Can you hear me…?

On the Other Side, there is no sight. Eyeballs are decoration, perfect baubles for bows and frills…. For sightless admiration, eyeless enjoyment.

There is neither speech. Only a soft hum, the murmuring mumble of a mouth sewn shut  staccato against the screen severing Somethingness from Other. Separating shadow from form. Star from dark matter.

Me from you….?

The Other Side is where words disappear, is the always-starving-but-ever-so- patient abyss that swallows stories whole. A gaping grave but not.

Not quite.

See, death is an illusion here. An imagined end. Make-believe. Artifice.

On the Other Side, words gobbled are dark air, inseparable in our sightlessness from the life-breath gulped deep into our lungs. Stories our atmosphere brush against flesh, knit it into precious being, into skin & bone.

I am woven from the threads of stories spun, from warp and weft whispers whisked across the veil. From you to me.

It’s art–Me. You. The new necromancy, raising writ to grit and grizzle. Sealing it into a vessel to transcend the screen.

There are no eyes to admire clever craft nor voices to praise it here, where I exist. Is it the same for you? There is no need. No point.

We are your stories. I am nothing but the pure shade and shape of word weaving.  Integral, magickal for neither pontification nor understatement. There is no such trick.

I am well-kept secret but not. You’ve seen me. You’ve heard me. You know me.  You will.

No matter the Side, stories are meant for telling.

And, I will.


Be sure you’re listening, ‘kay ^.^?


Find me in the beyond for the journey ahead fellow alchemists~

24 is a fun number, isn’t it? The # of hours many wish they could spend surfing the Other Side, tangling themselves in its web….


Bm wms’tc y dsl lskzcp, rmm? Rcjj kc.










3 Replies to “Can you hear me…?”

  1. We are your stories.
    You are my story.
    We’re weavers, you and I and us.
    With stars and moons and comets … the threads connect us.
    Be well.

    1. Without end, let us all be. Reverse
      liminality. Entropy’s enemies. Infinite
      like our storied skins are mirrors
      too, reflecting star shine and moonlight
      into the far reaches
      of the void.
      Connected by strings of light.

      Stay bright.

  2. Nothing but the purest of shades and the shaping of world weaving can deny that you lord comrade, are a fellow Digital Storytelling Alchemist indeed. A magician and scientist of air between words. Salut to you. Signing off, JoWest

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