Existentialism and tragedy in modern day Acts; Electra’s dictionary

“I don’t ever like New Year’s,” I tell Jörn now, because I’m nervous about the staff’s party “I never like to go out for it....so I never do— everyone is always drunk....”

“Well, now you don’t have to go out,” he says

“Very funny!” I laugh at him, because he’s making fun of me—“yes, because it’s right here.... but now everyone will be drunk in my place and I won’t be able to escape them!”


“So maybe we can escape before midnight, min lilla duva, and we go to my place and let the staff take care of it. It was for them, they wanted it....”

“And now they’ve invited people from The Met! What the fuck? So, don’t let this go to your head but I’m actually glad you’re ....here....”

“You mean your pirate to make your escape?”

“No, because you do this kind of thing all the time—you’re used to being with this kind of crowd....you know, the Philharmonic, Lincoln Center type people ....”

He is standing before the mirror putting on a tie, and while he’s listening to me he is also also, I notice with amusement, admiring himself.... he can be a bit vain .... (he looks good in a tie, especially Nordic blue ones)

“I don’t notice those people. I mostly ignore everyone,” he reaches for his jacket and puts it on. He had a performance tonight and the party has begun without us

“But aren’t you the host?” Jörn asks me

“No, I don’t think anyone thinks that.... I’m like the custodian—right?”

“When are you changing?” he asks me with an odd impatience as his vampire eyes sweep me

“Changing?” I look at my reflection ....

“You can’t wear jeans, min lilla duva....”

(How does he know?)(is there a rule book?)

“Oh.... am I wearing jeans?” because I am not in the mood to care. “Hmmm.... well, they’re here so it’s too late,” and I start to go

“No, no— you aren’t going to face the Metropolitan museum in jeans on New Year’s Eve,” he pulls me back easily by my arm and drags me to the closet; rifles through saying, “take those off!”

So he pulls out the black one. It’s still his favorite. But slowly he he removes everything else I had on under what I wore. We hear the clatter of dishes in the next room. He takes everything off and slips the black dress over my head,
“simplify things for later—at midnight ....”

He says,
“sit down, where’s your make up?”

He picks dark red lipstick but keeps my face pale.

He says,
“I suggest one glass of champagne downed immediately and the rest will go fine....min lilla duva.”

We walk in together and everybody looks at us.... and start taking pictures and he hands me champagne

The staff have evidently taken over
—everywhere —because the furniture has been all rearranged so I trip over unexpected furniture as I meet someone from the New York Times. And festive decorations hang everywhere like an explosion of Gatsby glitter —but instead it’s 2019

30 December 2018; Scandinavian Noir

Jörn goes for a run every morning when it is still dark out —I don’t understand why he would go out in the dark, but he says it is the best time to go—because the streets are quiet....which I do understand as I like going on trail hikes for the same reason. Still a wet and dark chilly run in the morning.... bears some insight into this musician’s extreme measures of discipline


“I have to ask you about something....” he says last night to me.... after

(....he seems insatiable, and when I tell him that but he claims it’s my fault) 

“you write about knowing me before....”

I feel my face burn but look at Jörn,
“yes, it must seem strange to you that I should write about this—is that what you think?” I look up at him but it is hard to see his features in the dark

I watch and see how he is lost in thought a moment and .... how he is self distracted ....in his thoughts. I need to see his face then— because we are in the dark so I sit up and move into his lap —I look at his face 

and he studies me now,
“I got the strangest feeling the first time I saw you—I thought maybe I had seen you in a magazine or— I don’t exactly know what I’m trying to say but.... it is such a strange feeling that you remind me of someone.... that I can’t remember or almost—but it was even before that. When I saw you in passing that made me wonder about who you were....”

to say that he trespasses when he looks into my eyes.... more than anyone ever has .... well

So I think about what Gerald said to me on the phone as Jörn suddenly now asks me about the staff, seemingly to change the subject

“Oh, they want to be more functional—actually they came up with an interesting idea,” I start to say now as I look at him

I forget what I’m about to say. Instead I just look at him.

“What?” he asks and his eyes meet me

I am still at a loss.... the strange light from outside the windows that play on his face, I get distracted looking at him, you see.... the strange plains of his face that are so ....distinctive that I feel something trigger inside— again I think about what Gerald said about ‘unfinished business’

I say,
“Ohhhh, the staff— they are part of the stipulation of inheriting the property. They were worried I was going to fire them but I can’t really, my lawyers explained it to me....”

