Electra’s dictionary Noir (jmmusechronwillcontinue)The Ride to see Dr. Evans

 

On the long Uber ride to Dr.Evan’s office my thoughts reflect upon the day before as I go to Chestertown, and watch scenery roll by

I had managed to get hold of Bran, thinking he would be the most obvious source to begin

“what’s so important—are you in trouble?” is the first thing he says, “it sounded urgent when you said you needed to talk before Friday.”

“No—yes—I mean….it’s to do with….the things going on here—but no, to do with….”

“Beth, is this wise—? You mean all the espionage? What have you gotten yourself involved with?”

“No, I just—wanted to pick your brain about some ….Welsh history—and I can’t really avoid being involved —at this point, it seems I’m in too deep but—do you know anything about some recent archeological excavation in Powys?”

He then had let out a frustrated and slightly annoyed long breath,

“Christ….” he says under his breath 

“It’s important, Bran. Whatever you can tell me, or whatever you may know ….perhaps even if you know details of political schemes or —I don’t know, something worth being interesting to —I guess people of ….what? What would this have to do with me, I wonder….?” but I say the last part more to myself 

“Ethan Rhys-Jones….” he says this thoughtfully and I hear then another reluctant sigh before he says, “I don’t like this, Beth, I think your Viking boyfriend has caught you in some fishnet of —concocts of designs.”

“It’s not Jörn, it is to do with Sunny, it seems.”

“Are you sure? Certainly, Jörn or whatever you call him —has smoked you out of the shadows and caused this sudden interest that has all those dusty retired spies with files turning their magnifying glass upon you—do you really want me to help you get deeper embroiled—I’d rather not, if I have a choice.”

“So you won’t offer me any insight then?”

“When is your meeting—you said it’s a Dr. Evans?”

“Yes. It’s tomorrow….”

Another pause with a suppressed sigh,

“well…. there was a finding —a very recent finding ….I believe it was back in 2020–erhm—Covid delayed it I believe, but there was a dig, a big finding, in fact—they found the remains a —medieval castle —in Welshpool, I’m sure that is the site your Dr.Evans would have been involved in—it was all over Welsh news, you can imagine.”

“Oh…. wow….I ….didn’t hear about this—but I guess with everything happening with Covid it wasn’t something any of us was thinking about….”

“No—well….so…. does this help?”

“What do you know about the dig? Do you remember anything or —any interesting particulars?”

“Ermm….well, let me try to remember—I’ve not really been reading up in such matters myself but ehm….actually—here, I’ll just check right now, as we’re talking….” and I hear him moving objects and the beep of a computer. After a moment of waiting he says, “oh, that’s right—that was interesting —yes, it was a few ….rather curious artifacts and so among them they found an English coin from King Henry VIII’s time—“

“Henry VIII….odd—what would—why would—?”

“Yeah, I know—exactly….do you know your history—? he was of Welsh lineage…. not something we are proud of but, I don’t think in this period any associations with him was common though nor encouraged but, it is curious….look, Beth, I don’t like your getting deeper caught up in all this….”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice, Bran—I mean—I had nowhere to go and my only way to get away from my high school stalker was….Sunny—where was everyone else? And where are they now….?”

My subtle hint at him I allow him to swallow —because it is true, isn’t it? However Sunny’s part is in involving me, there seems no warrior out there but my own coat of armor once again 

“What do you know of Powys—? —or any intrigue that might involve a sudden immigration of a family to America in the 1600’s?” I ask

Here he laughs deeply,

“that could fill a library, Beth—you would have the basis for a television series to stream for years on all the Welsh tribal wars that began before documented time….but….Powys and Gwynedd….going back before Llewelyn the Great ….ach…. before even his father ….that other ‘great’ ….the father of the medieval conflicts — going far into the realms of antiquity was our last actual king, long, long even before —even— the tenth century when there were no more kings to unite the tribes —“ a sudden heavy sigh, and pause in thought…. then, “to but start you off on the scope of the subject ….so now then the 1600’s—? well, consider this for the weight of things: the Welsh are proud of their ….long memories….and don’t make shy of the pride of it.”

Noir/Electra’s Dictionary & stranger notes; legendary lexicon of digressive internet babble Part 1

 [prelude to Dr. Evans continued]

After deliberating for a few more days over the business card Stina handed to me—days of wondering why she would insist upon my calling to go see this doctor 

which ….then lead to a sudden (few) call(s) to Stina over this

which —in the end, forced me to have to leave a voice mail after …. a series of hang ups 

which was actually prompted by a nasty text from her telling me to either text her what this was about or leave a voice message as she did not “appreciate all the calls” —and—if I’d “butt dialed” her number ….she would block my number hence forth unless ….

I say in my voice message to her,

<<“if this is a rouse and you are really suggesting that I am mentally and emotionally unbalanced and need to see a shrink at the insistence of the Interpol ‘bureau’ I don’t remember signing up for —then I hereby resign my commission!”>>

In which she called me back rather quickly after I left the message 

“You really can be such an annoying brat,” she tells me with her condescending Swedish superior airs that I’ve noted come native to some 

“Well thank you so much,” I say, “I guess it takes one to know one….”

Her silence punctuates loudly over the line. As well as her slow but significant indrawn breath as she slowly says,

“mental stability aside —as the jury is still out on your somewhat undefined legendary lexicon of digressive internet babble —which explores some dubious introspections of extra sensory perceptions and memories from alleged previous histories ….” here a notable intake of breath when she requires coming up for air, “as a matter of fact it is research! For whom you might ask? Well possibly for both of us! I am not required to order you to seek mental help —but what this is for is to investigate both for the benefit of international interest as—well as your own.”

“Oh that clears everything up for me, thanks! International interest? Ha! Whatever…. a dig in Wales hardly warrants that!”

“It is not so much the dig itself, Ms Rhys-Jones, but—“ she stops short to suddenly check herself and…. I hear a moment’s thoughtful hesitation perhaps intentional …? “Has Jörn not….well, he’s not had time has he….? Hmm—you know, after Retnuh Nivek’s escape from the Adirondak underground incident when the codes you had buried proved useful in the old mill maker’s letter lock safe…. it came to light that you might have tripped open another Pandora’s box.”

I half suppress a gasp —a bit too late,

“w-what are you talking about?”  as I think back to those days underground….especially when I thought Jörn had left me there. I had the feeling ….I spoke quite a lot in my unconscious state and that—along with that sense that every room in every part of that property had hidden microphones recording every moment 

“Jörn believes there are other codes.”

“Codes!?! You mean —in me?”

“Or things you’ve forgotten you know which —not only may be relevant to whatever Sunny is trying to smoke out of you.”

“So this doctor is part of intelligence?”

