Tuesday, December 12, 2017

More later, must implode

it seems that everything is shut down with all the snow.... so I go to the library to get out of the cold

while I’m there, of course,  I visit the history stacks.... drawn always to this section....

and so what catches my eye?

The red dragon

....the red dragon

I pull out all books related.... and search for 1603.....

So how can I have been so blind.... always. Obtuse till the end I predict because it has been in front of me this whole time

1603.... Wales.... religion and politics

This portends to be better than.... any game about any throne— the Reformation and one particular Welsh prince in conflict with the English Crown and so I jump on the library’s WiFi.... I never saw this and it is ridiculous that it was so obvious always ....I just never looked for it.... I mean if you think about the pattern of double loyalties well, it shows a trail, doesn’t it? and may show too from what origin it began. It does not matter to me about insinuating a right to some name. It isn’t about that, of course. I suppose it’s for me about a search for a kind of identity with logical explanations for connections to traits and obsessions; the driving of this grinding ax.... yes, I would like to know, too.... yes, secrets of a strain that connect to my dna .... to know what it is that caused these blind drives; these motives for behavior that do not always make sense in my life and that are not always the best choice roads to tread upon....

“So have you heard from your husband since you’ve been back?” Nigel’s asks today



He is annoyed. I hear it.

“What time is it?”

“Don’t change the subject,” he says

I don’t like when he gets this way. This is not my favorite side of him

“I have heard from him, yes, Nigel. What else do you want to know?” I was hoping for a nicer chat

“Has he mentioned returning there from New York?” and adds under his breath, “now that you’re back...”

“It has come up,” I admit but then I say, “why are you disturbed? He’s not here and neither are you so ....whatever, Nigel....”

“What do you mean ‘it has come up?’ Is he coming for Christmas?”

“No!” My god, what a thing to say..... but do I blame him? I forget sometimes how strange people find estrangement between spouses. It plainly means apart.

“‘Come up’—? how then, stop being so evasive,” he says like a school headmaster

“I don’t know— he asked what it’s like here now. Our old haunts. And with the snow, the quaint brick houses and how they do make such a fuss with their charming Dickens decorations ....” 

Well, it is beautiful here now. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t. It’s brutal cold, it’s true, over four inches in one day and more coming.... it’s not even officially winter yet but.... it is beautiful and there is a warmth to these people that you forget the cold....

He is quiet and after awhile he says,
“I wish I could be there right now with you.... I’m going to try my best to get a flight.... just waiting to meet with that expert ....we’ll see,” but he says, “so what’s stopping him from coming?”

“He’d have to start all over again here too, I don’t think he’s been preparing to ....”

“How do you know he won’t surprise you for a visit?”

“His car needs repairs....”

“You mean he’d drive?”

“Well.... I think so—yeah, or maybe not.... I don’t know.”

We don’t talk for awhile and I find I am sad now. This makes me sad.

“I heard from Eliot,” Nigel says now


“He’s found something....he calls it a ‘lead’....”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Paul Kline, who you know was Eliot’s step father and your alleged father’s editor....”


“He found some things linking your legal dad’s connection with your perpetrator— your old college star champion athlete....”

It takes this awhile to infiltrate. I hear it all. But I always freeze up at first.... when it comes up

I try to make some conclusion from this but I am mentally flatlining

“Notes he found in his stepfather’s hand writing....” Nigel continues, “mentions of pay offs....”

It seems awhile but I surface

I say,

“Mon fē....”

“I don’t want to hear any more...” I hang up

Monday, December 11, 2017

“so worthy my green-eyed warrior”

it has been snowing so much.... it started yesterday and all day.... and it’s still really coming down

white out

I always thought that if John Steinbeck were alive now, he would have written a novel about these people here ..... the ones nowadays. As in the manner of a kind of aftermath of .... a kind of Armageddon as in respects to like a post auto-crash-ind.... that looks like the image from the old Planet Of the Apes where you see in wreckage the arm of the Statue of Liberty.... but instead I guess you might see a model T-Ford stuck nose down in a sledge of frozen muddy snow. Like a scene from the Crow. That is what Detroit looks like, actually, or did when I saw it upon first coming here around 2006. You go past gorgeous architecture that dates back to the 1950’s but the windows are all smashed and you see wild foxes and dogs jumping through them to race in packs across the street

well.... perhaps it is the very feral-ness that.... I associate with....myself  ....here and maybe among the misfits I feel most able to blend for awhile

I think the likeliness of seeing Nigel for Christmas is —one per cent to nil. Although suggests a possibilty he may or might fly in for a few days but.... he’s not sure who knows.... and maybe things are not so good there as he suggests

and this would not be my first silent night alone nor ....will-would it be likely my last; but what is another day anyway? it is only a vague date on an inaccurate calendar to stand for some exploited opportunistic commodity

meaning long lost
.... and I am a cynic anyway

but I know, legend

I have been lying to myself.... or hiding.... really.... more, it is hiding.... pretending about Nigel.... hiding about him....

I think if I explain part of my own madness as best that I understand it....

you see, I think it is when someone is ....driven

maybe it is .....a point of madness

and you know....it was early on....but I tried

you see?

I did try

to be ok

to be normal.... you see?

sane; I tried to be normal—

tried so hard; strove for normal; normalcy.... ? But what do you compare it to?

No.... not here; I divert....you see....

I wanted, always.... just to fit in; be like everyone else...to not draw attention.

but I was aware how I stood out. Though. I did.... I always was noticed and....

and I hated that. It was usually my hair; like a red dragon; a glowing sign or beacon of war

I never ....never... no—never thought I was physically attractive. People would say I was—but I really did not see this ever because I saw: different; freakish; obvious

no, did not see anything of beauty about me; I saw something quite grotesque and hideous about myself.... all angles and sharp features; a body that never outgrew adolescence with over long legs and slim hips; no, never —I could not see what they saw

but at school was seen as away from home.... I liked better than the one I was ....at home

my sister was seen as ‘good’ but.... I knew she lied —yes, I knew this.... because she often said I did things she did.... that I know she did.... that I watched her do.... and she knew I had.... that were bad. And I got punished .... for this sort of exercise. It was a game to her. It was not worth it to defend myself. If I made a fuss it only made the punishment worse. And she would grin at me behind her hands.

