“Kate, that is the moon.”

“But it is the sun.”

“Yet say it is the moon as it pleases your lord.”

“It is that you are lunar, my lord, so it is the moon.”

I did not need another scar

I’ve witnessed friends are fake 

 I did not need another scar 

 I am my own knight 

It seems I have always longed for him, but I never could place where .... so what is the purpose we should meet now.... what purpose do we serve in each other’s lives.... something he needs from me? Something I need? Something that goes beyond life and time?

….the girl and the smeden 

Part 1 “Tequila; A Page a Day(prequel)”/Another Story

They leave the coffee place and as they walk, unconsciously they fall into pace with each other even though they are, to note strangers, but they are not really, are they? Only no, they don’t think about this either, while they walk past airport shops, for there is no time for such fleeting thoughts as ….well her flight is eminently approaching 

“So have you ever?” he asks her as they walk quickly past other masked travelers 

“Have I ever what?” 

“Been somebody’s unicorn….?”

“Well, I’ve had —you know….stalkers —who —“

“Stalkers?”

“Yeah— who thought I was their unicorn, yeah….” she shudders

“Christ—no, actually I meant it the other way—“

“Huh….?” she glances up at him as he says,

“the extra party—trois….”

and again the spots of bright color appear on her alabaster complexion. But she turns suddenly as though something has caught her eye in a shop window 

“Oh, I love these!” she says going into the shop which is filled with bohemian objects; she goes past batik print tapestries, takes a moment to inspect the designs and touch the fabric, but then swiftly moves on to stare at a wall of macramés hangings, captured by the deep emerald color of one but then is mesmerized by the red clay pots as tall as she. 

But it is this which got Beth’s attention —she goes over to a display of bracelets; bangles, cuffs, leathers and the kind with little glass beads and she tries them on but they don’t look right on her; they are all too big for her wrist and fall right off; she puts them back with a sad sigh 

He says,

“so have you?”

“Have I…?” but she suddenly remembers the question she dodged, “so what was that about tequila?” she happens to notice they pass one of many airport bars just now, “oh that place looks interesting, since you are stuck here anyway, let’s see if they have tequila—“ only now she realizes the time,

“but ohhh…. look, it’s getting closer to my boarding time….”

“You still have one hour,” he tells her, “unless yours gets delayed too.”

“Oh you wish!”

“What do I wish?” he asks her and it is something in how he says this 

Beth swiftly turns around to look at him and shocking her, his expression is intensely serious 

“No I meant….” she says, but forgets what she means to say; there is a weird stab that is actually physical, as she looks up at him, when caught inside his eyes, that makes her stumble, but he catches her 

He says

“Let’s see if they have tequila ….”

They go inside

It is deceptively small inside, once past the entrance; it seems all the customers prefer the bar where there is a slight crowd. But past the length of this, in search of a seat there, a waiter in black uniform suggests they sit in the dining area. 

He directs them there. 

There are only four little tables arranged privately like little booths. The waiter lets them choose which one

And once seated he asks,

“so what can I get for you?” 

“We were wondering if you have tequila,” Stefan says

“We have a selection. Do you have one you prefer?”

In the end Stefan says,

“we’ll just do shots of each.”

 

Another story/“do I want you for a ménage á trois?”

 

Beth burns her lip on the coffee as she sits there waiting for Stefan to return 

“Fuck!” she puts the coffee cup down and from her Nepal bag, she takes out her compact. She inspects her lip for signs of damage then jumps when she hears him calling to her as he walks back

“So…. it looks like my flight is delayed….the person said he would call to let me know….” as he sits down, he shrugs, “has the coffee gone cold?”

“No, it just scalded off my upper lip, so, be warned,” Beth half laughs 

“Let me see,” he says

“No, that’s ok….”

For a moment he studies her and then laughs,

“do I want you for a ménage á trois?”

