Electra’s dictionary (& film noir); illumination; the dawn of Meaning, Life and Revelation Part 1 (jm muse chronicles)

dear dictionary.....


I stay in quiet counsel with myself off the penthouse rooftop that once presided over a black-panther’s citadel

and wonder as I think —do I seek Meaning or do I seek Truth or something else ?

because I sense with some deep knowing that this path is not random


The cotton-ball fog that presses within I know what it has to do with and every time —the moment— comes to face the face of truth ....the fog takes over and pulls me under ....because it is that moment

the moment I reach to press my hand up to the glass

.... I fear what is there. as it seduces me and emasculates as it fills me with wretchedness

even when you bang your head up to the severed glass wall, all the shattered selves that fall like confetti never get it out and not even the devices reach far enough inside to cleanse it out to deliver me from these things I cannot face

there is no escape

there is no outward, no inward where it does not follow me and there does not exist any real means, no priest, no doctor to reprieve to shed and light this darkness

And I think this, I think these thoughts as I wonder again about Life and Truth and Purpose

I know this is my journey

I know why I document


as bad as she was she was not as bad as he was but neither one was a parent to me

Apparently

and I found the doorway through

yes even the knight walked away .... and the way back got lost

but don’t waste pity there; it is only that she held the source that I need to find or.... it seems she holds the codes that are both real and symbolic because i believe that it holds some essential message that speaks as if from voices lost .... like those on caveman walls, or those long washed away in the timeless sand and I have always felt and do —caught in a current I have no control over, even as I try my best to surf it



But these thoughts get interrupted when I hear the scrape of a shoe

“Hej....” Andreas walks over to me where I’m sitting on the cement floor of the roof. He wears no coat, just jeans and a few layers of shirts and sweaters, all in various shades of blue. “You know there are actually chairs out here,” he says this in a teasing way and smiles at me looking a bit too much like his father which makes me wonder. He adds, “and a few couches.”

“Hmmm....” I say but turn to look at the sky instead and across the horizon of skyscrapers that seem, once again, like headstones; not to belabor a theme

He slides down the wall next to me and sits down,

“are you ok about .... you know,” and here he shrugs as he settles himself beside me

“You mean all the drama at Lincoln Center?” I ask him and sharply look at his face to read it for clues as he is at that age before they learn to be aware of the things that show

and I am granted a glimpse

I see it in his eyes.

I sigh,
“have you ever Googled your father?” still I watch

He smiles,
“I’m sure he does,” and laughs with a note of something like awe

“Did you know he has published things?” I ask him because it is only something I just found

Andreas tilts his head thoughtfully,
“I know he has written about music theory but you won’t find that on the internet....” but then he looks at me dropping the cavalier façade. “Are you really asking me about his Intelligence work for the government?”

“So you do know....?” I watch his expression

“Well....” he tries to hide his smile but then shrugs, “only recently.... I have always suspected ....” he smiles at me, “I’m surprise you know. I mean— he’d never tell my mother something like this.”

“But he told —you—?” I ask

he shakes his head,
“no. He never told me....” again he smiles, “but after the other night he can no longer deny it.”

I wonder what he means? So I read his face and study how his eyes look to and away from me

“Finally he just said— it was right after what happened and he asked me to walk you to your seat.... I mean, I just asked him again if he’s some kind of secret agent and I guess his way of telling me he just said ‘don’t tell your mother! Not a word about any of this!’ ....” his youthful azure eyes open wide to say his meaning as he looks directly into my eyes as he shrugs as if to say ‘obviously says it all’ “and not to tell Hanna. I guess my ‘farmor ‘ and ‘farfar’ know,” Andreas seems mostly amused and if not more than a bit impressed

I think about this looking at rooftops, only seeing other things

“He’s written about pathology,” I tell Andreas

“Pathology? Isn’t that ....” he hesitates as he seems unsure, “is that like criminal psychology?”

