threadbare rope

 encore une fois, un timing parfait….  et apparaît toujours

….tack

 

politics is war and ephemeral 

    but really, it is just levels of slavery 

           as it ever was 

Oh woe be gone, melancholy knight, the armor is far too heavy 

e.d. ….it is one of those days, but you know I won’t say. I can’t say. and must never. because the moment we do the slippery slope will win and so why do I come here at all if I can never say. so long, the knight. as the wind nearly blew me away today…. on such a bleak plain —so was it the disappointment in hearing something unkind that has gotten back to me about —oh I don’t know, enter any name (how about some barbed wire tied to an ankle) and add a stab to the back and so….it is e.d. just e.d. and only e.d. who has held us up…. 

et toi, si tu es vraiment là. parce que tu es peut-être le seul à m'avoir jamais vu, et pour cela, j'espère que tu es réel

 ….et tu sais que je le ferais

et apparaît toujours

I was living in Cedarhurst when I did this by candlelight during the New York blackout, 16 August 2003; the date is clearer here in this picture of the sketch than the one in the previous posts. I remember doing this and I remember exactly what I was thinking when this happened —like my horse reflection in the water painting and really, all my art, the images come on their own and create themselves. they always appear to me as if something moves my hand to create it so I am as much the viewer as anyone and as I realize how weird it is to admit this, there is something ‘magical’ that occurs when I paint or physically create, a feeling that I can only describe as something close to divine 

too bad it’s not a better drawing, I didn’t realize something was causing that line of impression in the dark.

bog memories

 

we become our own caricatures

 

peut-être n'existez-vous pas.  peut-être est-ce seulement que j'ai eu besoin de vous pour exister.  auquel cas, je me rends compte que je suis assez seul ici ….dans ce monde terrifiant et fou

 ac yn ymddangos yn fy amseroedd mwyaf enbyd, fy nghanllaw trwy Uffern

Choklad

One day a few months back, I was lost in thought walking along this road. I was coming from the right going back, I guess, and in my peripheral vision I was aware of a speck on the right of my horizon vision, following me. I stopped to look. And a few miles back there it came to me at full gallop. So, now we are friends, while I am here. 

Animals are always following me wherever I go, it is strange but I suspect it is because they know I prefer them to people 

***yes, there is more blog Noir of course btw; alas finished the backstory script of ep, 1(pure agony!)

et apparaît toujours dans mes moments les plus désespérés

Electra’s dictionary and film noir; first impressions (jmmusechron continues)*

 

So, quite compromised, there comes a text

….or rather …. it is the horror of the sound that alerts me, 

no mistaking that operatic shrillness that shatters your teeth through your ear drum as it hemorrhages (Jörn’s text alert for his mother is a short recording of her reaching operatic crescendo)

and …..so it does come somewhat delayed—that ….it is a text message —alert—

“knulla!  det är mamma!”Jörn exclaims

“Oh….” I panic as I try to get my foot from where it is wedged but I fall onto the floor and my hair is caught between a shelf bracket 

but he’s busy texting his mother as I hear another message alert tone come through as he mumbles what sounds like Norse pagan curses, and—I’d rather not mess with that and try to remove my foot from the pocket of his suit jacket but the linen closet is too narrow and it’s the same side he’s holding his phone with

“Yo ! Jörn! ….hey?—hej!”

“Vad?” he glances at me as if surprised to see me —and as I am but he takes a moment instead to think and he says, “you need to go greet Mama and Pappa downstairs right now.”

I don’t answer. Instead fall all the way back now and land against the wall with a bang to my head and almost take the shelf down with me

but what is worse is that we hear Stina’s voice again outside the door. She is talking to….?

Jörn mouths the name “Marcus” to me from…. across the small space of our compromised positions —in the closet. 

We hear her knocking on …. some door near us in the corridor

To my alarm it is my name she calls!

“Oh my god!” I look up at him, and whisper in horror then anger, “she’s right out there! this is your fault!”

He starts to laugh but holds it —successfully back

“You are laughing!? This is not funny—“

But just then his phone begins to alert a call,

“skit, it’s Marcus—“ he whispers as he and I look at each other realizing if they are right outside the door they can hear his phone ….he whispers, as he fastens me up and smooths out the cuff of my trousers as he removes my foot from his pocket  saying, “relax, this works in our favor,” and without much warning, says to me, “just, play along,” as he answers his phone and at the same time opens the closet door as we both fall out the door 

My first impression of Marcus is that he is a very tall man —at least from my perspective. And he wears Italian leather shoes 

Stina is looking down at me, she says,

“so office and recreation ….”

*wanting a break from writing Elan/Raoul script scenes backstory for ep 1; so emotionally draining 

 Alors, avez-vous compris pourquoi ils se «rencontrent» toujours “in the closet” ?