I knew she secretly hated me because I was the sister who got all the attention out in public. She hated me because of how I was seen by people. The more praise I got by that world the more life at home was hell. So, I felt that my outer appearance was my worst problem.... I found the face in the mirror to be grotesque ....I did. Because I was so aware of how different it was from people at home and people at school. Mr. Lance, who called me “wench!” in the eighth grade, the one who kept my diary—

It was awkward.... to get my attention and affection from.... and, yes, to be liked by them—my male teachers.... but I also basked in their attention too.... in those years this is how I survived; my father issues, my longing for father.... they fed me ego and I grabbed this as it allowed a forgiveness of and through my oddities; Mr. Lance told me I looked “exotic” like those old movie stars; and he compared my looks to Yvonne De Carlo and Natalie Wood— but it was not any comfort for me. I didn’t wish to be “exotic” at all, I just wanted to blend, not be taken such notice of, be normal and have straight blond hair and nondescript features.... but no, I don’t blend......

and I avoid where I want to go with this.....

I ask Nigel about his father and he tells me the tests came back fine so.... he is relieved, I hear it in his voice. So I listen to him busy at something he is doing .... I listen....

You know....

        you see....

Yes, I have been lying....

....about Nigel I mean, lying— to myself

And is it time to come clean....? I wonder.... how do I feel about him.... the first time I saw him.... well, something altered in me. I have never had such a reaction from anyone ....especially from only just one look at him—I mean, at first; of course but... it began with something there that I saw in his eyes. When he trespasses.... he gets inside.... he seems to sense when the pieces are .... starting to fall out... he questions if I thought he would follow. Is it the Jedi in me? That I knew...? No, it is not but maybe I expect it of him is his true question

I think.... it could be that only in this sphere of anomalous truths, our understanding may require altering too

So when I saw him it was almost like seeing a ghost— someone I had known; bog people or dna; whatever.... but it was there

and I think it caught me unawares; stunned me 

I saw him ....and instantly I knew.... I knew

I have to know him.... yes, it was like this strong imperative....like, I knew that he is someone I need to know.... a third eye sense; caught by his ....it was those eyes.... I mean....his that are so intense ....they are eloquent in such a way that their clarity is visibly lyrical.

I pretend that I don’t hear those subtle things he says.... I play obtuse.... is it false? I am afraid. I don’t know how to respond. What I should.... I fear doing the wrong response .... I am also very.... confused so, from errors of my past....

my track record is a mess

It has always been hard for me to be close to people. Let someone in. I don’t. This is not natural to me. I have my fortress and my walls; I have my armor ....so, there have not been many true intimate relationships for me. Usually it was that the man was obsessed with me and so our relationship turned out to be only based on his desire for me. Then the disappointment of not being loved for the whole of myself.... then there were others too drunk to notice intimacy at all....

So there have not been.... has not.... there has not been anyone.... that I’ve let this close to me.... and I confess it to you, my dictionary of code, to do with what you will.... it is your will.... because I let myself go to him.... I let go and maybe it is because he knows her.... he’s seen her....  I mean, yes, I knew about her.... but still he cares for me.... his little bird... even though I am deformed.... distorted.... he seems to still care.... I know that he said that funny thing... was he in love with me before we met.... I know that he read my question right, I did mean to ask just that, although I was thinking more ‘infatuation’—because still.... I do fear that is all I am to him. So I doubt it because had he meant he loves me, he would have said he loves me. And....well, he didn’t. But I don’t wait for it—no, it’s hardly something I think about because it seems to be such bad luck for me. Best to not think of that. That word. Love. Love.... it sucks.... doesn’t it? Like a flat tire once they’ve dragged you over rough terrain for a thousand miles.... no thank you... I am ok without love

I don’t need love

Look what it has done to my life! Nightmare ....love.....

only, you know....

his eyes....

and the way he pulls me just as he orgasms ....his hands on my backside pressing me into his hips

and he says my name into my ear

My favorite is the place below his ear by his neck there; this is where I like to kiss him, or bite him, depending

because he melts.... he just becomes like puddy to me and I feel such a strange power.... and something transfers between us.... through the sexual energy of his body I feel .... him in my consciousness, a communication that happens....? reading minds and it becomes the biggest mind fuck ....as we fuck.... I can write if it now.... apart from him, there the safe distance in which trefkect.... because, you see, with him ....it becomes more than flesh, with him.... and as well, for me it must be.... about mind.... the mind... he is always in my head when he fucks me.... the way he watches me.... it is as if he wishes he were me.... but no, it is possession.... possession..... I hadn’t thought of this before.... so when he touches me it is like he is masterbating— he suggests this too.... he says this to me; and I become.... too... in turn.... his voyeur..... and I find I get off imagining what he imagines.... and this is how he makes me orgasm because he tells me.... he tells me what he feels, what he wants, what he sees ....

There is something unspoken between us.... our bodies have become necessary to each other now. Because now I crave only his body. I crave it constantly.... even when I should be doing something urgent.... but do I think of him reading my words now? Where does life finish off and art begin....tell me, Nigel; are you my champion....?

“Why do you not want me to save you?” he asks me on the phone.... we’ve been having these on going conversations ....sometimes at night.... in the middle of the night....or in the middle of his.... one of us half asleep ....

this time it is he who calls me in the middle of the night... but I don’t sleep anyway....really; not really, no, but I try and in between plains of thought, ultraviolet consciousness

“I never said that...” and sometimes I know he does this to me on purpose.... because he knows by now how I am.... between wakeful and half-dream state.... sometimes I know ....fully well.... he employs his scientific reasoning on me

do I mind it when I know....? well, these times I am aware he uses this.... he uses it to gain advantage into my mind

or find a doorway in

I think there is that part which observes and ....I imagine part of that is admiration.... I want to know how far he can get inside....