“It includes criminal psychology,” I say now with a heavy sigh and I say, “I don’t know why I just told you that but you can find it on the internet so it’s not like I’m saying this behind his back ....” only .... I think to myself, I just found this whilst sitting here with my phone before he stepped out

and I find this disturbing

“I can understand how it allows him to investigate —“

Andreas interrupts me,
“why would it be on the Internet?”

“It was an interview he did with the New York Times when he first joined the Lincoln Center Philharmonic....” I think as I say this and watch him for more hints, “the interviewer found out he has a degree in this .... and wanted to know how it relates to music ....” I glance at my phone as I still have the article open and I say, “and asked how your dad had come to have some things published in a few peer reviewed journals ....”

Andreas is genuinely surprised and almost shocked

“Well—so.... what did he tell him?”

“That it keeps his mind sharp for music,” I say and I laugh because that is his typical kind of reply to awkward questions and he has used that one on me

“So.... how much do you know, if you don’t mind if I ask you?” Andreas looks at me

I shrug,
“not much more.”

“Well, I thought it was weird when I saw him studying photographs of you before you guys met,” he laughs

“Wait!—what?” I sit up straight  and stare at him

“Skit!” and his face goes bright red

I look away.

Ja. Shit....

and lean my head into my hands covering my eyes trying to think

“What kind of photos?” I ask him

But I see he has now taken out a joint and sparks it inside his hoodie,

“here,” he says and hands it to me after taking a drag, “you seem like you need this....”

But at first I only stare still stuck on the revelations

none of this should be truly shocking if I were to be honest and it is not as if he directly lied. I would not jump to the conclusion that Jörn is a liar but he seems to favor .... not telling —is that lying? No, not really and .... I have had about a year to get used to the idea that he is a spy so how can I blame anyone but myself for knowing ....that Jörn has his secrets; in fact secrets are —his— MO.... but then, who am I to say about judging anyone’s dark secrets?

Or is it the weed frying me and influencing my thoughts? because .... it all doesn’t seem as bad now

sitting here with Andreas talking about it as if it is all very normal .... I mean, look who my father was —a politician and reverend who was adept at bending rules to fit his own self governed lifestyle and flaunted it all publicly without shame .... but he was not a bad person —a rebel with a cause and.... well, a bit wicked.... but, I think he had to be to let off some steam for all the civil rights laws he passed trying to put justice where none exists and eventually that nonexistence of justice beat him out —

“Here—“ Andreas socks me in the mouth with the joint

“Skit! dude,” I say, “give me some warning!” still; appropriately I take it from him with a kind of homage and salute, a gesture of a toast, “to Ethan Rhys-Jones,” I say and as I hand it back to him I ask, “aren’t you worried your dad will....”

but the rest of my sentence gets lost somewhere and I forget to finish it

“Oh. No. He said he thought you could use it so he sent me out here —and to get you.”

message in a bottle, notes to a stranger; Electra’s dictionary (jm muse chronicles as guide through hell)

At first the adrenalin seems to keep us from winding down after, as he sits up in bed with his laptop

but still, I hear the music echo in my head .... even as the fight in me is momentarily exhausted, I feel tension next to him —I want to know what he did to me and how he did it .... and I go over the bits my mind has not erased

is it that I should not trust him?

Or that I can’t trust him.... because I don’t know how ....? only how do I know the ones to trust?  the ones you feel the most for ....are the most dangerous

walls and masks like shields....nothing comes in and nothing ....


as I turn my side away from him, he reaches for me anyway

and pulls me inside his cocoon along with his laptop, no doubt doing his spy work; checking emails—indeed; as the cosmic ones await reply

I think about the pirate ....with the vampire eyes; those wise and tragic, ageless eyes with their wild and fierce beauty

and find I wonder why it is that she decides to trust him

Is it that he is the only barricade against a barbaric world —? as he is one of the tribe of a species she fears—does she find safety in him because he is the best defense?

only I know it is something else

something that lies inside the vampire eyes that haunt through lifetimes and never die

but my thoughts still persist disrupted and go in circles,

Gerald said a prize

Jörn puts his laptop down and reaches suddenly for me, but my mind is still much disturbed and I jolt and pull away from him which —upsets him....?

