(edited/altered again*) Part 2 next session at Gerald’s

“He signed a consent for me,” Gerald clears his throat.

“What—does—that—mean?” I ask expecting anything at this point— perhaps the ceiling to open up and Odin to come flying in

I just hold my breath

He sets down his mug and pulls himself into a full yoga pose; even his hands and fingers; he closes his eyes

He takes a few deep breaths and with his eyes closed he breaths out and says in exhale,
“we taped our last session. He wants you to hear it.”

Why do I shudder in fear?

I watch Gerald reach for his phone to find the voice memo— 

I suddenly ask now,

“How many times has he come to see you?” I ask this as I reach for the chai needing the strength suddenly “how often does he come? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Gerald looks at me in this way; you know.... like the cat who swallows the canary

and looks awkward

I sigh,
“well he admitted it to me that he has come to see you .... Gerald, you can’t say? Client/professional-confidentiality?”


“Where do you want to start?” Gerald asks me, adjusting his sitting position, “why don’t we just start the recording?”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Jörn’s voice fills the room.....

Recording: it always begins the same way, it is a kind of howling .... it howls— and rings in the air with a hammering and echoes like a chorus ....

like Carmina Burana but not as nice.... and more male vocals—mixed even with mine.

Some times I catch myself waking up with the sound in my lungs .... that’s when I get up to play.....

it’s become worse since ..... since meeting her.... min duva.....

seeing her eyes that day in the lobby..... like a turtle dove.... her eyes, those colors of the feathers and like my dream from that same night....

she tells me she dreams in color too.... I know from the other dreams.... all the blood

All the blood on my hands.... it is smeared like across my eyes, pours from my sweat into my eyes.... smeared like a giant movie screen across the wide battlefields, the rocks, the earth.... the mud..... even the ice and slush .....

this dream has always been a part of my life but I have never been able to tell anyone because..... this won’t make sense but— I feel guilty.... for something.... for things..... as though I need to —suffer somehow; martyr or do a kind of penance which I cannot explain because I’m not religious..... but I always get some all consuming heavy weight of guilt for —something— which.... I always have felt

and has made me often feel this need to sacrifice my own needs.... my own dreams and especially about happiness and part of why I felt this obligation to .... do the government work; this shame this need to give back something .... she’s told you, I assume? About my secret second job? I know since we signed the paper there that we have trust about confidentiality—and I know how to find you [here Jörn laughs and you can hear Gerald’s laugh too]....

when I saw her in the dream back in October, when these new dreams started to surface.... yes the colors.... with the dark blue robes and the red hair—I remembered something.... I was reminded of another dream or maybe really it is part of the whole dream—which isn’t really a dream —is it?

You know I never believed in any of this about reincarnation—not that I disbelieved either, I just didn’t really like thinking about that kind of thinking....

but there is as an older dream. Which is darker and what I was just describing to you.... where there is slaughter .... gruesome and —sickening—along with this a prevailing sick smell that you taste at the back of the throat— and mixed with it a wild high.... a kind of euphoric madness that I find .... where I feel most of the center of this guilt .... which often forces me to wake up.... why I need my music to .... release this

And ..... well.... [heavy sigh....]

In this dream I see another warrior torturing a woman.... and when I look around myself and see heavy bags of plunder and dead children .....and this I mostly find it hurts to look at in the dreams.... I think it must be about— or connected to.... his own family, his own losses.... I don’t know—is it me? Who then is it? But I feel it. Know it. Or is it more that I can’t deny it. That I wish I could. I know from the emotions that I am responsible for what I witness ....the tortured woman .... the mother to the girl.... she wears dark blue robes like her and has the red hair and as I see her I always hear someone screaming for her mother.... and it hurts in here.... in my pulse— in my beating heart.... I hear the sound of the girl’s voice screaming.... as I watch the torture of the woman being slowly slaughtered and cannot watch it any longer with the sound of her screams ....and this is why it seems—I have to stop it.... and do with one stab into her .... to give her peace..... but I know it is my fault somehow.... and then I see a dark blue image running away into the trees..... in the distance

(*no doubt will be edited again still—the perils of writing while hiking & in public places; dictionary: excuse this maniac’s approach to a writer’s craft)

Shifting props behind scenes in a dictionary; a Tootsie kind of nightmare day

and so, because the session with Gerald is still too heavy to write about yet —you will have to forgive me, dictionary, if I opt to avoid

    upon leaving Gerald’s

but then, it becomes a Tootsie (the film) kind of day bumping into Nigel after

How he says that Jörn might be something vomited from Hell....? is that how he said it—?

