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?”

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

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 

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 ….

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

 

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 

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

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?

“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?”

 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 

 

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

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

keys to electra, encore

 

my mother had a wicked, somewhat sadistic sense of humor 

as a kid I was tested to be allergic to wheat after returning from a school field trip where the youth hostile we stayed at was directly next to a wheat farm in England and I came back violently ill. She was very much involved in astrology and so she got a big laugh at me and said, “you’re allergic to yourself!” —you see, because the symbol for Virgo is harvest and wheat. Years later right before I moved out, one day it was this time when I was desperate to get to work or I’d lose my job. We’d had a very big snow storm and a tree had fallen on top of my car from all the snow. So manic was I digging it out and wrestling this tree as —I’ve always been this size and could have used some help

she took pictures 

I’m a masochist and desperately loved her till the end and still do which should explain so much of my complexities psychologically —what good writing it provides though, hmm? 

flight as game/homage to Jack London 

“look at that beauty!” 

a lovely chase across a meadow 

humans turn so fast. 

cornered

“stop playing games!” said the hunter to the fox 

assateague island, couldn’t drag me away

 This is the island of the wild horses where getting lucky enough for a glimpse of one is all by chance. This is a rare occasion 

pour toi, parce que tu décodes mes symboles et que tu es toujours là

et apparaît toujours dans mes heures les plus sombres….

                    

 

 

as the blue notes echo on….

he stops me after awhile and pulls up my chin to look at him and looks down into my face, drawing back my hair,

“du är vacker….  Jag har saknat ditt ansikte….” and drags me off the floor from where I worship, his fingers touching my lips, “such a mouth you have….”

“What did I reveal to you back in the office? I don’t remember any of it….” I say looking up at him

But instead he lifts me and takes me across to the other side where there is the other twin dome which beneath it lays a wide round bed with white satin sheets 

“It looks like a huge clam,” I say as he sets me down upon it, “it’s like an Art Deco, Fred Astaire film set,” I say as I look around at the curved custom made furniture that seems made out of Bakelite or lucite, “so what did I say? Did I reveal more fascinating lockletter codes?”

But instead he says, 

“you said enough ….but let’s not talk about it tonight…. tyst nu, min prinsessa...min drottning….“ and moves over me, “you are wearing too many clothes…. and….it has been such a long day—and ….has been far too long….don’t you agree, duva? I will tell you tomorrow,” he looks down at me, and decisively, not bothering with buttons, peels off everything at once in two abrupt and swift separate tugs, and tosses both tops and bottoms to the floor, “but now, be quiet and open your legs.”

….and so it is later watching the stars through the ceiling with him, tracing the muscles of his body with my finger tips ….and I  know ….I could never want anyone but him

~blue memoir perverse~ vampire waltz vault noir (e.d.jmmusechron;)

 

“Three stories?”Jörn looks doubtfully at me looking up at the structure, “more like six—it must be the height of all the trees confusing your judgement,” and as he says this, he starts walking towards it, carelessly dragging the jacket and button down shirt that he had impatiently dragged over his head now drags over the grass 

“Where are you….?” I start to say

He stops and looks at me, over his shoulder —and with a teasing sort of smirk, lit by that challenging twinkle in his eyes —and then, before facing back towards it, he tosses his head at me, like an off handed command to follow, as he heads right towards the silo 

And because I’m curious, I follow cautiously behind him, totally not sure I want to see 

I had not noticed there are windows, albeit placed discreetly in such ways as to make them blend into the surface of it and as he leads the way, I notice a laid out stone path; a walkway that is cleverly also well disguised from the entrance towards the buildings, where he parked the Volvo. The path leads to the side and as I follow him there, I realize there is a twin silo that was hidden from the side we walked up from; just the same and just as high; two silver towers stood beside what would appear to anyone else as an abandoned barn and stables, presiding over what is visibly an overgrown, defunct and unplowed farm 

As I recognize the line of trees and how the sun dips in its descent as the other side of Sunny’s hunting grounds, I become somewhat intrigued, as I see Jörn head right up to the side of it, and reach a door —and standing there, punch a code into a keypad

Again that challenging look at me, and with a wink, he pushes the door open and goes right in, leaving the door open

I don’t know what I’d expected going inside, and at first I try to get my bearings as my eyes adjust to the surrounding darkness, so I don’t notice where Jörn has gone. I swivel around in a circle to take it all in, within the dim lighting ….dim lighting —which comes only from the concave windows letting in the early evening light 

