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e.d.jmmusechron/“Stina’s Pawn” reflection scene(from within a fortress)

{Contrast of parallel lives:}

(Scene is ‘Electra’ in bedroom at Southampton’s house after Stina’s proposition about babysitting/spying on Jörn)

panic, like being flushed through a tunnel into white heat that just tastes like fear…. but we don’t let it reach inside…. just a reflex ….hair trigger that awareness ….the awareness ….there’s reason ….for and in the codes as….this is the only safe place to put ….

trust ….

this implosion, I will own it, electra …. I will —I do own it…. as you know, I thought it was a safe gamble but —anyway—fuck; we land on our feet every time, don’t we, e.d.?

to put a marker here, I document here and show you through example how secrets get expressed through literary code…. the language we speak in, my immortal pirate with the vampire eyes

****

I think now of how it felt to be locked in “the dungeon” 

and ….

those days alone inside that crypt where the safe had been

….imprisoned behind a coded barrier 

…..and I think about Stina’s proposition …..not knowing what to do

….the confusion of trust 

    is it such a surprise to face this now?

For, how many times have I had to revise my list of those I can truly trust? ….switching loyalties because they were not whom they said they were 

switching loyalties …. like a repetitive dance until ….you are the only one —you/theCelf—knows who is ever consistent and says what she means 

….yet I always get cornered….

Jörn though…. and I go back over to the towel with his platinum/silver embroidered monogram that shines like his eyes in the light; such powerful kryptonite ….and I think of Gerald’s words when I asked him why should two souls meet again lifetimes later…. I had thought it was to settle some score, they always say that, don’t they? 

but no, I’d never thought it could be ….”to heal”

….so then ….how do I proceed? It would be so wrong to plot behind someone’s back ….and my conscience would never let me….. but also…. how could I ever do that to Jörn? I could not. And then I think about how Jörn said —I could not trust…. only —I do— I do trust him—but ….I can’t tell him I do and —I don’t know if this omission voids it out for its value ….and if it does, what does this mean?

….but then, I never got to ask—does he trust me?

and with this thought I turn to look out at the ocean waves as they work to lull my mind….and lean against the headboard feeling tired 

cyfrinach ryfedd amdanaf - byddaf yn cyfaddef yma yn iaith niwl a hud…. (a'm treftadaeth gudd, gudd)

 does neb yn berchen arna i.  Nid wyf erioed wedi cwrdd â dyn yr oeddwn yn teimlo ei fod yn deilwng i allu rhoi fy hun iddo.  weithiau mae wedi teimlo ei fod oherwydd fy mod i eisoes yn perthyn i rywun ers talwm.  mae wedi bod fel hyn i mi erioed;  roedd yno bob amser yn cysgodi fy meddyliau a'm cof

by that threadbare rope; notes to a stranger/ 25 August 2021

 

always, it is when in my worst hour of need that he appears; he does come to me 

                                                  …..in dream 

 tack

 https://youtu.be/7jYtlPUMRZ8

chi ydyw; notes to a stranger

I wake up with my mind caught in a lasso. emotions and then nostalgia …. destroy me…. and no idea why…. 

if I could, I would admit …. 

and say 

the only grip I have ….tossed out through the cyber channels and volleyed like a whisper ….from the language of our codes —that very threadbare faith …. I am truly heard…. and it is not imagined

         ….thank you

 ac eto, mae eich distawrwydd yn fy llenwi ag amheuaeth nad oes gennych unrhyw ddiddordeb yn y prosiect na….  ydych chi'n aros am yr eiliad iawn yn unig?

for electra: thoughts today

the blog was always the apparatus; the clipboard; the place to gather notes and work out the plots and the characters. that I did it this way and not privately, was—at first, mostly for the convenience of using a public forum that didn’t require having to save everything into documents I’d lose because of my tendency to travel and move around a lot. I could pick it up anywhere I was and look back to old posts for reference. Ironically, I had not expected a certain reader of it to often remind me of certain posts —and—feel more encouraged of aspects and plot lines. so enormously helpful 

Especially when I stopped putting links to the posts through social media, I started to realize over the years of working on a public site, that my aim was not intended to ‘trend’ but to find ….through accident or word of mouth…. my intended following; nonprofit and altruistic and with the purpose to inspire, hence create a pure ‘cause’ or creative humanitarian ‘platform’ but not to be an activist per se; never mind who my father was and dna memory that I have come to realize, cannot be escaped 