I want to know....

Only— I should stop him

yes, I should....

only I am curious ....maybe I should just ....present a few inventions or deflections.... or no.... pick him apart instead; dissect his mind ....the way he does mine, and analyze him....it would throw him off for awhile.... I could do that and maybe it is only fair ....he let me remove a few of his masks....

“No I never said that,” I say but honestly ....I know it is true

“No, you shouted at me....”

My cloudy thoughts go to recall our conversation .... like a fog in the middle of murky nod....

“....yes, I shouted....” I say

his tone becomes impatient
“....mon fē.... you shouted not to save you!”

“No.... I didn’t....” I say but it is like molasses to explain to him just now

“Yes, don’t you remember, when I said I wanted to, you said—“

“No when you said you wanted to.... “ I explain, “....I just told you ....not —to say it....”

I think I did fall asleep then because in a blurry, hazy fog his voice penetrates and I hear him and maybe even sharply say,
“..... what.... ? no—what—you just meant..... !” and I hear the significant tone, then his quickly deeply drawn breath....

”.... you just meant ..... I just shouldn’t ....say it, not to say it....” and here mumbles to himself

and maybe I do regret those words

in dream state ..... I suppose I warranted it all right to tell him this.... but not now as I observe this in retrospect;

but it wasn’t me who agreed to

I know that thing he said...what was mentioned.... that he knows

there is relief there

that someone knows....

and that it should be him. Because....he got in....he got inside my web of morass, got within the womb-garden....with those eyes of his.... like that actor.... those eyes that disarm me because they see.... they see everything.... and as I watch all reflected on those eyes of labradorite —I find the path he lights I can endure ....if he but held my hand.... I know he knows, but I don’t know why.... he still can desire me.... I think we are strangely pulled to each other’s deepest weaknesses; those festered within the darkest recesses within.... it would be ok.... if it were him.... inside there —but she believes it more than me.... and it is she we should fear—all the more so now that he is favored by the host

I mean, Nigel ....he is shrewd. He is clever. He knows how to trip my mind.... he has figured out some things that work.... like my most vulnerable times are only when I manage to crash into sleep—it is an unfair advantage but I guess he must feel himself justified.... he wants to save the lab rat

he has figured out how to pick those locks in me

because this is when the knight watch.... is pirated to oblivion  ...but it is not fair he uses this

this is also when I miss him most. In sleep— because he can bring me to safety when when I lay beside him in sleep..... when he’s lying next to me.... sometimes I feel his touch ....sometimes his voice; his voice that is so gentle and so wise that it makes me think of his eyes; those eyes that are in turn warm and cool and change like the ocean that reflects the sky; sometimes clear and others murky, they go from greens to blues....like my palettes and my canvases of blending of color panel hues

“What does that mean?” he asks

I know I sensed we were on the edge of something that I resisted.... I am not sure I said the answer or not aloud.... although I do truly hope I resisted ....him

So do I want him to know? Want him to .... maybe it has just become too boring

 ....in here alone.... all these years

Maybe it’s been a long wait .... awaiting a champion.... if he is worthy.... only ....I believe I am the only worthy one—on knight watch 

Friday, December 8, 2017

a reflection of mirrors

If people are our mirrors than those that we pick to represent ourselves reveal the most of where we were or who we were at the time of our choices

I have shed so many skins

When I look back at three years ago....

Who.... was she? ....what

When I worked—now over a decade ago—at Pearl in New York.... there was a guy there who used to call me ‘Beth’

I don’t know why

But people tend to make up names for me a lot.... and I don’t ever know what to call myself anyway so.... I suppose there is something endearing about being renamed by people who see me a lot. It’s a Shame About Ray.... his name was Ray.... the one who called me Beth, and that song always came to mind whenever I worked with him....

So that is where I got the name Beth.... but also Chris’s best friend used to be obsessed with me .... I know he is another story in itself but I won’t let him on my pages..... well, he would say I looked like the girl who broke his heart once! who was named “Beth” —so when I dyed my hair black (that time it was, in part, to fuck with him I suppose.... only I kept it because it made me look kind of Sci-Fi and I liked that; I made it blue/black.... so, well ...that girl was called Beth —so I thought— )Beth who is what—

& the Welsh connection; ‘what’ is ‘beth’ in Welsh and what is a question I ask my mirrors.... that stare dumbly back from walls....it was this ..... what is she.... androgynous? black? Cherokee? Welsh....Christian preacher child or Jew....? What do you call her? What do you call a bastard? What name ....? Beaufort? My mother’s husband called me “bastard nigger baby....” he called himself a “cockhold”

I never understood what he meant but I do remember this well. I remember the tea cup flying.... as my mother hurled it. It hit him and fell to the floor into smithereens. She forbade him ever call me that again. I asked what it meant. He said,

“be quiet!”

After that he only ever said it when he hit me

when he took the belts out

bastard nigger baby

He was a cruel man. He used to make a spectacular of me. I would get attention by strangers and he was angry because I drew all the notice from my older sister. So he would humiliate me and say,
“no one knows where she gets her looks from, she didn’t get them from her hooked nosed dad, that’s for sure!” And he’d laugh!

People never knew what to say. They would get a frozen look on their face and back away from the frothing bear

Mirrors.... they say you learn the most from what is reflected back from those closest to you. They become your mirrors because they face you the most and are most accurate in accountability.... I always think of Nico’s husky voice in that Velvet Underground song when I think of this....’I’ll be your mirror...’ before she raced off the hillside 

Nigel as reflection .... I saw him that first time....

It was the hat, I think.... yes? I think he wore it that first time I saw him. I guess it was that it was a hat I would have chosen too.... I liked it because ....it would have fit nicely among my wardrobe

With Bran— his mirror revealed to me his version of a ‘what’ that was me

Maybe his what

Nobody has ever noticed the real me.... 


