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.”