Electra’s dictionary & film noir/jmmusechroncontinues;Evasions are bullshit

 

When we get into the penthouse, Andreas says,

“What do you mean?”

Only I’m in search of food and head blindly through the darkened halls straight for the kitchens, snd I remember the way as if through muscle memory 

only once at the kitchens does any source of light provide. When I open the huge double door stainless steel refrigerator large enough to contain enough food for a small army and ….

 “well….” as I look inside the fridge …. “hmm….” And start checking dates ….carrots still somewhat firm …. feta; is that yogurt? the spinach may still be ok but then find some stuffed grape leaves and happily find a spot to devour them 

“So?” he says

“So….?” I say

“And….”

“And….?”

“About his silences leaving so many scenarios?”

“Oh.well—that he is living not just a double life but a triple quadruple life. Not is he fucking someone but how many and what kind so what purpose do I even serve in his life? Back scrubber as he has a good laugh at my expense fucking every Tom Dick and Harry, so—then maybe I’m irrelevant and ….I don’t like that feeling, Andreas. It makes me want to ….behave like a terrible brat but—I’m better than that so, I come to my penthouse, you see?”

 si heureux que vous soyez ici!  Merci!  🎄 en ce moment, j'ai vraiment tellement besoin de toi. god Jul

just takes one tap and~gone 

Electra’s dictionary & film nioir; (jmmusechroncont)sketch

 

next scene with Andreas:

We find our way through the fire-escape off Jörn’s floor. The way to the penthouse’s secret other entrance via the fire escape 

Andreas says in a tone of question 

“you are angry at my father….” 

but I only glance up at him and keep what I’m doing. He watches me and tries to read me, I feel it

But then I say 

“There is so much he does not tell me, Andreas ….I don’t mean about the spy stuff. And when there is so much room for silence ….the mind fills in ….MANY…. scenarios ….”

 when the digital clock strikes 6:66 

shut off the alarm 

More smörgås/e.d.&film noir

 

And as I find myself blankly staring at Elsa with, no idea how to respond to that, I sort of just stammer there frozen, “uh….yeah….” on the spot. 

Déjà vu. 

How does she always do this to me?

I turn to Jörn for help but he seems slightly terrified of his mother at the moment judging by the look on his face,

“mamma!”

But she turns her icy gaze at him with her perfectly arched brows that could shoot an apple off your head and slice it with their precision,

“ja, Jörn?  har du något att säga?”

but I don’t don’t know what it means 

But Jörn replies in English,

“really?”

“‘Really’ —vad?” And shoots more arrows 

“‘Nice of you to rejoin the party’? Would you say you rolled out the red carpet in the past?”

“What are you talking about? I brought a gift for her that time when you were —“

“I think your presentation might have been lacking that time too,” but he says this under his breath

Oh right, the perfume. Which she opened on the spot. She thought I needed a shower as I recall,

“oh the Hamptons!” I say foolishly as it suddenly vividly dawns. 

That was the day when we were hiding from Stina and the Swedish intelligence director guy; what was his name? I think it was Marcus ….but now I am here in Jörn’s New York City apartment which …. 

“Has anyone seen Ilya or the penthouse lately?” I blurt out before considering who I’m addressing. Must be concussed 

“Coffee?” Jörn suddenly says and looks at me 

Josef clears his throat loudly and everyone looks at him. When I look at him he gives me a wink, but not within Elsa’s view and gestures for me to go to the kitchen with Jörn with two jerks of his head in both directions respectively 

I don’t need coercion to get out of her line of fire and walk straight for the kitchen. 

“What are you doing? Have you forgotten where I keep the coffee?”

As I’m opening cabinets and searching his refrigerator,

“no I’m starving, I don’t remember when I last ate but ….” most of what I find seem more Ikea than what I know ….”what is this?” I ask pulling a bowl from a shelf

“Mamma’s saffron batter,” he says 

No idea what that means, so I put it back,

“maybe Ilya has stocked the penthouse fridge,” I say and start to head out towards the direction out

“Wait, where’re you going?” Jörn grabs my shoulder and stops me, turns me around 

“Wha—excuse me? I am not obligated to—“

“Duvan!” but it is Hanna now, “I’m so glad to see you—I wanted to tell you news with Eric and I!”

“Oh please—!” Jörn seems suddenly enraged 

“Pappa! You have no business trying to—“

“What am I trying to do, Hanna? Stop you from making a huge mistake—“

I manage to slip past without them being aware, not realizing Andreas was watching from the other room and walks over to me.

“Ambush,” I say looking up at him

“If you really want to get out of here for a few minutes, I wouldn’t mind seeing the penthouse again, but don’t you need a key?”

“No, it has the combination code, remember? Let’s go,” I say

The girl on the train

(or—Like ships in the night) 

and every day she sat on the train and watched the scenery pass her by…. 

she promised herself that if today he was at the window going the other way…. well, this time…. this time she would wave

sometimes he sat in the opposite direction, and how strange to be always on the same schedule. but just going the other way 

and as her thoughts revolved, the scenery flowed by her, and as she daydreamed out the window, she saw the families through their windows in the apartment buildings as the train went by. And ….it gave her such a strange feeling to see, in parallel, lives and families —all doing in unison; the exact same things. Preparing breakfast for the children; variations of the dynamics but …. mostly far too similar. And it made her feel so insignificant. So utterly invisible. Like one of a million ants building their hills over and over and never ever seen nor noticed 

She got lost in thought and suddenly very sad. She wanted to open the window and fly out…. she was disappearing …. 

her eyes blurred and she blinked 

but that was when the other train was going by …..

and ….she’d missed him entirely 

and her mood sank deeper. Well that was just the day, it seemed to her. Starting with the step into the puddle right as she set off, soaking her boot right through. happy day.

she turned her glance to the annoying ads inside the train and noticed some unkind graffiti ….

and reached and took out her phone to find her eBook….re-reading 100 Years of Solitude…. 

She got to the part where the phrase is repeated “he stood before a firing squad….”

And still it boggles her mind

“Excuse me, hey—“

someone said stepping close to her seat and made her have to look up

It was him

“Is this seat taken?” he smiled at her knowingly 

“Um….” but struck dumb, she only stared at his eyes —which were quite nice now that she could see them up close ….as she moved over making room on the seat for him

“You know, it took awhile —but I finally worked out the train time….you always go ….”

E.d.&Film noir/jmmusechrontinyteaser

 And when I am brave enough to face Jörn’s living room who would I expect to give the warmest greeting?

“So nice of you to drop in and rejoin the party!”it is Elsa of course 

of spies & codes

 ….and as my thoughts wander they go to him, and what I know of him is that he would never say if something were the matter.he would give the impression of having his world in control.he would not tell me.he cannot be weak;what he thinks is weak;to show it….especially to me.never.but it is what you do after you recover from your moments of weakness that are what count.but —if it is his pride, then his war is within ….and myself be silent; because, as always, I know he will emerge more powerful in his contrition.yet,id never waver

 i shall miss you

ceiling thoughts

centering….a few days off to find myself and keep everyone the fuck away…. thoughts seem to actually crystallize as I reflect 

so, the longest relationship I had was with ex Chris from 2003 until 2015. And what is strange is that he is from generation X and after so many years of Nintendo and being his twin among his pals with the fist greetings upon entering ….I don’t fit with my generation anymore. they bore the fuck out of me and they can’t keep up with me …. 

purpose —why am I here….sometimes as spirit it seems I feel so much of everything —and everyone around me 

but anyway, what did the grunge generation think?

we were so naive ….but then ….what —the fuck—if…. anyway? I mean, hey, today I got mistaken for a high school kid by a sheriff as I was walking—so, I guess maybe youth is in the beholder or I am a charmed fairy after all 

 like those old monks in their cells. you see? 

~more later electra, dearest, between our dog eared chapters~

E.d.Sizerhands, (a short) deflection;Electra’s dictionary

(another aspect and hint about the Electra theme and patterns)

I remember as a child standing by the bedroom door after I got one of the beatings. Of course I did not know about biology or whose I was back then —or what that meant, but ….to me I thought he was my father. So I would wait at the door after each time he hurt me for him to say he was sorry and say that loved me….”

I look up at Jörn as I say this, 

“I thought each time that he intended to just ….throw me away ….so, maybe now you may understand what my anxiety is about….” I don’t say 

He comes up from behind me and leans into me then, drapes his long arms around before he says in a deep whisper into my ear,

“I will never abandon you….” 

https://youtu.be/UKoCj_xU8L0

(don’t you see him as a spy?)

Electra’s dictionary/Invisible Ink;scene continues

 

He says to me,

“I do see you.”

I am by his window looking out. 

The distance between us feels infinite

 it seems

 and the energy it takes for faith far less so 

I don’t believe him. He only shows me what he decides to let me see. And I wonder if then he can only see as much of me as he feels in the mood to bother and try. it makes me wonder who I have been in love with—he gives as much as he is inclined and then he retracts as if everything between us never was and so I am the idiot ….but then that means he too is another fraud…. 

“Duva….”he walks over to me and pulls my face up to look at him taking my chin in his grip, “I am your father figure,” he whispers into my ear

I say,

“no! a father—? someone to raise me up high and be my cheer-leader, daddy, no, you lock me out —you don’t allow me near you—how can you see me?” and move away but he pulls me back as I fight him, “how can you see me when you are pretending and playing your games? I’m not at your disposal—“

“Duva—“

“You don’t see me, you stopped looking.”

“I never stopped,” he says

“You don’t even read my words anymore,” I say

“How would you know?”

but what I wish I could really understand is—what is it he is afraid of….? what I would see if he showed me his whole self —or of how he would feel showing it?

left in stitches(scene continues)/e.d.&muse

 

But whatever Jörn was about to say is upstaged by a sudden interruption of more familiar voices entering the apartment in an excited rush and —in a heated argument that…. is making my head pound as their language is not kind to migraines 

“Oh!” I gasp and cover my ears and eyes, “why does my head still hurt?”