I think it is his reaction that surprises me.... he looks at me like ....

I am not familiar with what it means —because I don’t think, till now, I have ever seen him reveal anything

“What is it?” I ask him as it somehow shocks me

but he only looks at me like that .... and then we sit facing each other on his bed, my knees up to my chest

“You don’t trust me?” he says it like a slap as his eyes burn into me

and I find that I wonder at the anger in his eyes

—only no.... it is not anger. I am mistaken

He reaches for me anyway  ....and at first I want him to because of his eyes— something I have never seen.... but something makes me try to stop him and then I am confused ....

because I want to just go within myself ....

to try to understand what he did to me at the piano .... and I guess withdraw ....from him —because it is my defense and my oldest MO of all

 ....which is why

I start to fight him; I attack him physically with pathetic punches that barely land and kicks that hurt me more

“Do you really not trust me, duva? Even after all this time?” he takes my wrists and holds me down

“How do I know what you have been up to with all your secrets? What have you proven to me?” I ask, “you demand everything, don’t you? But what do you share?”

even as that is true, I think somehow.... I know.... that really, I am not really fighting him, am I? I am fighting something else; something inside a dark safe ....which he knows ....and he’s known it all along .... because he has been figuring me out


 ....or thinks he has—is it just for his spy collection jars? His dossier

“You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” I ask him, “like some notch in your belt.”

—I think, like his toy puzzle for his amusement ....trying to figure out how all the pieces go together for.... him to exploit? —once he has

“What are you talking about?” he says leaning over me and lets go my wrists, his hair now fallen loose from the tie during our struggle in long golden streams past his chin, and though caught by what I look at, seeing him as an artist sees a muse to paint, I think:

My code is my worth

—is that what Gerald meant?

a prize?

I stare at his mouth and reach up to touch him and put my fingers in his hair to feel its texture and then reach to pull his head to me to kiss him but he stops me and stares into my eyes

—prizes and pirate’s jewels and eyes like slate that dazzle like a pirate’s gems; such wise and tragic, ageless eyes with their fierce and wild beauty

“Do you really not trust me, duva?” he asks again and now he takes hold of both my wrists and pulls them over my head and looks down at me, then touches me like it is an unquenchable need....

no, not anger, it is something else

The following scene; Struck by chords and stranger notes

when he knocks on the door I say,
“no....” and lean against it. I feel somehow shaken ....



sometimes it is hard to filter out reason ....always shoot from the hip and look them in the eye and be fearless .... feel nothing

“Duva....?”

“Jörn, please....” I say through the door and feel the pulse beat in my head with pain ....feel nothing; I sit on the floor holding my head; and do the mantra — nothing comes in, nothing goes out —feel nothing; nothing comes in and nothing goes out and we are very very far away .... we feel nothing, ignore pain, we don’t feel it here inside

he pushes the door I lean against and I slide across the tile

it makes me sick again by the motion

“no! please go!” I say and feel the need to vomit again but as I’m empty, only am only able to heave,

still my stomach’s intention won’t relinquish and I feel it spasm through my skin; it is like razors inside

“Please go!” I say in between gasps and gagging but he ignores me and ....only then I vaguely I hear him say things to me as I double over wishing to die.... “what did you do?” I ask him angrily through retching and heaving as tears burn my eyes and smear my glasses, “what happened?” I ask him standing up dizzy and rinsing out my mouth but still heaving uncontrollably as I spit

 he says,
“breath....” and stands behind me and makes me stand still

never mind that he says it like an order which makes me shout at him,

“did you set me up?”

but again he says it,
“breath—“ and this time he presses his hand against my abdomen and says something into my ear

he says it in his language to me.... but I don’t know what it means ..... but he says it a few times in this strange way; not a chant but more like a nursery rhyme

it confuses my thoughts and derails wherever I meant for them to go

  even as I feel he has stopped the spasms with his hand ....I think—well, he caused it, and I think it with anger but wonder again over why .... he would —or why the blankness comes that always comes to cloud certain thoughts and yet I find I strongly suspect  —he knew what he was doing

And so I think in my confusion now

I ask, caught against him

“What happened back there, Jörn?”