She looks up at him now and he can clearly see that her face, which was before a paler shade, has now gone a bright shade of red 

“—my unicorn?” he is laughing now, “I just looked that up on Urban Dictionary.”

“Oh….” she lets out a heavy sigh of relief and then in delayed reaction she laughs

Only now can she look him in the eye, which, up until this moment she could not,

“no, like—that evasive unicorn….”

Stefan watches her as she says this and shakes his head,

“what do you mean?”

“Like a mirage…. that thing you can never achieve so instead, you just keep it there on the illusionary shelf. Look at it. Dust it off. Put it back. But never open. Like those expensive books still in the wrapper —but ….maybe what is inside is totally this whole other entity entirely….so…. Unicorn.”

“‘Blood of a poet’, Cocteau?” he says with a straight face but his eyes, that seem different colors in different angles of light, now twinkle and give him away

If it were in messaging she would …. say…. 

So—

instead she does:

“Don’t mock me,” she tells him and it seems to break the ice between them

“Maybe we should be drinking tequila and not coffee because there was a third meaning in the urban dictionary,” he teases her, “so why Alaska?”

“Oh! Well—hey, I get to complete my research and the money is perfect,” she says this with a kind of casual tone of bravado not her own and shrugs, “it’s like solitary confinement at the work station. That’s what they jokingly call it. There’s no one for miles. Only the postal guy and that’s if you get mail —but ….I have kind of ….’had it’ with people. So….just animals and the wild from now on. So what are you doing in—where did you just come from?”

“Portugal. I was covering a story on an eco-system, agricultural developer—“ his phone interrupts, “oh, it’s the airline’s person—“ answers, “yes….oh, I see…. so, how long can this—or….ah….” 

Beth watches him, sensing something is wrong 

After he ends the call he sighs and looks at her but shrugs,

“the airlines crew all tested positive.”

“What? You mean…. so….?”

“They just told me they booked a hotel room for me somewhere, so—it looks like I’m stuck here.”

 le vampire comme guide à travers l'enfer 

Another story/ “I’m Not Your Unicorn”

 But it is when she hears a very loudly emphasized,

“ahem!” throat sound behind her that Beth swiftly turns round 

And as she turns, she slows in hesitation and then finds herself staring down at the floor, looking down at a pair of shiny gray boots —beneath nondescript gray trousers. 

“I am up here,” he says

Now she clears her throat, pretending a cough and fumbles with the cuff to stall for a moment of time, and mumbles, head still angled, looking at the floor,

“no, I just thought my shoe lace was untied.”

“Your boots don’t have laces, Beth….” 

she stands up slowly,

“Stefan, look —let’s just get this straight….I’m not your unicorn ok?”

“Beth….” she can see by the crinkles around his eyes that he smiles behind the mask and also seems to want to laugh but doesn’t 

She stands straight to look at him and they face each other. They remove their masks simultaneously 

He wears a gray trench coat over a gray turtleneck; his colors blend with his hair and eyes and she notices something too the photos had not shown 

He awkwardly acts as though they should hug but she seems unaware on how to go about that 

Then there is an awkward moment which between them in their private subjectivity, speaks volumes as time seems to slow and quicken in just this moment. Their eyes meet, but they are too astute in measuring the other to reveal anything of themselves

He sees those details not captured in photos stills nor would be in motion; the tension in which she holds herself, like one ready to bolt; aware of the subtlety of her scent that has a faint touch of lily of the valley…. the silent hesitation behind her every movement

“So….” she looks around at the airport surroundings, self consciously

“When is your flight?” Stefan asks

“Uhhh…” she reaches for her phone but he already sees it on the board 

“Look—it leaves at 13:46…. so, we ….have an hour and forty minutes….” Stefan points to the board, then, decisively says, “coffee,” spotting where to go points and as he looks at her, sees her expression reveal something 

as he looks at her before absently…. realizing something

then suddenly urges her towards it, lightly placing a hand on her arm 

It is only when they are sitting down that they let themselves look at each other face to face; that reality of the moment finally reaches Beth as she looks at him now as they sit there looking at each other over the table with their coffees. 