“This doctor happens to have faith that you are in the process of solving a mystery which on one hand connects you to a historical past but—on the other ….also has key elements connected to ties to political secrets relevant to the current world wide crisis….”

“Shut the fuck up,” I laugh because I really needed to let off the tension and enjoy this for her twisted humor

In fact —cannot stop laughing

“I’m serious,” she says when I guess she realizes I think she’s teasing me 

Then I seem to fall into a daze…. and just stare dumbly at a ground hog outside ….on its way to the nearby pond —carrying something in its mouth ….I almost forget she’s still there

Until

“Hello?” she says 

“Oh….!” and start to shake off the daze 

I arrange an Uber to take me to Dr. Evan’s office

Electra’s dictionary noir/Prelude to ‘Dr. Evans’(jmmusechroncont)

 

I have known men; lovers who have said to me, “you are the strongest person I’ve ever known,” and they did not mean physically; for in that I am feeble; and they ask, “how do you keep going?” and so, gone on to ask, “why do you?”

And while I hear their admiration in their tone, I have felt the kick within my gut —which I know they had not consciously given to me 

would they have me quit my life, I’ve wondered; do they feel my life thus far was not at all worth living for?

But I would not let myself ever prod deeper in that question I’ve asked myself 

because I know I would fear the answer 

and then ….I’d give up

has it been worth it….

as they say it I suppose I feel such disappointment in that very vague sense 

because ….this is a very lonely road to travel so long alone with those long spent lovers behind who had not lived up to their might and promise 

And still I do not look too deeply ….but I find the whispered hidden question of my own begin to infiltrate my faith onward 

why…. why indeed 

“I think it is that you are just too stubborn to give up,” is Jackson’s theory 

I think often of that girl’s memories; the landscapes as she walked; the man from her own land she left behind; the horizon she gazed off to ….and the man on the boat as the wind and the water whipped back his hair; that frozen, ice cold island; that hut

her life had such few options as a female ….to choose a life as female seems to double every single challenge without succumbing fully to submission for the ‘stronger’ sex 

Those memories of that life which seemed to re-emerge in my mind during my illness with mononucleosis during a deep fever and it was after those dreams had begun to come to me that I found myself in Dr. Rothschild’s office 

A psychiatrist soon to retire with un-conservative curiosities to try out some of her own experiments with minds as her need to conform seemed no longer necessary in her profession; female or not, she had reached the top of her own field and for this she had gained my respect and—another reason too; she was not willing to go along the views blindly of her status que peers 

When she regressed me…. it opened up further that channel to scenes that belonged to a mind not akin to my present life 

She opened a doorway that —up until that point in my life…. I had intentionally been hiding from ….but seemed to somehow plague my deepest subconsciousness 

Sometimes when I’m walking ….it is something about the swing and rhythm of my hips as I walk; I can feel the weight of such heavy baggage on my back weighing me down ….and my eyes shift to the horizon as though I still search for that ship long sailed ….away 

and I tell myself ….I missed the boat 

e.d. Noir (jmmusechron….?)

And when I do report to Stina, I leave the grounds and take a long walk to the next road out that leads to a pasture and then the bee farm 

she asks me without further ado when I make our weekly call,

“so have you anything to report?”

“I do actually….” I tell her but wait as I watch a nearby car drive away, “I was doing some cleaning up in the attic area and—“

“—yes?”

“I came across some interesting things ….some boxes which —well, among some valuable pieces from Africa and Iran—“

“Iran?”

“I found some old files of….documents and ….transcripts….”

“Go on.”

“Apparently he was an interrogator during his time with the FBI—“

“We are well aware of his agent background,” she sounds impatient now

“—from the Cold War,” I continue as if I did not hear her tone 

“What sort of files did you find?”

“It looked like —files of things like roughly drawn maps or….I don’t know, like those football strategy plans —I hardly can decipher their meanings, but—“

“He’s after Retnuh Nivek, you do realize—and he may be setting us up because he thinks we know his whereabouts,” she coolly says 

“Do you!?!”

“He has an old score with him and ….”

“So that’s why….” I shake my head 

“You’re his bait. He’s a hunter, remember? He can’t resist. His finding you on that road was no accident ….or that convenient old school chum stalker of yours  who he set up ….”

“Shit….” I stand in the middle of the dirt road pacing its width frantically 

“Calm down—we have not left you there on your own, haven’t you noticed the drones around?” But my mind is swimming and I have no time to process her words before she switches approach to ask, “have you seen any new people around then?”

The qualms I felt in divulging his life details seem to fly out of my thoughts now and I answer her, 

“Well….” I take a long breath to calm myself 

“You have…. you know, Jörn is concerned for you….” she says in such a way as to shake my wits even more into ….putting my faith once again in ….what I’d come to feel a lost cause 

“How would you know?”

“He thinks you are being watched—and it could be possible that Sunny is just an innocent bystander,” she seems to coax me

“You don’t believe that though, actually, do you?”

“Who is it then?” she asks 

“It’s a man ….he came by with the boys—“

“The boys?”

“Oh…. the Amish boys.”

“What….Amish—?” she pauses as it seems she think “oh…. they are known as Pennsylvania Dutch, are they not?”

I laugh,

“well…. did you have to Google that? They live among themselves. It’s a separate culture ….they did not approve of such things as electricity back around the turn of the last century….”

“And what’s it to do with Sunny….?”

“He’s quite —connected among their community, particularly the Prince family, I guess they are the family he never got to have as an agent….There’s a driver who—you know they don’t drive cars—so—“

“You think their hired driver does more than push the pedal to the metal….” with her usual finesse of using American expressions with slightly off Swedish intonation, she finishes my sentence for me 

Et je vois que tu es toujours là.  cela signifie-t-il que vous vous en souciez ? montre-moi

more thoughts of the legend; reflections

 

I always knew there was something “emotionally” wrong with my mother.

unhinged. 

I knew her differently than others in my family. Looking back now, I understand why her bond with me was bittersweet. I looked like the man she loved and lost and I was the daily reminder that she was marked in her husband’s eyes as his whore to abuse behind closed doors.