But anyway, I have grown so much since then....

I know my experience with Bran was necessary ....

But mirrors.... are only as accurate as the texture or smoothness of the glass ....allows. Or whether there is a tint that obscures a.... light.

transparent .... or not....

“There has been something I have been wanting to ask you for awhile,” Nigel says to me over the phone

I wait

“When you had decided to leave Oregon and made all your travel arrangements.....” here he stops.... I hear, finally a deep breath.... “did you know I’d follow—assumed....? I mean, because you never....”

But he falls silent

what was I thinking?

I go back in my mind and wonder too....

I say,
“I knew I couldn’t stay there, Nigel....”

“Did you know I’d follow you?”

I don’t answer.

I don’t really know if I have an answer

“This is important to me....” he says now

I hold the phone up to my ear but my fingers feel weak. I lean into my knee to hold it as I try to recall and know what he wants from me

“Answer me, mon fē!” but he shouts it at me

“Yes!” I shout back, because he has frightened me to answer him

We are both silent

both thinking

only, yes, I did. Of course I did.... I don’t know why but I knew he would. I just knew, because.... his research and his .... driven nature

I didn’t know this answer was there in me until he forced it out of me

Just now

I mean, it didn’t occur to me consciously.... but does it even matter? Really, what is the difference.... I am blind about something that he finds significant.

For awhile there is dead air and I wonder about the actual physical miles between us. Yet I hear him sigh. I sense his expression exactly as if he were in front of me

I miss the smell of his body. He is OC about being clean, like me, and for me this is something of an instant aphrodisiac.... so that said, the actual natural scent of his body is what I miss. It is so distinctly.... him.... like during sleep if I wake, it is there pressed up against me and my lips against his skin; I turn always to him in sleep....

“Nigel.... say something....”

He clears his throat,
“I... just miss my little bird....” he whispers softly to me.... and in that whisper is a symphony.... it is shy and beautiful.... “Mother is concerned about Dad because of his last exam and so I said I would go.... so just waiting for results, so.... oh God, I need to see you.... mon fē, it feels strange to be away from you....and I don’t really like it....”

This is the first time he ever has said something like this

It grips me in an unexpected way.... it chokes me and my eyes stream before I am aware it is happening. I hold the phone away so that he cannot know that this makes me cry. He has disarmed me.... because ....because....just..... because

Wednesday, December 6, 2017

slave girl in the bog; or he searches ruin

did my mother want me to write this? yes. yes she did. This was why she wanted to tell me things. Not just for the secrets, no, my mother she ....had a strong ego.

She said no. No she didn’t, she’d say by owing to her insecurities was her argument.... my mother’s insecurities would make Winston Churchill proud. She was wasted as her husband’s trophy, but I guess she did not care enough to be more

She told me to write it.... to wait until she was gone ....she wanted the secret out about who I am .....to be not a secret and....

and for a long time I have been stuck over what the reason was for her. Because she managed to be sure all exposure of her/our secret could never get out. He had clout with the media. The answer is— she wanted my version. She knew how I’d tell it. and she knew my version of her

it is a double edged sword to be the bastard lovechild

love hate, love hate, love hate

put on the shelf

stared at.... she’d look at me all the time

she picked on me constantly; dressed me up like a doll when I was young; white gloves, perfect dresses, painful hours of hair torture under brush and comb

then ignored me

but there were her stories.... her life in New York.... the original Sex In the City (which I’ve never watched, so just the title, really; idea) I heard her stories of parties and her name dropping jet set world she traveled in. I always imagined her stories to look like a mix between the Mary Tyler Moore show and a black and white Hitchcock movie

Maybe from falling asleep among her photo albums listening to her tales

thoughts of the Legend

she said they met at a party in Greenwich Villege at a friend’s house who was an artist. So.... the story goes.... he walked in late and made this dramatic entrance wearing his famous black coat that had red satin lining.... and she was the only one who didn’t run over gushing to him

She sat there quietly wondering over the fuss

Which is why the first thing he did was go straight over to her

My mother..... you had to come to her.... first .... and bow.... but I think she let him get away with just this

So later as I avoid the latest drama of my life.... [could we please have a moment of calm].... and Another aside [must get out of this place; it’s a dive so moving in with Lenore next month now]

I use up phone data researching psychology journals. I had remembered a password to go to a search engine Nigel uses

I’ve been trying to understand Nigel’s perspective of his research. He grew up with two archeologists for parents and spent his formative years physically immersed among ancient artifacts. For a boy to see this first hand so young and have parents to personally educate him from infancy

He is an older brother too. There is that sense of an inborn assumed responsibility that is clearly unconscious to him. He is the one who seems to have all the facts straight in that family. I have heard him a few times talk to certain members on the phone. He keeps track of everyone’s dates and travel times as everyone else seem a bit chaotic by contrast. His father seems the absent minded professor and his mother reminds me of a crusty Julia Childe with an English accent (he showed me a small video he made when he first arrived there and told her to say “hello Dawn, can’t wait to meet you....dear”)

But then I heard her say,
“who is she Nigel? Is this the Ophelia in your thesis?” and promptly the video ends  there

She is not big, but there is a funny manner she has that reminds me of the chef, perhaps the smears of mud from the excavations on her arms and smock as she turned from her work and her big smile caught thus engrossed

To imagine worlds from artifacts freed from their ancient resting places left unknown for centuries.... must be intoxicating

evidence of life.... long before ....any of this

who were they....

it is when they discover a comb entombed preserving a trace of DNA

he searches for the slave girl in the Bog

And so ....I miss my warrior king with those labradorite lighthouse eyes

I am a wildly torn saled and broken masted ship, wrecked on the sea; crashing my guts on the rocks

My wavegirl.... the one I painted now so long ago....was she waiting all this time for that lighthouse to come find her

lost as she was at sea

no voice

no voice

no voice to speak

just a pen ....in the dark with a feather....scratches across a leaf

I long for my lighthouse. For I am lost. At sea. The sea is me. And I am drowning ....