I realize my words come out vague

“....so....?” he waits for me to continue and seems curious

“They want to open it to the public and also have a Christmas party.... so we have chosen New Years..... I think I told you?”

He smiles down at me and stares into me
“.... you might have....not about opening it to the public I don’t think....”

“Ohhh—well, you know, he was famous.... they think people would like to see some old photographs and some famous documents that once changed history,” I shrug as I say this and look towards the window and the night’s skyline

“The way it was explained to me by my inheritance lawyers Johnny and his wife Joanie— the penthouse is treated like an estate. Some peculiar New York law that most people would never have heard of but it dates back to the turn of the last century as the penthouse is part of a greater property that has remained in the family since that time.”

So as I pause in thought now, I think about how below that window I look at, there is the city’s ever-present, segmented snake of cars 

that... as night descends the eyes of the serpent awaken

“The father you did not know,” he states this thoughtfully

“Not per se.... but his presence loomed heavy in the background all my life—I imagine much like your own father.”

“My father?” he smiles and looks at me oddly as if trying to imagine something. 

“Well, you mentioned that it was expected you would go into the family profession so— I thought your father must have had a very strong looming presence for you growing up....”

He does not answer that. He just stares at me silently a moment. After awhile he says instead,

“does it bother you when I speak of my son and my....daughter?”

“No, why should it?”

“I just thought it might seem in bad taste to you,” he shrugs

“Bad taste? Because you’re married still? But so am I.”

“No, it’s not that I mean because I know how you feel about.... your own daughter....”

“Oh....” So, I freeze

“When you write it helps you .... it is like a kind of hypnosis that you may not realize— unravels your subconscious....but I have begun to notice that it is not just a drama you are writing about your life — it’s a mystery. You don’t realize this, perhaps? I have started to realize you are trying to unlock a hidden crime that maybe you yourself are not even aware of but I have begun to piece together the clues....”

a ghost of Xmas present; Jörn

A few moments this Christmas evening to write (Jörn is practicing the next symphony in the dining room; we are at his place and it inspires me to write)

These things about him I think about and.... they fill my mind. Like a flood.

I think about how it is to go to Lincoln Center and ....how I like to watch him from the balcony.... to watch his face.... as he becomes immersed one with himself into his instrument.... like an intimate love scene.... the strange expressions that cross the severity of cheekbone ....somewhere here is the part of the Transylvania vampire .... but then he element of rogue in the deeply brooding, pale Nordic brow like that of a dormant warrior caged in the 21st century

His music moves me

I fear he has planned it this way—I am put at a disadvantage by being sat among a crowd to play voyeur like an orgy of spies

It disturbs me how beautiful I find him because he disturbs me deeply
Tonight at his place (his son has gone out)

Jörn says,
“come here....” his long legs are stretched out long across the length of the white leather couch and —it is the subtle smile that just touches his lips

Since it has only been a month since we have known each other, we did not get ridiculous about the holidays.... without planning to, it seems we’ve chosen to spend it with each other
When I come to him he opens long arms

.... and for all his vampire coolness, Jörn can be so warm .... at least to me... as I am starting to see that he is much different to everyone else.... like I am starting to understand that nobody else sees this side that he shows me....

And his passion.... which is to me as unexpected as I.... can feel the soul inside the vampire

How is it possible for only one month of knowing him to feel what I feel? .... like his skin; the texture of it ....everywhere on him. Across his shoulders

He says to me,
“kiss me and stop writing and put down your phone.”

So I crawl up his body and straddle him and do what he says

17 December 2018; Electra’s dictionary; the vampire chronicles of Jörn

We leave the Met heading back to the apartment building —as: soon he has to meet with the Orchestra for tonight’s performance of Handel’s Messiah

He holds my hand as we walk; automatically going to the outside of me.... his unconscious primal instincts

Everywhere we go his hands absently reach to touch me ....

Jörn says,

“you’ve been living Upstate and —before that Michigan and Oregon?—you should know I have been stalking you—“ his eyes look at me and tease me; he laughs, “I mean on Instagram—you take a lot of pictures hiking—But now you are here? Because of what? You just found out your father had a secret inheritance for you?“

“Is that what the doormen told you? Do they stand around gossiping all day?” this just pops out of my mouth—maybe quick defense. But I’m not really miffed. Just always surprised to be such a subject of talk.