I watched from the crack of my mother’s closet door. I watched scenes that marked ….into the eggshell of my mind….I saw that vile little evil man 

but also, I saw her manic highs

I saw her lows

her lows made her cruel ….usually most to me

but I understood

I was willing to be thst for her

I listened 

I told her how much I adored her

I forgave her everything 

She was not diagnosed manic depressive

it was a secret that I saw but she hid well…. but she was quite mad…. quite mad…. and with a husband prone to violent behavior to members of his household—the exception the molesting daughter of his blood and sickness; behind closed doors were two plus one lunatics we all lived …. in that yellow house 

I reacted to her mood swings. I bore the swings. I was depressed when she hurt my feelings with her shunning and spiteful words…. that was why the self harm began, you see; her rejection made me wish to die when she shut me out and would ignore me for days; weeks…. And later years ….why do females in my family hurt me so ….the men not as much, just the one—my personal Hitler 

I had been misdiagnosed years ago for clinical depression —they were wrong. I just needed to heal. But some things you don’t heal from. It is up to the individual to figure out how to survive and build their armor and maybe one day triumph 

It is not depression when you hurt or grieve. Those emotions are correct to feel. They should be experienced, not masked by chemicals society enforces 

we should accept differences of others ….accept and appreciate their unique perspectives 

How boring if everything was straight up and down 

pour toi; grenouille de paix 2

 

 vampyren som guide genom helvetet;  Jag är glad att du fortfarande är där.  du ser mig åtminstone📌

 This spot reminds me of Hylas and the Nymphs by Waterhouse every day I walk by it

Electra’s dictionary, noir/I am me I am mine prt3;what I believe in

More thoughts of the legend 

I talk about Truth quite a lot on here. I reflect upon it. But truth is subjective to the consciousness it occupies 

so how is it possible to rise above subjectivity?

It is not possible 

so I can only reflect. Observe —do my Scientific Method and log it in my fleeting writing, sometimes in a blog; observations from my lens and see how my warped vision alters it

I don’t claim to be omniscient and proclaim a Truth

I just try to ….humanize it

I —think— emotions. 

Intellectualize it. Likely I am a form of autism as dyslexics are connected so, while I am a sensitive empath and psychically connected to visions that come to me, I recognize that my truth is a truth but it is not the utter truth 

but that is not our role

that is what I believe —our truths matter as much as the utter truth does but the two should never be confused or claim one ultimate victory 

I think my mission here was to learn how to feel. It seems I split off as a child, that’s how the text books would label it 

but that was my lesson ….that was chosen for this life’s journey. To catalogue emotions; to study emotions. To step inside them; immerse…. take it on at full force…. and to turn it into a universal image; Art in order to call minds to a higher consciousness 

To call to minds 

   in order to ignite a butterfly effect 

so where does ego come in? I think that is the Very riddle locked up in the celves/Celf

Those cells inside; those rooms 

so within this vast pool of knowledge I’ve acquired of human emotions ….trauma; fear; every form of heartbreak and loss; shame; humiliation; torture; pain; terror….terror…destitute….a  fleeting glimpse at ego; idolization; everybody’s unicorn; mistaken identity; infatuation; lust; confusion of sexual identity; gender…. 

but ….no joy

that part I missed somehow and ….I think it must be my cross to bear

the gods were jealous of me ….or who knows, I am Aphrodite; not Electra and this journey is ….designed to ….fail unless ….I find that one possibility that purity does exist in humankind ….that pure of heart

so far…. no joy, and I was their champion 

whom they destroyed

we all have a mission; we use me as the apparatus so there I am:

I think of Dante’s tree….I am caught around the trunk and limbs with barbed wire; how does a tough outer shell protect the ‘fragile eggshell mind’* within the broken soul? how does she avoid those that promise but ….then only to find that all they ever wanted was base possession and are not deep enough for more and this is the flaw in my mission; I believed. Is it a want or a need? When does the want become the need? when does the need become wont. 

Someone once told me I should have been catholic because she thought I was the most devout person she knew—she being catholic. She said it maliciously and I think about that label of stoic but no…. they are wrong …. And that is the sad riddle of the celves ….and there seems no legend can find it on the map 

*******

I find the sudden desperate need to —what?

find that desperate faith somewhere in someone —perhaps and, reach with one moment of hesitation and give up to this human weakness when ….I see Bran’s call up on my phone screen. That barbed wire, they never let me go….

“Cloak and dagger, espionage—how did you get caught up in all of this?” Bran who is almost actually scolding when I answer

“You don’t remember? It was always in the background of my life—the assault, and who was behind that? Hired hit man —the years under that man’s thumb who controlled all our lives ….”

“Your father.”

“He was not my father.”

“You got your dna test results ….I read that in your…. so, the sins of the fathers…. born is Electra …. morning becomes her…. but you are my Beth….”

“Bran….” to my ears I hear warning and defense ….but also longing ….and the memory of seaweed arms….and harden myself against this; I know how to pull the portcullis better than anyone; I am me, I am mine, and nothing comes in, nobody trespasses ….that is the code 

so

“And the killer is still out there? The one who assaulted you at Bard and left you with a life sentence of degenerative pain….”

“Uhh—I….don’t know, they don’t tell me, but he’s some known terrorist they seem to be in a cat and mouse game with —all these years….he walks free….”

“How are you?” he asks

I hear concern in his voice; I don’t believe what I hear; never again and choose not to hear what he asks

“I’m so sick of ….controllers—men…. I’m sorry you don’t want to hear this….”

“It’s —fine, I deserve to hear this,” he says

“You mean because you recognize this in yourself? —do…. I think they just look at me and they see ‘target’ ….sitting doe sitting duck….and they build their deceptions carefully hiding their own interests and watch the exit door is in view—“

“Christ, Beth—what have you been through….”he says with regret and ….I almost go back to ‘our’ place in my mind ….it’s there watching me from the box I hid it in

But I babble on ignoring this and so glad of an excuse to ….have someone just listen—he was always my best listener…. “so they know how to back out—they watch thst exit and then tell you how to be. how to feel. perform, and stop trying to see. you. But what about the needs of myself —no, there is no self, we know…..I mean, don’t you dare make a suggestion, a request —a desire…. why should you want or need or ask…. just sit there and be quiet….how dare I think I have any rights at all.”

“Your Viking?”

“I don’t want to talk about it….” I say, “he is just one of dozens, I mean, don’t you remember? Or no, people choose how to recall details and they edit out their own guilt.”

“I’m sorry Beth….” he says suddenly 

And I stop babbling madly 

He says it again 

“You should know…. they didn’t win over you….I’m so sorry Beth….”

*JDMorrison 

Electra’s dictionary noir; I am me ,I am mine Prt2

“Did anyone see you get out of the postal vehicle?” Stina asks me from the front seat, in her usual no-nonsense tone that always gets my back up 

“I don’t think so, Willem pulled up beside a dumpster and —you know, I was….careful. I’m not an idiot,” the last part I say defensively 

“Good. You seem to be a natural at this.”

I never know with her if she really means anything she says. But I am so lost in my brooding thoughts of ….well; is it anger —or pain?