(excusez ma récente distraction du blog.  je consacre beaucoup de temps à la recherche de la trame de fond du scénario ;  ainsi que le script aussi - j'ai tendance à être très pris dedans ... il a développé de nouvelles parties surprenantes de l'histoire et comprendra plus de personnages qui aident à raconter l'histoire)

 

sometimes it happens upon waking, an elusive sense of…. having been with; other times ….it is the sense of a presence as close as a whisper 

I have met my destiny in quite a similar way; Noir/a short

Still standing in the hallway 

he says,

“we have a little time before they get here.”

I must have missed his meaning, my mind caught up in the spy games and ….the smörgås 

“Jörn,” I say now, hesitating over exactly what we are playing at, “we are —for the benefit of your parents—pretending we are ok —which right there is loaded with oxymorons and— the spy convention part, what do you want me to do? not sure, where do I come in there?—pass out party favors, is that my role? but I know —I think ….with Stina —why do you what me to be pretending I’m— pretending…. what am I pretending?—no don’t tell me, I know this one… uhhh—hmmm. No—I actually have no idea what —or actually why either so….?”

He hushes me and pulls me from the hallway looking around, ducking past a doorway as we hear Stina’s voice echoing down the hall followed by her shrill laugh 

“Look, first, erm—about my agent status —Mama thinks —or was lead to believe…. I mean—that—” he starts to say something somewhat awkwardly but stops abruptly changing his mind 

“She doesn’t know what—?” only I forget to ask because it only now occurs to me to wonder where we are standing, “Jörn—what is this?” I ask him in a whisper looking around as their voices are now right outside 

“It’s the linen closet,” he tells me in a low voice, but then after a moment the voices fade down the opposite direction and casually with a shrug he says in a low voice, “she’s with Marcus; he’s her director—among other things….”

And after their voices disappear, I sigh with relief and reach for the door knob, but he stops me,

“In a hurry?” 

“A hurry?” I repeat

“We have some time, Hello Kitty….”

Noir drama Royale/or/guess who’s coming to frukost(edjmmusechrn)

 

something disturbs my sleep….but I don’t recall falling asleep. I remember and it was late…. it takes awhile to orient myself—still within dreams ….of crashing waves and piers and pirate’s beds

And then get the vaguest sense of last night’s conversation …. Jörn—but what is that annoying sound ….?

“What is that? —and why won’t it stop?!”

“That’s your phone,” Jörn says to me from behind my head

“Jörn,” as it slowly returns to me our conversation last night—or early this— “what time is it?” I ask him

“Snälla du! —svara på din jävla telefon!” 

I say,

“what?” 

as he reaches across me to get it from the table next to me and then drops it next to my head,

“it’s seven-thirty-two according to your phone, so we’ve had roughly three hours of sleep —and it’s Stina, so I think you better answer it,” he tells me as I cover my ears 

But then the phone stops 

“Oh thank god!” I say and bury my face under the pillow 

but then it is only a few minutes later when

I hear Jörn curse under his breath and only once I come out from under the pillow can I hear someone tapping at the door 

“She’s at the door,” he whispers to me 

I start to say “answer it—“ until I realize that there is her proposition to deal with still and finding Jörn here would cause inconvenient suspicion 

I watch him jump out of bed, and then swiftly grab his clothes and all evidence of his presence and then walk straight towards…. the bookcase? —and still stark naked— disappear behind it! and then he shuts it like a door!  …what else, a spy glass? 

Knock! knock! knock! (Stina)

While still a bit stunned yet more angry suddenly, and jump into motion mumbling to myself,

“who goes knocking on bedroom doors of someone else’s house?” searching for clothes so that I can answer the door and not be naked —where did my clothes from before disappear to …? And in search of anything to wear…. and wondering how things disappear ….I dig into my suit case and put on whatever haphazardly comes out. Ending up with a Hello Kitty t-shirt and black pinstripe trousers 

and I do manage to get it zipped up before her next round of banging which gradually has begun to get louder 

and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror (yikes, knullruffs), stepping into my Harley Davidson boots on the way to the door 

“Yes??!” I say swinging open the door just as she had begun to knock again. 

I can see I have set her off balance 

But she looks at me and slowly starts to smile,

“nice look for you. Office attire or—?”

“Is there a reason you are knocking at the door at seven thirty?” I ask stepping outside the door into the hallway 

“It’s seven-forty-five,” she says, “let’s go chat on the pavilion, do you want coffee?—they just made it fresh.”

“No, I want to go back in there and sleep for two more hours and then have a shower.”

“Let’s grab two coffees,” she says this as if I never said anything, “you will want to know what I have dug up on your sister—“

But my hand is still on the door handle,

“well, can you—do you mind if we…. it just seems it’s kind of too early in the day for grim, wicked sisters—“

But all lame attempts at fake friendliness disappears as she suddenly gets impatient,

“I need to ask you if you have given any more thought to our earlier conversation?” 

“You mean about Jörn?” I ask

“Shhst!!!” she looks around and gives me an evil-eye look and after a moment where she is sure we are alone in the hallway, she says, “you know that’s what I mean. Well? Have you?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“So, you mean—you want me to—“

“You were his lover before, how unpleasant can it be?” she asks me very matter of fact

I almost laugh and have to fake a cough,

“and I get?”