Then he says,

“why are you moving to Alaska?”

She looks away,

“you wouldn’t understand. And anyway —why should it even matter to you what I decide to do? Until now, we’ve never met and you know what? I just realized I don’t even know your last name. All those video lectures are under your website name; Stefan@—“

But before she finishes, at the very moment she says this, an announcement comes over the loud speaker:

<<ATTENTION! ATTENTION;WOULD STEFAN LOVE PLEASE REPORT TO YOUR AIRLINES CARRIER!!>>

Beth looks up at him as he begins to stand up, a concerned look now on his face as he reaches for his mask

“Love? That’s your last name? Like Courtney?”

“Well—“he glances around as he searches for where to go as he says, “— it was actually my middle name but—Beth….  can you …. please…? just wait right here, ok? uh—I’ll be right back….ok?”

Another story continued/Pandemic reloaded’22

 

<why> her finger slips 

….before she has the chance to finish writing the message 

as she had paused to think but, too stumped on what to say, sat staring at the phone keyboard screen till her finger slipped 

<why?> comes his answer 

“Shit….” she whispers aloud to herself 

<….why didn’t you tell me?>she replies 

But she turns the phone face down and looks again at the white-noise of the runway 

She thinks again about their ongoing almost “V for Vendetta” dialogue over the last three years 

you know, in the film…. 

where she’s half dead and he’s fucking with her and pretending to be a cell mate beside her ….

why does she think of that now? 

so what does she know of him anyway except —what he wants her to see

That and …. those accidental things he shares …. his reactions to her thesis’s sometimes are obvious but ….what does he ever  really expose? 

Still…. The truth is—she has wanted to know him in ‘real time’ 

no, does she mean ….

‘3-d’? she taps her finger nervously wondering why she wants to run …. run to the toilet to vomit …. actually but…. to flush away three years? seems extreme and excessive as running away now would be like burning bridges wouldn’t it? 

It all started with an article she had written covering years of research on a topic not too many people really know about. So, it was like finding a needle in a haystack when someone there being anyone even slightly aware of the subject and… . Over time she noticed 

his location and the IP address popped up in other places of her work as time went on when she was going through her old research online but, the weird thing was it was like his thought patterns 

….always triggered ideas by where he decided to search in the archives

 ….like that story all written in letters between Griffin and Sabine; her first letter appears as a stranger to him. As she saw his drawings appear as he did them —and when he changed them ….from a far away island as he drew

What does he even look like? Beth nervously looked around the airport filled with masked faces 

well…. she has seen his photos and some live footage of some interview he did; it was for the auction when she first stumbled upon him on Reddit 

….they never did FaceTime nor zoom ….. either he sensed she didn’t want to or he didn’t …. hologram, virtual conversations. so nauseating. she always felt—watching some freak gremlin version of yourself in hi-glow, migraine HD blinding tones and find the one you converse with looks even worse but technology is all anyone eats, sleeps and thinks about but this is the 

surreal …. Pandemic life …. faceless faces of society hidden behind masks. 

And how removed anything real has now become 

but what is real?

there is nothing real; real is relative and she thinks of that song by Radiohead, Fake Plastic  Trees 

Yes, she thinks looking around the airport …. it is life today, there are no more trees so we are left with tons of plastic instead ….