He calls me late and is early for him and he says,
 “tell me what is wrong....”

“I’m fine,” I say —and calmly

“No, I doubt that...”

“Well, that’s insulting! —“

“I do read your blog, mon fē!”

So there is this moment. It is like Space Odyssey where everyone is floating to that music but ....it’s only my head—presently

I.... I say....
“Do you?” so why am I appalled? and I shudder at the thought now I’m.... well.... oh god....

Perhaps if I just look at all this as though I am just in an Oscar Wilde plot....

the idea of the ridiculous to.... ? become a source of .....enlightenment

....at the risk of humanity, at the cost of humility, no doubt—for Art’s sake; Christ’s sake...

Or defense

“You there?” he asks

“Oh....” I say and consciously calmly breath. Sit down and ....try to be normal; say,
“You just never mentioned.... I mean.... I —thought it would be kind of trivial.... nonsense.... to you.... you hear me say this so....”

“No.... this is only another view of you—when we ....are together—I almost feel consumed in you.”

I just listen. I listen as the intellectual brain connects with the impact of his meaning.

“I mean, mon fē.... you must know by now.... how I feel about you. I know —Eliot told me what he said to you. I was .... caught up in ....I cared—mon fē, I felt as if it were up to me to—“

“No! Don’t say save me!”

He stops. He is quiet. It is awhile and I realize I hurt him. I hear he is crying.

“Nigel....? I’m sorry ....it is only that.... you don’t often remove your masks either....”

Much later after this call I see an article written by him..... and I stumble on these words.....

”....in the case if Electra, I find among the doctors notes and documents some old cassettes of sessions with the case study Electra.... Dr. Rothchild recorded some of those session where she used hypnosis ..... this was at the beginning of my eventual consuming of this case.... You hear her speak.... at first so very articulate and clear changes in the course of the session .....but it was the voice! It was a child’s voice.... it broke my heart when I heard it—I knew instantly that I had to save her....”

There are moments where all things come together like the great climax

this was one ....in which I become Trinity in the Matrix;  like the praying mantis she leaps sideways; slick rubber band skin

I am afraid and I know it is plain we know why

Why would a lab rat be anything more than a lab rat to my brilliant scientist

I’m a walking disaster ....demolition man, call the police

He’s brilliant ....I’m just his present appetizer as it seems this world works this way. Only there is something so human about him.... when I feel more and more like Vampire Lestat.... he is the only human I know that can make me aware that I feel anything ....when he is near me there is heat.... as soon as his eyes light the room it washes over me

It is not just attraction because if that is all it is then it could not affect me across the ocean

and I feel it strike me from there.... like bolts

Monday, December 4, 2017

&or: my mother’s keeper of the electra code (still working title) or error correct truly hates me

....all these weeks prior to moving ....and finally dealing with the people involved and along with this, the confrontations.... and then finally the actual trip

it is a day like today when I realize I’ve not stopped since .... when the blow up —one month.... of running on adrenalin

stopped now like one reaching the shore

I think .... I need to


.... accept that.... it is time to take a breath because —I don’t think I ever remember to do this. To fly by the seat of your pants is— possibly an exercise in spinning in circles

Maybe just breath

Not forever no

but until my mind stops racing so fast....

book of codes; legendary trail of crumbs, hear this, though—I am not sure it’s time to remove the armor just yet

I’ve become too at home within this steel and I think it is all that

....and I will only confess this here within the fiction of my public codes whose truth therein does lie.... and not to any person I know....

It is all that

holds me up anymore —people have spun dances around me

with smiles and bows like musical chairs

that change like partners on a dance floor

I have known all my life, no, I had to learn this early on through experiences that forced the lesson learned

How, he asked.... how...? How does one individual decide to survive ....he wonders; he asks; he observes his lab subject

not a conscious choice ....I never decided. It just happened. It was fear. Only that. And so long ago that the mechanism that is triggered is no longer in my conscious control

At best.... I have learned to avoid certain triggers

but at worst I have ....behaved badly

the terror trigger is my personal demon and the terror is not physical pain as I know how to turn that off. The terror .... no.... that is my secret horror. I will not admit this to a soul I know. And if you ask me I will deny this. I will say to you— no, that part is my fiction; that part is my mythology.... this diary that confesses truths behind words and dialogue

My secret horror .... if we were to take that little canoe through the path that goes up and along and through Dante’s Devine Comedy of my head it would look like a child’s nightmare with full on monsters ready to eat your soul and swallow you into an eternity of torment ....but a child’s torment because.... it started so long ago. There is a part in my inner cerebral world where ....I get lost. I write this now. But I have never before. And I have never told this to any mental health practitioner —why? Because I know they would mistranslate everything. I will never trust those fools either. They are all idiots with their note pads and prepared lines of studied responses. They are so stupid really. Except for Dr. Rothchild, she was different. The only intelligent one I ever went to. Only, I would never have let her get this far deep.

It is wrong to expect a survivor to give away the life jacket that has kept them afloat from drowning, and yes, I heard the arguments about finding new tools....

But that is bull shit

They were not there.... they have not seen .... can never suspect how ridiculous and feeble their tools could never hold up for the causes required of such necessary tools.