I half don’t hear nor understand anything Nigel says after that. Maybe I short circuit more easily than the average person

I have a cap on how much my emotions can take before I need to run for cover

I say at such point,
“I must go,” to him

Nigel reaches for me as I get up from the table and throw my bag on to go

“I’m just worried about you,” he says to me

“Well—gosh, I don’t know what to say about that....” and I look right at him. I no longer see his lighthouse somehow though ... I mean I think I have a bad habit of self delusion—especially about men; I give them far too much credit and in hindsight I always realize I seem to fill in my fiction where they lack and credit it all not to myself

“Listen, I am sorry about how it went down between us,” I apologize because I have a moment of feeling guilt but I add, “maybe you hoped for something I’m not wired for—I don’t mind that you may be bisexual as so was I once but I was always monogamous and to simplify this for you, Nigel....” I study his eyes now that have lost their power over me and, yes, there is a sadness about this, to be sure, but not when you realize it was never based on a truth, “it’s not that I cannot be broad minded about being capable of having an open relationship but— well, you never asked me nor considered and still, as I’d have said no, anyway— it is not physically possible for me to be close to someone intimately once I don’t trust them. I just am not equipped that way....”

He stares back at me and after this moment when I see his eyes go red I decide I have to go

“But I—“ he begins

“No!” because I can feel what he’s about to say and actually run now for the door out of Starbucks only he runs after me outside and he says it anyway as I am rushing away from him

“I love you,” he says this

I cover my ears and say,
“No-no-no, stop! Please! You made a choice—do not make me the bad guy!”

“Don’t you think your Viking might just be rebound?”

“Please ....stop calling him that. He’s a musician, he’s not a fucking Viking—and you know nothing about our relationship, you have no business even going there, ok?”

“You know— I saw him leave your apartment building the other day and meet up with a woman,” Nigel tells me

“What? Have you been stalking me, Nigel? You know.... let me go, I need to go—I’ve had such a day, do you mind—?”

He grabs my hand and pulls at my phone that I have my fingers wrapped around and he says,
“please un-block me!” and he grabs my phone

I look down the street wanting to be gone from here.... I think that is the only way he’ll let me go so I say,
“Ok, fine,” and pull my phone from him. I open him in contacts and unblock him. I show him this now. Then I send him a text to prove it. I do a smile—

:)

I look at him,
“Ok?”

“Will you message me later?” he asks me

....?

I look at him and then again down the street. Later.... ? how long is later, I wonder

I sigh heavily and say,
“Ok, listen, I have some things I want to ask you about DNA memory and, how ‘bout I try and text you tomorrow?”” Yeah? Ok—so, yeah—ok?”

I dread the hug but then he does it

and then I start to run down the street and lose myself in the crowds

but I still hear him calling after me

It is after a few streets of weaving in and out of in order to feel free of him that I finally take a deep breath and slowly head back to the apartment building but finding myself taking the long way back

It is some gear shifting when I realize I have to face the Swedish chorus and....

Jörn which after everything

still, I arrive at the apartment building far quicker than I had expected to and find myself in the lobby standing by the postal boxes and staring at the very spot I saw Jörn for the very first time. I don’t know why but I am somehow frozen to stand there

It is awhile before I realize he is suddenly standing there. He makes me jump in fright

“What are you doing?” he asks me and comes over to me

“How long have you been there?” I ask him

“How long—? I just stepped out of the elevator and I saw you—what’s wrong?—where have you been? I sent you a text,” he says

I take out my phone as I had thrown it into my bag which must have muffled the sound, but the text messages opens up to my last :) to Nigel

I nervously cover it but he doesn’t notice and then I open to his

It simply says: where are you? Im starting to worry

Which makes me think of what Nigel said before. And the other thing he said. What woman?