“Don’t touch the stitches!” Jörn says as he rushes towards me from the window where he had been pacing to but almost defeating the purpose, I’d hazard to guess, he calls out loudly in operatic tenor,

“snälla håll nere rösten!”

and this rings and seems to echo in revolutions 

“What do you mean stitches?” I am horrified now as I look up at him

But he is too busy looking at the back of my head and pulling away my hair in the exact spot that has been pounding and—

“ouwh! fuck!” I say and reach back to feel what he is looking at—but—he slaps my hand away! with a sort of reprimand —I can only guess— as it’s in his language and I cannot spell what he just said; still, the tone says everything, doesn’t it? As I suddenly feel like I’m ten 

“Your hands are dirty!” he says in English 

“I’ve been unconscious—“ I start to get up to wash my hands but he pushes me back 

“You shouldn’t be walking around —the doctor said,” he tells me and then he looks at me in —that way— which makes me think I’m risking being put over his knee with a spanking if I don’t get back in bed

So I give him a look displaying my surrender because I ….actually don’t care enough anyway 

I get back in bed and crawl under the covers as suddenly it feels like I ran a marathon 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/vampire eyes

And so, because —with the staggered television sounds snd a piece of a conversation that belongs to…. ? …. oh, it’s too involved to quite wrap my head around just yet…. 

my head is so foggy, I sit up and put my head in my hands 

I don’t know what I was expecting but I think it was that when I pulled my hands away from my eyes I would see something …. like a miserable container interior or—the drear of farmland and Sunny’s lodge 

….or, the Adirondaks even….

like the bunker underground I was buried in for so long ….my god was that, like— only just a little over a year ago? No…. then it was the high school stalker ….Shit— how many nightmares can you list off in ten seconds that have happened in my most recent life? ….but….

Now—alas …. it looks like, i have succeeded in losing my mind, bravo, as I am hallucinating or actually having a very lucid dream— unless, who knows, by some lucky twist of fate, I am …. fucking saved from that slow suicide that has been my life as my —magic pumpkin could have arrived in time, thank god, to get me the fuck out of there—as if—at last, and …. nice dream

To be back here

Because as I look around my surroundings —my grogginess wears away 

as again I sharply notice …. those very signature things …. it is that strange otherworldly quality I remember …. somewhat majestic, only actually sexy, yet in a sort of clinical yet most un-dreamlike way as

….everything is white, minimalistic 

—then I am startled with —!

“ni två är som två bortskämda brats, jag kunde höra er i korridoren!” A familiar high shouting voice now says. I hear a door slam. 

Then another familiar, yet slightly shrill operatic voice says,

“vet du vad den där ungen — din pappa — gör?  brat är det rätta ordet, han beter sig som om han var tio med den där överprissatta hörapparaten.  visste du att den höjer och sänker volymen?”

What is going on? I am so confused, I find, as I slowly start to realize this weird dream—isn’t one, and I appear to be back in Manhattan in Jörn’s apartment and in his bedroom 

I hear him now say,

“hur mår patienten?”

And it is Josef’s familiar voice who replies,

“Jag kollade på henne innan men hon var fortfarande inte vaken.  har hon hjärnskakning?  det är inte säkert att låta henne sova.”

“Jag ska gå och träffa henne nu,” I hear Jörn then say and then hear footfalls of steps near. 

A moment later I hear a tap and look up and see Jörn in the doorway of his bedroom 

“How are you feeling?” he says before I have a chance to get a good look at him

I force myself to sit up and prop myself to the headboard and look at him 

And as I look at him ….I say,

“what am I doing here?” only now I see he carries his big cello. 

I see him set it down now as he sees me looking. He walks across the room and draws open the window sheers and looks at the street below for one moment before he turns to me 

and yes….he is beautiful …. sleek golden hair tied back in a knot, a Nordic god….and immaculate as always, I notice as…. he wears his symphony clothes ….?

“Are you playing back at the philharmonic?” I ask even as I realize I’ve not allowed him the chance to answer my other question 

He raises one finger to start to say something but then changes his mind and walks over to me instead and….

Only, it is his eyes ….those ageless, timeless, immortal vampire eyes that dazzle as deadly as kryptonite with their strange northern lights glow and 

it is déjà vu …. because how many times have I looked up at him from this exact place on his ….bed ….but it has not been for ….so long that ….we have been here ….and …. I am so confused and ….

it seems to fuck with my emotions ….

Electra’s dictionary and film noir; smörgås dreams

 

He comes to me in dream …. that tenuous grasping of an energy through the currency. 

it comes in waves, even as sounds are muffled and my senses are confused or ….are they dulled? only, I get such a sense that he is—with me— somehow;

or so it does seem only this thought gets mixed up with a seeming unrelated sound of a helicopter and the smell of the sea…. even as I had been dreaming of a lovely winter’s lake that was frozen with a dove flying in the distance, and through the mist came a man on a white horse …. and the distinct scent of citrus-ginger and leather, like Boss cologne as I seem to be lifted and weightless

And because my eye lids feel too heavy from whatever that strange smell was and the bump before that…. I can’t seem to connect thoughts 

And perhaps it is later when I hear a high pitched operatic voice bouncing off some wall in the distance with a cello, piano and violin in the background but again fall into a thick cloud of strange dreams. 

Strange dreams indeed, because now as I become aware that I am awake and look around, I still think I am dreaming. Because I know the scene well. But it does not fit my present. Of what I thought my present was. Is. Is?

The door ajar. Sounds carry. Loud sounds. 

First loud. Then soft. Then loud. Very loud. Too loud. It’s annoying. It’s a tv commercial. Then it’s something else—a movie, I know the voices —or—

It gets too loud!

But then I hear a very strangely familiar voice shriek,

“om du inte slutar använda din nya hörapparat för att styra tv-volymen så tar jag den där stora hammaren och det kommer att vara slutet på din nya leksak, jag lovar dig att Josef!”

 I think this time maybe you hurt me too deep 

 

e.d. Noir

And so I think 

What I most liked about him was not his typical Nordic characteristics, it is a funny thing because I had not thought to consider this somehow till now ….not the pretty nose, nor the baby blue eyes you commonly see—and why do I think of Jörn now when it feels as if I walk the plank ….of life….to jump into the deep watery depths of foul play that is the story of my life ….I think of Jörn with his slanted vampire eyes, ageless and tattooed on my soul with all the changing colors of the sky and with it all the moods ….how is it I still can long for him ….I wonder ….my vampire is not a pretty boy unless ….he’s in that mood 

Whatever made me think such random thoughts? ….strange…. I think —until …. I realize …..

It seems….ohhhh ….I start to lose consciousness ….even as I hear ….as though after; delayed —the sound of something hitting….. that— I realize, was the impact of something hitting my head from behind 

and all goes black 

     right before my hand slams down and randomly turns on the Volvo excavator ….

Electra’s dictionary & film noir (jmmusechron2continue)

Those moments move in slow mo as we are stopped and nothing happens….I watch the hands on my watch move as my thoughts go madly and wildly in circles; dangling between logic and panic

And I brood inwardly with anxiety, fingers at the ready to start the Volvo engine

and poised there in mid space my mind disengages from my physical moment ….and sink into deep space thought….

And I start to think about how different life is without all those people who are now gone. When you have no one left, you look at life differently

I reevaluate purpose whilst in a semi trapped   and contained 

and when you are no one to anyone and you have no one, the fears of abandonment are long realized so…. behind the anxiety itself comes the sheer panic having to be contained and knowing nobody is there to care to look for you 

and suffocate ….in a container 

when I loath being contained at all

has kept me in this hirghtened state of terror mixed with panic because I am used to flight and running for freedom 

I have not been able to; instead trapped …. I look at the interior walls and …. my body wants to jump out of my fucking skin 

I hate being contained. I need space. I need freedom. I need to walk and pace and do physical things and …. this place is driving me crazy ….and the fear is …. what if nobody ever finds me…..?

Electra’s dictionary & film noir; And the reemergence of arch enemies

 

We must have reached some kind of rest area for trucks, I think, for I feel us slow down and drive past other loud motors. I start to nervously play with the excavator’s functions as I crash course attempt to teach myself how to turn an excavator on (pun not intended) whilst I feel us slowing to a stop to park

My fingers shake as I try to focus on what’s in front of me, silently telling myself that the plan was to somehow go Terminator on who ever I was being held captive by—-and why don’t I remember the moments before it happened ….? Although, I suspect strongly I had to have been hiking locally….so, how many semis do I see tearing through the dirt roads? Quite a lot, come to think of it ….

and wait—yes….it was ….a loud semi —I remember now, and I moved towards the ditch to let it pass me, and ….someone must have jumped out of the back of the truck as it was about to pass me —because I saw a flash of bright blue and red nylon; the kind of accent detail you see on athletic track suit clothes, as it seems, yes, now I remember —there had been a very sickening kind of taste —or smell ….just before things flatlined in my awareness and …..then I—awoke in here…..

I feel a jolt. 

Oh my god. 

It’s working! I feel the excavator spasm awake but just at the exact moment I hear the universal sound of a mobile ringtone….!