I start to turn to look up at him but he catches me as my movement disrupts my equilibrium; that strange feeling in your eardrum


“It’s been a long night,” he tells me and as if in conclusion, he picks me up and takes me to his bed

“I saw Gerald before the concert, you know,” I tell him now and read his eyes. But he just gives me an odd look and pulls me into his lap and wraps my legs around him

“Why did you put your phone on silence?” he asks now

I don’t answer that

he did try to warn me about the evening’s danger

after.... I found all his messages

Instead I ask,
“do you have a GPS on my phone?”

“All phones have GPS,” he says, ignoring what he knows I mean


I look at him


Only no....

just because he can pull me into his lair, I wonder if maybe I should know better


“Duva.... “ he stares into my eyes

Electra’s dictionary; ‘Part 2 Film Noir ‘Drama at Lincoln Center’ (jm muse chronicles)





The concert was delayed twenty minutes and excuses made

and covers have to —it seems—remain  

they called it robbery which Jörn claimed to be an eye witness as a cover to explain why he ran after him and with the stir of another new conductor upset among ticket holders, keeping the status quo seems more important than calling attention to what really happened

they told everyone there and the news station that the person was taken to police custody after statements were hastily taken

but as I sat there still stunned on the floor after, I felt like I was still watching Jörn; like a trapeze artist, fly off the gallery and then do an Olympic sprint through the lobby after the mystery man

And for awhile I just sat there somewhat stunned thinking

So why should danger bring me to think about another image from another scene of danger and of running and ..... a pirate and a boat....?

unfinished business .....

as I let Frank pull me up from the floor



It does not register with me at first ....


  ....no, not at first

as it all happens so fast that it feels

events pull you in under its current and makes you part of its drama

At first I watch from the floor as Frank runs back over to me and helps me up

but I hear someone call to me and am surprised to hear such a familiar voice say in its familiar Dutch accent,

“Zo—are you da show stopper of da evening, da dawn ov legend?”

I turn,
“Wow, twice within six months—“

“Seven,” he corrects raising a silver brow at me and as far away as he is tall seems to shrink the surroundings as he shortens the distance between us with an ironic smirk

“Hello, Willem,” I say and notice he is much more neatly attired than last time

“I am to be your escort tonight,” and with exaggeration he offers me his arm

So, no, among other things, it does not register with me at first either about the six giant men who came from six different  directions from behind me as I stood up and ....as I watch Jörn jog back over

 —not even that most of the six were blond and the ones who were not, one had a shaved head and the other indistinct, which would tell me nothing except to leave me with more reasons to question —who is Jörn really connected with .... ?


Jörn comes over,
“are you all right?” he asks me with concern

“Who was that?” I ask him

But I see Jörn and Willem exchange glances, but then Jörn glances at Frank and then back to me and shrugs at me as he says,
“some guys who went to grab a woman’s phone—“ but now his eyes look at me dead-on to say something else to me and he says with just his mouth to me ‘later’  and raises pale brows

Jörn waits for Frank to leave before he goes on to say now,

“Ok, from this point on....” and Jörn looks from me to everyone else standing near by, “I’m not going to let these guys lose sight of you,” Jörn motions to the six big heavies with a kind of snap of his fingers as he says something in rapid fire Swedish that is beyond my current level of comprehension

“Body guards?” I get a chill that makes me queasy

He shrugs,
“we can’t let it leak to the press that anything —uh—political.... is going on—so, the show must go on. I will have you escorted to your seat and Willem will soon join you  —I’ll see you after the concert, duva,” and without warning presses his mouth across my lips, “you’ll wait with Willem,” he tells me

And of all people I would least expect, it is Andreas who comes walking over

“Andreas?” I watch him walk towards me

He smiles,
“are you ok?”