Her phone alerts a message 

She turns over her phone 

<look behind you>

At first she freezes. Then she replies:

<how would you know what I look like?>

<you showed me that one of a kind Nepal bag when you got it. Turn around….>

more thoughts off a shelf from a ‘Celf ‘

 

it was years ago when I read the novel Kitchen—decades; of so many things that touched me in her story, and of one I often reflect upon a character in it. It was long before how we see things now, you know—but her friend’s mother in the story, who is so very fragile, yet so strong and endearing, turns out to actually be the boy’s father. And I think what touched me— as so often I have stumbled to understand what it means in the whole of ‘self’, and the gender aspects in life experiences and perspectives —somehow it seemed to me this character longed so deeply for the boy’s mother that he became her to fill the void. I found this utterly moving 

Another story

 

                                       ~•~

Beth adjusts her mask as she waits by the terminal. The layover limbo makes her nervous. She sits by the glass partition on the tall chair by a tall round table. She wears travel clothes; a black ribbed turtleneck with black nondescript trousers, Chelsea boots and trench coat. She gets a text

<I arranged my layover to land where you are….my flight just landed, where are you?>

For a long moment she is too stunned to react. She looks away from her phone to the wide open windows that shows the runway of planes taking off and landing. She stares at this now but does not see what she looks at.

She sees instead the funny, cryptic messages back and forth between herself and Stefan which have been going on for three years. 

But they have never met. 

She sits there frozen wondering what to do ….

                                      ~•~

 

I feel such an emotional exhaustion. and feels almost too much. or maybe it is. 

I don’t know if it is the impact of people’s reactions because it was easier before people started to ask me things. and well….  I do desperately wish people thought before they dispense advice about things they are ignorant of. It is hard to be tactful when people insult both your intelligence and your ….predicaments ….especially when it was brought on not even by my own actions . I am too tired to be enraged. I feel run over. Forward and back kind of …. roadkill 

to think my biological father dealt with this kind of notoriety on a regular basis and on front cover headlines long before social media existed. Makes me look like a marshmallow withering in the corner. I’d only like it about a worthwhile subject on something worth anyone’s time 

But I never liked attention that way. I only like fiction drama, I don’t do it in real life. But it seems people of that nature seem to target me (MM long ago said it was the red hair) and imagine I’m worth their game and I never notice their act because I want to allow the benefit of the doubt …. Maybe it’s time to stop doing that. If I am my own knight then I must believe everyone has a weapon against me unless they prove otherwise. I should have always been that way but I never wanted to be the cynical type

Now I know why the cynical types exist. 

There is more story 

   More E.d, more Noir too, I suppose, and even more Brenda in the rubber shop with you know who 

     I’m just so world weary that I feel like I need a lifetime of peace before I can ….and I think I am done with people from now on and this time I mean it 

(Kurczak, btw—ty)

that vincent van gogh syndrome

not with glamour nor humor, really, do I imply at all that, so many times it has felt I am living a life in between pages of some tragic Dickens novel 

those years ago, when the psychic I met told me those things that all came true

said something else rather disturbing; it was during those years I studied between HB Studio and the Academy of Dramatic Arts in Manhattan —she said something like…. oh—you are not meant to be on a stage to portray heroic characters ….you are meant to be one of those desired to be portrayed in legend and most likely will be, but likely not in your life-time;but your life will not be easy as you choose these experiences for the purpose of knowing innate empathy for the human experience in order to purify within ….and without —those you touch ….but you will feel a life of being unloved; a life mostly lived alone and on your own; it will be a very lonely journey ….but not forever ….

some things you forget in life but as I encountered every crisis she outlined and —when— just by the timing of the stars and her ability to sense my energy; was so correct, (as she said my immortal self chose this time for the knowledge) and when nothing else has guided me as well as her words through these last twenty-five years of them haunting my memory of our meeting …. not forever, she said has carried me through 

 et à travers les heures les plus sombres, apparaît toujours

A page a day; page 1 “Noir Rubber Shop”/ meeting DeepThroat(DT)

 

*********

From behind the foggy windshield sits Brenda with her extreme, blackcherry red hair; goth-guyliner; dragonsblood-red lips, and rave, ghost-white, melt in the sun complexion —and the attitude and expression of one not looking forward to a miserable Monday at the shop….. she drives a sedan, of a faded primer shade of terra cotta, with a replacement door of another primer shade of some nondescript off gray/white and, the car motor is noisy and seems in desperate need of a mechanic. 