As I read through the newer edition of the Decameron, with a fresh interpretation and introduction, I realize more—and some things I had not consciously thought of. Like the format of the telling and the author’s voice, but also, how I somehow fell upon the stories within stories 

evaluating what I have done recently ….I’ve had such moments of terror over my recent choice of moving and circumstances ….(and the instinct not to share this site)…. was it to come full circle? to let go of a past —from this lifetime…. seeing someone in a true light instead of a teenager’s impression and finding that most really…. came from my own imagination. I must consider how often I tend to do this; embellish what is not otherwise there

as then I realize everything is meant to apply because it is a journey of growing and life; comparing a present with so many pasts…. and understand, as a human with flaws, how to pick up a new direction with what those mistakes showed —the expression ‘there are no accidents or mistakes’ seems to be the guided path I have unwittingly stumbled upon as my course 

the present real concern, hence becomes, am I in a physical place to focus…. shifting the blog story format now back to a script format…. but as I have a few years of notes to draw from—but dialogue was always my natural and more comfortable ‘voice’ —I know how to do this….so…. if it means, at present, turning the focus of the project to preparing what I’d always intended it—into a ‘product’ 

electra…. I have always been honest to him about my work, my purpose…. if I am not heard by someone….that is on them, not me…. 

 à quoi ressemble un effondrement implosant

Sometimes in sleep we join

sea air fills my head 

as the voices drift up from the courtyard …. 

I say to ambush …. 

voices linger across the currency ….strategies and plans spoken and hatched…. 

someone else says, 

surprise attack….

Only I don’t want him to go. I don’t want him to go chasing some evil demon….don’t want him to—fear—tempting fate ….and watching the sea as it drugs the mind with its hypnotic rhythm; how it pulls and tugs….you back…. on its currents; ever forward its encroachment onto the temporal earth; pulling away to sink and drown its sandy flesh, leaving behind skeletal shells that fossilize 

….we are all fossils, dust

but we are more than this, 

more, much more, than flesh, 

     more 

          even 

              than ashes

                   and dust….

                       more, 

                           much more too….

                                than de roet 

he says it is ‘to heal….’

I forget myself…. the limitations of the human mind that conflict within but it is so easy to give in to

How I have searched and longed for, in truth 

—why I have avoided anyone getting too close

this bond. It cannot be broken. not even by lifetimes. Still it keeps me

like that first moment when I first saw him…. It was something in just his walk

I recognized….

the way he moved ….

how his hair caught on the breeze ….the hut with the deep fire pit; the beat of metal against metal; the symphony 

“Tell me why you stay,” he says pressing himself deeply within ….as thought and words are like tedious knots; booby traps, confusing and causing any ability to process to malfunction 

“Tell me,” he says and withholds himself and his motions

But dream takes over, and I watch the shadows on the wall…. and listen to the pounding of the piano keys ….his opera that plays in my mind as I press to him mimicking his motions —and with it, it naturally comes, this urgent need wrap around him, to press to hard to him as I say,

“no,” as I do this

but he does not move at all

“….please….” pressing to him

Only he repeats,

“tell me why you stay,” still holding back

“Please….” I say, and whisper,  “don’t go with the others—promise you will stay here, I don’t trust the others!”

“Stay where—here? The others, duva?”

“Yes, please! don’t make me wait….”

he says,

“wait for what?”

“The sun, you said! Don’t make me wait!”

“Duva….?” he says with a jab in a whisper, sinking deep, pressing 

“don’t leave…. promise me! Don’t leave here alone, please!” but all thoughts dissolve, overcome by the fluidity of his moves 

I hardly hear him say,

“no, never again, duva! I promise —not, never again….”

but I do hear ….as it echoes in the morning in my mind 

…..upon waking

A line of Noir, perched between the worlds; they overlap and collide/Part 1(e.d.&muse, to be continued….later)

 

despondent& seems we are far from free of our plague(s)—how should I move forward? ….like iron laden heavy are the wings, is it worth it all? or am I just crazy ….

….why do they always begin with compliments before they rip you down and find fault with everything and assume they own and possess every corner of your time and mind and free will. fuck

Where does the diary end and the story begin, where do we place the markers and the messages

And as I wait in indecision….

over what it all means…. I ask the universe to show me a path before I disappear completely; mute, unheard, obliterated and meaningless

****

the muffled voices drift up from the courtyard as I watch the waves and lean back against the pirate’s headboard feeling sleepy…. he comes to me in dream….

     

segway next scene/A short from Electra’s dictionary

It is hours later in the master suite, when I am alone, that I think of what Stina said …. leaving me to brood over our conversation on the beach earlier

 she had left my company to return to the others with this parting remark —said almost like an absent-minded afterthought—

“it must be quite curious for you wondering about what Retnuh said— the Will …. and your sister….” 