I look up at him

He reads my eyes,
“what?” he asks

“I went to see Gerald,” I say through all the static going on

But then his phone does his mother’s operatic “Oooooh!!!!” alert tone that makes us both jump

He looks at his phone,
“Come,” he says pulling me back outside

“Where?”

“Mama.... I—“ still he drags me along skipping the necessity of explanation or invitation

“Where are we going?” I ask

and then we are walking to the corner convenience store

I look up at him and then at my wrist in his hand,
“sometimes I think you must must confuse me with your daughter!”

He lets go my wrist,
“yes, it must be the height thing, förlåt mig—I’m sorry,” and adds “actually, she’s taller than you but you are about the height she was at eleven so, you could be right.”

I realize we are here to do some grocery shopping as he’s methodically grabbing things

“Didn’t you say your parents are leaving soon?” I ask because I’m noticing that he is choosing items by the dozen or such that his mother likes; cinnamon buns, a few bags of split peas, a jar of herring and knäckebröd

He gives me a guilty look and shrugs,
“well—hmm.... as it turns out....”

“Oh no, what....?”

He nods,
“they are going to be here a bit longer....do you need anything? I don’t think you have been eating, you want ice cream?” he asks me

“Ice cream?”

I hand him a half gallon of milk

“Oh, that was the other thing, get the next size, Andreas goes through this.”

Maybe I hand over the gallon a little too hard as I get him in the stomach

We go up to pay

“Anything else?” he asks me partially sarcastic as he asks, “some Loko maybe?”

I decide to take it as a suggestion and go get some

We go up to pay and as the cashier asks if that’s all Jörn asks,
“do you have any straws?”

“We sell the reusable stainless steel ones,” he tells Jörn

“Perfect,” Jörn pays and hands it to me

Stockholm syndrome/Part 1 of the next Gerald session

I go to see Gerald; arrive just as a previous client leaves

—another wrapped in mystery— who passes quickly by me, her face, too, completely obscured and hidden by a bright magenta silk scarf wrapped around her and only visible, her smooth dark skin. She rushes by me and departs down the hall

So I hesitate outside the door

Gerald lives not far from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the street heading up his place always shifts my mood by association

This one like many art museums I have known, the Metropolitan is possibly my one place of refuge here in the US, like a home away from home since my life growing up in the Netherlands —where every street there is like a museum —and I think this standing there of ....how I do miss those ancient streets that have kept their gabled faces like some bridge of time that connect our present time to that Middle, medieval past

A bridge

I think this just as I go to knock on his door. But first take a breath before I do

Because time.... which is relative and a concept or perspective but really—what is time.... when a memory is forever

I believe time must play out in present and exist eternally

that repeats always in the present tense

Like my diary; my dictionary.... written in present tense; these crumbs that link my present to ....

and why I had to create my secret self; my secret world.... inside me

The veiled cocoon of misleads and false turns with the secrets folded inside the patterns

—————-

When Gerald answers he does not seem at all perturbed by his previous session, despite the evident passionate state his client left in. Instead, he is relaxed and cheerfully placid,

Today he wears, with faded jeans, what seems to be a Hawaiian shirt but I notice that there are flamingos hidden all over it like some Magic Eye optical illusion. So it makes me laugh

“Oh, the shirt? Kaylee bought it for me; most people don’t notice the flamingoes ....”

Gerald is not the Hawaiian shirt type with his wiry frame and nerd glasses but then, he wears it tucked in and buttoned up so that one can almost believe he is wearing a tie, despite the jeans juxtaposed with his neat, side parted hair and clean shaven face. And yet he exudes this Buddha serenity without the need for the costume just by his calm and collected aura

And coupled too is the scent of frankincense which hangs in the air when you step into his place and seems to wrap its own kind of hypnotic spell.