I think about getting lost somewhere where no one will ever find me. Just ghosting everyone and everything ….as if I could but still…. I think about it…. and I’ve done it before  

even as the things you run away from still haunt at you, pressing the eject button that gets you out the emergency exit is very freeing 

I like feeling free. The illusion of freedom is so thrilling to me; no strings, no one to check in with, no one who would notice that you are alive or dead 

just go. because people and myself are not natural companions and only because I forget not to trust; I start to believe them…. and nobody ever tells the truth ….wrap you in and I suppose part of it must be the challenge of whether or not they can crack you like a safe; conquer you…. 

it isn’t that I don’t believe in love.

so what do I believe in?

“What if I told you I know a doctor who is working on DNA memory theory and is actually in the area?” Stina suddenly says 

“What?” I sit up right and for the moment forget my brooding 

“Yes. She’s got her own practice as a psychiatrist but she has devoted years of work researching this very subject. Her name is Dr. Rachel Evans. Her practice is in Chesterton,” Stina goes on to say in a strangely friendly tone 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know this is a subject that interests you. You’ve written about this, haven’t you?”

“Great, so you are reading my blog now—I can’t imagine why unless you want something from me.”

“Are you interested in talking with this person?” Stina asks me

“In exchange for what?” I ask, “because I thought originally you just wanted me to spy on Jörn and ….well, you know more about his whereabouts these days than I do.”

“So—in exchange ….I would like you to find out more about Sunny.”

“Sunny?”

“Yes. We have suspicions he is not as retired as he pretends to be—possible links with not just what happened on January 6 but possible covert operations to undermine more than one country’s government dealings….”

I think even if she said he was a little green man I would be too numb to care 

I don’t answer and lean my head against the window 

I feel so trapped. So isolated and stranded. But mostly so sick of believing people who deceive me

“Dr. Evans is expecting your call,” Stina tells me, “she also happened to be a part of a recent excavation in an area in Great Britain known as Powys.”

I see her look at me in the rear view mirror 

I think about ….how there really is not that much to excite me or challenge me lately 

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Just—pay attention to who he meets with, who comes by. I want you to just watch for things. And check in with me once a week.”

Electra’s dictionary noir; I am me, I am mine

 

I stand at the shipping launch as I watch the large cruiser slowly diminish into the distance; lost upon the horizon 

and I feel as if I have seen this scene so many times 

repeated 

over and over

the landscape alters in dreams. the lands change replaced and overlaid with patch worked memories and dreams from …. so many of the celves 

I feel so empty inside …. I am lost upon the horizon 

Do I know the uniformed postal worker with the odd accent stands nearby? as I say aloud to myself,

“….how will I get back?”

But what do I mean? from that lost horizon ….? or from some long lost land….

“Your ride is here,” the postal worker says with his Dutch accent that only I can hear him say as amongst the activity, there is noise of the water; of the motors all around; of voices making static on the wind…. and the wind itself ….which carries the sounds away, far away from the maddening crowd 

I turn and see a black car with an Uber sign in the window of the back passenger side and I see the familiar figure of Stina step out of the car and walk over

I look at Willem as Stina nears us, she calls my name and says,

“you ordered a ride?”

“Did I?” I say still obtuse to no one in particular but …. perhaps to myself 

Willem walks casually near me back in the direction of the postal van and says,

“you should go with her. She’ll bring you back. I will text you later; we can’t talk here— don’t look at me as I walk away….”

Then he walks to the van

I turn to Stina,

“oh—yes, I’m ….who the ride is for….” and I am so numb inside that I just walk straight to the Uber car with no emotion and feel so exhausted when I slide into the back seat…..

Electra’s dictionary/“Operation delivery ‘going postal’” Noir

 

Operation delivery ‘going postal’” goes perfectly without a single hitch, as it is Willem who arrives driving the delivery van, as I had half expected it would be. As expected, Sunny is not present during the ‘pickup service’. So, from the nearby cluster of thick shrubs, Jörn is camouflaged by the thickly leaved trees as Willem opens the back of the van to remove a large box of wild deer feed at the moment Jörn climbs in. Willem neatly shuts the back and carries the box of deer feed to the spot where Sunny has in past requested his packages to be placed 

I casually walk up the long drive that leads to the dirt road and walk to the end of it where the postal van is waiting to pick me up so that I may say my goodbyes to Jörn. 

The ride to Chesapeake Bay’s ship launch is heavily silent though as Willem drives and Jörn and I sit in the back on the floor surrounded with shipping boxes, all of which are actually empty 

I feel as though someone should say something but it seems none of us find something relevant and worth saying but then, they have their top secret world and who am I in all of the grand scheme of things? 

“Will you report to Stina?” Jörn asks suddenly over the hum of the van as he looks up from the cover of the floor to watch the sky through the cargo window 

“Is this really what you choose to talk about right now when I don’t even know when I’ll see you again?”

“He’s right,” Willem says from the front, “you should. This way if anything—“ he stops whatever he was about to say and pauses as though to reconsider his words, “I would also feel better having someone or some way we can reach you. We don’t feel it is safe for you with that maniac still out on the loose too and Sunny….he’s retired and not up on ….how things work these days….”

“Why would you need to reach me?” I ask and watch Jörn for any sign of emotion 

He glances up at me and raises one brow. Then keeps his eyes steady on me; they are shadowed and still gray overcast and reveal nothing 

I look away

“Duva….” he touches my hand and then takes it in his. But I don’t look at him. There have been so many stretches of silences between us and I just don’t know if he leaves me with any possibility of believing in ….anything. More softly and just audible to me, he says again, “duva….” and weaves his long fingers through mine 

“The last time you just ….there was nothing; no communication from you—nothing! I mean, I do understand you’re in deep cover but, Jörn, already the ties between us have been so sketchy at best but ….mostly frayed at the rope’s end ….” the last part of what I say comes out tense but my eyes tear and I look away 

We reach the bay and there is the shifting of props —he changes clothes putting on a US  naval military disguise but is set to climb into a box large enough to contain him. I realize the plan is to have Willem cart him to the ship in the box using a hand truck but the rest I have not enough to understand more of their plan 

“So this is it?” I look at him as he is about to climb in it

Willem says from the front,

“I’ll let you talk in private,” he gets out

But then not much is said beyond,

“you’ll hear from me ….I promise….”

“You said that last time,” I look up at him and search his eyes, then I say, “be careful,” and grip his hand tight, “please….”

conversation, ymddiddan/Electra’s dictionary

   

There is this sense always when you turn back the pages of a lifetime and it feels as if that lifetime has remained preserved; frozen as it was

That life. That relationship. Those people you were. 

To me, it is like you could see them there still; your ghosts haunting the hallways of scenes from that life. There they are still lurking in the shadows of rooms where the dust glistens like pixie dust and romanticizes forgotten pain 

“Do you know where I am right now?” Bran. His voice. Alive. It reaches me through that audible organ my phone is pressed to; ageless and ….still belonging to that ‘her’ that ‘“Beth” who is what?’  