“We can talk about the details but—first you would have unlimited access to information—“

“Why do you want to go after her?” I ask 

“Who says I do?” she asks and laughs, “oh, no, no, no—people like your sister are small potatoes; she’s not exactly big terrorism and for international purposes, could you imagine I could care about your deranged Qanon organization—“

“Mine?” I ask, “it’s not mine. Don’t confuse me with—“

“Your sister.”

“Right!” I say but then I get her meaning…. “oh….” and think about that. But what exactly does she expect me to do with information like that?  ….no, she’s just baiting me but because I think about what Jörn said I say,

“I mean…. sure— I’ll do it,” pretending more interest in what she said 

“You know we are going after Retnuh,” she watches my face reaction and then she says, “so you will go back to being with him and be able to let us know where and what he is and up to?”

“Up to….?” I say

Then suddenly from behind us we hear,

“Stina!” 

Jörn —freshly showered and wearing a pressed suit as if on his way to a board meeting ….is suddenly walking briskly towards us. 

And once again, between them, I feel painfully underdressed by comparison in my Hello Kitty as I  seem to be emerging from my sleepy haze and now notice what Stina wears; red dress and —again, spike heels 

“Jörn!” Stina does her fake laugh, but then rattles off, at lightning speed, several phrases that leave me in the dust with my current grasp of their nuances of pronunciation 

Jörn says, in English,

“Marcus is waiting for you in the courtyard.”

But then it is the strangest reaction! She says nothing at all in response and seems to momentarily look a bit taken by surprise before I see her face go bright red and then suddenly rush off without a single word 

I look at Jörn,

“that was great! Thank you!”

“Well, we have another problem,” he tells me

“Ok….”

“You know that movie ‘Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner’?”

“The original or—“

Jörn shakes his head and says,

“let’s just say that this would be called, ‘Guess Who’s Coming for Breakfast!’”

“Who’s coming?”

“My parents. So I need you to act like everything is fine between us.”

“Your parents are in Sweden.”

“My parents are at JFK. Surprise! I just got off the phone with Pappa.”

“You didn’t mention they were coming.”

“I didn’t know until five minutes ago —and it is the last thing I need as now as you know, it seems I am currently the moderator for an international spy convention….which was not something I’d had expected either.”

 ond rwy'n credu fy mod i eich angen chi.  gallwch fy ngweld mewn môr ymhlith y gwag a'r deillion. ac ie, byddwn i

terrors & goddess mantras 

over and over and over …. who do you think you are? but reality is subjective comes my reply …. who am I? what am I ….. 

I am me and I am mine, on into etcetera, I am me and I am mine —I am electra 

ceiling thoughts after midnight

 (To be deleted….)

I look tall from far away because I have extra long legs. So it must be a shock to arrive in front of me and think you are in Wonderland. I’m actually just all legs 

I tend to forget my relation to large scale things until actually faced with formidable things like oversized furniture. Ladders. Trucks 

but I am the exact height I was when I was eleven. 

when my daughter was in middle school, I went there for a meeting and I kept being mistaken for a student. no, really, it’s embarrassing —so I try not to walk by clusters of middle schoolers as a general rule

 ond yna .... beth ydw i'n ei wybod?

 pwy ydw i beth bynnag

Electra’s dictionary; Vampires in the Noir Part 2/the Power of Knowing[the scene is the last conversation as it continues](edjmmusechron)

 

“…. ‘when’ in the grand scheme of things—what did you say?—“

“‘in the grand scheme of it all when exactly did you first stumble across me….’” I say now

“Ahhh….” Jörn’s expression becomes thoughtful and after a slight pause…. “and, you mean because you know about the secretary’s key I found in that box of yours among your diaries —which you tossed into the dumpster behind that old  apartment building you lived in—Cedarhurst, I think— with your first husband—“ and shakes his head at me “tsk tsk…. careless key toss, duva, how lucky I found it— which was —when? I believe that was 2002— but that was not when I first stumbled across you ….hmm, so you want to know….” and then after he considers, with an  awkward motion, wherein he turns his head as if to crack the tension from his neck along with an odd shrug, “so— then…. I would say it was …. around the time when I first joined the intelligence—uh—became an international intelligence agent—so that is when I came across ‘something’ ….and …. so …. actually that would have been my first case with Willem. How we met— it was our first case together.”

“So, what did you come across?”

“It was something connected to your legal father— as I was investigating a current case of the time—it was having to do with a sensitive operation we were all working on, connected with several other countries, as a matter of fact, but mostly European. It was when I was cross referencing some old documents….” he says vaguely 

So I think about what Willem had started to say that time 

“And so what was this to do with me?” I say looking at his eyes to try and read them

For a moment he is pensive but guarded. After a quick deep inhale and exhale he looks at me decisively and says,

“duva—it was a picture of you….” he studies my eyes and seems to measure his words carefully as he stares into my eyes, “I felt like I knew you—“ he seems to force a laugh and shakes his head, “that sense, as though I could not place where I knew you from ….but —I knew in this way …. it was just like this strong gut sense— I felt I knew you from —somewhere….” and here he stops talking and stands up and walks across the room. 