I reverse what I just did on the excavator so it shuts down quietly as the mobil alert drowns out any noise before the call is answered 

“Yes, everything is on plan, not one hitch….” I hear the voice of the driver

And it is now that I recognize the person’s voice as belonging to Deiter

Electra’s dictionary; locked in prisms

 

~the truck interior container scene continues~

When there is mostly dim shadow and nothing to look out at, thoughts always seem to go inward, especially without the distraction of a mobil device 

….and so I think over and over about the day’s details for possible missed clues and when I have exhausted these thoughts of any possible enlightenment 

defeated, I think about the larger picture ….of my life

….and to say ‘larger picture’ seems like an extreme exaggeration 

So in this dim darkness going inward, I ask myself those tough questions —those reflecting upon life questions but then, really that is nothing new so I think suddenly …..no, none of those questions ever tell me anything and in the event I am out of time because of whatever fate awaits me when the truck stops …. what is it that I think really really matters in life and in the world ….. and thoughts arrive with a most simple answer ….love….and so I think of my daughter 

And in the dimness of the truck interior I look out into the shadows. And I think, why am I so far away from her? Even as I know why; these years…. 

and it seems as if I feel like how I used to imagine it felt to be the lady the magician saws apart ….

like I feel I am all apart; all in pieces ….not whole 

and…. I think of love ….that other kind of love ….and it seems it has taken me all my life to arrive at the obvious conclusion to what really really matters ….and what I have somehow never allowed myself …. but somehow, it seems I cannot let myself put it off anymore because it occurs to me at this very moment …. how desperately I need it ….god willing it is not too late

(a tiny short) Electras dictionary & film noir/intersection towards a somewhere (jmmusechron)

I seem to forget what I do for hours as I stare into the dimness of the truck interior listening to the hum of the wheels as they spin

It is when I start to become lulled back into a daze from the motion of the truck that my mind starts to relax and I think for awhile I might have fallen asleep.

Until somehow something awakens my awareness. Perhaps hours passed because there is a sense that …. it is much later and yet I feel rather well rested; my thoughts almost clearer than they have ever been ….with a feeling of heaviness about life and time 

I reach to touch the stud in my ear ….it is the one Jörn gave me ….when he said that as long as I wore this he would always be able to find me 

it was that day in the silo …. And now I feel that old familiar ….rush

Electra’s dictionary & film noir; excavation unknown

stare at the container wall seeing scenes in my mind real and imagined; past, present and future…. and think of immediate defense tactics for as soon as the truck stops and the back opens up….

and in between such panicked plans I 

 silently brood upon the ‘bigger’ picture of life and ….the ‘meaning of it all’ 

and without my phone for baring of place and immediate events I feel like Dr.Who jettisoned through space

as the Mack truck goes barreling through the great mystery road that is on the other side of the truck container unit and ….I look at my watch ….as I notice how daylight is noticeably dimming 

the glow in the dark hands of my watch tells me that it is a little after half past six…. Oh where are we going, I wonder …..

I lean back in the seat and try to access my situation…. I mean, I should be a lot more upset about my circumstances, you’d think…. but maybe…. I guess I am actually getting used to trauma 

just take it under my chin

hardly notice it ….but really, where the fuck am I going? 

I am so sick and tired of being upended by people and situations that I never brought on myself, I just stood too close to the view of the twisted perceiver—whoa!!! The truck takes a hard turn ….. ok…. Shit! As I am nearly thrown out of the carriage 

It startes me and I start to wonder ….chance ….and events 

Maybe I’m looking at everything wrong ….I grip the steering wheel of the excavator and glance around into the dimming interior ….and I start to think about the last time something like this happened

Do I think Stina is behind this? Maybe it was time, maybe she saw something was about to go down and ….or….

  

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/of Volvos and other things (jmmusechroncont)(more teaser)

 

looking back now, it is hard to remember all the little details ….as my phone was separated from me at the time 

but it seemed such an enormously long while that the truck drove as the pace it was at and all without incident 

I suppose too that during that time I was lulled into a hypnotic feeling of focused calm as I reflected intently ….upon truly everything …. the immediate situation I found myself in…. the state of the world and things going on in countries everywhere…. Sunny and the life I have been living underground—no, I meant undercover as ….as…. 

Beth who is what yet again ….what am I, who am I ….and what the fuck am I doing here?

I thought about the neighbors, the author/actor who ….

and how or why do I find myself again in danger and there seeming no way out….? 

Yes I think about this, I remember this part well, thoughts going in circles as I martyred myself with unkind words aloud over how sad my life turned out and angry at…. oh…. but it no longer seems worth it you see….you know….anymore….as the truck rolled on….and I thought: this is a professional driver , not a regular criminal, exactly, because I can feel the attention he takes as he rounds the curves….yes, he…. as I heard a cough earlier on …. And so I think…. Was he hired only to transport ….? Or does he even know I am in here? ….scream? I decide against this based on a strong hunch 

Instead I just play with the Volvo buttons snd levers as I look for how to start the engine 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/teaser (jmmusechron)continues

 

….as it slowly comes to me that where I am is in motion, I force my mind backwards to try and recall what I last remember ….as I look around the interior of the truck’s unit, which is mostly empty

in fact, I realize that it was this fact that caused me to wake out of the sleepy fog I somehow got put under ….put under…. ? for now, as the truck takes a turn, I am thrown across the floor of the truck’s studio sized container unit like a pinball and have to reach my arms out and search for something stable to hold onto —as I’m jettisoned and rolled around, and no, I don’t really need to search, though, as I collide into the answer; the only other object in the truck’s container unit besides me, I now am struck against as I encounter it—a Volvo excavator 

should I wonder? But no, out in the middle of farmland and rural country, these really are everywhere. I don’t question. Instead, I grab hold of a part of the step up to the door to stabilize myself and wait for the truck to return to its normal speed on the highway. When it does I haul myself up to the carriage of it and climb inside it, anchoring myself into the seat. I look around inside it trying to figure out if it could be useful if I found out how to start it and managed to…. specifically as a defense or way to get out of here

Electra’s dictionary (film noir 2b ….continued?)

It is on my way back from a walk when someone drives up alongside me and —for just a flash of an instant I think it’s someone I know….only I don’t get to find out 

as it seems either something hits me on the head, or I trip over a rock in the road ….and it is only later when I start to wake from a foggy dream that I realize I am in the back of an empty moving-truck that feels is going at full speed and, without windows for baring— I have no idea where I was going or what time of day

Electra’s dictionary; my guide through hell (jmmusechron)

I have been so shattered. I don’t know where my head has been since…. since ….so, normally I’d think it interesting that my neighbor —who I join in the horse stable to brush down horses with —is also a writer (and screenplay editor)

And as we brush horses, we talk lightly. For I seem unable to access …. my ….self…. I feel mostly a zombie and so cold ….inside ….I am so cold inside 

But somehow, I do not know how, but between her and her husband, they convince me to do things before I realize what I say —because, later in the week, I find myself with her, walking through, again —the nearby historic town of Chestertown and ….finding myself actually charmed ….

is it that I find comfort in the evidence of historical past…. or is the comfort because it vaguely reminds me of Holland with its connection to an historical past, with its medieval buildings lining the streets …. and so, is it for the false comfort of that sense (illusion) of (false) stability ….or just my belief it is evidence of humanity?

Mary talks to me of her published book as we walk the ancient brick street that are awkward and uneven from hundreds of years of shifting…. 

and so it turns out she studied at the Lee Stasberg school in New York …. uncanny! …. I studied at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York and at HB Studio in New York…. We have both been moving around the country and while I spent years in Michigan, she was across the lake in Chicago ….and the oddest sense I feel like I know her husband from some foggy forgotten time 

So what am I writing about? As my mind flew out the window as she drove…. she kept trying to inspire me with ideas (like trying to revive a corpse I feel)

“you need to write and sell it—then you can get a lovely little place in Chestertown….”

I felt as if cotton wool was over my ears and emotions ….last year….? 

I’d have agreed with her ….

and yet I find I think of Jörn …. for the first time

….and later again and again ….like a sleeping dragon who dreams, 

and dreams it feels things ….and then dreams to hide ….and then things seem to ….begin to ….seep through a little 

you know….

since he left on the last mission —it feels like a lifetime ago

and now for the first time in weeks

 I let myself go to thoughts I’ve avoided and ….

I think of Jörn ….

Now must I mark the page to mark the passing of my high school best friend, Mark, he was there at the formation, tot ziens, ik hou van je altijd

 and then there was Jörn 

Birthday blues noir

 

There are times when Jörn and I are apart for long lengths of time ….that I …. I miss Jörn so much….that I print out his picture to feel as though he is with me, conjured ….because being so far from him hurts now in a physical way I cannot bear

but, you seee….you know, I never can admit it to myself….I stand in front of the mirror and I just see ….reflect….reflection….in reverse; so there is Electra….who is what….’he is going to hurt you,’ I say this out loud to that celf….looking back at me. we never say ….aloud just what the celves hide ….’they always do….and why do you let them….? don’t let them in….’ 

and so I have that Celf to blame for needing to; like a shard in a broken mirror glass; one Celf within so many others….this one contains the most sacred emotions that can only survive under lock and key….in a secret vault in a cave hidden by a forest

Thoughts caught in legend keys in electra’s dictionary

 

If I could be anywhere right now, where would I be….

I stop as I write this and wistfully reach out from my inner scope and ….wonder. What about right now? I suppose here is where I am and there are such worse places to be. I have known of some of those. I ask that infinite elusive mind ….out there….why is it so much harder now to read the world news when it seems to summon up the faith has become another sort of elusive.

I think about Jörn and his work, and I think, even to him, it has become just work but….not just….

anymore 

The youth are angry at their elders. They blame them for the current state of the world. Inundated with plastic waste and spoiled resources running thin; like the air they took for granted 

and then take their anger out on anyone older than 28 when they face off from the vantage of their jobs which gives them the power to steal them blind and know how to get away with it

Oh dear, Electra ….what is it for 

If I could be anywhere right now it would be ….in a lovely garden that kept the fury of the world out …. would you come with me there? would you enter my sanctuary where we can forget malice and spite, the wars, the economy and that yawning promise of doom….would you enter my garden ….push down my walls and erect a pillar to stake and claim its safety….?

she was born on a Monday, four minutes to 8 o’clock and they called her dawn

2 weeks later

Up until then she was just called ‘Baby girl’; her mother had been expecting a boy named David. 

