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

 

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

“What-nav?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hence the map in the travel section….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“….I do….”

A departure from Electra/Tour de force

 

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

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

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

“so—“

at the same time

while tilting their heads and looking away 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When she said 

“Oh!” as he caught here

Then,

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

“Where….?” 

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

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

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

Adair laughed and became suddenly caught up in his enthusiasm,

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

He looked at he frankly and smiled,

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

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

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

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

And contagious. 

She laughs too. They both seem unable to stop.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” She says again 

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

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

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

“are you any good with directions?”

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

 the pact given by the arbitrator is a dare of trust

but only in that moment do you know 

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

anyway

so you close your eyes and jump

and hope the woven net will be there

….and embrace you

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

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

and within the darkest cell within….

there is the cry for release from the hell inside

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

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

The rockstar bus Fleetwood tour

 

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

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

But the balding guy garage owner returns now obviously irritated,

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

Simon turned to Adair,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She opened the door from inside as he walked over 

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

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

Instead of the driver’s seat she sat somewhere else

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

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

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

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

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

Adair seemed to find this a surprise,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And only once settled into the booth with their tea,

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

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

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

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

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

Slightly distracted he continued,

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

a departure from Electra; Chapter 3/destination unknown

 Chapter 3/destination unknown

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

“I’m Simon,” he said

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

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

She took his hand,

“Adair….”

“Is it?” he asked

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adair looked back at him wondering much the same. 

At the same moment they both spoke 

He started to say,

“do you need help with directions or—“

“Thank you for—oh!” she said

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

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

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

“not at all….”

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

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

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

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

a departure from Electra

 

Chapter 1 /depature

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

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

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

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

Chapter 2/leaving a town called Electra

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

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

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

That was when she first noticed him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“road traveling?”

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

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

“Yes. Actually.”

He reached for her map,

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

Shaking her head she looked up at him.

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

“Baltimore?” he suggested

Adamantly, she shook her head,

“definitely not!”

“Then, DC?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?” but she let him

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

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

“Yeah,” she says

“Let’s go,” he says

Electra’s dictionary reincarnates

Break the Mold Media; Electra’s dictionary reincarnates

At your screen it says:

Start: “click here”

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

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

Do past and present lives overlap?

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

But some dreans are not dreams

Some dreams can take over your life

—//-

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

the surgical prod into the infection …. begins here

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

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

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

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

my downfall 

that seems the weakness I have often let destroy me

call it karmic politeness

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

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

the crippled survivor

 

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

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

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

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

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

where I’ve been

it may be the only way

to

one dimensional world

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

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

Next scene

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

e.d. Noir fortress(jmmuse)

 

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

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

it seems hard to reach that temple inside

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

I recall the serenity —but not from their priests

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

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

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

….how long have I been sunk within that morass 

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

I was watching a sunrise 

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

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

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

consider…..

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

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

that is required to be assumed 

by that living lie

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

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

but the words actually spoken tell nothing of truths

those words are gibberish and mean nothing at all

thoughts between….the pages today

so often I brood about and then, reflect here: 

why do I continue with this ….

examine the purpose; examine purpose 

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

come to my rescue 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the raft sinks 

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is filling the minds of this world anyway 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next scene ….later

apocalyptic emptiness part 2

 

those strangers you meet

you like a foreigner

in conversation

fill in the silence and space 

of a silence which comes 

even among and above and 

from the din of the broadcasts 

like the drone of the news of the day

the brashness like the announcing of flights…. space oddity

 you hope to escape 

am I seen when they talk to me?

those strangers where I am

a stranger

in a strange land

do they see me 

when they kiss me, 

are they there 

they touch but don’t feel

are not there at all

are they as real as these words on a page?

like the storm you cannot see

has cast us away

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? 

 encore de la télépathie :), très bien!

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….

                    

♥️tack

 

Could not leave this turtle on the road

 

Don’t fall asleep; noir

 

don’t fall asleep

don’t fall asleep….What is that? It’s a dream. 

     no. no—we’re not here. up at the window. Watch the light

such a strange sick cold, both cold and too warm. the shouting occupies the mind, the awareness of all the blame ….don’t fall asleep, don’t start to think it is all right. don’t feel the way the chill rushes across that demon touch like icicles that cut with the splinters; jaggers across the soles of your feet. The sting is better than the terror, let’s hold onto instead how bad this feels, “he’s waiting outside to pick you up. Now you can go home….” 

“No safety or surprise….”*

I fell asleep

No! the shaking begins. the cold inside. no one is taking us home. it does not exist for us. 

“It’s time to go home,” he says with the too firm grip that says exactly what will happen next. there. but it is not. for us. never for us. we will never know it. the chill is too warm on my skin, the vomit tears holes in my stomach …it does not exist. for us. we do not. no one knows we are here. it never leaves. 

“Go to bed!” 

don’t fall asleep….oh my god —he’s killing me. I try to scream but I’m choking ….he’s killing me

“Duva, wake up!”

*”no safety or surprise”/The End; the Doors

 

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

 

Life is so strange/no drama please

since arriving as a former ex-pat  to my country of birth, my track record for living at any one address has averaged 2.3 years and a time in any part of the land mass 

the irony of this is the one only exception, which was Cedarhurst New York, known for the orthodox community 

my daughter was nine months old when we arrived and was five when I moved out. It was only several feet from the train tracks and about a mile from JFK. Between the half hourly invasion of train arrivals at the station, at 6AM and 6PM was the concord and then of course was the traffic of the regular overhead planes. 

The motion of such shook the walls and made dust of them on the hard wood floors

My husband was transferred from his job in Ann Arbor to work at the World Trade Center. During our years there my parents passed away six weeks apart, I was divorced and lost custody and felt the vibrations of the collapse of the Twin Towers just a half hour from our apartment building. Then it was quiet with no trains and no planes

My ex-husband had left the building. And during those years at that address were other things too. My ex-husband interviewed my second husband for a job, only weeks before I met him at my night warehouse manager job at Pearl Art Supplies where I trained him to count miniature architectural objects, like fake plastic trees until 3AM 

I didn’t know about his previous job interview. 

I still average 2.3

Life is so strange. Don’t you think? 

(….thoughts to be continued at my next work break)