a day for the races; Electra’s dictionary (jm muse chronicles)

“Pushing through the darkness
Still another mile....

“I have a dream
A song to sing
To help me cope
With anything .....”

——lyrics from the song ‘I Have a Dream” by Benny Andersson, Björn Ulvaenus



—————————————————

It is in the morning, today that I get up before everyone to make coffee when I get a random text from Gerald asking
<how is Jörn’s opera going?>

<Have you had another dream?>I text him back

<They have been consistent the last few months but I have been getting other ....well—signs>

<wow, what kind?>

<It’s to do with his work... as it is to do with you... just know he has to .... it’s hard to say as I don’t want to read into anything and think it’s best just to say.... this work is about something else something bigger than just two people..... than.... well— that it seems more than just ....  art. It is about something necessary but I’m not sure why—only that I don’t usually get these kinds of signs so— I wanted to ask you if he is still working on—is it an opera?>

<Yes!!! Now his family is involved and they are working on it too..... He has been almost obsessed with it!>

“Oh, good....”

“Good?”

“Yes.”

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

when you deny yourself of an emotion

you start to question everything you feel and

are soon detached from ‘the self’ —and no longer trust yourself nor your gauge of reality

to live in denial of one’s own personal reality

You doubt your own observations

Every experience and emotion you ever have....

you question if it really happened

Along with the concept of having

The .....rights

that I was not entitled

that life

Forced to live

the lies; like fibers on a loom that ties and binds you

where does the anger get released..... where does the anger go..... what logical  choice of violence to resound and rebound upon the self that it already has beaten should it seduce to martyr its everlasting Celf?





“They had the dimensions wrong,” Lisa says when I ask about the furniture

I watch as a different crew of truck people arrive to remove half the furniture

“Some were in metric and some were ....” but she does not bother to finish her sentence

“I have an idea,” Elsa says suddenly coming over to where I am cleaning up the morning plates; she rests her hand on my arm and she says, “Josef and I noticed there is a nearby farmer’s market and they are having a harvest celebration with pumpkins.”

I find it odd somehow that she would want to tell me this, expecting a catch

“Lorenzo and Lisa will be doing their photo shoot all day here so we would like to explore,” she tells me.

“Oh that’s nice,” I tell her

“Oh, you are coming with us,” she says

“Oh good,” Lisa says, “this way Jörn can help with the furniture here without being distracted with D—“

“Oh he’s coming too!” Elsa laughs and tells me, “we need to pick up things because we are going to make jordgubb rabarber paj,” she goes on to say

“Where am I going?” Jörn asks when he hears his name and walks over from watching the furniture men get too close to his piano

But then Lisa starts a conversation in rapid svenska and I take it as a not so subtle hint to mind my own business ....and clean the kitchen.

They don’t notice when I slip out after to find my way to the shower

It is on my way as I walk through the bedroom to the en suite that I stop and look at the bed and jump with a start

It’s the deer skull propped on the pillow and below it is the severed hide of a bear with its giant head stretched across the length of the bed

I don’t hear Jörn come in but I hear him curse in Swedish, “skit,” and go right to the bed to grab both off (my side of) the bed, “Leeeeeesaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!” he bellows and drags björnen behind him

I just go and start the shower .... sit at the bottom and pull inward into a ball
*************************************************seep
let the water beat me....as I sink deep into thoughts

six cervical vertebra they line up like the strangulating width of a large hand’s grip; like a collapsed accordion; crushed herniated in a descriptive bulging line, portraying a crime

Like left fingerprints at the scene of a crime. If you measured it, the evidence would read like a confession by the murderer. Like a signature or autograph claiming a victim


.....and so I find myself turning inward and ....

   turning also to that vague and distant memory of a father I once knew.... but was told I must never recall

because it was always his conviction in my mind’s ear that I have heard through all these years.... because, father.... I think I have lost .... the power to believe ..... I beseech you to send your beacon for the light is fading fast
————————————————-

in my spine

seven bone spurs between

they are sharply progressing into the neural sack.