But in slow motion I only comprehend the meaning as I am myself in this strange bedroom that I have only learned to occupy as mine of Sunny’s hunting lodge. No the bedroom is not strange. Just strange as in I am its stranger; new and not mine and I am not its 

I belong to me. I am mine. 

or am I? I look around me and wonder how to mesh the celves ….how to become its whole; how to find perspective with this voice that belongs to a man who once broke my heart 

“Cardiff?” I ask him. And I fear the very strangeness of my voice gives me away

“Well…. I mean—where I am sitting….calling you from….” and that lilting of his accent befuddles my mind playing tricks with how it causes me to feel

I only realize when I exhale I’ve been holding my breath and need to breathe and must stop to inhale deeply as I pull the phone away a moment so as not to give myself away 

I cannot find any answer though to what he has said and feel too dizzy to think 

“I used to call you from my car outside, remember? I showed you ….”

“The same car?” I ask because I remember it from our trip when we drove from Paris to Rouen 

“No—that one had a sad demise,” he says with a kind of heavy nostalgia

“So the same house then….” I say because ….because ….it was that life that won over me 

“Well….it’s ….a lot different now—added on….” he says and I note he refrains from any pronoun 

“How is Clare?” I ask as I put my mind on the frank reality of the present 

“She’s ….she’s….” he sighs heavily 

“And the child …? Should be —what eight right now, I guess?”

“Please Beth….” unexpected is the heavy sorrow in his deep voice, “you’ve been on my mind so much lately,” he says with a sigh of defeat 

“Have you been reading my blog?”

“Do you think I ever stopped?” he asks

“I don’t know. How would I know?” I ask him. But then ask, “why did you call?”

He does not answer right away. But hear him moving around in his car. In my mind he is still in that old faded blue car with the mis-folded old maps stuck in the visors. 

After a moment he says,

“I’ve needed to hear your voice again. Maybe it was that recording. Or….maybe ….I just wanted that glimpse back of feeling ….anything.”

“It’s been eight years….” and I regret how cold my voice says this 

“I deserve that,” he says 

“No—no—I’m sorry….I ….have wondered about you. I just felt it was best to leave you in peace.”

“Peace. Is that what you call this?”

“I don’t know….but still, I mean—I left Chris ages ago and even that life feels it belonged to someone else.”

“I’ve been replaced by a Viking,” his laugh is forced 

“Not replaced —another who is otherwise engaged so to speak; unofficially still with his partner.”

“What happened with the other one?” he asks trying to seem casual 

“Who? Eliot? The step cousin of my illegitimate father and his ridiculous ideas….?”

“Nicholas? The archeologist researcher, professor?”

“Nigel—oh, he was just ….that was….I don’t know; his DNA memory theory was really why but he—was….I think he was my rebound ….from you,” and only as I say this do I realize what that was, “why did you really call me, Bran? Don’t tell me it was to give me lessons in Welsh.”

“But….it would be a good excuse,” he says 

  

 

I remember crosses, fields, they went on and on, rolling green and hills, hammers. The hills turned into rocky paths. And the drumming. They shook the trees and the ground ….I would stare into the distance and see ….they littered the road everywhere and the acrid scent that blew across and stayed inside your breath and taste ….I remember her; she was apart from the rest of us but…. when she had something to say, she would come and find us. She told me about the man who would come. First one and then I would never see him again. She said they would come and I would go. With them. 

 c'est moi qui ai été aveugle

 Il me voit

captured fleeting freedom

 

Electra’s dictionary noir;a voice from the past/Beth who is What

 

“Does Sunny get deliveries from anywhere?” Jörn suddenly asks me, looking up from his phone

“Is that Willem?”

“He came by boat,” he says simply 

“He’s here?” I ask and jump to get up but Jörn puts his hand on me, “not here, he’s docked….”

“Chesapeake?” 

Jörn nods.

“On your boat?”

“Duva….” he looks at me in irritation 

“Oh—no, that would be obvious, wouldn’t it?”

Jörn does not answer that, instead he says,

“He’s on a shipping cruiser….”

“Oh—deliveries? Well…. the US postal service comes with packages by truck if it doesn’t fit in a mailbox.”

Jörn looks back at his phone and taps into it

“Why?” I ask 

Only as he is intent on texting to Willem he is distracted and doesn’t answer so I think about this and come to some logical conclusions why Willem would consider the need to know this and realize they are working out how to move Jörn 

“There’s usually delivery around noon,” I say but then ….I realize they would have the intel or the means of things like this  

“When are you leaving?” I ask with a heavy feeling in my chest 

Jörn looks up from his phone briefly. He looks at me steadily before he says,

“tomorrow….”

“Just like that? Where are you going?”

“Is there anyway you could get away without calling attention to your not being there?”

“Tomorrow —? Like afternoon you mean, is that when?” I ask, “yes, he won’t be around during that time and I can find a good explanation ….you mean to—say goodbye ….”

I return from the hide back at the house and feel disturbed 

even as I know these are different circumstances—

why is it that people in my life continually drop in and out of my life at their own convenience? ….No one is ever really there completely one hundred percent. There is always their own agenda which hardly includes me beyond —whatever fascination (fetish?) they have for me

and it makes me wonder 

So disturbed ….I pace with my arms folded as I silently yell at the walls ….silent ….always silent 

what does a voice mean when whatever you once had to say seems ….lost completely in the noise 

In effort to put my mind somewhere else I turn to read the latest of the war— and pick up my phone which I’ve kept on silent since I left the hide ….just wanting to be alone with my own thoughts 

….and drawn back to my phone as it is my only connection to the internet as such and …. see a message through messenger from someone I have not seen or heard from in over eight years 

<<how are you?>>

I tap it to open it and stop….

“No,” I say aloud to the empty room

I put my phone down and cover my face 

The tone of a call comes through voice call. 

I hesitate as it tones three times ….and then, tap the call

“Your Welsh needs serious help….Beth,” the familiar lilting voice says

“Bran….?”

Electra’s dictionary Noir/Of copycats & codes(jmmusechron)

 

Jörn suddenly asks,

“so, you and your daughter are talking again?”

“Oh—you read that in my ….”

“Blog,” he finishes my thought

“Mostly just texts for now, but we have talked, yes. After all these years …. but yes…. we had a four hour phone call of us mostly talking about writing and art ….”I look outside and find myself thinking about her back in Michigan. Then after a moment lost in thought I shrug the nostalgia off, and pause before I say,“but ‘between the lines’ we tackled all the heavy shit. And—well, it is sad but it turns out it was all misunderstandings. Makes me wonder how much Chris might have poured gasoline over things to ….”

“Help turn her against you.”

