Electra’s dictionary noir/Vad är det här för sorts kaffe?

….but no I am not ready for this 

      still spinning from ….everything 

          But I don’t have the energy to fight two Vikings so, I step away and let them pass and by now even Josef knows the layout ….so we go without saying to the kitchen where I was making myself coffee 

I look at it and walk away and go to the window instead. I sit in the window seat and just stare out into the vast abyss of the city but I do hear Jörn exclaim over my coffee. I hear his indignant Swedish gasp and say,

“Vad är det här för sorts kaffe? Jag kom hit i tid, hon dricker snabbkaffe – hon har verkligen sjunkit ihop, stackars duva!”

It just sounds like a scene from Fanny and Alexander to me so I just sit there staring as I hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. I put my head into the glass and close my eyes listening to Josef and Jörn bicker 

and …. just whisper to myself, “tack så mycket….”

Electra’s dictionary Noir/ let sleeping bats lay

Electra’s dictionary Noir 

It seems as though I confuse Dream with day dream because I am sure that the light flares that stain my eyes are real and alive and glowing bats 

I sit bolt upright in bed in a sudden cold sweat staring at the walls as ….the dream image ….fades and subsides ….into shadows ….shadows with wings 

What is that? I find I wonder as I follow the winged black shadows that infest my night walls —as I feel the floors vibrate 

I get up and walk to the window that overlooks the city street from the vast distance above. The window is old with the French door arches that reach up to the ceiling. There are two sets of these that are covered in heavy mauve velvet drapery; I pull these back along with the Belgium antique lace curtain sheers 

The moving lights come from the cars and trucks but what causes the bat effect? It must be something else down there, I think, and move closer to the glass to look down. 

It is not possible to see the cars, they are dots from here and the dashes are trucks 

I open the window a crack to look out. There is a small ledge; a very narrow balcony not really meant for standing, but I can open the window enough and lean out

But the air is damp chill and now so is the bedroom …. but …. 

No I do not imagine music —I hear it and it strangely catches me for a moment as I had not expected it. And not ready for it. 

I go back to the bed 

I want to hide. From games. I just want real ….

    The shadows that move like bats mix with the music and I say to myself —not ready; not now—and maybe never 

I get up and shut the window and find my silk blindfold to shut it out

****

It is some time after eight in the morning when I hear a sound I don’t recognize 

I go from the kitchen where I am making coffee to find where the sound is coming from; I’d thought it was my phone but I don’t have a tone like what this is. I go through the lounge area and down the long hall to the entrance and slowly realize the penthouse has a doorbell! I’ve never known cause for it until this moment. 

It is still going too ….it is not a classic doorbell sound, you see, this has a techy sound amplified to sound like Tibetan percussion. I knew about the peephole in the door; again, never had much need for it as no one has access to the penthouse unless it’s someone like Illya 

I carefully lean to peek through it

“Shit!” I whisper aloud and jump back —there’s a mirror by the door and I look like I just rolled out of bed, I fix my hair and straighten my shirt and jeans

“Duvan?” I hear through the door 

Josef 

I take a deep breath and open the door 

“Josef?”

He also looks slightly like he rolled out of bed but chipper and healthy despite that in his Nordic blue bathrobe—he’s holding something in his hand which now appears to be a measuring cup 

“Urm—“ he says

“What’s going on?” I ask him

He raises the cup,

“could we borrow a cup of honey?”

“You came up to the penthouse to borrow a cup of honey?”

“Elsa is making honey cakes,” he tells me

But it is an obvious lie and I try not to laugh —and then what? 

The elevator opens and —Jörn sweeps out,

“Papa! I said to leave it! Why must you always interfere? I was giving her time!”

“And you think serenading her through a soundproof floor will conjure her passion?” Josef turns to Jörn 

soul/searching….

the original meaning of the emotional term “depression” involved the disconnection; the absence of feeling; connection to; 

so the absence of any emotional connection to …. anything 

an emptiness —anomie 

    and I realize this is what I am experiencing 

           as …. I’m searching how to navigate through this terrifying chasm 

Electra’s dictionary Noir

Electra’s dictionary Noir

What I love about New York City is how you can be among a crowd and be anonymous; you can dress outrageous and no one will notice; you can walk for endless miles and forget even that those androids buzzing by are actually humans 

The penthouse has become my fortress. It seems. I hadn’t realized until the urge and the need of it compelled me to get away from all the things that are cold and unfamiliar that too lately became my life. 

It is possible to find solitude in a New York crowd. 

It seems natural to return to Ethan Rhys Jones’ last address; never mind it is partially a museum. And even that has become familiar to me; you don’t realize until you miss something what things mean to you

I like the connection to my father; I suppose this is why I return. It removes that sense of feeling lost

I do stop to see Gerald. He has been busy—back from Tibet and his (with Kaylee) twins with them. We have tea before his client comes, so I go to the Met to look at art

I spend hours there, getting lost then in thought ….

Later….

The bath is bigger than I had remembered. I keep floating up when I fill it ….there is an knack to staying wedged if it’s not too high …. it is one of those original antique ones ….I watch the city lights move across the walls and think I hear music —until I realize it is my own mind creating it 

What do I hear? What do I play …. some theme to some mystery drama perhaps 

I get out and let the water, walk naked through to the bedroom dripping and throw myself on the bed. And again watch the city lights 

I have been doing the books for the artist, having altered my title to ‘privileged character’ —instead of that notion of bimbo and doing the website too for the penthouse’s museum. It takes up most of the morning and the replies to emails takes up the afternoon. So a long walk to Gerald’s was in order, and a good excuse to be re-inspired artistically. Of course, I made sure to stop to see Edward Burn Jones’ The Lovesong, and why I got lost in thought for hours 

And late returning in the dark

I think about that painting as I lay in bed watching the lights move across the walls…. those lights that turn into bats that fly across the room….it puts me to sleep 

Bran/Beth Studio thoughts

It has occurred to me, as often I know I have said; but then I forget…. but I desperately need my walls. Whatever the form they may take; mural or physical large work …. or even a heavy knife 

I start to open the large pre-stretched canvases that are sealed in protective wrappings and for hours I stare at them. I am thinking. About so much. And I do not have words for my thoughts lately. 

I feel like a bumper car stuck in a corner at the fair. I think about this. And the still life’s or scenes in my head to paint as I can see them. And even as I see them. Watch them. My inner eye is turned elsewhere 

So I don’t even see the blank canvases anymore. 

I sit on the floor of this fresh new art studio he has built just for me. I think. And wonder

 ….

So many things form your mind. Some things you accept but others you do not. 

What am I doing here? I wonder ….to find out our ‘WhatIf’ story after? ….we closed that book so long ago

Do I really matter to him? I wonder. Actually matter