“Oh—well....” as I’m not sure what to say I wait for him

“I heard all the commotion ....” he smiles but glances around and we both see Jörn and Willem head towards the auditorium but I notice Jörn turn to see Andreas as they both acknowledge each other with a nod, “I’m here with Madison,” he adds and it is only because of the way he seems to hide a blush that it occurs to me that this must be the name of his girlfriend; his ex Juilliard instructor

I look around for her

“She’s waiting at our seats —I just came to bring you....” he looks around and it is just a small mannerism about him so much like his father that tells me

And so I follow Andreas up and down hallways

He says,
“are you all right?” As we stand just outside the seating area and as it is time the concert begins, all I can do is nod as I study him a bit longer and I meet his eyes.

I say,
“so how much do you know?”

I see how his mouth tenses to hide a smile but then he just winks at me

*************

As I sit among the audience I am aware of the inconspicuous six men and —the others across the way on the other side of the platformed stage

and once the performance has begun I think about what Jörn once told me —how his spy work keeps his mind sharp for the music

or was it the other way around?

And as I watch him among the orchestra with his cello, his timing so perfect..... his moves so graceful .... you would not think he just intercepted a perpetrator and I wonder how disciplined must he be to focus so well? It is almost hypnotic to watch the way his bow glides and sweeps, as if an extension of himself, and how to listen and watch him is to fall under his spell and I almost don’t even notice when Willem joins me to sit down next to me

**************


It is after the concert that first Willem brings me to a small room downstairs by the lobby.

When we go inside there is Jörn with the six men and..... the man who threw me down!

I gasp loudly as I enter the room as I was under the impression he was at police head quarters

What is going on....?

“Duva! Come here,” Jörn waves at me from behind a table where he sits facing the man .... who I notice is handcuffed behind his back

I walk around and glance at the person awkwardly cuffed to the chair

He could be anyone

I don’t recognize anything about the person and I wonder now about the other one.... the one who did look familiar

and it occurs to me to know from where

I walk over to Jörn and he talks to me as if there is no one else there. He reaches for me and asks in my ear,
“are you all right?”

I look now into his eyes and wonder as I fall into them, what is it about him that makes me ....

“Yes,” I say

“Do you recognize this man?” Jörn asks me loud enough for everyone

“No,” I say but I feel him touch me under my coat out of sight of anyone there

“Henrik—“ Jörn waves to one of the giants “ta bort honom!” and points to the handcuffed person

After they go Jörn talks to the remaining five with Willem and as I try to listen they mostly go over details of what they saw from where they stood and what they heard others say

But I don’t want to hear any more .... and mostly I find I am more overwhelmed with the slow dawning that Jörn is not just some mere peon on the scale of his espionage work as it clearly is obvious everyone this evening seem to ....work for him

the strange dawning of this thought of him ....this image I get.... not unlike the vampire pirate

Instead.... only — as some dark ruler of an underworld.... of spy games

All the way on the ride from Lincoln Center I see over and over the image of Jörn jumping from the gallery and am so lost in thought that when he says,

“duva....?”

to indicate the cab is stopped at our building that I return to my surroundings

As we go up he asks calmly,

“are you still angry at me about this morning?”

“This morning?” I ask

He looks at me with a kind of guilty expression that confuses me as he indicates with a nod

“This morning....?” I whisper again to myself as the elevator stops at his floor and as we walk out, he presses his hand to my waist to urge me along to his door as I am distracted and try to think— this morning?