You cannot unsee a lifetime

....this horror I am willing to confess here ....well, it is a kind of wretchedness ....it is a denouncement; it is demeaning.... shame. The kind in which that the soul gets caught between a promise and a wish to obliterate and because one is final it causes the self to create another possibility in which to prolong the facing of the inevitable horizon with terms that allow the self to manage both the promise and the need to obliterate

so.... there is my secret. And I have never admitted this beyond my own mind until now. I do this only to ....? I suppose ....figure this maze out that I have become trapped inside. You see, I think this is behind why my daughter believes she hates me, I mean, I think that ....darkness is behind some things that I know I have only gaps of memory. I have tried to solve this. But I am afraid of this. About me. When I become so afraid and my shield falls from my hands.... this takes over ....something happens —and I am aware when it happens. There was a time it happened too much. Where memories became like tangled webs with spikes like thorns to shoot blindly at the perpetrator of.... the person inflicting this pain. A very dark.... dark.... and nasty demon.... and I know it lurks within me. This is part of my sense of guilt. Because I know I have possibly been capable of cruelty I otherwise would never never never be able. It is my feral side that fights blindly as soon as it is triggered; it lashes out cruelly. Terrible. Terrible. And I have wrecked havoc I know with this. Only.... I never remember what. I never have even the smallest memory of what I say or what happens. Something takes over and it feels like a dark shroud is thrown over my conscious self. That moment just before— sometimes.... though.... I remember part of the horror of what I am capable of and.... I wish it would please stop owning me. I know once a long time ago it was the only way but, that pact —has sucked me up within another kind of shame and guilt. So, you see.... I have this heavy behind my armor too which is why I cannot let another take over this watch

not out there. No. But another ....became the necessary means

I don’t know if I am like the conclusions they have made in the DSMV, I suspect not because I have researched these studies myself. This is why I wanted to get a degree in psychology, to learn what is so far documented. But those cases were specifically too limited by their subjects. I have always remained concerned and aware not to trip too far down that live fantastic. I believe. I suspect. I truly believe. I hope.

No, I know.... I know— never lose a grip; never lose it.... never ....be ok. Be ok. Be ok. No matter what.... don’t let it change....me

This is why I am capable of seeing past Nigel’s diversions that could give most anyone else pause. But I think once the warped mutations have been witnessed down those corridors of melting mirrors most things are forgivable ....by comparison of things I’ve seen. The garden variety I mean; not nor anything of the inhumane ....no I would never be ok with that

So I think now about that conversation with Nigel.... when i hurled at him what I did. I expected he’d be cross at me for it. But he wasn’t. I don’t know why. He only stayed silent.

What he said to me too another time comes to me. That time he mentioned or...well asked me.... about my experiences.... I mean he said “relationships”

it is a strange thing to love someone. All rules go out the window. This is why I fear love. Loving him. I mean— it is one thing to say that it is fine he has had relations with men. Only to imagine this makes me sick in my stomach. Because it is a jealousy. Worse than another woman could be. It stings worse. I remember once my mother talked to me of this. I told you, legend, she told me everything; I was her confessor and confidante.... her lap dog. Her oedipus. As she ruled with her Grace Kelly air

She said,
“It is not impossible to compete with a man when your lover chooses a man...”

She spoke, I knew, from pain

My mother showed me pictures of her as a tomboy about ten

Topless in a boys bathing suit. Beside her was her best friend. A boy she called “Pinky” and.... he was wearing a girl’s bikini.... she told me he was her first boyfriend

Well, there you have it


It is a weird thing.... I know; some eccentric gene pool we all come from.... all artists too

I believe there is a connection between art and madness

My grandmother—Who wanted to be on stage! The flapper ....my grandma was a wild woman and the galavanting woman looked much like Dora Carrington

So what there is between Nigel and me.... it is a kind of rare connection because this contradiction in a nature is so hard to explain

he needs none because he is this way and he also needs the ante alternative of what he is also and not

My mythology is not a lie; it is my language

because to say directly ....could not be possible

whose idea was it .... ?

My stumbling down the dark side of town with my own gender.... they were not successful to me. I mean that this did not satisfy me—and not in only the banal sense

I mean this another way

If I am Oedipus —the role I played for my mother whom I did worship —it was not a role I chose but was demanded of me. In return she protected me from the whip when she could. But also I adored her; truly, most absolutely. I always worshipped her —unnaturally. I put her first in my heart. And she tore my heart out. Over and over. She would go months refusing to talk to me because she disapproved of my choice to be with someone. She was cruel to me. And always I adored her. Shamelessly, I forgave her over and over

Each time I hated myself more

each time I mutilated myself to self chastise for falling from her grace

So do you see....?

it is too mixed up to fix

I am too deeply damaged, I know, I know.... but what do you do with all this? All this ugliness? What do you do with it? This is why art.... why we painted— what do you do with all this ugliness? This pain that if you hold it in ....it becomes venom.... it must be released....into beauty metamorphosed

so what element causes the turn?

the change?

the decision?

....to step away

        ....step into another world


           .....and set free

Then it doesn’t matter because that other place does not exist.... this is what she said

to me

here.... this is the real world

between that bedroom and down the hall to where I slept ....I do remember being five and I said to myself, “none of this is happening to us....”

none of this is happening to us.... we walk down to where the girl’s bedroom was.... so we went there and swore no matter what we would be normal, this won’t change us

What it is that could not satisfy me was to have another woman to tell me all her problems and be her confidant and expect worship ....that way I adored my mother ....I was repulsed by this when it happened those times with women. They wanted something that to me was sacred to my mother and it was poison to my soul at the same time

I could not do it after several experiences because only then by acting through this did I understand what had been changed in me and thus exorcised only.... not wholly cured ....so when he said that time to me, what was it? I forget exactly.... he said something like....,”our experiences may not be so different” ? Or something of the nature I suppose that he was conflicted similarly but not perhaps as compromised as I .... fear   ?

No, I don’t know.... Electra’s dictionary .... you think it’s me? Sometimes I think it is her.... my mother’s dictionary.... because she always said, “be careful what you put in writing.... if you’re going to write it, you will have to be clever and conceal all of it.... always deny.....”