He goes to the window and looks out into the darkened blackness but where the sound of the ocean brings the mind to see in inferred  

….those timeless, infinite ocean waves …. 

I watch his silhouette as he stares into blackness as he looks towards the sea into the darkness …. I feel such a weird sense now by how he stands there, I have seen such a scene like this before…. how his shoulders are set, the tension in his stance; I see someone else standing there …. that I have seen before…. And it makes me wonder now; is he somewhere else at sea …. and maybe too, lost in time 

After a moment he turns away and walks towards the bed, he hesitates before he says, 

“….Duva, you see, I never used to dream —or maybe I just never remembered that I did —but it was right after I saw that photo that it seemed, it was —every night—the same dream—or versions of it —and with it too was the most horrific —horror….” he shakes his head as he recalls this now and rubs his eyes and quickly looks away for a long moment. His expressions pass like secrets across his well groomed, top-secret mask ….

Now he looks at me,

“duva—it was your face…. you understand? —the photo; it was a copy of your passport photo and I ….became curious, it is true…. it was, at first, such a gradual —like a fascination, it was—a slow nagging kind of mystery that just seemed to elude me…. And then ….well—now suddenly always dreaming this same series of events that seemed like from some dark age  time and ….all with your face —and …. often violent things happening —her death …. which I would wake up from dripping in sweat and shivering ….that one repeated the most at first…. and  …. seeing her dead —the pain of it, I could never go back to sleep …. it is how the first bars of my opera came from …. you know, just to express—to get it out this…. overwhelming emotion …. for me it has always been my music where I can release emotions…. and watching her die ….again ….and again in my dreams…. the brightness of the blood on the white hides …. I know I haven’t shared this before…. it was never the right time to speak of all this—when do you speak of such things? And I admit that I avoid emotional scenes usually —so….you could imagine what an impact it left —I mean, duva, from just seeing a photo of  a person’s face —you think you recognize but know you have never met….and it was this knowing like—I —knew— and you know it was not that I knew you ….—now—“ he leans his head into his hand a moment and sighs “….but I guess I just felt crazy because I did not know —how—that could be….” he shakes his head and whispers, “of course, I still don’t know —but…. “ stops himself as if suddenly remembering something, and almost to himself he says, “I always knew —and felt as if I was waiting until ….we would meet….”

But I am not sure if he means —he always knew he would meet the person in the dream or ….the photo …. ? —or?

“If it is not something that can be physically grasped, touched, prodded and analyzed in a lab it can’t be real?” I ask

“I think from conversations we have had, you would know I am more willing to be open minded about the possibilities of …. I am willing to believe there is more than just this existence —but no, I just never expected to have to encounter something unexplained myself, I guess…. I sometimes feared I was losing my mind or possessed because it seemed to always be at the back of my mind but….” he stops and thinks a moment “you know, duva, I may not say ….but there are things I feel and —I have said it before…. about you, it is strange that I seem to always sense —somehow know—if you are in trouble, I feel it here — it is like I know what you are thinking —I can feel it, it is something so strange, I noticed right away after we first met and, you know…. it has never been this way with anyone else —so—now I have answered your question,” he says this walking back towards the bed and now stops to drape himself on the bedside beside me, “….and more —so now answer mine duva, why do you stay? —you know what I’m asking….” but he plays with my hair, drawing it away from my neck where he presses his mouth and says, “it was right after we first met that the rest of the music for the opera came to me…. do you know why I call you ‘duva’?”

“You said it was to do with the dream—there was a dove that you said foretold an angel would come,” I say

“Well not an angel exactly—and yes it’s to do with the dream because right before every time she appears, a turtle dove appears first—and you doubt my intentions?”

“It was not that.”

“Then what?”

“You are right—I mean about trust…. only do you trust me?”

“Duva, you are the only partner I ever have had who knows what I actually do—considering my line of work, is that adequate proof for you?”

I’d never thought of this before. And dully, I realize this is the first time I ever heard him refer to me this way….it seems to signify

I say,

“no, it was just my excuse….”

“I know….” he says and goes back to playing with my hair. He runs his finger tips lightly down my neck and follows with his mouth to bite, then says, “tell me why you stay,” blowing into my ear 

I say, 

“du vet varför.”

“Du vet varför!” he says correcting how I said it

“Yes,” I say, “ja…. du vet varför….”

“Du vet varför,” he repeats anyway and begins to do something I thought he forgot I liked; which confuses me and when he says the phrase again so I should correct myself, I automatically repeat it back because he is too good at what he is doing. I forget the purpose of resisting. and so, maybe that is why I do weaken, 

“Du vet varför”

“Du vet varför!”

“Du vet varför,” and feel myself forgetting to keep up the guard but not wanting to care somehow

and when he says, 

“why do you stay?….tell me….”

“Du vet varför…. because…. jag älskar dig.”

“Jag vet varför.”

but it is only after a moment that I realize what I said. and what he said 

but then he says,

“and I know what Stina is asking you to do.”

“You know?”

