Birthday blues noir

 

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

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

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

Thoughts caught in legend keys in electra’s dictionary

 

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

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

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

anymore 

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

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

Oh dear, Electra ….what is it for 

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

 

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

2 weeks later

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

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

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

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

rose glass dome

 

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

well I don’t know 

   but it has to be a somewhere 

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

   I’d been on paths 

they took me somewhere 

but then I wound up nowhere 

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

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

it has been this sprint through life

of wasted time; wasting time 

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

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

   those roads 

that wanderlust in me

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

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

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

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

we are all people. And everyone is walled up

I don’t understand

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

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

 sos

 

The hardest part about dying is having to let go of those you are attached to. The one I’d been most afraid of leaving had been my mother. But she is gone now. Maybe this is why I have remained detached. 

 

 so the answer to that riddle is….

     ….they cannot see past their own selves

so remain invisible 

  unless I could be proven otherwise 

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

because the rest means nothing at all….

 

There are those isolated moments in life when it seems the noise all around you stops. You don’t hear the bees or the spinning wheels. Even sirens or car horns all stop. And becomes unimportant because it is all the white noise background in the barrage of firing guns of the drills of life. Doesn’t matter. 

I see now that what I have been searching for has always been present but I never acknowledged.

For so long I have heard the voice of my mother say to me in the back of my mind, “you have everything you need.”

You know, she never said that to me while she was alive. But I have heard her tell me this now from somewhere when I am in that moment of meditational mindless thought. 

But even as I write about being empathic; it really does not matter that I can connect telepathically. The answers were never out there. Perhaps not even the minds. I understand now, I think. Her words. 

I think I realize why I have been a magnet of dangerous personalities. 

I had thought it was some kind of punishment to me but it was something else. Something they sought to take that I never noticed was there….as—yes—they always come back to me ….when they realize they needed me more ….but I never noticed ….

And what I have searched for was never to be found

the riddle 

is 

now I see

….it was to be found

    

Today ….

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

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

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

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

I want to say,

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

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

“Return….jen-ever.”

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

 

Communist manifesto, the prince or man without a country?

The little prince 

I pick the last wish

I have been ill the last few days. It has been so isolating. My world inside my mind. It is the only world I exist. My dreams have been so strange. When you are the one who does the care taking, there is no one who looks after you; not cared for. There is no one who notices. There is just this world. This world I have created. where will it go after….? 

the marvel film noir from the pages of a dreamed dictionary (e.d.&jmmuse)

 

He comes to me when I dream. The surveillance runs; a film noir. Because it is dark. So dark inside. It glows blue. In the moonlight. He comes to me when I dream; a film noir. I wear the gps, but he is too far. Far away. Not close enough to reach me.

From the window where the blue moon glows. He fills the window. He fills the glow. I am addicted to sleep deprivation. It numbs emotions. It numbs feeling. Just as I am addicted to the high that comes from the exertion of a work out. I live on these as my drugs, and always have; the rituals occupy the obsessions; they play their haunting melodies; they are the playful riddles to keep me from mycelf 

“I know what you need,” he says like my vampire in the night 

“I need to get out of here.” I say as if I think I still dream. I am dreaming. This is all a dream. “If something were to happen to me, no one would ever know. No one would notice. If I disappear.”

“I would,” he says

But he is just a dream. My drawn of ink film noir; my mindfuck vampire of mine. He is the only one who truly sees me. Sees me for more than some fantasy. He sees me and cares for me; he is both mother and father to me

and lifts me, and wraps me

down the walls 

across the fields 

to towers that glow like silos in the moonlight 

“No one would know if something happened to me. No one would care ….”

In the moonlight and under the stars through the skylight I watch 

and hear the music that haunts my dreaming world…. 

“min lilla duva….” 

my film noir

“Come here,” he reaches for me from the clamshell bed and places me upon his feet and swirls me into his waltz, his music echoing off the rounded walls

“I would know,” he tells me

 

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

 

Off topic; regarding ufo’s

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dharma on the road, more snakes

 P

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She said:

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

Another voice cuts in,

“tell me about the boat….”

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

“Tell me about the boat….”

Jörn….. 

“Yes….”

“Whose boat was it?”

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

“Where did you go on the boat?”

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

“Where was that?” Jörn asked

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

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

She watched him stop the recording and pace across the room

 joyeux anniversaire mommy, comme tu me manques

💔

 

she writes….

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

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

 

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

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

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

the recordings play

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

she clicked because she

just had to know

 

How is it that every story that I pick up, whether novel or on some screen…. all become him. That every scene I find myself drawn into have his voice, his touch ….his hold upon me….they echo down my chambers with butterfly wings that tiptoe up and down my spine and summon me ever and again always more closer to him

e. d. Noir; a muse’s promise

 

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

 

mes terreurs

il ne suffit pas de savoir que vous existez.  parce que la recherche était de trouver l'accomplissement de ce que tu représentes pour mon âme.  Et si ce n'est rien alors ma recherche a été vaine…. Et que le vide triomphera de mon espoir

Je suppose que cela a été mon but tout ce temps.  une recherche d'une preuve que vous êtes là.  ou est-ce que ce "vous" insaisissable est seulement là-bas dans le grand au-delà ?

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?

 

we may wish sometimes to escape.

a well exercised mind becomes adept at great flights of fancy 

or means

of exorcism 

Thoughts of mind

 

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

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

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

The brain emits electricity 

and it reacts to outside impressions 

Essentially, the brain is an energy source

The brain may be organic and temporal 

but the mind?

the consciousness ….? 

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

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

Everything that ever was always is

It just transforms into another form

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