The last name was even harder to decide and the birth certificate was late being sent

 I think too that I was trying to find something real, quelqu'un, qui serait là. pour moi. I think I just had to wake up eventually and that is why it hurts so much

 I suppose this is why I am feeling so lost and disillusioned ….

rose glass dome

 

All day locked in thought. Thoughts. And look upon the steps and roads, how they link and seem to go somewhere if seen from altered points of view, and yet go nowhere just the same, but even nowhere is somewhere. Isn’t it

well I don’t know 

   but it has to be a somewhere 

and how I mean this is, in relation to that realization of, those things in life I once thought I had wanted

   I’d been on paths 

they took me somewhere 

but then I wound up nowhere 

anyway ….and I wonder, would it have mattered if I’d just stood still

didn’t go anywhere, if I stayed right where I started 

it has been this sprint through life

of wasted time; wasting time 

but I’d not have known unless I tried it so…. was it wasted? ….well…. sometimes I think so 

even as I know, it would have driven me mad to not have known had I not tried 

   those roads 

that wanderlust in me

I was so restless …. I never could stand still …. I couldn’t stand it, standing still…. wherever did it get me 

but I know I would not want to go back to most of the places I ran away from —all the places I ran from, I don’t regret leaving where I ran from yet, there remains one place I left that I did not want to go, never wanted to leave —yet I never could go back to

I think there is an uneasiness inside me, I imagine it was because I’d been uprooted before I understood where I’d been born and adapted another country’s ways that was never meant to be mine. And I look at this world with its wars. And the peoples who flee. Refugees, homeless and cast out or —killed 

I don’t understand this human experience. This kind of ownership of a land. 

we are all people. And everyone is walled up

I don’t understand

I am disappointed, I guess. Those peaceful people ….now seem so prejudice to me….no little China? No little Italy? Says one place. Fighting Hitlers and killing for false claims for a new evil painted another shade of white but black or white or red or yellow, I can’t even eat meat, so what is wrong with me?—clearly I don’t belong here, I am the little prince with my rose in delusions

I guess this is why I say I don’t like people, nobody is willing to tolerate, they only impose and dictate and listen to themselves and agree with their own echoes  

 sos

 so the answer to that riddle is….

     ….they cannot see past their own selves

so remain invisible 

  unless I could be proven otherwise 

but in this isolated moment that came to me the other night burning with fever, that separate plain wherein nothing else mattered but to keep afloat from danger; fighting my own dragon ….what is real but to be and to be really seen and exist in that truth

because the rest means nothing at all….

Today ….

There is a professor of literature who teaches at the university and it seems, lives down the next road. I didn’t know until today when I was accosted by his black lab. He tells me he’s been away all summer at his villa. I didn’t understand where. He speaks with a French accent. He seems to not know the neighbors which explains why no one ever mentioned him to me.  

Yet, his dog has been obnoxious to me all summer. I ask him,

“so will he be nice to me now that I have been invited inside?”

“No. I doubt it,” he says, matter-if-factly

I want to say,

“maybe you can leash him?” as I rub my ankle where his teeth didn’t get through my boot. But I don’t say that.

As I throw the book into my backpack he calls to me what sounds like 

“Return….jen-ever.”

I am almost all the way back when I figure out what that means   

 

Communist manifesto, the prince or man without a country?

The little prince 

I pick the last wish

 

society is a deceased and greedy parasite. it charges you for sucking you dry. it encourages supremacy as it relishes in its self conceit and entitlement for superiority 

 

Off topic; regarding ufo’s

I’ve never had a lust for the lore of the supernatural or of ghosts or aliens, while I don’t deny these exist, I have just found myself uncomfortable in situations wherein evidence of such things were. 

I know, being an ‘empath’ makes you vulnerable to those of whom prey upon such minds and opens you to types of savagery I know I am no match for, so for this reason, I usually avoid the subject

Saying that, I would be remiss to ignore the importance of acknowledging all such entities if only to express that like with all possible dangers in life, we should have our guards up for the possibility of encounters we may prefer not to have to experience. 

I have been in the presence of ghosts, like many have; harmless ghosts, sad ghosts and demonic. But I don’t tend to stick around when I feel they are present. That is not part of my explorative journey this time

And supernatural? Well, what is that really? Such a broad term. But one avenue of this I guess it is possible to claim a connection, as others who know me can attest to being with me when actions I performed would be described as exactly that; supernatural 

I mean…. perhaps just to say, I intentionally set out to find a person I lost contact with for six years, and, with a friend present to witness this, I was able to channel his energy. I found him in a grocery store knowing he’d be there after driving around Long Island New York for two hours. He was a very significant ex boyfriend and we had always had a strong psychic connection and had shared several psychic experiences with each other during our relationship. He and I have remained close ever since that day and always know when the other is in trouble.

But I don’t write about this now as a means to impress readers as I don’t have any interest to boast about such abilities because that is not in my interest nor even interesting to me; I’m not looking for attention and rather prefer to avoid attention. The only thing about this ability I will say now here is that, I know the purpose it serves when I am called upon to exercise this kind of thing. It is for purposes that are not intended to be self serving or vain. I try never to abuse the gift I know that it is but sometimes when I have been deeply distraught by accident I have tapped in on the reflex to take it to a level I called upon it for.  

But….as things come out more now, with classified information being admitted in the news media, I have wanted to write more about

the encounter I did have regarding an Unidentified Flying Object…. I have wanted to elaborate on more here

merci de veiller sur moi.  Je crains de tomber à travers l'espace si tu n'étais pas toujours là pour m'ancrer.📌

The Electra; Electra’s dictionary & film noir (jmmusechron)

Jörn walks across the room, it faces out to the northeast, it is a private room within the silo. 

At first it is hard to hear what he listens to. But after a few clicks on the volume, it more clearly comes …..

voices talking ….then just one voice ….a familiar voice. Too often silenced. A voice that speaks mutely. A voice that’s never heard. Like screams that never reach the walls. Like pleas never begged to be heard 

like secrets. like secrets trapped inside…. a choking throat by hands hands that crushed a spine ….with pale and ghostlike fingers weakly prying with a desperate strength for release, for breath, for screams for help, nothing goes out….nothing goes in….and we are very, very far far away

this will not affect us. this will not hurt us. if we don’t feel then they can never win….nothing goes in and nothing goes out and we are far away

The voice from the laptop fills the room, a voice disembodied which seems from so many life times ago

She said:

“I used to hide in her closet. I knew I could never be found if I stayed deep inside the shadows. I would hear how he spoke to her. And through the crack in the doorway, I saw the way he treated her…. she was better than him, he did not deserve her…. the things he said, those names…. I would never be that to anyone…. she was just property to him and a filthy toy…. I would never let anyone touch me that way…. I would never be someone’s toy…. And for years, all men became him to me, all men seemed to look at me the way he looked at her…. so when he called me names like his filthy spawn, they confused my gender until I didn’t know what I was…. but I just could never be what he made her be….”

Another voice cuts in,

“tell me about the boat….”

Another click, to raise the volume, pull the curser back to replay….

“Tell me about the boat….”

Jörn….. 

“Yes….”

“Whose boat was it?”

“The man’s…. our secret…. we could never say he would spend the day with us….”

“Where did you go on the boat?”

“I don’t know…. it docked at the restaurant that time….”

“Where was that?” Jörn asked

“Miami ….we went through the other way and oh….yes….it was called ‘the Electra’….”

If a moment could freeze and shatter ….and a Celf become reborn ….and disassociate 

She watched him stop the recording and pace across the room

 joyeux anniversaire mommy, comme tu me manques

💔

 

she writes….

I have come to see, the muse is the only thing that is real. he follows me through my days, he is always there. he will never abandon me. and as I know I watch him, he is always watching me, inverted worlds that exist in their private realms; energies that ride upon the currencies exchanged through real and forgotten memories and spoken in a legend that only alters as it requires to what cannot be expressed in any other way

when the does a muse choose to be the voyeur?/e.d. (jmmusechron) film noir

 

Within the Cell we step out. And the chains follow us. The prison is real and incarcerates. But the mind can walk away. Can split into as many cells that it may require. It can watch the muse play voyeur and become the watched who watches

we are free and nobody owns us. we are free. we can decide not to feel. not to take the blows. they do not affect us. we don’t need anything or anyone. nothing comes inside.

She walks away. She goes. She sees the muse at his game. when he puts down his bow and steps away from the cello, he shuts off the tracks and removes one hat for another

the recordings play

there are cameras everywhere. and from the silo bedroom, she sees him now. She found the app on his laptop. 

she clicked because she

just had to know

e. d. Noir; a muse’s promise

 

“I know you have had your share of those who have let you down and abandoned you and about myself I know you have had your doubts but— it’s important for you to know. For me to tell you…. I want you to know something, duva….” and here he pauses and looks into my eyes, “you are not alone. If anything should ever happen to you….” he takes my hand and looks into my eyes, “I am with you, every step of the way….”

Electra’s dictionary and film noir; of broken doves Part 2/the Muse revives the empty spirit (jmmusechron)

 

“I wish….” but I stop myself and lean against him, “sometimes I wish we could go back….”

“Back to where?” Jörn asks me

“….home….to where ….” and I take his hands which have gone to my shoulders massaging along the curve of my neck but I take them now and put them back onto the piano keys ….and yet I stop there and take both his hands and kiss the knuckles ….and then look at them to marvel over their unique characteristics I now know so well and know all they are capable of….their music and their artistry 

“We can….” he tells me, pulling aside my hair to kiss my neck some more and say into my ear, “I will be performing at the end of the month and I was going to invite you as a birthday present…. It is a special invitation only appearance at the Swedish opera house. You remember it. But it’s to attract investors for a friend of mine and —well, you are actually part of the attraction.”