“She wants you to be my watchdog,” he says, “say you’ll do it.” and said all the while not missing a beat while still adeptly at his task 

“Why?”

“Because I’m asking you to. Is she offering you some kind of payment or bribe?”

“Both.”

He thinks a moment. Then says,

“she wants me back over there—they do….”

“That’s part of it. She mentioned my sister and a will and —that you’re planning on ….going after Retnuh.”

“Hmm, then again it would mean getting under her clutches —does she know about your project?” he sees my reaction and becomes more serious a moment. He thinks. 

“Jörn….about what I said—“

“Jag vet varför.”

Of dreams everlasting & vampires in the Noir night Part 1 (edjmmusechron)

 

“What time is it?” I ask him feeling confused about what he is doing here and —what is going on

He reaches for his watch that is next to the lamp beside the bed,

“it is just going on three now,” he says

I rub my eyes and look at him in the shadows of the dark room. He watches me. 

“Were you here all night?” I ask him as…. I still cannot be sure what or how much was real

It is an oddly slow reaction I see cross his face as he still just watches me with the most pensive look

He says,

“I came up after the meeting ended….” and still watches me. He reaches to draw away a mass of hair that falls heavy over my face and holds my face steady, pulling it up to look at him. And with an oddly peculiar tenderness, he strokes his thumb across my cheek and then says in a very low tone, “you were asleep when I came in….” and still he holds my face and studies me with ….such an unfathomable expression. I don’t know this one of his at all as I have never seen that look

“So….” I struggle to think as my mind is distracted by his touch and the look in his eyes

“Jörn….” I say and start to move from his hold, but he does not let go and keeps me there

“You were dreaming,” he says in the same thoughtful tone but now it is curious, “what were you dreaming, duva?”

“I was…. did we—? I mean, did you….? Or…. did I dream that?”

“Were you dreaming about me?” now he lightly chuckles  as his hand releases my face then to comb with his fingers through my hair…. and then I realize that he is teasing me —and so, now figure out he must also know what I’m wondering too—which answers the question …. I suppose

….and as I look at him now, I become aware of that internal bruised feeling and the other areas of soreness as proof of that indisputable knowledge it was not all the dream —which now sharply brings back parts of the moment in a sudden flash that burns my face 

He asks,

“so, was it a good dream, min lilla duva?” and hardly gives himself away if not for the smallest clue of a smile in the grooves at the corners of his mouth and…. it makes me think back to our conversation on the pier but then, consciously avoid thoughts of Stina’s 

I look up at him as parts of the dreams come back to me. There were two dreams together —no…. three…. strangely overlaid and seeming to run in parallels ….danger, fear, and sense of a deep —heartbreak ….with violence and I wonder now too about what I might have said 

“Jörn—please, I must ask you —is this your property?”

Now he does smile and glances away to hide a guilty expression but not before I see it; his poker face must be slipping 

 But so like him —he does not bother to answer the question—I suppose because it is obvious 

Instead he says,

“Do you remember when I asked you awhile back—?—why you stay….” and again surprises me with a gesture rather uncharacteristic to him; he runs his hand with such a kind of shocking tenderness along the side of my face. 

“Why do you stay, duva….?” he asks me now as he caresses my cheek and stares deeply into my eyes

But it seems slowly does his question come to me, and it is something like a delayed moment before any comprehension, caught inside his stare, it seems to dull my mind and so he says,

“I mean, I know at first —but then things happened between us, maybe because I was not straight with you about my work —but duva…. if there had been no assassin, and no pandemic ….would you have stayed?”

“would I have?” I repeat back at him only half aware of the question —still distracted by something else 

“Please, duva, answer me,” he says in a low voice 

but I lower my eyes from his and say it in a whisper, 

“….yes.”

“Tell me why,” he asks softly

“Why?”

“Why….”

“Jörn, what did you not tell me? About that —thing— of my mother’s you said you found in the compartment in the secretary? Why did you say that strange remark about that it requires I trust you?”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes and reaches to grip hold of me by the back of my head and pulls me to him,

“—snälla du! snälla svara på min fråga!” and makes a frustrated sound and in an almost painful grip, he pulls me tight against him and pressing his forehead to mine, says into my ear, “I want to know why you stayed.”

but then I ask, 

“did you want me to go?” 

I feel the tug of my hair as he angles my head to look at him with an emphatic pull —so I look up and into his piercing gaze ….then instantly feel that strange seasick feeling, recalling the memory of a boat and the brilliance of such eyes 

I say,

“du vet varför….” and look directly back at those eyes

and he just stares back at me a long moment, but then slowly shakes his head and with narrowed eyes, inclines his head 

I take a deep breath and hesitating begin to say,

“I know you came back…. and for the record…. no, I never thought your opera was just part of your spy cover…. it’s too beautiful to just be some contrived and meaningless think tank cover, I thought you knew how I felt about ….your work—don’t you? I thought you knew …. you need to finish it, it needs to be performed….”

“Well,” he shrugs with a self deprecating chuckle but shakes his head, “and our ….shared….dreams, duva?—you think I made all that up—and when we went to see your friend Gerald—what about that?”