she looks up at clumps of gray slush on the windshield that move across and freeze as the wipers slowly start to become frozen along their semi circle journey across …. the windshield 

She stops at the stoplight. Now notices the wipers are stuck 

“Fuck….” opens the car door and gets out to unstick the wipers

She bends over the car hood; she wears black rubber jeans with side zips that go from ankle to crotch (store merchandise —as it is necessary to wear what you sell)

someone whistles from a car window,

“nice ass!” one of them shouts from the car, “….see ya later, Brenda!”

She makes a face but her back is turned and mumbles, 

“yeah, whatever, fuck you….” under her breath, “fucking stalker….”and without looking, flips the finger 

Then pulls the wiper with a yank. gets back in. gets as far as the next corner 

“It’s less than five minutes to the shop!! Why the fucking fuck are there five fuckin’ million fuckin’ red lights!!!” she shouts this at the top of her lungs but the windows are closed and she’s blasting Paramour

her phone rings, 

“I’m driving I can’t talk.”

Hysterical voice starts yelling at her,

“You mean you’re not even at the shop yet?!!!”

“Listen, this is a favor!—it wasn’t me calling up and asking to come back to the shop!—a’ight?—you said you were fucking desperate so don’t—“

“Ok, ok—shit, the fucking store alarm is going off and the cops are calling, y’know?”

“Ok, great—fuck!” her phone flies out of her hand as she avoids running over a squirrel….  the phone lands somewhere in that nebulous dark side of the moon of her back seat. 

and she can still hear the voice on the phone shouting from somewhere within that 

“It’s a wicked gray miserable day in Detroit….” says the voice on the radio

“Yeah, no kidding,” she shuts the car off and at the same time the radio voice dies away as she jumps out having parked in the small lot in front of the shop

The voice is still shouting at her from the back of the car 

she searches under empty used paper coffee cups from the last several light years of her life mixed with a stockpile of mad debris she has been meaning to sort ….

“….yeah, I’m here—it’s fine! No cops! Cheerio, later,” throws her phone in her rubber bag

Grabbing her fresh cup of coffee now from the cup hold, she slams the car door shut as a gust of wet windy sleet hits her in the face and blows open her black fake fur trimmed black rubber motorcycle jacket, and in an audible whimper from the cold, she wraps closed the jacket and runs across the street to the shop.

“Noir Rubber” the letters written in lavender neon lights that go across the store front window. In the main window are displays of the most recent rubber merchandise and fashion, mixed in with artisan sidelines such as a huge, explosive profusion of phallic balloons; some that lost their helium and now litter on the platform below alongside an attractive display of soft, plush boob and ball toys and pillows

Only she is not really standing there admiring her masterpiece work of a window display as she is now covering her ears outside the store window, by the door as the alarm is going off and she is desperately trying to get it to stop

“Shit-shit-shit!” she says pressing the alarm code numbers Jennifer gave her —but it does not seem to like her code, “why won’t you shut-the-fuck-up?!”

From behind her a finger appears and magically shuts it off

“Oh….” Brenda turns around

a tall …. blond 

stands there

Blond, that is, in that blond bombshell kind of way; perfect Noir make up down to the deep red lipstick. Noticeably quite broad shouldered and strikingly appearing to be over six feet tall  with those heels …. Brenda momentarily stares  ….wearing a fuzzy black boa with a houndstooth print trench coat over hot pink tights and zip up black go-go boots and slinging an apartment sized snake print shoulder bag 

“Brenda?” extending one—very large—hand

“Uh—“ Brenda, still staring as she is caught in the perfection of the application of cosmetics…. but then it is the eyes she gets caught up in

“We spoke yesterday,” the sexy mysterious blond says in a very deep, but unnervingly sexy, husky, voice as to remind her

“DT!” Brenda remembers 

“Yes!” and smiling as Brenda accepts to shake hands 

“I’m sorry, what is DT short for?”