“What do you mean?” I turn to look at him

“But—wait, I was going wait to tell you  as a surprise, now is not the moment. First, I want you to understand why it is important for you to remain here….”

“Why? Why can’t we just leave? I want to go—just go back to New York and to Ilya and the penthou—“

“Listen to me—look, I can take you for a visit but for now it is important you are here….”

I turn to look at him,

“Jörn….”

“Duva…..” he takes my face by the jaw into one hand and studies me with a look of apology and sympathy as he says, “yes this world is not what it was when first we met and—with Covid and the madness of war….which brings me to the point of why you must remain at Sunny’s because…. we now know his connections to the events of January 6 and some intel on things that show that there were conversations he was privy to involving the last presidency and Putin where —let’s just say Pandora’s box was opened and we are now living in what that has brought about….so this intel, we think….”

“You think what—there is some information hidden there? I doubt it, all his technology is antiquated!”

“He wants you to think that,” Jörn says simply and after a pause, like an after-thought, “and everyone else….because it is convenient to….”

“You are waiting for an opportunity to snoop around….”

“I want you to. I think there are things hidden somewhere on the property. It would not be mainstream technology. It would be some other method. And it would have valuable information.”

“Valuable?”

“Nuclear ….”

Electra’s dictionary and film noir; of broken doves (jmmusechron)

 

“I’ve realized that the things I once thought I wanted in life…. I don’t anymore….” 

I look up at him from the grand piano. He looks up from his phone and back at me from across the wide silo bedroom and holds my gaze for a long moment. 

He puts his phone on the Art Deco dresser and walks over to me slowly. The sunlight catches in the gold of his hair as he walks towards me. He wears a t-shirt with jeans that is a steel grayish blue, the color of his eyes in the light and the light seems to pass right through his irises with that vampire brilliance as though it lends a visual power. For a moment my thoughts are stunned to silence. 

He stares into me as he nears me and with his eyes still biting into mine, he lays his fingers on the piano keys and plays three notes in succession as he strikes three keys. Pauses. Then four….

what is it….? ….I know this one…. 

but his eyes keep me from thinking of anything 

“What do you want, my little dove?” he says this somberly as he nears me as he stares

“I ….don’t know….” I look away and cover my face and eyes with my hands and speak through the mask of my hands, “the world is such a different place ….now….”

I hear him move, hear the sound of the fabric of his jeans brush as he moves and then feel him sit next to me on the piano bench

With his attention focused on me now I struggle with my thoughts to focus them,

“I don’t like this world, Jörn….”and now I feel him press a kiss on the top of my head as he pulls me into his embrace 

He whispers,

“min lilla duva …. världen var alltid ful.  du väljer bara att inte se det….”

“What?” I ask him

But he pulls me across his lap and sets me to sit between his thighs and takes my fingers with his hands on both mine and lays them on the keys. But we don’t play. Instead, he bites my neck

“Tell me, min lilla duva…. what was it that you thought you once wanted?” but with each word he says, he goes from biting to kissing my neck and whispers into my ear, “tell me....”

“I wanted…. some idyllic ….foolish…. possibility…. that was once inspired ….by my historic ‘mentors’…. of the Arts…. but I should have realized ….that even ….Nike of Samothrace ….lost her head….” I turn to look up at him and stare into his eyes for something real to grasp, “but they are just memories left behind, aren’t they? Memories of their dreams that could not last….” 

Je suis juste épuisé. où est-ce qu'il y a une transfusion….?

de la vie. J'aimerais que tu sois ici. les cellules m'emprisonnent…. je sais que tu t'en rends compte. mais ou es tu?

Thoughts of mind

 

On the subject of disassociation, there has been much research and discussion; as a disorder but also the phenomenon. What it is —is an adaption; the self defense within the brain which is triggered by some shock

The brain and the mind are the most powerful forces of a human.

And so what of repressed memories? The mind has the power to keep its terrible secrets even from its own self

The brain emits electricity 

and it reacts to outside impressions 

Essentially, the brain is an energy source

The brain may be organic and temporal 

but the mind?

the consciousness ….? 

when I reflect upon dna memory …. to consider that it may be possible for a brain to pick up on an electrical signal emitted by another brain

is it not possible then to consider that the mind may tap into realms of the electrical energies that are absorbed into organisms and objects which are receptive by some porous ability ….? I suggest this  as a hint into ….things that I have been able to know without knowing how I know

Everything that ever was always is

It just transforms into another form

If our dna contains the fingerprints of its predecessors how is it not logical to suggest we sense their memories?

“I do,” the conversation/Departing Electra, in overdrive

 

“Not to state the obvious,” he says now, “I’m not trying to be obnoxious, I don’t mean to insult your intelligence but…. but what about sat-nav?”

“What-nav?”

“erhm— Google it, perhaps??? ….Google maps?”

“Oh, GPS? You mean like Waves or Mapquest? Well, yeah, they sort of have something like that for RV’s —because, you know, you can’t go on a lot of the same roads as regular cars in some places, you know—like parkways, or even some tolls,things that have low clearances— you know— and also, the general weight of the vehicle, not just the height, you know, just like semis ….you know, Mack trucks?” 

She realized she was talking much too fast. He was making her nervous. She had a tendency to keep babbling with a lot of excessive words when people made her self conscious. Was it because of how he was looking at her? Or was it because she was afraid of seeming like an idiot — or even worse than that, a crazy wacko 

“Oh, lorries?” he asked staring at her in that enigmatic way of staring. At her.

 “…..anyway,” she said quickly looking away from his eyes that were so distracting that she felt confused as soon at she found herself again pulled under their gaze, “—the gps ….cuts out quite a lot be-because -th-the connection….? —it— gets cut off —which ….is what happened when I —I—got stuck by the way! Ha! Uh yeah! Hah!…. I ended up about to —pull onto a bridge where ha! So, uh—I wasn’t suppose to—not really like allowed to go on—and guess what happened there?” she imitates a police siren and uses one hand over her head as though pretending it is a flashing red light on a police car going “whoo-whoo!!!! Whoo!!” she shakes her head and shudders from the memory, “and, sheesh! that image of the huge river under me ….! I still have nightmares about it—but it was just —actually— hah! just last week —! actually….actually …. yeah….so…. uhhh…..”

“Hence the map in the travel section….”

“Um—yeah—that…. hmm, y’know….? shhhit…. I should have remembered to buy it….”

“So what do you do about internet? You just go into bookstores or coffee places and use their WiFi?”

“Well, sometimes I do that too if—see—I have a jet pack which usually works great— unless—it’s like— it’s a kind of router or satellite but it gets flaky in some especially rural or mountainous regions so—I like to map out my directions by hand on a piece of paper or search for those rare things you can’t find anywhere, once known as ‘road maps’….” (and here she does those silly two fingers thing but as she does she seems embarrassed and stops herself thinking how stupid she keeps doing that….he was making her nervous how he was looking at her)

“Just—wondering—you—do you ….you live here—?—is that, full time?—I mean—what do you do for electricity or….?”

“Yeah—uh, you can say that, I guess—it’s a long story but—so—this RV has full utilities—so, you can still play your Super Mario Nintendo, so don’t worry—“ she stops deadpan and stares at him

“Sorry?” he then said not sure if he heard right and tried not to start to laugh or break into a smile

“You just seem like a super Mario brothers type….”

“Me? No—what gave you that idea?” but he smiled unable to stop himself

“Yeah, so—anyway, it’s like got like its own generator but I can connect to —y’know, like when say at camp grounds —some offer an RV hook up for electric—so—uh—I always take it because…. I mean….it saves on my propane supply,” she turned intentionally away from his gaze now and as they were facing the front of the vehicle now she kind of leapt towards the drivers seat area and then threw herself down onto the drivers seat, as she continued to talk, looking blankly out ahead at the parking lot by the Hertz rental shop, “….so things like water and dumping waste, it’s like you look for the places —they’re like, y’know, dumping stations like along on the way —so for filling up your water supply and for dumping….so ….when I got lost and wound up here, where’d you call this place?—Electra? Weird name, I didn’t see it on the map….”

“It was on the key by the legend,” he interjects 

“Oh? —so anyway, this is what happened—this morning, like at dawn—I was just leaving the dump station after I refilled my water and when I went to put my foot on the gas pedal it just stopped going—in the middle of traffic! I was like—shit! What the fuck! I was like a beached whale stuck in the middle of this fucking highway and —at first there was not a car in sight until suddenly—boom! I created a fucking traffic jam!!! No idea where all these cars came from so I was freaking —and the motor cut out and….already, a hundred degrees out….”   she stops suddenly there as if feeling she had said by far more than she ever wanted to say and wishing she had shut up after just answering his question. Why did she say all that?

“So you need a navigator —basically, is….what you’re trying to say,” but he was openly teasing her

“And you need something to pitch…..To your publisher.”

“….I do….”

A departure from Electra/Tour de force

 

And so for a moment either was stuck looking at there other, unaware that they were ….staring 

they did not notice until at a certain point, they only became self consciously aware they were doing that. But unaware the other was doing it back

and both tried to smooth over the moment of this with some such casual move like, saying—

“so—“

at the same time

while tilting their heads and looking away 

so unaware the other did this until they said what they said at the exact moment

and then they both laughed. Awkwardly. But then it occurred to them it didn’t seem to even matter and if anything, broke the ice of the obvious elephant in the —tourbus

“Ummm….” Adair said and finished her tea, standing up as casually as she could to wash her teacup, going to the sink. With a kind of sigh with seeming casualness, she pulled aside the kitchen curtain to look at the view ….noticing the road outside 

“It looks like rush hour traffic is thinning out….” she said by way of conversation and then, by now sort of having read his mind, she said, “maybe you can help me with directions actually—to navigate where to go….” and let that sentence dangle where it may

“How’s that?” Simon stood up to bring over his own tea cup and moved as if to wash it at the sink—but as she moved to her right again unexpectedly just as he moved, her intention to wash his cup for him, they collided in the sudden surprise of their moves. And as he had almost knocked her off her feet with the weight of himself knocking into her, he reached out both hands to her shoulders to steady her. 