“I don’t think I ever said I believed you made that up!”

“Well, no, not exactly. Only that you have suggested you feel a great deal of doubt about my —my…. well—intentions—“

“Intentions,” I repeat slightly amused then I say, “since we are asking questions here…. Jörn, I have one I’m still trying to get the answer to— so, going way, way back to before we first ~’bumped into’~ each other in the lobby that day claiming that you kept getting my mail —which I’d love to know how you contrived— don’t tell me, is the Swedish government infiltrated in the postal service here-?-so, anyway, this I have been wanting to know: when exactly in the grand scheme of it all—did you actually first stumble across me? Because, it seems it had to have been long —long— before my convenient presence at the Manhattan penthouse…. and—actually too—how perfectly convenient you happen to also live there —I mean, never mind also getting my mail—which, have you ever explained any of this to me?” 

only he smiles like he finds this all amusing and shakes his head, 

“don’t think you can squirm out of the question, it is still your turn but —I’ll indulge you and oblige you—since you ask….”

apology

 

Mae'n ddrwg gen i.  na.  Dydw i ddim yn iawn.  Rhaid imi erfyn ar eich pardwn.  Mae'n rhaid i mi gau fy hun i ffwrdd a dod o hyd i heddwch

Dwi angen ti.  Nid wyf yn iawn

 

roedd fel taflu arian ataf yn ffordd i'm calon.  fel dwi'n rhyw fath o fachwr….  Yn y canlyniad….  Rwy'n prosesu'r tonnau sioc….  Dwi angen dip mewn datrysiad glanhau llwyr i ddod oddi ar y teimlad….  socian, rinsio, ailadrodd

Electra’s dictionary and film noir notes of strangers (jmmusechron,ed)

 

The chill air with wet hair bites at the nerves. We watch the sky. The sea and the fire…. and the feel of hands. They weave through my hair ….and this time in the night as I watch the shadows on the wall move in tune to the music that pounds upon the piano keys …. I forget who I am, where I am —I forget time and place

…. and disperse into the nonsense of senses to the rhythm of the Long Island ocean waves. It adds skewed dimension to dreams, such as warping images 

They melt into the fabric on the static, and senseless like shadows across the wall

there is only this. Yes, it is this. This sense that it does connect somewhere ….and …. I do hope it will find its way to me and within such lucid dreams, I feel into the great chasm beyond those leaps of faith and —know that here I do trust. Yes. Here I do. It is here— because here —I know…. without question 

and just grip so tight onto it; and with it, it comes like the warmth that spreads with the scent of cedar and sandalwood, and the silk of his hair —and without need to reflect, give up and wrap around pressing in to me, unconsciously awake, and like so many times we have once long before done this so like this, we move and join to each other in that age old embrace and where somewhere in consciousness and time, and wrap around him 

 under that big mysterious sky of characters  the waves crash

and take him upon the shore

****

It seems awhile that I stare into those waves. And the waves it seems I watch ….and the foam ….mix with cloudy images ….like thoughts…. like memories, water and waves and sky and foam ….that reflect like clouds in the stillness 

And I see his face …. I see another face ….beside his face ….I see another time 

and no he is not the pirate here nor the spy but another time …. he is younger but it is the same eyes ….and it is somewhere cold and …. the gold of his hair in the light —but he wears a black Cossack shirt —why should I see this now? ….I wonder looking at him, from —across the wide circle because ….

“Duva!”

I wake up

 

  he pulls me up from sleep with his hands under my arm pits with a slight jostle and stares at me —the same way as the dream and ….for a long moment I am frozen in mind; my thoughts  seem somehow misfired; mis-wired between unconscious worlds ….still within 

I stare at him. And touch his face. I trace his eyes with my finger tips staring into them …. with my eyes burning; I touch his mouth ….and then the bridge of his nose and mold my fingers across his face up to his cheek bones seeing ….so many ….many ….memories 

 but he stares at me intensely,

“duva….?” 

It is kind of a fraction more of moment where I feel myself reeled back into the present moment —by him 

He says,

“It was happening again—you were screaming.”

“Was I?” but all I remember is ….watching the water and—oh, yes, the dream when I saw —him?

“What’s wrong?” he asks me

Only does it occur to me that it is the middle of the night —and we are in the Spanish pirate’s giant bed —together…. so, what part was the dream that was so…. familiar

“Is something going on you’re not telling me, duva? What were you dreaming?”

“Why?” I ask him and—staring at how the moonlight’s shadows fall ….in hollows of his face which —distract and mesmerize me but wondering why he’d ask this, “something going on?”

