Thoughts of the Legend; Electra Noir(jmmusechron?continued….)

 ~That fine line between autobiography & fiction~

I think often of my relatives who are no longer here. There are none left alive, I was the youngest of the lot and well…. what of the siblings ….? 

left better unsaid (plural for the ones of the illegitimate connection; only one have I met and he did not know of our connection)

but alas, yes, I am redeemed of my Persephone returned from Hades 

But I think of them because I try to understand what the sum of their lives meaning was in order to decide if ….mine has any 

it seems more important lately to me 

picking up these fragments …. as if staring into tea leaves for clues 

when maybe …. there is none 

I suppose this is the deep terror I hide from —that there is no meaning at all and everything I believe in all mere delusion ….but then, what of those messages and visions that came to actually be after all? 

So I look at their old yellowed photos …. all that is left ….but what would there be of me ….then…. anyway….? My mother always said “you can’t take it with you,” and she meant the material objects we cleave to

but what of archeologists and their treasures?

but then ….what would the aliens care of Earth’s history ….perhaps they’d care? or respect the inhabiters who once rented Earth  ….or not

again I search for meaning; puzzle it out like a blind eye staring at a Magic Eye picture —what is there?

I think it is the disappointment I have felt from people I thought I knew; friends who are frauds and their empty words and empty promises, their fake claims of forever 

I write of this again and again here because I wonder how it all came about ….but no, I think I know why —I think most never expect to be called out whether or not they are true because ….they perhaps have a larger cache of frauds —I mean ….friends and relatives 

it seems it is because I lead a bastard’s life with a bastard’s fortune and it sets you down a solitary path and because the black sheep title forms one’s self image to be somewhat rogue ….feral 

I avoid thinking too deeply of the ironies of how my daughter’s father’s family proved themselves to be the shams they are without my needing to, and now she sees what the impact of their manipulations did to her mother and I would rather have not had to be the example and left only with their scars to paper my fortress walls 

these walls that hold up my spine like a stiff upper lip 

I look at the business card Stina gave me and wonder 

DNA memory …. and some dig in Wales…. does it mean anything? ultimately ….? does it matter to those long lost Welsh and Frankish ancestors who had thought to reclaim their royal legacy? 

what is the point but for the distraction from —that terror of nothingness….

should I dive once more into that beguiling search ….?