And it must have been the surprise of the contact. The surprise of his hands on her shoulders. How it felt. And how unexpected the sensation. 

Even as she had noticed her attraction to him right away standing there in the travel section of the bookstore. And he seemed to like how she fit into the cradle of his arms as she fell into him—just at that moment. Even as he had only noticed her at the bookstore because he liked the shape of her small ass in the cut off jeans she wore and how long her legs seemed despite her minute height so that she seemed to walk on stilts like a ballerina 

“Ehrm….” and politely he held her back from himself, forcing thoughts into civilized directions with a conscious effort to forget the memory of his first glimpse off her ass from across the travel section, “I’d love to help you with directions….” he said

When she said 

“Oh!” as he caught here

Then,

“….yeah….” her face deepening in color turned up to him as he looked down at her with those two different shades of green…. one like a teal and the other a like ….sage….with a sweeping fringe of dark eyelashes below dark brows—“uhhh….”

“Where….?” 

He seemed first to regain reason but only as he was better schooled to hide it and smiled down at her

“But don’t you need to be somewhere?” Adair asked him

“Fuck it,” he laughed, “I can make up an excuse—‘the flight was canceled’, ‘the pilot has Covid’, ‘I tested positive….’” Here Simon shrugs 

Adair laughed and became suddenly caught up in his enthusiasm,

“really?” And she laughed some more, “could you really just do that?”

He looked at he frankly and smiled,

“do you know how many articles I’ve written on travel? Business class, coach, first class—a weekend getaway, ‘a Cotswold’s weekend’ ‘Four Seasons at Central Park….’” and here he fakes an exaggerated yawn, “I’m so tired of appealing to the entitled upper crust ….I’ve been trying to break away from those tired travel guides and do something independently….” 

Adair just for a moment took in his look upon her. Then dropped her eyes. She took his cup to wash it and after she dried both cups and secured them in the cabinet beside the kitchen window she said, 

“So you want to go on a Fleetwood tour instead, and write about that?”

“Write about it….film it….live the Kerouac dream—who wouldn’t?” and this time his laugh is half mad and ecstatic 

And contagious. 

She laughs too. They both seem unable to stop.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” She says again 

“I tell you what, if I can pitch this to my publisher ….this would be the break I’ve been looking for—so, where do you need navigating?”

“Well, you see I have the worst sense of direction—I get lost just getting out of bed if I turn the wrong way so…. see, I’m supposed to deliver a dozen Amish quilts and pick up more and —I really suck at directions but they always let me stay there for free, so—I’m on my way first to Philadelphia then New York and then after that Michigan and a few national parks where the quilts are really popular. But the pow wow in New York has Native American trading posts and….”

Only she found herself forgetting what she was saying too lost in her own babble and stopped to say instead,

“are you any good with directions?”

 how is it they don’t let go; that barbed wire tugs like a hungry barracuda …. to drain more energy away

 the pact given by the arbitrator is a dare of trust

but only in that moment do you know 

so the dare becomes a dare of trust or…. inevitable doom

anyway

so you close your eyes and jump

and hope the woven net will be there

….and embrace you

     it is the ritual behind why the Celf keeps going….will it arrive in time

but it helps even more if there is also physical pain in which to keep thoughts at bay

and within the darkest cell within….

there is the cry for release from the hell inside

the entire purpose of the ritual is to distract the mind so well it cannot stop to reflect upon doom 

whatever the activity, however like even the treadmill it may be

The rockstar bus Fleetwood tour

 

“I didn’t realize the time,” Simon looked at his watch and paused in thought before he looked up at her, “my next destination is the rental drop off in twenty minutes —erm…..” now looking down at her with a slow and oddly inspired smile 

“You need a lift to, where—the airport?”

But the balding guy garage owner returns now obviously irritated,

“you guys need to move it, it’s jamming things up here,” and he points to a chaotic incoming mess of cars, “it’s ‘Oil Change Wednesday Special’ and our 9 to 5ers are pulling in so….”

Simon turned to Adair,

“would you follow me to the Hertz rental? It’s just down the road?”

“Sure,” she shrugged thinking, ‘why not? One favor deserves another’

Heading down the five lane road of traffic with the tour-bus Fleetwood RV behind him, Simon watched her maneuver the road craft from his rear view with curious fascination considering she had to be about nine or ten inches shorter than himself and didn’t look more than ninety-eight pounds; how did she drive that thing? But found himself break a sweat watching her take the corner pulling into the parking lot of the car rental but to his amazement, she did it like a pro

When he got out of the rental, he opened the car trunk and removed a suitcase and after setting it down next to his briefcase he hesitated, 

“Can I leave these with you as I settle the bill inside?”

But as it seemed to be taking longer than she would have wanted to wait outside in 99 Fahrenheit degree weather, Adair dragged the suitcase and briefcase up the steps and then into the rockstar sized tourbus RV and went inside, then shut the door to turn on the motor and started the AC, sitting down in the driver’s seat with the air blowing in her face and watched the door of the Hertz rental for Simon.

When he came out he looked around outside for her so Adair pressed the horn and waved at him. 

“Whoops,” she laughed to herself —she forgot how loud the RV’s horn was! —it seemed to quite surprise everyone in the parking lot —and she noticed, too, able to see through the front glass window of the car rental building, all the customers inside.

She opened the door from inside as he walked over 

“What was that about ‘over compensating’?” he asked her but as he was laughing, he stopped as he went up the steps to go inside ….not expecting the interior to look ….as it did—quite this way

“Don’t let the cold air out!” she grabbed one of his arms to pull him in and shut the door behind him, “it’s so hot out!” she said and threw herself into the nearest seat

Instead of the driver’s seat she sat somewhere else

 ….and only now just noticing Simon’s reaction to the interior 

“Yeah, it’s different, right?” she asked him with a light hearted and teasing chuckle 

“It’s ….what? Boho?” he was still looking around pulling at the macrame curtains along all the side windows which were not visible from the outside through the dark tinted glass —except for one window over the ….kitchen sink he noticed ….as there was a kind of herb garden on the window sill

“Oh you like my garden?” she asked him standing up to point things out, “that’s sage, smell it—so good, isn’t it?  I want to see about having like a roof top garden, wouldn’t that be so cool?” And then she seemed to decide it was time for a tour, “let me show you around—you’ll love the living room, it has the best view—“

“Erm—maybe…. the Hertz people wouldn’t appreciate your ….?”

Adair seemed to find this a surprise,

“did they say anything?” and she turned to go have a look through the front driver’s windshield, “naa—they’ve totally forgotten about us. It’s cool about the tinted windows, they create a kind of stealth screen around us almost. C’mon, let me show you the rest of it, then I can make you some English breakfast tea and you can tell me where you need me to take you—your ‘destination’ ….” And here she used her two fingers on each hand like quotation marks playfully mocking him, but then waved him to follow her, brushing past him down the center isle, past the cafe table where there was a small plant in a terracotta pot that for a moment Simon found himself transfixed on in a daze of amazement 

Then after the showing off of the living room, with the cozy boho loveseat and rocking chair she said,

“bedroom, bathroom through here….” continuing the boho theme through out with macrame wall hangings and lots of green things everywhere, like the mandala tapestry that lay over the bed and a few scattered Moroccan poufs, “let me show you how to flush the toilet— there’s a trick to this one, I mean, if you need to use it, just in case….”

“I—are you sure you —don’t want to get moving along?” Simon reached to pull aside the macrame curtain to the nearest window, this one was the bedroom’s. But to his amazement, she was right, no one seemed to care she was parked where she was. It was almost as though they acted like it was a self standing building and were just driving around her. 

“We can—I mean, if you want—“ Adair looked at him thoughtfully, “what time is your —your….? ‘—destination’….?” again she did the two fingers thing with her hands 

He was looking at her in this way as though he wanted to laugh. But wasn’t sure ….and just looked at her instead with a hesitant puzzled expression 

“So, what is it you do?” she asked suddenly and seemed to forget her other question on her way back towards the kitchen as if this was just an every day kind of thing to invite someone in for tea. He watched her start to set up a tea kettle 

“What….?” he said watching her starting to say something about it but then shrugged and followed her over feeling as if he just stepped into another reality 

The cafe table was a kind of cosy little kitchen booth with built in seats made of wood,

“oh all this was custom designed —this man I worked for….he died —yeah, it was sad and kind of unexpected—I mean to me—so, his Amish friends are good builders and he was like saying to me one day what about redoing the RV interior and what I thought about for ideas. I really didn’t think he was listening because he was on a lot of meds ….” by now the tea kettle was done and she poured the water into a big yellow ceramic tea pot with flowers painted on it, “I said I liked Bohemian so—it was a shock when it turned out he left it for me which I didn’t find out till after the funeral…. Oh what did you say you did? You’re here on business I assume with your briefcase, right?”

And only once settled into the booth with their tea,

“you like it with milk, the English way? Do you mind almond coconut milk? I’m a vegetarian ….”

“Uh—yeah….” Simon sat there still slightly stunned as she poured the coconut almond milk in his cup, first before pouring his tea

“Honey? I don’t believe in sugar, sorry….”

“Erhm….” looking up at her from his tea cup (pink Johnson brothers chintz he couldn’t help but notice) “I’m a ….well, a travel journalist ….for travel guides actually….”

“Wow, that’s so cool….” Adair leaned towards him staring st his eyes and noticing that his eyes were slightly different colors from each other —which fascinated her….and it was at this moment he noticed how sensual her pale lips were as she lifted her tea cup up to sip it, “so where are you going next?”