Sunday, December 3, 2017

so why is it that the sound of bats at night lends a comfort to me.... I am back in Michigan

I never thought I would feel so glad to be back here. I do not know what it is that always seems to call me back— this is the third time I find myself called and recalled here—

except for the cigarette smoke

It is hard to breath

That is my only serious complaint

 ....and yes, the brutal winter that already I know creeps up upon us

But it is the people here. I doubt I will stay put forever, I mean, I do have the restless nature; always the wanderlust I suppose .... but of all the states I think Michigan feels most like home to me

But it is such a bittersweet feeling too

It is twinged .... with a sadness for me ....as I think of Chris and our old life.... and I know these memories are what made me need to leave here. And I hurt too as I think of my daughter because I love her so much and wanted her so badly and don’t understand why she hates me now ....I think of our life together, all of us.... the family we were;

it hurts so deep

intangible longing for family

Today I see my dear friend Sophie from my last job here and we meet for lunch locally at an old haunt of mine; one of a million Coney places, but this one was the spot I spent more evenings than any other and it’s ten minutes on foot. Sophie who lost her sister during the months I was away in Oregon and so we talk over lunch. I am sorry I’d not been here for her during this tragedy as it happened so suddenly; lung cancer

Dear Sophie, such a warm and kind woman who always looks on the bright side of things; this is the second sibling she has lost and still she offers me her sweet and kind conversation

“I’m so glad you are back,” she tells me with tears in her eyes, “I’ve missed you so much!”

She means it. As well my other dear friend Lenore who not only found me my room to rent but also picks me up at the airport —ok, two hours late because I arrived at 5:15, but she’d overslept and it is an ungodly hour to arrive anywhere

and me, as it were, without sleep for two days —and with Fluffy waiting too who endured the journey miserably but like a trooper

Of all the places I’ve lived, Michiganders are, hands down (ha pun!—only understood to the folk from the Mitt) the warmest and most sincere folk I have ever met anywhere ....and I’ve been to a lot of places so.... well, I guess this is why I keep returning. There is just something different about the people here. I know I could not wait to leave months ago.... but only because I was living in a slumlord apartment building and my 240 Volvo blew up; totaled.... I had felt so done

and, you know, maybe I am done

and only returned to nail up the box .... but as I know my fickleness could be subjective to my serial bad luck.... I am disappointed that I found west coast people.... well.... ostensible

It is hard to take root upon a surface where depth cannot be found

as well the disappointment of the falseness too or do I mean the passive aggressive manner that reeks of hypocrisy? ....acceptable behavior and attitude by everyone to substitute politeness and common decency ....searching for satisfaction in trivial addictions; the need for constant self indulgence they feel justified as belief it is for some capitalistic greater good. Dictionary; legend.... forgive me as I do realize that this may be my own imposing and present beliefs from the evidence of my own recent experience

But, in reality, I do know that I am not like people anywhere, really.... I am always the square peg that never fits but that may possibly be why people of this state tend to like me. As they are all rather odd as well

.... perhaps because their state has known the economic boom and crash of the assembly line; deteriorated with the loss of the car industry outsourced

and too.... the home of more proud military soldiers than I believe any other state. They have old values and deep pride .... I even felt this vibe from them at the airport terminal.... and will stop their car if they see you have fallen flat on your face upon the ice at 6:00 AM which I know because .....this has happened to me

they have to be warm people because of those bitter cold winters that never end

and on the border of Canada as our friendly neighbor —you know, many families have crossed this border to live either way —like my first husband who is half Canadian; so there is something about this particular individualistic personality that breaths among the folk here too. Even the accent, which I suppose I am partial to.... I know I will soon again detest the lonely misery of the gray skies and gray roads here with mountains of snow as it was only last year I experienced it one among a dozen past .... and gray cigarette smoke too everywhere

Nigel calls today because he’s found out about Eliot

“What is he doing back there?” he asks me before anything

“I don’t know, Nigel.... please don’t concern yourself, he’s harmless, really. All smoke and mirrors.... smoke....” I cough because sadly my housemate is a smoker and all my clothes already smell like an ashtray

“Are you sick, mon fē?”

At first hoarse I try to reply but it is stifled....
“I may have to find another place to stay,” I tell him

“Perhaps you should reconsider my offer....”

Now as he says this.... his voice.... it makes me think of his eyes and ....how not having him near does make me ache for him. Waking up to him. There is something about him ....I’ve never known with anyone else.... what is it....? his ....safety ....by just his presence ....

is this the real test? Yes. I miss him

I always feel safe when he is beside me; he has that way which I have never known with anyone else

You would not think someone who is somewhat neurotic, introverted, OC, quiet and exacting could conjure comfort.... unless you are just as bad, I suppose

He takes care of those details.... I mean those things that seem to overwhelm me and confuse me. Before I even admit it ....he will have figured it out for me because it is his way; those tedious things I lose patience over

....he is

young yet old; both paternal and maternal; it is a kind of unconscious nurturing I suppose that I guess I was immediately drawn to about him

“When do you think you will be here?” I ask him now

“Soon, love— there are a few people I have to meet with, I stumbled across some fascinating artifacts that I need to research with a top DNA researcher.... how’s the Dictionary?” he asks me

I fall silent

Then force a reply,
“I don’t know ....like the R.E.M. song....losing my religion....I don’t know what the point is to anything anymore.... if it matters....why I do it....nobody cares, Nigel, there’s no point— I think I am....lost....”

“You’re just tired, mon fē ....try not to think too deeply. I’ll be there soon,” he says

I hear the bats outside and.... I suppose it is my Poe like sense of the macabre that provides the kind of comfort to appease my world weary inner horror allowing this chill to warm my sensibilities a kind of home; I crave

Friday, December 1, 2017

Hi Jack; or transit arrest

Nigel has gone to join his parents in Sweden for an excavation—and, as well, he tells me, there is to be a big ceremony—a kind of surprise banquet to commemorate his father for his life’s work

....but today, as I depart Oregon for Detroit, my thoughts are spinning ....

The stress of travel

And moving again....

(Everybody says:  I’m moving back home.....


(Home? But Exactly where is that?)