But …. why is it that he just looks at me so oddly?

e.d.jmmusechron/“Stina’s Pawn” reflection scene(from within a fortress)

{Contrast of parallel lives:}

(Scene is ‘Electra’ in bedroom at Southampton’s house after Stina’s proposition about babysitting/spying on Jörn)

panic, like being flushed through a tunnel into white heat that just tastes like fear…. but we don’t let it reach inside…. just a reflex ….hair trigger that awareness ….the awareness ….there’s reason ….for and in the codes as….this is the only safe place to put ….

trust ….

this implosion, I will own it, electra …. I will —I do own it…. as you know, I thought it was a safe gamble but —anyway—fuck; we land on our feet every time, don’t we, e.d.?

to put a marker here, I document here and show you through example how secrets get expressed through literary code…. the language we speak in, my immortal pirate with the vampire eyes

****

I think now of how it felt to be locked in “the dungeon” 

and ….

those days alone inside that crypt where the safe had been

….imprisoned behind a coded barrier 

…..and I think about Stina’s proposition …..not knowing what to do

….the confusion of trust 

    is it such a surprise to face this now?

For, how many times have I had to revise my list of those I can truly trust? ….switching loyalties because they were not whom they said they were 

switching loyalties …. like a repetitive dance until ….you are the only one —you/theCelf—knows who is ever consistent and says what she means 

….yet I always get cornered….

Jörn though…. and I go back over to the towel with his platinum/silver embroidered monogram that shines like his eyes in the light; such powerful kryptonite ….and I think of Gerald’s words when I asked him why should two souls meet again lifetimes later…. I had thought it was to settle some score, they always say that, don’t they? 

but no, I’d never thought it could be ….”to heal”

….so then ….how do I proceed? It would be so wrong to plot behind someone’s back ….and my conscience would never let me….. but also…. how could I ever do that to Jörn? I could not. And then I think about how Jörn said —I could not trust…. only —I do— I do trust him—but ….I can’t tell him I do and —I don’t know if this omission voids it out for its value ….and if it does, what does this mean?

….but then, I never got to ask—does he trust me?

and with this thought I turn to look out at the ocean waves as they work to lull my mind….and lean against the headboard feeling tired 

cyfrinach ryfedd amdanaf - byddaf yn cyfaddef yma yn iaith niwl a hud…. (a'm treftadaeth gudd, gudd)

 does neb yn berchen arna i.  Nid wyf erioed wedi cwrdd â dyn yr oeddwn yn teimlo ei fod yn deilwng i allu rhoi fy hun iddo.  weithiau mae wedi teimlo ei fod oherwydd fy mod i eisoes yn perthyn i rywun ers talwm.  mae wedi bod fel hyn i mi erioed;  roedd yno bob amser yn cysgodi fy meddyliau a'm cof

by that threadbare rope; notes to a stranger/ 25 August 2021

 

always, it is when in my worst hour of need that he appears; he does come to me 

                                                  …..in dream 

 tack

chi ydyw; notes to a stranger

I wake up with my mind caught in a lasso. emotions and then nostalgia …. destroy me…. and no idea why…. 

if I could, I would admit …. 

and say 

the only grip I have ….tossed out through the cyber channels and volleyed like a whisper ….from the language of our codes —that very threadbare faith …. I am truly heard…. and it is not imagined

         ….thank you

 ac eto, mae eich distawrwydd yn fy llenwi ag amheuaeth nad oes gennych unrhyw ddiddordeb yn y prosiect na….  ydych chi'n aros am yr eiliad iawn yn unig?

 à quoi ressemble un effondrement implosant

Sometimes in sleep we join

sea air fills my head 

as the voices drift up from the courtyard …. 

I say to ambush …. 

voices linger across the currency ….strategies and plans spoken and hatched…. 

someone else says, 

surprise attack….

Only I don’t want him to go. I don’t want him to go chasing some evil demon….don’t want him to—fear—tempting fate ….and watching the sea as it drugs the mind with its hypnotic rhythm; how it pulls and tugs….you back…. on its currents; ever forward its encroachment onto the temporal earth; pulling away to sink and drown its sandy flesh, leaving behind skeletal shells that fossilize 

….we are all fossils, dust

but we are more than this, 

more, much more, than flesh, 

     more 

          even 

              than ashes

                   and dust….

                       more, 

                           much more too….

                                than de roet 

he says it is ‘to heal….’

I forget myself…. the limitations of the human mind that conflict within but it is so easy to give in to

How I have searched and longed for, in truth 

—why I have avoided anyone getting too close

this bond. It cannot be broken. not even by lifetimes. Still it keeps me

like that first moment when I first saw him…. It was something in just his walk

I recognized….

the way he moved ….

how his hair caught on the breeze ….the hut with the deep fire pit; the beat of metal against metal; the symphony 

“Tell me why you stay,” he says pressing himself deeply within ….as thought and words are like tedious knots; booby traps, confusing and causing any ability to process to malfunction 

“Tell me,” he says and withholds himself and his motions

But dream takes over, and I watch the shadows on the wall…. and listen to the pounding of the piano keys ….his opera that plays in my mind as I press to him mimicking his motions —and with it, it naturally comes, this urgent need wrap around him, to press to hard to him as I say,

“no,” as I do this

but he does not move at all

“….please….” pressing to him

Only he repeats,

“tell me why you stay,” still holding back

“Please….” I say, and whisper,  “don’t go with the others—promise you will stay here, I don’t trust the others!”

“Stay where—here? The others, duva?”