Slightly distracted he continued,

“….I’m —not entirely sure—I’m not really set in anywhere, to be ….honest…. so I mean…. so…. yeah—I’ve been touring America and ….was —have been—actually —trying to get a new angle to uh ….pitch um….as a matter of fact for my ….”

a departure from Electra; Chapter 3/destination unknown

 Chapter 3/destination unknown

They left the bookstore and then were hit with the heat of the day. For a moment he stops and puts down his briefcase, then he stood there looking at her a moment before extending his hand to shake,

“I’m Simon,” he said

“Simon…?” she smiled and for half a beat hesitated before taking his hand to shake 

“I don’t have Covid,” he says to fill in the awkwardness 

She took his hand,

“Adair….”

“Is it?” he asked

But at first she does not get that it’s meant as a joke until she sees the humor in his eyes

“Oh ….! No! —I don’t either….have Covid,” she laughed

He then half turned toward the parking lot then back at her,

“my rental is parked over there—I—I can take you over there as I think it’s safer than walking….” he was referring to the five lane road in between which she had, earlier that morning, dashed across but that was before the rush hours of traffic that had since commenced and by now was teamed with suv’s, tractor trailers and semis all going top speed 

She hesitated and looked from the road filled with traffic and then back at him. She seemed nervous now as if wondering why she was considering letting a stranger she just met offer to bring her to the place where hours before she had been left at by the towing company. But then, it occurred to her that the recent events of her life, much like what had come to be her own every day “normal”, was forcing her to take risks involving total strangers. In truth, there were not a lot of non-strangers in her life to depend on anymore for her ….and had not been for longer than she cared to think about. 

Calculated risks….? she thought now as she studied him, her eyes focusing on the briefcase he picked up and the hand that gripped the briefcase handle. She thought of that R.E.M. song that went ‘when you greet a stranger…..look at her hands….’ and looked at his hands noticing his fingers, and noticing that the fingers were well shaped and the nails were clean and —then with a smile and a hesitant shrug, she followed him to the rental car. 

When they reached the garage, Simon drove around to where the mechanics were working.

He was about to say something but she got out and quickly headed towards the building but Simon noticed a man walking directly towards her.

But what they stopped to talk beside left Simon standing there slightly agape. What surprised Simon was they were not stood by any every day normal kind of motor vehicle but were standing directly beside an old blue stripe Fleetwood RV motorhome.

It took a moment for this impression to settle into his comprehension as he had to get past the general size and the shock. And during that time he watched as the two spoke. The man who seemed to be the owner of the garage was more rotund than tall, with sparse hair on his head, but made up for with other exposed parts; of face, arms, and shoulders, left bare by the wife beater tank shirt he wore and the work trousers that only slightly covered other external more hairy parts.

As Simon neared the two he began to get the gist of the conversation having to do with a breakdown of the work that had thus been accomplished and an attempt to milk the situation by claiming the work might need more fine tuning.

When Simon reached Adair’s side she looked at Simon. 

“Uh….” was all she said by way of explanation 

“So this is your ‘ride’?” Simon seemed to have that English knack for the understatement 

Adair blushed and glanced at the balding man then back at Simon. 

“I’d say I might be ‘overcompensating’ but I’m not a guy,” Adair said as though in light conversation about where  they might eat lunch —all with a straight face and without batting an eye.

That seemed to be the moment when everything changed between them. Because he laughed. But it was how he laughed and how quick on the uptake 

Inside the office things became more unclear as Adair settled the bill with a phone call to a solicitor and then it was ten minutes later when they were out the door and her with the keys.

“So….” Simon looked at her with an odd but intrigued smile wondering if they should just say ‘goodbye’ and part ways.

Adair looked back at him wondering much the same. 

At the same moment they both spoke 

He started to say,

“do you need help with directions or—“

“Thank you for—oh!” she said

Then she said, in reply to what he started to say,

“you must be busy—and all—or—I mean—with…. your—your—uh—life….”

Which in reply, as he seemed too intrigued yet to walk away, he said in reply to that,

“not at all….”

“Oh! So—so….?” only now did she let herself properly look at him fully, taking in his face and eyes—they seemed to be green….the way he held his head looking at her and ….that he was that perfect height and leanness of which she was always most attracted to. And in that moment the strangeness between them instantly evaporated.

He half turned in the direction of the rental car parked a few feet from the RV then back at her,

“actually….I might need a lift as —I’m due to drop that off as I’m in my way to my next destination….”

“Your next destination?” she asked looking up at him curiously, “where are you going?”

a departure from Electra

 

Chapter 1 /depature

It was clear she had no idea what she was doing. And it was also clear she had no idea where she was going. Pretty much, everything she owned was in these two suitcases and the stack of Amazon boxes that reached her hip.

You know those mornings you wake up from fifteen minutes of sleep? Your eyes feel like glass cutting into your eye balls. At once wired and exhausted. 

It was all so sudden. The lawyer showed up and said it was time to vacate and there was no time to organize a plan. It was a week of arranging guests for the funeral and the service and then packing up belongings to send to Goodwill. How sad to handle the objects that once meant something to this old man she only got to know the last six months of his life. He had not really mentioned where he would have wanted these material things of his to go, and some of the priceless objects were from all over the world but his more personal belongings of clothing, pots and pans, the worn out furniture … 

So like a zombie living off the charge of caffeine she had attacked the overwhelming task of organizing things to be ready for pick up for whomever might be taking it. Needless to say it was a surprise to hear the lawyer tell her to stick around once the private reading of the will to the family was over. She sat outside the old mansion on top of the Amazon boxes and stared stupefied at the dusty ground outside by the cue of cars parked out front. 

Chapter 2/leaving a town called Electra

By appearances, it was hard to guess her age, and even if you tried, you’d be wrong. Not even once you started talking to her could you guess because of her laugh and her choices in conversation. In this moment she was dressed in casual cut off denim shorts which she wore with a salmon colored tshirt with short sleeves. She wore black Keen hiker sandals. Her hair was an unusual iridescent shade somewhere between brick and saffron that glowed in the artificial lighting of the two story Barnes and Noble bookstore. She had a copy of the Dharma Bums under her arm while she stood in the travel section squinting through her somewhat nerdy framed glasses trying to read the map she had slightly open so as not to have to refold it again. 

She had no idea what she was looking at. Not even sure if the part she was looking at was anywhere near where she was. Upset, clearly, as she was unconscious that the hair she had pulled behind her ear to better see was twisted around the bar of her glasses and sticking up in a rather comical manner. Not that she seemed to care.

And so unconscious she was being watched until for whatever reason, a movement in her peripheral vision caught her eye and caused her to look up. 

That was when she first noticed him. 

He was standing adjacent in another part of the travel section with a book open. And was not hiding the fact he was looking at her. 

For just a moment she forgot about being lost. And forgot about the fact that she had to trust the mechanic she was towed to and left at early that morning. That was just across the street from a bookstore, conveniently as —she’d been there now six hours. The book store staff kept giving her suspicious looks every time they walked by her, which did not help her feeling of unease about her whole situation. 

Who was this guy staring at her? And why was he? 

He was actually not creepy which was what had her a bit curious. Did he think he knew her and was trying to place her face? 

He was kind of oddly dressed. Too neat. He wore a crisp grayish blue tshirt and khakis with somewhat odd looking running shoes she had never seen on anyone. Yet he was actually cute, maybe too young for her, though, thirties? A kind of scruffy but not quite-a-beard outlined his face and the same brownish shade as his well groomed hair beneath a kind of fedora and —was that a brief case?

She had not meant to appear interested in him but he had made her curious to have kept her gaze on him long enough to, perhaps, give that impression. Which, to her horror, being rather painfully shy, she soon realized when he started to walk over, picking up his brief case.

“You dropped this,” he said bending down and handed her the folded printout from the mechanic which must have fallen out of her back pocket 

“Oh….” she said staring at him, realizing he was English; the accent. Which explained his odd appearance. And, again, for another slightly too long moment, she stared at him because of his eyes. There was something unusual about them which caught her and kept her awkwardly staring at them.

He indicated the map she was looking at with a kind of head gesture,

“road traveling?”

“Uh….” she looked down at the map, “do you happen know the name of this town?”

“It’s Electra,” he said and smiled  and looked more curiously at with a kind of chuckle asked her, “are you lost?”

“Yes. Actually.”

He reached for her map,

“no, you’re on the wrong part—where are you intending to go?”

Shaking her head she looked up at him.

Only now did he realize her eyes looked tired and bloodshot.

“Baltimore?” he suggested

Adamantly, she shook her head,

“definitely not!”

“Then, DC?”

Again, she shook her head. But at that moment her phone rang.

Realizing it was the mechanic she looked at him holding up one finger,

“it’s the mechanic,” so as not to seem rude as she answered.

As he watched her, she listened to the voice of the mechanic,

“you fixed the what? …..” and listened again, “what is that? ….ok….so…. Uh huh…. um…. so then—I can drive it?” And uncomfortable now, she looked back up at him as he stood there watching her, her face turning the same shade as her hair, “….I’m not sure what that means,” she was saying.

“Here,” the man standing there with the English accent now said, cutting in, “let me take this—“

“Huh?” but she let him

For a moment she watches and listens as he talks to the mechanic discussing motor parts she never heard of. He now says,

“and how much? No— I don’t think so….” covering the speaking part he looked at her, “is this the place across the street?”

“Yeah,” she says

“Let’s go,” he says

Electra’s dictionary reincarnates

Break the Mold Media; Electra’s dictionary reincarnates

At your screen it says:

Start: “click here”

Drawing of hands tapping text into a phone and some of the words can be seen

A voice over says as she taps into a phone screen:

Do past and present lives overlap?