“Ah—uh—Greta….”

“Ok. Right—Greta—“ she turns to unlock the door, “so how did you do that alarm thing?”

“Oh—“ shrugs it off as they walk into the darkened and still closed shop, “a trick from a previous job….” Greta looks around at the store as they walk to the wall where the light switches are 

“Did Jen tell you I was starting today?” 

“Um—no, but she isn’t great with  little things like —details,” Brenda switches on lights and explains, “they all flip on in the morning then off at night.”

The shop phone starts to ring, 

“Oh, one sec, let me get that—“ Brenda puts her coffee down to answer the phone 

Greta takes a moment to look around at things, walking through the sections. It is when Brenda looks up and hears from behind a mannequin,

“DeepThroat…. just got here….”

Brenda puts down the phone and walks around

Greta smiles looking up from putting away phone,

“I uh—set up Siri to call Pouchie…. they can be so needy!”

“Pouchie?”

“My baby….oh, where should I put my….” Greta slips off the trench coat and shoulder bag

“This way, let me show you,” Brenda shows the way to the lockers that are that unique shade of bubblegum pink

Greta puts away the shoulder bag and turns, shutting the locker, 

“and this?” Greta holds the trench coat to stand before Brenda in a Lycra skin-tight long sleeved little black dress that clings to every body part 

it is in this moment that Brenda knows a moment of surprise as Greta leans, draping a long arm up the wall of lockers and leaning a slim hip as Greta looks deeply into Brenda’s eyes 

“Oh ….” hesitates as she seems to forget what Greta just asked but then remembers, “you can hang it up over here—“ Brenda points to the line of coat hooks that are above the desk area where the safe and book keeping is kept by the time clock 

and—well, it is hard to say exactly what next occurred as in this sudden moment Brenda moved to turn —and show where…. but —the nearness of Greta was suddenly much closer than expected as Brenda brushes past—and so, it’s because Brenda’s rubber belt loop on her rubber jeans gets caught on Greta’s oversized statement ring and for a moment they are stuck together with this awkward contact and, of course, too—the surprise of pressure in places where parts pressed create some unexpected reactions

But no time for either to remark, if they dared as —just then the bell from the front door announced the first customer 

“Hellooooo???” the customer calls out from the other part of the shop

“I suppose we better get that….” Greta says suggestively 

*****

this is manic madness comedy relief not genius—

And as it’s an experiment with ‘noirotica’ I’ll take opinions on if it’s preferred this way or is it better as “my diary?” —first person narrative? I can rewrite this that way —from the ditch, you know (with my Smith and Wesson) 

https://youtu.be/cvChjHcABPA

 

 perhaps it’s time to do my erotica writings under Ann Ominous

as in paying homage to my literary heroes 

de Sade (not hero) but 

Anaïs  …. so let’s call it Delta dawns Venus’ lilla duva and mythologies of the dawnage 

The Rubber shop 

*but, am I joking?!?

*some silences are more deafening than others

some silences are more deafening than others

….these are the worst days

J'aimerais savoir qui vous êtes.  Je pensais que je savais, mais peut-être que j'avais tort….  Je suppose que je suis un autre "Beautiful Mind" délirant….  un prisonnier à lui-même. Perdu

to the readers: there is something amiss I’m unable to say here; if I do not post for a few days, or it may be longer ….it is because something has happened 

….so very sorry; I do hope I will again post in future —and with happier news

Film noir; power suit(short/comic relief)

 

It is the awkwardness of the situation that has me baffled, so I stop as they walk on ….and turn and walk back in the direction towards the bedroom 

I am not there more than ten seconds before Jörn appears as I am dumping out the clothes in my suitcase and starting to kick off my boots on my way to the bathroom 

“What are you doing? I told you they’re here! We don’t have time—“ Jörn stops me in my progress to dreams of a shower, cutting me short by pulling my boot back on without any warning to me —and by my shoulders he is turning me and  insistently, pushing me back into the direction out the door 

and again catch a glimpse of myself….

and detain again over my hair

“Duva! There’s no time!” he is annoyed 

“Your mother?” I look at him expecting he gets my meaning 

“Yes! And she’ll have your head if you don’t go open the door!” and with it the kind of push you give a toddler to go jump in the wading pool 

“I would place bets she is still not over the opera coat….” 