“Yes, please! don’t make me wait….”

he says,

“wait for what?”

“The sun, you said! Don’t make me wait!”

“Duva….?” he says with a jab in a whisper, sinking deep, pressing 

“don’t leave…. promise me! Don’t leave here alone, please!” but all thoughts dissolve, overcome by the fluidity of his moves 

I hardly hear him say,

“no, never again, duva! I promise —not, never again….”

but I do hear ….as it echoes in the morning in my mind 

…..upon waking

segway next scene/A short from Electra’s dictionary

It is hours later in the master suite, when I am alone, that I think of what Stina said …. leaving me to brood over our conversation on the beach earlier

 she had left my company to return to the others with this parting remark —said almost like an absent-minded afterthought—

“it must be quite curious for you wondering about what Retnuh said— the Will …. and your sister….” 

It is the calculated inflection of her words ….and then the well timed pause between 

“I know if it were me I would want to get my hands on any information that could be dug up on her—any idea who would have access to unlimited personal information?” and then she says, “Quid pro quo …..” and walks away

So I sit there for a long while staring into the waves not realizing how long until I feel the chill of sundown blow from the water. and get up and walk back

only then to find that I get lost in thought again, watching the water from the balcony off the master suite, going over all recent events and conversations with everyone …. and hear the muffled voices from the courtyard drift up from the secret spy meeting outside…. Jörn’s particular, distinctive dry voice often dominating the conversation, with loud responses from the others 

“Do I wait for him?” I say to the empty room, he never said ….how long the meeting would be. nor if he would be leaving soon after …. I think now, and wonder again about the conversation he meant to have with me. And start to feel sleepy ….as I think over and over his words…. analyzing his words for a clue 

but I go in circles and have to give up and go to fill the marble deep tub with water and sit on the ledge and watch it as I wait wait for it to fill high enough, and then, sunk deep into the water and shut my mind to everything 

When I get out to dry off, I notice the towel has a monogram of initials and an insignia…. I feel my face suddenly burn when I recognize both …. design and initials —on all— of the silver gray towels…. Wtf….

 I don’t even have to remind myself that they match the engraving on the platinum pendant I’ve been wearing all year since he gave it to me. I know the design well…. 

How did I not notice this on the towels until now?

I text Gerald from the edge of the massive, Spanish, pirate ship bed 

<what reason do two souls meet again?>

and press send. And as I do I find I am magnetically drawn to stare out into that vast deep blue sea and the waves that hypnotize my mind 

why do two souls meet again….? Are we destined to repeat our past mistakes? Is he still that pirate in the guise of a spy? do things always repeat…. until you get it right? …. but maybe not everyone gets to find out

After a blank space of time of being somewhere I know not where, re-entering the present reality finds me staring at the phone …. like it’s some kind of alien…. when an alert sounds, as if it is from some space-age enterprise and, for a moment, I seem hovered between parallels of realities …. one foot in this world and another in that long forgotten land in that little hut they shared, and now, with the scent of him on the sheep hides. strangely, now, when worlds collide, I feel the overlap within my mind as it fills my head 

A reply text comes from Gerald 

he says:

<sometimes unfinished business is, in itself, a powerful reason>

<but how can it be resolved? I mean—because he was not there in time to save her?how can this wrong be made right?>

<but also to resolve. as your friend, I can be a bit blunt because you can be extremely obtuse so…. don’t pretend not to be aware of your issues of mistrust. your meeting now is no coincidence. what reason do two souls meet again? My ‘professional opinion’ would conclude —what was too quickly taken away, to have the second chance to love. to feel. and to heal.>

from Beatrice to Heathcliff (edjmmuse)

a hidden door to doorways

It was this queer chill tap upon the shoulder. I mean that day…. I think, at first, it was his walk…. of all things…. he had a strangely strong familiar aura about him …. it was as if I was drawn to stare; as if a magnetic field drew me to keenly focus upon him. I knew that walk before…. how often and how many times have I seen such an image emblazoned on my inner retina …. he moved easily within the faded dreams outline of ….. the pirate on the boat…. his every manner filled in the gaps of memory the dreams had not shown but now made the memory image stronger and more clear ….

And then it was his eyes; that haunting, wild beauty balanced between noble and savage 

 

how cruelly he thinks to tread across my emotions in his hobnail boots

    which I deflect like an empath’s magik 

immortal pirate; the man with the vampire eyes(e.d.jmmuse)

 

there are other times I recall about the pirate from my dreams; the man with the vampire eyes

…. and I still see the strange and vast landscapes 

I seem always in search of to find again those long forgotten plains and barren hills

—they reach out from my subconscious and from the depths of sleep in dreams —and remain imprinted in my thoughts all the next day…. traveling journeys often on foot and with the vampire shadow that falls over my view; the gold flax of his hair shimmering on the wind and following behind him

….sometimes when I’m walking; it is something about the motion of the swing in my hips and the weight I carry….

this is when, on the oasis of my thoughts, upon that horizon ….

I can see him from the line of shore…. and the boat waiting

loaded for the journey