people of our age/stage.
And we shall - all being well - be meeting again in a few months. At Ilkley too! A festival I'm so proud to be booked for and a place I'm looking forward to exploring - how lovely to feel I have a writing friend to meet there. Thank you.
Love this,the embracing and letting go of all the men in your life! The idea of examining the earlier selves,the evolved intricacies of age and experience subtle in colour and soft to the skin. Knitting a scarf to cover misplaced stitches and wearing life under a winter coat so that the fine work shows …really visual.
Like insects, black in golden amber, they are caught in the past. Trapped by time, unable to move, unable to grow, they look at the world from the transparent matrix of their own captivity. I wish I could break their prism, invite them to step into the fresh air of ‘now’, stand blinking in a new decade, a new century, perhaps to acknowledge I am not the man I was.
They knew me then, they judged me then. Their verdict was cruel and accurate. I accepted it and, in accepting it, I was helped to grow. They saw the base thing for what it was, yet it is many years since I crawled. I am not the man I was.
Our time-lines are rarely straight. They braid and knot, they try to unravel, they always collect the rough debris of our existence; the pattern of one part is not the pattern of the whole. I yearn for a time when they will examine my first 20 years, years when the weave was clear and clean: or these last 20 years when the weaver grew in her craft and gave me the intricacies of age and experience, subtle in colour, soft to the skin. Oh I acknowledge there was a time, (look here at the middle 20 years), when the weaver grew careworn, the pattern was lost, the loom grew restless in it’s impatience to be done. Can we not ignore this part? Knot a scarf to cover the misplaced stiches? Wear life under a winter coat so only the finework shows?
My past cannot be unmade, but I am not the man I was.
Twitter: @TrailpikeRake
So beautiful and raw. I loved all the metaphors. Life hidden in a winter coat gave me the chills.
Geoff, so so good to get this through from you. Such a tactile, tangible way of handling this theme. I'm just back from the Edinburgh Festival, and will set up this month's page in the story archive this evening and take great pleasure adding this to it. Will then come back on here with your link. If this is a glimpse of what it in your long work, then it bodes very very well...
Sorry again it has taken me longer than usual to get these contributions from you and others up - combination of travel and getting the children ready for school next week.
But it means I've had the pleasure of coming back to these words for a second reading, a third. If this is the voice of your long work, as I said a few days ago, then I think you are making a story that will speak strongly to people of our age/stage.
And we shall - all being well - be meeting again in a few months. At Ilkley too! A festival I'm so proud to be booked for and a place I'm looking forward to exploring - how lovely to feel I have a writing friend to meet there. Thank you.
Here is your link:
https://thecureforsleep.com/august-issue-longing/#geoffcox
Love this,the embracing and letting go of all the men in your life! The idea of examining the earlier selves,the evolved intricacies of age and experience subtle in colour and soft to the skin. Knitting a scarf to cover misplaced stitches and wearing life under a winter coat so that the fine work shows …really visual.