It is the calculated inflection of her words ….and then the well timed pause between 

“I know if it were me I would want to get my hands on any information that could be dug up on her—any idea who would have access to unlimited personal information?” and then she says, “Quid pro quo …..” and walks away

So I sit there for a long while staring into the waves not realizing how long until I feel the chill of sundown blow from the water. and get up and walk back

only then to find that I get lost in thought again, watching the water from the balcony off the master suite, going over all recent events and conversations with everyone …. and hear the muffled voices from the courtyard drift up from the secret spy meeting outside…. Jörn’s particular, distinctive dry voice often dominating the conversation, with loud responses from the others 

“Do I wait for him?” I say to the empty room, he never said ….how long the meeting would be. nor if he would be leaving soon after …. I think now, and wonder again about the conversation he meant to have with me. And start to feel sleepy ….as I think over and over his words…. analyzing his words for a clue 

but I go in circles and have to give up and go to fill the marble deep tub with water and sit on the ledge and watch it as I wait wait for it to fill high enough, and then, sunk deep into the water and shut my mind to everything 

When I get out to dry off, I notice the towel has a monogram of initials and an insignia…. I feel my face suddenly burn when I recognize both …. design and initials —on all— of the silver gray towels…. Wtf….

 I don’t even have to remind myself that they match the engraving on the platinum pendant I’ve been wearing all year since he gave it to me. I know the design well…. 

How did I not notice this on the towels until now?

I text Gerald from the edge of the massive, Spanish, pirate ship bed 

<what reason do two souls meet again?>

and press send. And as I do I find I am magnetically drawn to stare out into that vast deep blue sea and the waves that hypnotize my mind 

why do two souls meet again….? Are we destined to repeat our past mistakes? Is he still that pirate in the guise of a spy? do things always repeat…. until you get it right? …. but maybe not everyone gets to find out

After a blank space of time of being somewhere I know not where, re-entering the present reality finds me staring at the phone …. like it’s some kind of alien…. when an alert sounds, as if it is from some space-age enterprise and, for a moment, I seem hovered between parallels of realities …. one foot in this world and another in that long forgotten land in that little hut they shared, and now, with the scent of him on the sheep hides. strangely, now, when worlds collide, I feel the overlap within my mind as it fills my head 

A reply text comes from Gerald 

he says:

<sometimes unfinished business is, in itself, a powerful reason>

<but how can it be resolved? I mean—because he was not there in time to save her?how can this wrong be made right?>

<but also to resolve. as your friend, I can be a bit blunt because you can be extremely obtuse so…. don’t pretend not to be aware of your issues of mistrust. your meeting now is no coincidence. what reason do two souls meet again? My ‘professional opinion’ would conclude —what was too quickly taken away, to have the second chance to love. to feel. and to heal.>

today’s thoughts of the legend

 

I find a newer translation of the Decameron at the bookstore which opens the mind to fresh spins of meanings

dearest e.d…..

I hesitate. Because I am worried about matters of the world; places everywhere lately in the world all reaching a dangerous point…. And most troubling and ominous— the resurgence of the Corona virus that mutates newer strains that test the vaccine’s potency…. new cases everywhere being experienced in many places in the world—besides the ignorant protesters of vaccines in this country ….as it brews and stews more toil and trouble as it rampantly rages its venom 

yet my resolution in my cause is only more passionately felt only I truly worry we are at our eleventh hour….. what then, electra?

 ….the witching hours of humankind like some hibernating nocturnal animal 

and …. in my own life I have felt, recently, the way I have imagined Katherine de Roet felt pledging herself to her knighted first husband trading freedom in order to be under protection from predators 

I purge through my purpose and meditate asking for signs my project should matter still —if we face the real possibility of more mass deaths —how is it possible to move forward with actual faith and hope and purpose ?

even though I’ve neatly reworked how the closing scene goes for Vol 1 ….I pause to reflect and watch the world; to wonder over all recent impactful events I find most disturbing to see, reflect ….and search within myself how to visualize some Greek moral; to make sense of life…. and search too for how to drive home what I can imagine can logistically be done; to stay clear on the relevance of purpose of this project and just as important— to make it viably attainable to achieve 

from Beatrice to Heathcliff (edjmmuse)

a hidden door to doorways

It was this queer chill tap upon the shoulder. I mean that day…. I think, at first, it was his walk…. of all things…. he had a strangely strong familiar aura about him …. it was as if I was drawn to stare; as if a magnetic field drew me to keenly focus upon him. I knew that walk before…. how often and how many times have I seen such an image emblazoned on my inner retina …. he moved easily within the faded dreams outline of ….. the pirate on the boat…. his every manner filled in the gaps of memory the dreams had not shown but now made the memory image stronger and more clear ….

And then it was his eyes; that haunting, wild beauty balanced between noble and savage