....flying over night ....and my very unhappy kitty.... the princess Fluffy

Well, poor dear, she has come to realize: she does not like travel

and so undignified did she look too when it was clear she would be going with....cargo

and yes.... I worry about her (fragile) sensibilities (as she was freaking out even as we’ve already done all this not that long ago)

too big as a carry-on—you see, she is part Maine-coon and rather ....big boned


and she is quite attached to me. She can be so pathetic when we are separated

I know .... I have a weakness for animals. who adopt me .....

and has since that day years ago when somebody dumped her on my doorstep. As it turns out I am the only human she ever wants to be with

so Fluffy is —a discriminating feline and maybe I identify with her— and I’ve discovered —she will slice open any other poor sod that tries to cozy up to her

Although— I have not introduced her to Nigel who swears he has a way with small furry friends.

I get to Portland for my connecting flight to Detroit and rush around looking for two gifts to give as souvenirs for my friend who found me my new place and her friend who I am renting from. I settle on shot glasses as everything else costs more than I’ve got left presently

Then go to the gate and wait, standing on line to board


I turn cautiously as I know that voice. Slowly, I look up


He is smiling and ....he has his carry-on.... dressed casually in jeans and leather jacket; begs the question ....

“Jolly good show!” His laugh is forced and he tries to act charming

“I don’t think I want to know why you are standing here waiting for a flight to Detroit,” I say, trying not to feel invaded and angry

“Are—“ he feigns surprise, “you mean—you’re— what a funny coincidence!”

“No it’s not.”

Still he grins at me anyway,
“Oh, come on, we used to have such lovely times together! You loved when I came over and I always remembered your favorite, 7-11, chocolate, ice cream.”

“Eliot! Don’t —you can’t cajole me like—“

“Like what?”

“You were deceiving me! so drop the obnoxious nice guy act, would you please?”

“Because I didn’t tell you I knew Nigel? But you didn’t even know him yet back—when was that now....?”

“No, Eliot, you faked being all into me because you were working on getting your dumb, little, cheap-shot, exposé, docudrama, unreality, show; although why you would think anyone would find it remotely interesting....?”

“I did not fake being into you, I’ll have you know, sweetheart.” And then added, “and don’t sell yourself short; you are very interesting to spy on.”

“No, don’t do that! You can’t ‘sweetheart’ me!”

He pulls a face.


I would truly love to know what is his deal.....


He sighs,
“Well, you’ve been ignoring my messages so, I figured this way—“

“I’ve not been ignoring your messages, Eliot—I blocked you!”

He looks about to say something.... but lucky for me they have announced it is time to board

I find relief when his seat is called before mine.....

It is awkward though as my seat is way in the back and they explain that the plane is mostly going to be empty as not a lot of travelers happen to be traveling the week after Thanksgiving — (a holiday not spent, yet another year, and without much thanks) well, great, because this allows people to spread out, yes— but also make up their own seating.... so my relief is short lived as he decides to take a seat next to me

“Really?” I look up at him indicating a dozen empty seats everywhere else “—look! Right here you can have three seats all to yourself, lay down, put your feet up—“

“Listen, I will move my seat, I promise you, but just listen, just hear me out!”

I let him sit and ignore him till take off. He waits till the ear popping is over and says,
“Now you have to listen as you have no choice—I didn’t know Nigel had this thing about you. I mean, if I knew....no, I’d have chatted you up anyway, I’m afraid—“

“No, don’t pretend! You think your charm and your male model perfectness can let you get away with anything? I am not buying it,  Eliot, so go waste your time with some dumb idiot. No— wait, first.... tell me the truth....what exactly are you really after here?like, with me....? Exactly; please.”

He’s not even shaken by my bluntness, or my fury. Maybe he is just used to pissing off women

“Well, as it so happens, not just one thing— I mean, I do still want to do a documentary on you and I do still find you—err.... fascinating....”

I look out at the clouds.... yes, now I am a passenger under house arrest it would seem

“How do you know Nigel anyway? I would love to hear that explanation!”

Dimples too. He does know how to turn it on ....


Well, I’m not

my biology

am not easily charmed

but— yes, I know— I did like him once.... before I met Nigel .... but that is not to say I really envisioned any kind of long-term or real, deep, personal, connection

“We don’t really know each other....” (yeah, nor us, I think)”He contacted me .... when was it? I want to say two years ago but I don’t think it’s been that long —he found out we had a connection —you and I—through my late step father—who was—“

“Paul Kline,” I know

“Yes, well—then he explained you are —who... you are and the whole secret of your existence.... “ he stops to think carefully, but says, “he wanted—felt—that our meeting might allow for him to find a reasonable way to —uhhh, as an excuse to ....approach you....”

I digest this... but say,
“approach me....?”

“He wanted a plausible reason/excuse to....” he waves his hand to make up for his lack of vocabulary

“Ok, so....” but I think some more

It is when the flight attendant gives us free cocktails that my thinking gets blurred

“Why are they giving us free drinks?” I ask

Eliot shrugs and grins,
“drink up, love, they’re coming round with the receptacle  trolly.”

As if that is the excuse to finish the two I have lined up in front of me. Well. It is free. After the rip-off seafood wrap that was, to be quite honest, gross.... I guess I feel justified in getting myself wasted on free liquor a flight to Detroit. A first actually. How bad ass. As I have been saying my life is desperate for adventure.....

know ....  

and I’m not able to process his words. I think their vodka is extra strong

Nigel had a .... what did he say.... a thing for me.... ? I think he said.... but, did I know this? I did, right? But it’s how Eliot said it, somehow its meaning takes on a cast of insinuation that’s —but it’s Eliot and the vodka

Making it seem like

Ummm, like—because he is being a tool

And he’s being Eliot

which is....totally fine; innocent, just on a plane

.... like the Nirvana song....but I realize I am also exhausted and so....

I’ll sort it out like later, I decide

.... maybe —at baggage claims with Fluffy; arriving at five AM. And drunk

and my ride no where to be found