I realize it is furnished like an entranceway; like some grand circular hallway with staircases on two sides and a large marble console below a gilt mirror. It’s almost hilarious, the attention to detail —as if to model this after some old mansion, as everything has been obviously custom built made as it had to be as it follows the circular shape in a concave interior. It is like walking into a warped M. C. Escher drawing, or like an Alice in Wonderland reality 

The acoustics create an echo as every footstep carries upward to bounce in a strange surround sound and I suppose, so distracted am I that I don’t notice anything —but what I am caught by to look at, as though engulfed and entranced in this kind of warped space, that the music which comes, seems to happen of it’s own will

I suspect it must have been the strange acoustics which disorient my ability to immediately recognize ….the opera

“Coming, duva?” he says above the recording of his pounding keys….

I follow the trail of his discarded jacket, shirt and tie as he stands in just the suit trousers with his bare back to me, looking at me over his shoulder by a doorway and as that now becomes the brightest light source, it draws me naturally to go towards the glow

and only once past the doorway, do I realize, when it closes and we ascend, we have walked inside a lift; half circular, like a crescent with the widest part glass, and only as I feel us moving upwards, do I realize it is a concave picture window, showing the world outside as the drama of his opera follows 

so strangely hypnotized, I watch the scenery as we ascend 

When we reach the top, the door of the lift retreats and opens under a dome of light filtered from outside. Directly beneath the dome stands a black grand piano 

I don’t even have to ask 

….but I look at him….with just his index finger he motions to me —but still—I stare at the piano as I go, without noticing that we now stand just outside the lift but are now enveloped inside an elaborate master suite which takes up the complete width of the top of the tower. The ceiling, a complete dome with a full uninterrupted skylight, exposing the sky above, so that the iridescent shade of the white of the walls is almost blinding 

“Perhaps this is better,” Jörn says and flips a switch

I watch as the dome seems to shift, like a prism, filtering out the glare, the tone now takes on a more lavender iridescence, bathing the room in a dreamy tone of mother-of-pearl mauve 

“Sometimes I think you just want to be on stage all the time,” I say

He shrugs,

“bath or shower?” then walks across the wide space and turns a chrome crank and from four heads, showers water, “no? Not feeling it?” but he keeps it on and goes to the clear tub that had been screened off by floor-length sheers and then starts the bath, “patchouli or lily-of-the-valley?” 

But I walk over to the piano instead. sit down at it. I look at the keys remembering. I stare at the keys as if they are ghosts….because I see our hands…. and remember 

and remember….

codes

I look up at him with alarm 

He looks at me thoughtfully and sighs. Then goes to shut off the shower first, then the bath. He walks over to me in his personally tailored, well-cut trousers which emphasize all his advantages with tasteful ….discretion 

and so walks towards me with a sigh of resignation and stops right behind me then leans over me. He takes my hands in his and places them on the keys. Then in this way, we start to play ….the opening notes of his opera which he joins with the recording that plays through hidden speakers ….but it is how he touches me…. how the lightness of his fingers ….touch mine

and like a master, he does not miss a beat as he caresses my fingers with every struck note. He presses his mouth to my neck and climbs onto the piano seat behind me ….so that I am wrapped in his arms as he cloaks me within his notes, 

surround ….soundly

….until someone’s phone sharply interrupts ….

“ohhh!” 

—is ….that ….me….? 

as I seem to fall off the bench onto the floor

“Duva….?” 

“Your phone—“

“—don’t bother,” he says quietly and reaches to pull me up

“….the codes, Jörn—in the office before….”

“No, min lilla duva, don’t bother….” 

And his voice cracks as it did before in the headquarters office as he says now,

“don’t you know me by now?” 

like it did when he said….that age old phrase….and moves to pull me up, 

“don’t sit on the floor, come here,” he says

but I don’t move because my head is caught up in such memories ….I feel dizzy with it and his music ….and the habit of always having him so firmly deep inside of me, so impossible to ever ….want to let go

and being with him again makes me breathless, 

“my lord and master,” and from the floor move to my knees facing him and stare up at him but then put my face into his lap where the tailor’s discreet cut draws me and ….feel him through the fabric first with my kiss —and then my hands and close my eyes ….to just feel him and the warmth of him through the fabric as …. and until ….I am reassured ….he burns for me….

and he says something but I don’t know what it is, or whether he pulls me or pushes me or draws me or caresses —or if I imagine the grand piano vibrates with the notes he plays 

I only feel for him and only know that I feel ….want to feel him, need to, need to have him and feel him against my lips, as it seems it has been forever since ….because I need him, need to feel him, need to taste him and have him….

