I confess, Electra—you know, as i’ve not been here long and i really don’t know too many people so…. now strongly sense that one has ….inappropriate ideas about me
Today as I meditate, I think of Garbo. I see her image in my mind’s eye; recall the image from how I saw it as a young girl ….the mystery as seen through a black and white Warhol. and it turns into impressionist style —just bold black and white ….symbolic frozen in my minds eye
I see her as the 100 years of my Solitude
repeated ….where will I be at that age
will I be
what about that bridge
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?”
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 ….”
Electra, dearest….it occurs ….that broken button ….? well ….the wires seems have all fried too ….i can’t ….do it any more ….those two yellow lines do not run down my back.actually.the mat that says ‘welcome’ too….is not me….to wipe your feet upon…. these shoulders hold armory centuries old but are actually too small for so much weight
to shrug off all that I have given to everyone I have loved ….fuck you Baaaa Hummmmfuckingbug,isweartofuckinggod.look at the smith& Wesson pointed into my blue blood vein and laugh at the things I don’t understand and somehow wish I did ….. I will not be that broken sparrow ….though broken my fingers be….fuckeverybody we are mightier than they will ever be; don’t they envy us?
they compartmentalize ….emotion. here is Cleaner; Whore; ASS; Emotional Couch; Fearsome boss; Loathsome parent etc etc …. trainers, loafers, slippers, uncomfortable serious shoes ….etc
with that panic button now broken as the winds blow away all the dust the mind clears. and so realize I am; channel all that anger into
another level of being …..electra&celves
I have decided to take a vacation from giving a shit.
not consciously decided; as it seems my reflex to care is worn.the.fuck.out.As in no more anxiety, no more caring if any threat made to me might be carried through. oh, go ahead. I don’t care. it’s all already happened.
the panic button is permanently broken
should I buy a new one?
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
(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 ….”
it has been about purpose
and it has been about truth
it has been about a message that can only be told by the mouth of an artist
so now older, wiser, an apocalyptic world ….a Florence Nightengale? seriously? Tank Girl maybe but that sharp turn of the bus sent us all somewhere ….else
and maybe we are back in the ‘90’s at a vegetarian health food store and she meets him that way
no Covid
no trump cards, no 911
I do not need, do not want …. for anything ….this
has been a format of recording through allegory and codes and I have been a prisoner in an internet cell as I have been in life as neither worlds ever touch and the world out there does not know me and one day I shall evaporate and no one will notice
there she goes
I am me I am mine