I stand there to consider one second to linger longer in front of the mirror

“Duva!” he pulls me out the door 

And there is Stina standing there still and spying from down the hall as I hear the man named Marcus call after her from further on

and so, Jörn says outside in the hallway shutting the door,  “there’s a meeting I’m now two minutes late for—“

“Two? Actually two? Are you sure it’s not one minute and thirty five seconds?” ….”

“They are downstairs! They are waiting to come in! Don’t give mama more reasons to irritate her —it’s too early in the day for that!”

I catch the look in Stina’s eye as she implores me with her eyes with a look of disapproval catching the gist of conversation 

I take a deep breath and look at them; first Stina and then Jörn—but then I notice Marcus has reappeared and is looking at me with —humor?—in x-ray vision

****

I pass the hallway mirror by the door that I never appreciated until now. That is, until I see what I look like, but the doorbell starts ringing.

In fact, it does not stop

It seems to be broken, I think and with a sense of doom, I fling open the door 

Mama

It is another awkward moment from my life I would like to never have rivaled as she stands there looking me over; she looks me up and down —then, to add to the humiliation, it is the indicative sniff she gives me when suddenly she opens her bag and produces a little atomizer,

She shows me the bottle,

“Calyx—you see, I remember?—I was going to give you this later but….” then with emphasis, sprays me before she hands me the gift box with the torn open gift paper, and walking towards the closet in the hall, “where is it?“ she asks me 

“Uhh….what?” I watch her opening the closet, looking through people’s coats 

“Oh, Hanna’s opera coat, I am suddenly in the mood to see it on you—“ there she pauses and turns to look at me, her gaze paused on the mid hello kitty region, while softly under breath,“feral….” 

I think of those Norse curses I’ve heard Jörn say and no idea what they mean—but just now seem kind of perfect to wish to say 

With relief, I see Josef walking up and catch a quick glimpse at myself and the backwards image in the hallway mirror of hello kitty with a smart pair of pinstripes and motorcycle boots; power dressing

virtuoso vertigo

 

it is as dictionary, or my word for it ….I think in images without words all day; I am a broken wagon wheel. and rip van Winkle. and so glad of the wind to disguise when, without warning, I start to cry and as I walk trying to stop the sudden gush of it, I desperately hope that nobody comes along and sees

where do memories go when you die?

    ….they must go somewhere 

 that rip van Winkle sense comes to me with its touch of mortality like ice on the pane 

fugue

 

As I start to hear the music Jörn composes, how it has begun to come to me in soprano like seagulls wailing and tenors of vocalized lines from Norse mythological sagas 

when suddenly I get an urge and I want to hurl myself off a bridge 

this place of the celf ….do I forfeit ….so it comes to my awareness and so…. you see, it has always been a part of me; this dictionary …. this fortress….

even as I know the answer I ask —so do I move forward?

  ….I get sick with fear and vertigo 

it is not for them to take apart 

so what am I doing —what am I doing? there will be no where to go if ….I share the dictionary; no where to go, no other place to run for cover, no where left within —and no one….no one, at all 

but what was it for, anyway? 

but

—whose terms? The double edged sword, 

only but no, nothing is worth my soul; it is not a product ….is a nom de plume enough, I wonder, and my identity, my face? give them electra?and for someone else ….perhaps it is too much

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….”