“You don’t remember our.... discussion this morning?” he gives me a doubtful smile which

 ..... then makes me laugh.

“Yes!” I say because it is something in his smile that reminds me but I say, “was that only this morning? Oh, your piano arrived,” I say as we walk in and it is obvious but I say it anyway

“Yes, I see,” he says thoughtfully looking at it as we walk in

But then he stops and looks at me with such distraction that I stare at him a long moment. What does it mean ....

but instead he unbuttons my coat and takes my coat from me. I watch him go to hang it in his coat closet and then remove his and do the same

He hesitates but then says,

“they’ll be coming back here.....” he watches me and walks over, “it’s going to be a long night....” but he leads me out through the passage between his door to the penthouse. He presses the code and we walk through

I go along because I know there is more than he is able to tell me. I decide to wait before asking him anything

We go to the office of what had once been Ethan’s.

As we enter, it is obvious Jörn has been using it as his own for quite awhile. And it makes me wonder how many trips he has taken during the time we have been up north.

The dark wood paneled walls, although still polished, seem as if..... to have a fresher patina —that seems born of a new era but also I see a tack board with scraps of notes and information next to printouts of people’s pictures

I also notice more equipment than would have previously never been in technology and more monitors and mysterious devices

The four club chairs that face the heavy cherry wood desk have neat stacks of envelopes on the tables beside them

“Would you mind doing me a favor?” Jörn asks me looking around at each chair as if he is imagining the person they represent and then looks at me

“Ok?” I say

“Would you mind making coffee?”

*******

What unfinished business?

Because I do fall asleep waiting for his evening meeting with his guests to end but find I wake up and it is the middle of the night.


And now cannot fall back to sleep ....especially as now I can’t stop thinking of all the wild events of the evening —actually, from start to finish


I go to the window that looks out over the street and then sit in the wing chair by it and stare at the grand piano that just this morning arrived. It looks like the other one back at the Barn house but this one is older with a deeper gloss. I pull my legs up and consider the events as I write into my phone


Because now I think about the oddness of bumping into Gerald. Although, not so odd, really, because he lives by the Met and ..... but I think about our conversation

What was it that made Gerald suddenly change his mind?

Jörn finds me writing into my phone

“You can’t sleep either?” I ask him. He answers with a distracted shrug and a half kind of smile at me as I watch him walk over to the ‘new’ piano —which is an old piano, actually. A restored Steinway rescued from sea damage from Hurricane Sandy, and which is why the restoration company wants Jörn’s review

He wears just the black trousers of his suit, with just the sinewy of muscle to fill out the rest.

I watch him go to the piano. And watch him move. I like the way his hair falls loose in the light

He walks around the piano deep in thought,

“So, the guy, you wanted to know?” his fingers begin with a strong intro, “he works with that terrorist group I told you about awhile back,” but he says this casually as if discussing the dry cleaning as he is listening to each piano key with careful calculation

“What terrorist group?” I ask alarmed

“The one I told you about. I said someone you once knew had connections with ....”

“Retnuh Nivek....” I whisper somehow remembering the conversation

I realize what he plays is from his opera. This is the newer version which I recognize .... his revision has a more sinister quality I have noticed

“Come here,” he says and he moves to pull me to sit within his long legs.

He takes my hands and lays them on the keys and slides his fingers through mine— in that way that he does; that we do; a kind of repertoire we have and always do with a slow deliberation, like a lover’s conversation and is always erotic

We play some chords together and it begins the way it usually does until .... something in the chords change, his fingers over mine .... he presses and as I move to change the chord to one of our habit, he places my fingers differently .... my fingers stumble and the chord is off; he presses my fingers back in place to do it again and this time the right hand responds

only it is the third repeat of this that I begin to feel ill

a heat and a pain .... I pull my hand free and realize my hand has gone all sweaty

“I’m going to be sick!” I say and push away from him towards the bathroom to vomit