He waves me in towards the kitchen

“Chai?” he asks me

“Isn’t that intense for what I am here for?” .... shoes at the door I ask; then follow him into the kitchen

“I think we both know you are going to need it,” and already he has made it i notice as he pours from a colorful tea pot into a carnelian colored porcelain cup that sits in its own unusual saucer. He hands it to me

He pours some for himself using his usual cobalt heavy mug with its asymmetrical shape, then we sit on rug piles on the floor with just one hanging paper lamp lighting the room

I blurt unable to contain it to myself anymore

“But I don’t understand, Gerald! Why is she in love with him if he has kidnapped her and worse witnessed him kill her mother? Is it Stockholm syndrome?”

(and again re-edited) phoenix, dictionary & mirror

~Each time I burn the dictionary it is always my true Agamemnon that recalls me .... from search engines from the Internet. He is the only one who has always had the power to remind me of who I really am and why I search my reflection for definition~

******************

Back at the rooftop 

******************

I can’t breathe because something is pressing the air from my lungs until it hurts and startled awake, still unable to breathe, I hear Jörn’s shout and realize I’m still on the rooftop in the sauna. I hear footsteps running and watch Jörn chasing someone across the rooftop and run in the direction of this but lose sight of them

I reach the end where the building ledge has a kind of wall, and here is where I see Jörn sat on the ledge

“What are you doing!?” I ask in horror because it looks like he’s going to jump

but then I see the other figure who he had been chasing jump from one ledge to the next building! I hear a loud, shrill scream. It is awhile before I realize it came from me

I watch Jörn on the phone shouting at someone as we watch the person running

After he ends the call he throws his tuxedo jacket around me and as it still has his body heat it instantly warms

“Who was that?” I ask him

But now his phone rings. He answers and says,
“Jasper?” And then, “you got him?” he let’s out s deep breath and his Nordic eyes pierce me, “they have him in police custody.”

I feel my head and face drain as I ask,
“ohhh no— do I have to go down to make a statement now?”

He ends the call,
“no, we’re just saying he was trespassing and Jasper is acting as the eye witness. But evidently we need to step up the security of the penthouse.... as well as the entire building. Let me see you in the light—are you all right?”

No

Especially now that he mentions this

“Let’s go back to my place,” he says

Only I don’t want to face the Greek chorus of his family

“No! Please! I can’t face everyone right now— oh my God, Jörn—this is now twice in one day—do you want to go for your encores now?”

“What?”

“Go take your bows and encores?”

“What are you talking about?”

“How could you just act like everything is fine and expect me to waltz around pretending that it’s ok to have death threats?”

“What are you saying? Calm down, you’re hyperventilating—you have to try and breathe slowly —“

“No! How do I know you are not in on this?”

“Let’s go in, you’re shivering,” he tells me

“No, I don’t want to, Jörn!”

He leads me back to the sauna instead.

At first he says nothing and waits for me to start breathing normally and when I do he comes over to me and sits down beside me

“Do you really think I don’t care about your death threats? I just sprinted across the rooftop because I was after someone trying to kill you!”

“You yelled at me for the Loko,” I tell him

“I did not yell at you,” he corrects me

“You —well—I mean, you acted like I should be fine about what happened at the park and then you were pissed at me because I had one little drink.”

He laughs at me, and repeats
“one little drink.”

That is all he says about that.

So I look at him to read his eyes and at first they are filled with humor until it gives way to concern,
“it was only because we had the performance to go to; there was no time to do anything else—what? You are angry at me for not blowing off the performance after hours of preparing for it? You believe I’m an asshole because I am able to separate myself from emotions and behave professionally when I must?”

“Is that what you call it?” I ask

“What would you call it? Do you really not trust me all of a sudden? Or— is it something else?”

Finally I admit,
“I called Gerald before.... he told me you have been to see him several times....”