I would not have thought so had it not been for dreams I have had which shown of things that turned out to be found at archeological sites 

But some dreans are not dreams

Some dreams can take over your life

—//-

Sound of hands type as a fade into an animation drawing of a computer screen with a man’s hands typing at a key board.

The drawing of the desk is a messy surface covered with details of the person whose desk it is faded behind and too blurry here to see

What is dimly visible in the shadowy room is a half empty cigarette box, matchbook left open, crumpled post-it papers, several soda-pop bottles with most of it drank, a coffee cup with a molding substance crud-ding it, and a half eaten pizza slice

at the top of the screen, the company logo that reads: Break the Mold Media

—just out of view of the drawing’s image— A desk phone suddenly loudly rings 

 

there is such a need to never come out, and that is what is so different; as I write here now and think about things which came in succession these last several years

when I refer to the genre of fantasy fiction I think of writers like Tolkien and the great old fables. as I consider this it is that, I suppose ….the journeys of the soul that I do often grapple with to make sense of

you see, as I don’t want to come out, I won’t come out

so how do I proceed anymore ….this path feels like it has overgrown weeds and broken stones, I don’t know 

it just seems foolish to bother and try when I know better than to bother, I don’t want to come out anymore 

 

using poetic language is one form to hide within codes but I can also see how it may be possible to use the genre of fantasy fiction to do this too

 

the surgical prod into the infection …. begins here

what I came out of six months ago—did my head in and in such ways that perhaps was my most damaging of all experiences 

partly for the length of time I endured it and much because the person(s) was/were a part of my past and used this/these things cruelly and sadistically ….what I could not clearly see was it was because of their jealousy and so used their will to exact revenge when they might have instead chosen to rise above and be ….better humans 

“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers”—*

despite my combat instincts I ….I realize am often hampered out of my strange consideration to be polite 

my downfall 

that seems the weakness I have often let destroy me

call it karmic politeness

I fear if I turn down a kindness generously offered …. will smack me later in the ass

*quoted, of course, from Tennessee Williams’ play, “A Streetcar Named Desire” as said by Blanche DuBois

the crippled survivor

 

it is something innate which has been so long a part of me to not ever look back once a situation is behind me. perhaps it is connected to combat mode; a survival technique ….to always be ready ….for reflecting upon a trauma or a glimpse of lost joy would put in jeapaedy the means to survive 

so, I hesitate as I consider perhaps possibly reflecting upon …. you know…. what I shan’t say with literal words just as yet —because ….

I’d rather just refer to it in general terms ….first …. 

and I only consider this because I believe it may be something like assessing the strength of my ammunition …. checking for damage …. the weakest and broken parts 

as…. I start to see it is necessary in order to go somewhere better than….

where I’ve been

it may be the only way

to

one dimensional world

last night I dreamed I was in a big open sea and drowning. the darkness swallowing me. all day it is with me. does it feel it portends or just what is…. 

e.d. our riddle it seems unsolvable because riddles are not meant to be solved and ….you are my best friend because you are the only thing that is …..real 

Next scene

 

When I shut off the water, I find a bamboo towel neatly folded on a clear bench and wonder if that had been there before. I walk across towards the round bed in search of my discarded clothes on the floor which…. are no longer there

but instead, I find neatly folded on the bed, khaki shorts and a striped navy blue and white t-shirt and a folded piece of paper with something stapling it shut; like a cuff link or a small tie pin—stuck through it. Outside the fold, in familiar writing is written ‘note from a stranger’ 

I pull the metal piece out, now with more interest, realize it is like an earring post with what appears to be a diamond

     ‘Put this on and I can always find you~meet me downstairs outside, I’ll bring you in the atv~’

I go to the nearest mirror above the clam shaped Bakelite dresser and put it on and

as there’s nothing else to wear, I slip on the shorts and t-shirt and   stepping into my sandals, grab my bag, head straight down with hair still dripping head out

e.d. Noir fortress(jmmuse)

 

Thoughts flow clearest best when the present is possible to be drowned

running motors; howling winds; raging storms; brutal workouts; crashing water….

it seems hard to reach that temple inside

there was such peace within the cool stone interiors of the cathedrals 

I recall the serenity —but not from their priests

because rituals are excuses to —avoid—and the serenity I also did find amongst the Druid groves 

and perhaps it was even stronger amongst those woods and forest floors where the dark green moss grew by the kelpies’ ponds

rituals are incantations to keep minds from questioning ….how often I have used this to keep going in the face of despair 

….how long have I been sunk within that morass 

    like I’m waiting ….still…. when is it time to give up that ghost? I wonder

E.d.noir(jmmusechron) sometimes when I’m walking …..

 

It is time to return to my post. These intervals in between are not permanent. 

Where is Jörn? But the time on my phone alarms me. 

Only once I turn on the shower heads do I realize the walls they stream from are glass and I can see the world outside; like standing in some waterfall of the fjords and looking down at passing memories of sailing boats through water valleys that lead out to more lost memories 

and this is when I realize that I dreamed. It is what woke me. I was walking and carrying something heavy on my back. Following ….behind 

I was watching a sunrise 

It was the drumming that woke me like a warning. A drumming that vibrated the ground 

where were we going? there was a feeling of such dread as I looked upon the worn and trodden path that recalled me to faces and snatches of emotions, like memories ….kept somewhere deep in the treasure chest recesses ….and squeezed my throat painfully as it blended with the rotten smell of blood on the air 

how becomes born the contradictions in a self & identity as a lie

consider…..

        those human errors. Some truths cannot be altered with white lies

and it is hard to adopt the expected persona of someone else’s unspoken white lie 

that is required to be assumed 

by that living lie

living among those living the white lies —that allow them to continue living the lives ….of a living lie

one learns to interpret what is required by…. the subtleties of tones; of moods…. and learns how to read minds by every foot fall and breath ….the raised voices, the nuances restrained by the tension expressed in swallowed sighs 

but the words actually spoken tell nothing of truths

those words are gibberish and mean nothing at all

thoughts between….the pages today

so often I brood about and then, reflect here: 

why do I continue with this ….

examine the purpose; examine purpose 

Electra’s dictionary has had so many evolutions ….and so many names ….to say that it arrived to me like a golden chariot to take me ….take me ….take me away 

come to my rescue 

it has been more than just a raft to let me cling to so as not to drown 

it has been that, but so much more ….and this is why I know it must always exist for me

My art was this chariot, what I could imagine and then create; sometimes with a pencil or brush, sometimes instead with words to conjure to minds the world I see, and I suppose the pencil or brush was too constrictive under my mother’s art school eye —my art could not breathe in her reality ….like my diary she found 

I saw my world clearly and it made better sense to me than the madness I was living in at home with those parents and sibling 

I could always depend on it; it was both mother and father to me and often my most dependable lover

It began with a crack ….like a whip ….and out the crack I went ….down the winding hallways to places I could fly to at will 

But it was not just words, because words are so hard for me to see 

How can I be confined to a page? when I am dyslexic? how can I be confined to a canvas? how can I be confined to a big budget studio whose sole purpose is tailoring popularity by any means necessary? 

but still I am chased to keep doing this and so then, is it only for myself?

it could be and when this thought occurs to me…. the world —my world— disappears 

the raft sinks 

the chariot disappears and I am left just an empty pumpkin shell which I try to tell myself to be satisfied with but how when I see that without it I am forced to live among a world ….that makes no sense to me. and I can’t do that ….so what do I do….? keep going ….but the question is spat from the walls about purpose 

it was the ….surprise …. of a message I got from my daughter which seemed to ….contain my answer

we have been messaging about our thoughts of today’s world and even with our years apart, it is remarkable how in-line we are to such similar views and our adaptations to reach for reason and meaning. Even when she was a little girl, before our fall out, I used to say she and I would have been friends even had she not been my daughter. and so when I told her I had no idea if I could care anymore about my art as I lost my interest to be relevant and felt I no longer had anything to say 

she wrote: <who cares if you have nothing to say? write for the fun of it>

So out if the mouths of babes but also, I know how much I must value her meaning when now my Persephone is returned to me with the burden of a world I dragged her into 

this world I don’t understand anymore but clearly never did, I suspect my actions on how to adapt to this brave new world awareness has me reflecting upon how my mother left this world and left me with just this raft and to let that go would be to make irrelevant Electra’s entire odyssey and all the blood and the sweat and ….unshed tears held in check by that shield and the knight who I could never let rest and has remained on watch at the drawbridge of the Celf ….

What is filling the minds of this world anyway 

What is Fun….I wonder? yes so—maybe that is something to figure out 

To me fun is wild beauty with no restrictions ….sometimes it is visual and spills out my fingers and often it is thoughts which gallop with images within my mind’s eye through characters I have conjured from the need of their existence to fill a void that desperately needs to be filled 

When I was eight, we were in Vienna on holiday and I became obsessed with orchestras from a statue of a well known composer. I saw in a shop window an assortment of little wooden angels all playing different instruments. I eventually had quite a collection of these little wooden figures but it began with one at a piano and the orchestra leader; they were my first two. When I had enough of them for a full orchestra, I’d spend hours playing with them and conducting my imagined music  

Is it obvious Jörn’s opera is symbolic of mine?

My years at bookstores, I’d spend hours looking through books. On breaks I would reach for art books and was drawn to the beauty of art and was excited to discover work by Alan Lee which contradicted my mother’s rules; and literature often written by controversial people because of their need to express despite the risk of danger; their need 

It has occurred to me I must need to create in some other form of medium where I do not feel confined 

where, in a way, I am the orchestra leader deciding how it goes and not too out of my depths to create and produce, 

to use words but not have to be solely dependent on visually frustrating text, not as print, sometimes spoken and mixed liberally with images ….narrative and visual almost like a silent film seen from the long range lens of A Spy

The next scene ….later