I shrug and don’t look at him and ignore the heavy weight of his meaning there. I mumble to myself something 

“What did you say?” he asks leaning towards me

I shake my head,

“it’s not worth even saying ….some things ….he’s ….said to me ….recently.”

“You know he’s the narcissist,” he looks at me closely “….don’t you?”

I realize he heard me

“I don’t want to talk about him. He is one of dozens of people in my life I have needed to let go of, I guess it was some kind of overhaul I’ve been going through to edit out the toxic individuals in my life.”

“Like MM?” he raises one brow at me when I sharply look at him “speaking of …. narcissists… don’t drop the project because of….”

“Oh. You…. figured that out….so….you have been keeping up, haven’t you? I didn’t know you had the time.”

“Stake outs get pretty tedious and mind numbing when you have to wait wondering if you are about to get blown up….” he remarks casually 

“Shit—Jörn! Where—?!”

He raises his good hand and shakes his head,

“don’t ask….”

“I —see…. well, I’m glad I can provide you with some distraction….”

“Is your daughter writing with you now?”he seems genuinely interested

I laugh,

“it’s the other way around. She has a few stories and ….well, you know…. it’s what we always did together before. It’s fun. She likes a different genre so—I like her stories…. and they’re fun so ….I’ve been assisting her for ideas when she gets stuck on plot lines. It’s ….yeah…. It is actually a lot of fun,” I chuckle, “but I’ve always found her fun. I’ve missed her so much…. and I’ve really missed it. These things we used to do….” I stop to collect myself but then…. “Hard to believe it’s been so many years ….she was just out of high school then ….years. Like….over six…. It doesn’t feel like it when we talk or text or work together….so weird how even with our separation she has so many of my traits….” I laugh at the irony. 

only I am no good talking about myself. 

I never could share. never knew how. strong silent type….the growing up years of my own ….kept me there silent in the corner ….where they sat me in fears of the belt valet

you never learn how ….so instead you learn how to write in code….and become uncomfortable now when you try

“Anyway…. So…. My blog—Jörn …. I assume it’s you—I mean, you know—the blog hits….?” I ask him carefully 

But at first Jörn seems not to understand what I mean 

after a moment he smiles as he realizes my question 

“You mean—“ he hides another smile and then chuckles, “your cryptic posts ….which can seem like—are they codes ….or part of the story? yes, it was me, I got your messages—” his tone at first is teasing as he chuckles but then more searching as he now narrows his eyes on me; today more grey reflecting the day, with specks of taupe, “what was that ‘copycat’ you mentioned?”

“What? ….oh…. yeah—well, there were similar hits but —I don’t think they were you.”

“Then who was it, duva?” he meets my gaze, “you need to watch that….be careful.”

“Watch what? It’s not like I’m leaking secrets because I don’t know any!”

“Well, the copycat doesn’t know that, do they?”

Electra’s dictionary pirate noir (jmmusechron); radio signals🎭

 

I am silent as Jörn checks his phone for messages and emails and turn away slightly so as to allow his requirement of privacy and yet, this affords me the opportunity to look again at the unopened message still causing me confusion and glance at him

The only part of the unopened message reads: <hey, I know it’s been a minute but —have you ….>

“Does Willem know your whereabouts?” I ask carefully

Jörn stops reading something on his phone to look at me,

“have you heard from him?”

“I….” 

“You have,” he reads me

“I wasn’t sure….” and sigh with resignation and move closer to where he remains propped in the corner of the hide’s wood structure 

He gives me a look and reaches his hand out and waits for me to hand him my phone 

Again I sigh with resignation but this time with a heavier sense of indecision and I still grip my phone as I hand it to him

Again that look at me with those kryptonite vampire eyes that have powers beyond my understanding and immediately I release my grip

“Why didn’t you open it?” he looks up from my phone, finger hovering over the message

“I guess I wasn’t sure….”

He nods at me thoughtfully before looking again at my phone. It is a long look he gives me,

“how….” and now he studies me more critically taking in my full appearance for the first time since I discovered him here, “how have you ….been?” and narrows his eyes on me, observing me much too closely 

“What do you mean?” I ask him

“Well, before I left here, last time, I bumped into Smulligan down at ….” he waves to indicate FBI headquarters which is not too far from where Sunny’s property is by car

“Oh? And?” I ask 

“Stina was there….” 

I look away,

“does she seriously still want me to ….”

“Stina does not give up that easily,” he chuckles to himself. But I feel his gaze remain upon me and with it, those omniscient invisible tentacles that miss nothing and after a pause he says, “you’re too thin, duva, I am concerned and ….at least if I know you are reporting back to someone I’d…. be able to focus better….”

I suddenly look at him as his remark quite surprises me

“Jörn ….” and shrug, “how am I….” I say aloud thoughtfully and look away again to consider how best to reply. Only it occurs to me that…. no one has asked me that in so long; not even the Celf. “I am ….” and get stuck on how to answer “I don’t know…. Ok, I guess…. but…. I suppose I miss some semblance of—home….you know.”

“You were ready to leave the Adirondaks,” he says 

“I know but — don’t you miss the philharmonic? Our life back there?”

He smiles and suddenly gives me an uncharacteristic playful wink and pats a spot closer next to him, and when I move closer, he pulls me inside his arms with my phone,

“I know I must reek of sweat and blood,” he says in apology as I lean against him

“It’s not so bad,” I tell him, “it’s not like I’ve never sat in a sauna with you or—other things, and I’ve missed your smell.”

“It must be love,” he teases, “you open it,” he gives me the phone and I open it with him there

<hey, I know it’s been a minute but —have you ….seen anything of moose over there?>

I glance up at Jörn now

Jörn taps my reply into my phone with my hands still holding it,

But to my surprise he taps back

<crab fishing>

I look up at him but he just looks at the phone 

It is only about forty seconds when Willem’s reply comes 

<I thought herring was on the menu>

Jörn replies 

<the red herring disagreed>

Electra’s dictionary noir/hide and seek

 

I return to the hunter’s hide with a large gallon jug of water and several basics I anticipate he could use in the small hide-out he will have to remain at until he is strong enough to move 

He is awake when I enter the small structure 

“I charged your phone,” I start to hand it to him as I kneel down but he indicates I set it next to him on the floor and as I do I set down his rucksack too that I borrowed to carry things back for him; transportable non perishable food; trail mix; protein bars and anything else of this kind that I could find, “oh—I brought you my phone booster charger so it’s ready when….”I look at him as I set it next to his phone but I see he looks tired and only slightly interested 

“Tack— thanks,” he says and looks back at me, and then says, “for everything….”

“Oh….” I move closer, “can I see?”