Here Jörn scratches his head nervously and looks away; I stare at the strange shadows cast on his face. He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the wall of the sauna and uses his foot to kick shut the sauna door as a sudden gust of rain showers in

He turns his head to study me

“Yes,” he says

He says this with the same gravity as one in confession

Only it is his eyes that stop me from whatever I may have continued to say. Or even think

Instead my frame of mind is derailed from those tracks by the haunted expression in his eyes

misbegotten celves found in ruins

What gets lost between the lines

~behind the scenes; i bury myself and words between.... I am so shipwrecked—this is an aside of loss; lost; there is only Electra~



“Go on, take everything, take everything, I want you to! Go on, take everything, take everything! I dare you to!”*—Courtney Love


I used to say: I believe in triumph not survival


I still believe that but I have become so much more jaded by this world weary journey upon this spiked path

I recognize the anger but not the face it claimed

with sharpened teeth and claws

but I keep it to myself

as the tanks run me over; angel means messenger, not saint and this uniform never fit me right

I’m just too wild at heart

* “Violet” Courtney Love song (Hole)

Hidden in words; Electra’s dictionary

Safety in obscurity


“I won’t come out, you must come in. To me. Into my womb-garden where I peer out. Where I can construct a universe within the skull, to rival the real.”—Jim Morrison



I sneak away to the penthouse roof to get some air.... I get drizzled on

it seems the rain will never stop

it has been for days

And yet, no mention of lightening and thunderstorms were reported in New York —
which is quite strange considering what happened at the theatre when we lost power

.... and so his family don’t notice when I leave and go through the passage to the penthouse where I walk around the hallways in the dark at first. Watch the lights come from outside, from a city that never sleeps .... wander the halls

It also seems Jörn’s family never gets tired, even after an evening of endless speeches and Jörn’s musical debut of his piece which everyone took a part of. I think the excitement will keep them up until the sun rises

I never noticed the penthouse had a patio — because it is actually more than a rooftop....

.... so I look around

because it has been winter for so long and then the rain

Ilya had mentioned something about the snow people who come to haul away snow when too much covers the outdoor area. It seemed like such an extravagant and preposterous notion....

how do they get it from the top floor roof of the penthouse to downstairs? And where do they take the piles of snow before it all melts?

So I picture a man in a dump truck swimming in the driver’s seat as he waits at a red light

I am still barefoot but at least now wearing jeans and a t-shirt instead of the see-through shower curtain at the performance.... it has begun to occur to me that the candles probably exposed even more of me by their glow and shadows than had the spotlights been working....

at least my face was obscured in the dark and hopefully well hidden so that I could claim it could have been anyone;

anonymous

It was this thought that made me need to remove from them and other worries connected to what happened before

The “patio” —it turns out—is the entire roof top....I wonder if it has a pool when I discover something that looks like a sauna

I open the door and go in. Yes it is a sauna. It still has the sweet scent of the wood and something comfortable to recline on;

which I do.... because i want to clear my head and

there is something to be said for looking out a sauna door to the Manhattan skyline from up here .... as wet breezes blow rain in like sharp needles

I decide, laying here, that I want to make the entire roof my gym

even as I know it is unlikely that anyone would agree with me but .... maybe they won’t notice

maybe a yoga garden

Should I be thinking about the death threat?

Only I have and —constantly since it happened. Frantically

I don’t understand how Jörn can be so blasé about my death threat

eclipsed by his opera

I don’t think I am angry at him for that but —maybe I am

and how do I feel about that.... that he’s narcissistic?

And how do I feel about that? Do I dare analyze him? Dissect his personality flaws

How much do I really know about him? Yes, at moments I feel like I know him better than myself but then he.... does something that reminds me that in many ways we are still total strangers. How much do I really know him?

And I wonder if I should be scared of him, how much like the smeden is he? I have thought about the dream of him with Elan’s mother; when he killed her—how the dream was not seen from her eyes, how it was strangely set in a kind of shadow and seemed different than the other dreams almost like it was not my own

like it was somebody else’s dream

It makes me think and wonder that the mystery surrounding Jörn .... should be something I should factor in the whole because I do sense he is not telling me things.... many things


I think I search for ghost wisdom and tempt any spirits who would dare to have a conversation with me tonight