weekending

 

The man with the vampire eyes(jmmusechron)

As one door closes another opens

I have known people in my life, who at the time felt so necessary and looking back at those people as I recall them —those that now …. I can almost hardly remember anything about them; not even the places we shared and what lesson I can glean from this is about the power that I conjured and gave away; and how the mother of invention is only conceived as necessary 

the power was always there. in me

the inventor invents as necessary 

faith is a power within and 

as Charlotte held the torch for me, dear reader, I draw strength from you

and this I think as Jörn pulls up to the structure ….as it seems almost like something from some other world 

He stops the Volvo before a monolithic silo that appears to be three stories high

It is still blazing hot even with the sun going down, and the dimming light reflects off the metal of the structure, dwarfing the stables and barn beside it

We get out and I turn to look up at him,

“what is this?” I start to laugh but it’s too hot and I stop and then, as he pulls off his shirt, over ripples of sinewy muscle my laugh caught and I look within those vampire eyes ….and I realize ….no, he is not one of those, I know within myself ….no, he is bonded to me, imprinted upon my soul itself which I have always known since I first ever saw him in my feverish and strange dreams 

No….he is a part of me no matter how at times he enrages me

More thoughts today of the legend as Project; clipboard notes

years ago when I first began this ongoing story of mine, told as diary and story merged together with fiction and autobiography confused into one, it was during my years growing up in the Netherlands and I would dream out the windows of trains through the cities and trams through Utrecht, The Hague and Amsterdam, and inspired by how the tram underpass went right into Central Station I would imagine James Bond scenes….

part of the stories took on the literary poetry of my favorite authors but mixed with this was one movie star icon—Garbo— I guess I recognized a sort of kinship for the way she averted the world. I’d see those long range angled photos of her taken by the paparazzi, kind of fuzzy, so far in the distance, though it was unmistakably her; she was always so obscure and well hidden, yet glamorous in her mystery; shrouded under a hat with upturned coat collar. 

Then later in my life when I was a bit older, was the other I felt closely identified with for her manner of method of thoughts blended with scenes; Anaïs Nin whose perspectives on life and the world felt so much like my own. 

And so, as my story evolved over the years, as a dyslexic who thinks in picture, well, it always seemed my story had to be a film ….told with her voice like a diary but with the narrator, like Garbo, always obscured 



sage

 

Something fundamental changes within once one has passed through the chamber of life. At birth it is usually quickly forgotten as one encounters so many impressions in which to adjust and understand. If again, though, if it should happen ….there is no question, no doubt….it was real and impossible to be convinced otherwise no matter how the evangelists may preach and debate with their semantics and ignorant witch-hunting dogma 

yes, one is forever changed. It is confusing and overwhelming and so profound and imbues every thought and act thenceforth….and makes impossible to ever blindly ever again follow the scriptures that do not ring true to what you yourself have seen

this too has set me on my solitary path and as I find myself  now falling into deep thought, I forced myself to remember ….what came after for me. I was only 18 when it happened and violence which proceeded it sets it in a different light than had it occurred in an operating theatre or some other way because of the plain fact I’d not known my life would be in danger until the horrific moments before and that they were horrific ….well, in parallel it was traumatic 

I never talked about it. I had no one to turn to; no bosom friend, no faithful relative upon whose shoulder I could weep so…. those days after the event, which too I kept to myself out of fear…. much of it is like a dark cave within me….a cave I don’t think I ever crawled out of…. and I have thought of those moments after; those hours after…. days….weeks and then months ….they are blurry, like going under the water in the ocean and looking up above at the surface—sounds muted….senses muted…. life muted…. Looking back, I know I was all alone and as I reflect on this now, you know, the terror never leaves….never….but I became my own crutch, my own shoulder and counsel that I clearly realize was all that I had and all I ever had ….save what saved me that day….what saved me that day….? but there is no doubt. just the whys. why….and I am all these years later wondering how I got up off the floor that day; how I faced the world ….how I squared my shoulders and stayed so quiet about an event that altered me forever and would always set me apart from everyone I would know and keep me removed and a bit numb but also ….cause me to feel everything so deeply; life; love; every moment and every tragedy I witnessed and heard of…. it did not make me a philosopher as—I already had such a mind…. 

so as I reflect upon this and life….again and again like I do today ….  I wonder about every step I have walked away on that solitary path with only this allegorical sheet of paper blowing through a subway to land on someone’s lap with my words 

do I touch you? 

is this why?

or just the impression which I leave, is it just art on the cave wall, like a museum gallery ….but only to be found by chance