“You’ve never been good with blood,” he says, “all the more reason I’m grateful for what you did but—“

I sigh heavily knowing he is right,

“still, it needs to be done….” I dig more things out of his bag, “gauze, antiseptic….” I lay everything out, “oh—“ I take out a large travel mirror, “I thought you might want to inspect my work just in case, so ….” I lay the mirror next to him, “you must be starving.”

He gives me an ironic look,

“I had roast snake for breakfast actually.”

“What-the-fuck?!”

“I know how you feel about meat so, I wasn’t going to mention it,” he starts to laugh at me but the movement causes pain in the area of the wound. I stare at him imploringly. He makes a small suggestion of a shrug, “it had the audacity to pay me a visit this morning and I wasn’t that comfortable with the social call….”

I hold back the urge to retch but have to turn my face away,

“here’s a tooth brush,” I say and put this next to his phone with some toothpaste with it

I move to prepare changing the gauze and set about to cleanse the wound  

“I think you need some of this,” he reaches with his good arm for the vodka bottle, “you’ve gone a shade of green suddenly.”

“No, I—“ but as I notice the blood seeped through, though now dried, I hesitate. I don’t look at him and just reach for the bottle. And once fortified I hand it back to him and go about the work. 

He holds up the mirror and watches what I do and reaches for the vodka as I start to peel the gauze that sticks to the dried blood 

“So what is the plan?” I ask him as I start to work and wonder if I should mention the message from Willem still left unopened 

 qu'en est-il d'une vraie conversation ?  Je tombe en panne d'essence sans but

alors je ne comprends pas ?  vous devez être précis.  j'ai pensé abandonner

e.d. noir/Between the plains

it is after I have finished off, cleansed the wound over the area …. when …. I see the strange neatness of the stitches and feel myself remove …. wrap the gauze around until it seals it away…. like some heavy dream; when the thick blankets smothers out your attachment to recalling the dream …. the dream down the heavy dark swamp 

I don’t know really what I think about sometimes ….these days anyway ….

the few hours between those few hours of sleep ….I’ve not been able to get past four at the most for so long 

….that heaviness that goes deep down into the dark morass…. right before dreams 

 …. so I watch him to be sure no fever sets in. I stay for hours wondering how I will explain to Sunny where I’ve been ….and how to get back here with supplies without catching his attention 

I realize as I sit there with one eye watching him and another dreaming past the hide’s several windows ….it has been weeks since I went somewhere like a shop or ….was among civilization and ….I don’t miss it. I don’t want it. I don’t want to be among people. among society. have I been a prisoner too long, I wonder….or is it the society? I have no interest in anything out there

I could stay here in these woods forever ….pretend I am not on the planet where some lunatic could press a button and blow up our planet ….I’m not here anymore. perhaps I am like a bear in hibernation or wasn’t it Merlin who went into his crystal cave and slept a few hundred years ….?

I think about Sunny with all his hunting trophies all over ….giant bears take up the main room and more deer than I can count adorn the walls and…. I realize he and I look at nature so much differently…. but I feel so unlike ….most in society; I don’t eat meat and I cry watching hunters go after their kill; cry more watching the blood and the skulls….and the casualness of how meat is consumed —why am I so ridiculous? so removed from normal ….but why isn’t this normal? I keep wondering 

yet….I don’t think it’s me so, fuckit….and then forget my thought when I look down now at my phone ….

as ….there is a message from Willem….oh, what do I do?

Electra’s dictionary and film noir; infinity

 

I truly get the feeling that nobody really knows that life is real 

so they waste every second 

   these things you think about as you are watching someone …. slip away 

or when it is you

when you see your small body crumpled up like road kill and 

you think …. poor thing 

and then God taps you on the shoulder and says,

“baby, that’s you down there…. she’s dying …. aren’t you going to save her?”

*******

I watch myself do things ….I watch from far away….

 as I watch fingers sew up Jörn’s wound …. 

And as I come back to myself I realize I’ve been somewhere far away …. lost in some dream world …. where dictionaries are all encoded and nobody ever figured it out ….And have to rush down the ladder as I now vomit at the sight of blood, I manage to clean it all up using the bottled water and by now …. the shields are all in place ….I remember now something else ….about his opera and …. the trigger that began this entire labyrinthine journey to a Celf …..

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/impairments have power

He says,

“the bullet is still in there,” in such a tone as one might say, ‘I had a shitty day’ with an accompanied resigned sigh 

something always switches for me in moments of crisis but it takes just the right shove to carry me over that threshold 

the shock of blood everywhere, the paleness of his complexion ….just to the welcome mat when first only I feel that lightheaded warning …. then the taste of fear when he says,

“I can’t reach it—“he suddenly moves to lean towards me extending a utility knife, “it’s in my shoulder—behind—you’re going to have to do it….” and looks up at me matter-of-fact with those eyes, now foggy with fatigue 

“Me? I’ll call 911–“ I reach for my phone

“Nej!” he shouts this and shocks me so much that I drop my phone. It lands loudly on the floor board wood plank

I stare at him

“No….” he says more calmly, “no one can know I’m here…. alive….”

This is when the switch occurs….

it is involuntary ….like spring loaded; a catapult when he says,

“But I might not be if an infection sets in….just need to get the bullet out— duva…. I’ll tell you what to do….”

It is always at that moment when it happens that I know ….I am invincible and all fears and emotions blow away, like stepping out of a costume and being aware of only ….energy and watch it all happen…. fingers, objects and just calculations 

It is a strange thing about this moment when you sit on the precipice of two awarenesses and I have heard it categorized as the common garden variety of disassociation but I don’t know but if it is, then maybe it is not well understood. Sometimes worlds need to be saved and not everyone in it notices what is happening in the furthest reaches of corners ….

“Use that needle ….” he tells me 

“There’s rubbing alcohol in the kit,” he tells me

I use it to cleanse the area with strips of fabric torn from the bottom of my shirt and then my hands

“There’s also a bottle of vodka,” he gestures with his head at the rucksack I only just notice by the door where I came in

I get the bag and bring it over,

“how long have you been here?” 

“What time is it?”

I show him my phone for the time 

“So I spent the night here….”

“How—?”

“Chopper.”

“Who?”

He shakes his head,

“I can’t tell you…. I’m surprised you didn’t hear—wake up the dogs or….”