I have always had people talking about me, I don’t quite know why they care....

He shrugs as if to say I’m right.

“Gosh,” I say, “they’re worse then a sewing circle,” and look up at him

But then, eloquently with no words, he says with just another move of his shoulder, ‘so, is it true?’ only now adding with raised blonde eye brows. His face is so expressive, especially his eyes. I’ve never seen such fiercely piercing stormblue eyes .... with lascivious dazzle

I say,
“well.... it was supposed to go to the media circus but I got lucky as some other story was going on and ....”

“I bet. The media circus,” he laughs. “Although,” he is thinking....”in his lifetime ....who you are could have—“

“Could have caused a lot of commotion....”

His eyes meet mine as he begins to understand. He is putting together my portrait in his mind. Why I was a secret. What impact did my natural father have on society?

“You were their love child?” he asks now

“Yes.”

“But you were smuggled into the family of your mother’s husband. The one who was your legal father. And he hated you,” he continues, “and he would beat you....and call you—you wrote:  ‘bastard-nigger-baby.”

I shudder in the wind and look away

....It is all so outside his own society I realize.

And the times have changed fast these last decades —people don’t worry about the same things they used to.

But they did then

We walk on and he says,

“So you are here now; you have come back after many years. But you’re not really from here—New York City—I don’t see you as a city person, or I should say a ‘New York City person’ —maybe Amsterdam, yes.... I think you prefer nature.... don’t you?”

He is right,
“Yes, what about you?”

“I like both. Cities and countryside. But you don’t know the city, do you? you seem lost and terrified of it,” he says this with a teasing laugh at me and looks with his Vampire eyes that X-ray through me

I laugh,
“it’s all the people.... I’m pretty shy... actually.... Plus they are so gruff and confrontational that I feel like I have a negative run-in experience as soon as I step out the door.... I don’t really belong anywhere.... you know—I’m like a Jonathan Swift and a Candide in one.... I’ve accepted that I am just a misfit. Total outcast.”

He laughs,
“you’re too beautiful to be a misfit.”

“That’s what you may think.... only it’s true. You should know now before you get in any deeper.”

“What should I know?” and here he pushes me up against the side of a building and waits for me to say as he smiles at me

I falter at first—he is so physical ....so beautiful. He has pale brows and lashes. They make his eyes look so dark. His strange Nordic features set me in wonder, even his nose which is so sharp with nostrils flared.... I go to kiss his mouth and then I pull back embarrassed, “I am a total nightmare of an oddball....”

“No,” he says because I pull away and ....ignoring anyone walking past us, he pulls me back to him and kisses me as if we are back in his bedroom; it makes me think of him on stage; how he throws himself into his music, exposing his emotions with complete physical immersion .... he seems to block everything out but the moment
“you’re an oddball....?” he asks; his eyes seem to dance brightly like faceted sapphires, “so is that what it is about you....if this is what is a misfit looks like, then I guess I like that you are a misfit,” then holds my face in the palms of his hands. I am aware of how small I am next to him and I fear how ridiculous it may seem—not to people in general, just to him

his long musician’s hands have such a power to disturb me intimately. But it is not just his hands. He makes me behave so .... badly. He distracts me. All I seem capable of when he’s near me is wanting him

I think it is this way for him too .... he’s always touching me  .... absently. In public too. Just fleeting touches his hand flat against my belly

Like when we may be out standing for a moment by a store window or at a place to pay. He will put his arm around me and discreetly lay a hand pressed below my navel, then breath into my neck and cup my sex where my thigh begins
—what is more perturbing are the moments when some part of my mind feels a sense of indignation but then.... I forget and then I don’t care.... there is such an overwhelming power to him; especially his hands

“Do you really think I am bored with life?” he looks down at me

His direct non-sequitur takes my brain awhile to decode


“Yes. I do....” I whisper against his lips..... “and I think this is why you are drawn to me. Because I am nothing like anything you have ever known.”


He asks,
“would you like to come along with me when I go in to.... do my work?— or have I already bored you with my music?”

“You mean —to go with you?—again ....for the Messiah concert?”

He shrugs awkwardly,
“you don’t have to.”

It is this shrug this time that melts my heart

I mean.... his eyes....

he is a luscious demon with those eyes; they penetrate; they fuck me; his eyes fuck me....

instead of answering him, I pull him to me by the back of his head as he wears it long and tied back; I put my mouth on his and put my fingers into his hair, pulling it loose to touch it