“He has the television up pretty loud,” I hand him the vodka 

I watch him take a long swig, then look up at me with one brow raised,

“ready?”

invincible 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir;Notes to a stranger & codes/then it is you

name yourself

*******

The nightmares have returned —but I only realize as I walk through Sunny’s forest, there had been another last night…. as it now comes back to me; there is still something dark that is buried there that I am still hiding from 

But as I hike through leaves and branches on my way to find the right path which leads to that hunter’s hide, I see the clearing and the two objects ….and as I walk past them I see the path that leads to the hide which looks like a little gray house with dark green camouflage tree branches painted on it like all the others on Sunny’s hunting grounds. The small building structure is sat on tall metal props that elevate it high; like a treehouse, it is tree level and for a moment I seem to just stare at it as I compare it to the photo in the email attachment and…. I get a chill; a kind of shudder as if I get a sense of fear

I walk the rest of the distance to reach it, take a deep breath as I circle it, walking towards the front, where the ladder is that leads up to a door…. and— for just a quick moment as I get a jolt, I pause to take a deep breath and then climb the tall ladder slowly as I feel my knees start to tremble. With growing dread, I force myself to not think as I continue my climb to the top. And, once there, I feel myself trembling even more by now, then forcing out thought, haul myself up the landing with both hands. I land neatly in a quiet thud, then carefully I test the wood of the landing with my weight on it 

And as the landing proves sound, I test myself to walk two steps ….carefully to the front door and pause…. hold my breath…. and, squeezing my eyes shut, grab the door handle which looks like a regular old brass doorknob that you would have found in some old house from the 1940s….It turns with difficulty but manages to unfasten and now I start to pull open the door, at first very carefully, only about a centimeter —and peak in….but I don’t have to as —at that moment I hear Jörn’s cough just before he says, 

“yes it’s me duva…. it’s safe….”

Only he should have prepared me…. and as I swing wide the door, I see his blood everywhere 

 we are meant to live consciously. maybe now is not meant to know why. just to know; that what you feel matters and should be consciously acknowledged because ….it all really matters 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir;deception email (jmmusechron)

I go to the emails and find the one from Carmen and open it, it says

To Cabaret administrator; 

I require a refund for the two items you will see pictured in the attachments 

So I open each attachment ….but instead of items from the online shop the two photos are ….

rather odd…. one is a photo of two odd broken branches; one shaped like a V the other a Y

the other photo is …. of …. a hunter’s hide ….

suddenly it hits me; I have seen both these things …. because they are on Sunny’s property ….

 

 

[a break from events]

 thoughts…. & /of the dictionary

in all the relationships/lovers I’ve ever had, never was there one who ever read anything I wrote. Never asked to, never took the initiative to bother. the same is true for my visual art, they but took a casual glance at it and never commented during the course of our intimacy

one even walked right across one of my paintings and left a footprint 

Is that why I do this ?

I guess there is a contradiction of how I am perceived outwardly. My physical looks don’t match who I am (do I look like a slut?) and must be the reason I have always attracted the worst partners. I really do not see how others see me; I get confused whenever situations come about from the result of this (so it is no surprise I don’t post pictures of myself here and try to limit it in other places) 

Some people have been asking me what is happening with my ‘project’ side of “Electra’s dictionary” 

Electra’s dictionary ….. it’s been a part of me for as long as I have been self-aware. And, it seems that whatever I do in my life, it evolves into but it is also my clipboard of consciousness and —I guess, will continue to until the end 

To be and to morph, and bend to life around the nucleus that I exist in….but

Electra’s dictionary ….does it belong in that real world out there? 

I don’t want be commercial

so —what could it be? 

There’s a line in the movie Tootsie when Bill Murray’s character says “I wish I had a theatre that was only open when it rained,” 

and …. I guess it’s like that 

what kind of people venture out on rainy evenings? Possibly the kinds who wish to avoid crowds…. 

Those other types ….well …. they would never grasp the Dictionary

So, in trying to envision how to reach that rainy day audience —as they must exist but maybe just are scattered all over the planet in secret corners of the world, as, I believe there are a lot of introverts out there with similar leanings 

Lately when I have been thinking about this in consideration in making it as film, it would work best if it could be done very modestly. Almost like it is Electra’s iPhone filming it as an extension in her diary and just let the story tell it. 

Visually and audibly, as my diary depicts and blends the real with the haze of illusion…. move from verse to scenes fluidly like the blog; like a vlog …. it has become my favorite as an idea, so—in this way it would not need big budget special effects methods, as I couldn’t compete with this anyway but I really don’t think my style of storytelling actually needs it—and I have begun to believe it’s more a distraction to do the Dictionary in that way.

…. a bit gritty at first as it opens …. visually like stepping inside a diary and a consciousness 

Electra’s dictionary and Film Noir/A Short Shift; transition in thoughts (jmmusechronicles)

Electra—

I have heard nothing directly from him in so long, I start to lose faith …. and more odd messages come… but from whom? ….I don’t know what to think or what to believe; his silence I don’t understand anymore…. they …. leave me to question —is it Jörn? —or some copycat who has figured out our secret codes and ….so now I find I wonder how to proceed 

One message I find through our Cabaret website —from someone named “Carmen” but I don’t bother to open it right right away as it does not register immediately and—it is not until moments later when I go for a hike on Sunny’s grounds that I get a strange sense deep within …..and when I get a jolt suddenly —it occurs to me to think of that email; so find I rush to return suddenly when I get a sense something is quite wrong 

and ….decide to look at the email from Carmen 



…. life is so terrifying 

you enter this world and it all starts 

the canons in all directions

and it never stops 

nobody says aloud —are you scared? 

I am 

all the time ….it is always war everywhere, even the kind in little worlds; we are all so fragile 

why is love so intangible? 

….peace, little dove, Electra 

 

e.d.

I receive a strange message …. is it Jörn?

 

Electra’s dictionary and film noir/jmmusechron next chapter 

So I find I think of Jörn all the time; constantly and …. I wonder was it always this way? ….is it only that I am conscious of it now because …. or is it the fear of what danger he may be in?

I think of the thrill …. those times at Lincoln center; rushing to concert just to see him …. to watch him up there, so beautiful and golden in the lights and now, who knows what dark cover he has assumed for this new caper 

I don’t like this. Not to be near him has become a physical ache lately which— no, I don’t mean it in that way; I mean it in another way; a way I am not so familiar …. in a way that I never thought I was capable so—I wonder about it all with the world as it is

And I think about that Viking and that Celtic girl; a girl’s life I relive almost every night….

Maybe ….

it must mean something if it is another end to another era perhaps ….? 

I think of him that day in the lobby the first time I saw him …. I really don’t think I am supposed to ignore ….

He asks me to write about him here

 

he wants me to write of him; in the din of our world our separate peace

he wants to read how my words describe what our private dreams we wish to share do to me; or he wishes to crawl within my head and know my secret thoughts of him 

words that require decoding because, well, he knows that every thought I reveal, I say a thousand more 

so he wonders how would my contradictions describe one of —what— thousands of fleeting sexual thoughts of him? 

assuming …. do I? today —where, how, and how many…. such a bad boy —

No just a player —he needs my mind fucks to get through his day

But I know he’s just a player 

I’m your mind fuck forever seared into your mental retinas