It claims the sensory reflexes and administers it’s pain ruthlessly with no expectations to ever let go its grip

It pervades and eternally breaks at the last lingering of daylight’s faith

out damn spot; out haunting

....I wash and I wash —

but it’s still under my skin.

I realize the thing I need I left outside. It was because I set it down when we looked for where the hose is outside —was it the bucket I need.... no

it was her game. And she was a bully. But what did they tell him?

Only it never comes off your skin. And then the spiders crawl in which is why it is so necessary to keep washing it out

“Oh shit!” because I realize I am outside and it is the middle of the night

I hear my name said from behind me

At first I can’t remember whose voice that is. I startle when I feel the water from the spout turned off

“What have you been doing?” this same voice asks me

It’s cold outside. I realize the bucket overflowed and that I am soaking wet

“Come into the light....” he says and pulls me to where the outdoor lights go on when you walk by them.

“What have you done?” he asks me

“What?” only now do I realize I’m dreaming because the tone of the man’s voice seems alien to my real life

But he says,
“we should put something on that right away.”

I look and notice I have been washing my skin with a pomace stone and at first I am more disappointed that the stains are still there than I am about the blood

“Why does it still show?” I ask because usually everyone understands your thoughts when you are dreaming

“Let’s go inside, I have something for that,” he tells me

 I wake up from the dream

“We should go inside,” he tells me

but I find I do not have the impetus to move


“Oh....” I sigh looking into the still pond

It is a moment where nothing is said.

But so much is said.



“Are you cold?” I ask him

He reaches for my arm,
“why don’t you help an old man inside?”

we start to walk but he stops for a minute

and whatever it is makes him scratch his head thoughtfully as he looks at me as if he is seeing me for the first time. But then he smiles and leads me back towards the house

Of a haunting pirate

“And she calls to him:

‘Let the waste
Cross the ancient trails to you
Far out
Beneath the sorrow clouds

Let them taste
The bitter, lost mistake of you
Let them cry out
Through your rusted scars....”

—lyrics by Billy Corgan from the song ‘the Tale of Dusty and Pistle Pete’ by the Smashing Pumpkins from the album ‘Adore’


As I watch the moon tonight I think of Raoul and the burden of his soul

why should it carry through life times.....

the day that the pirate killed her mother happened two summers before the day he saw Elan on the beach and followed her to the market

even though she had seen it happen that day she did not know it was the man who faced her that day at the market.... she had been up on the hill overlooking the beach because her mother told her to run

and then she saw it happen from the distance

he had seen the girl running .... but it was not Raoul who butchered Elan’s mother. It was because it made him remember what befell his own family, that he stepped in and killed the woman quick to end her slow torture by the men as she had fought back.

But it had been the heavy pendant crescent moon that she wore made of silver that made him later recall the woman he had killed because ....he took it from her. 

When he discovered on the boat that Elan wore the same kind of crescent moon that had been hidden within the folds of her woad blue robes, he knew a moment of guilt and shame

In this way we may begin to understand the weight of this burden he must have then felt. And how it must have been such a guilt to germinate within him such a heavy sense of anguish of responsibility; 

a kind of debt

which could carry within a soul long through many lifetimes 


https://youtu.be/X7Bnp_Znp9M

autumn

I did this years ago when we were living in Michigan. It was an old cemetery in Royal Oak near where we used to live. Autumn 

the deep morass; night terrors

I really don’t know how to get out of here.... this may have seemed to anyone who might stumble on my words on some random search through blogs.... as if it was only just a puzzle I made up with all the answers figured out.... but it’s not true. I mean, this was why I ever first wrote down my words in a dictionary ..... made up my own meanings


I don’t know how to get out of here

prequel to reprise smörgås family drama (more shifting props behind the scenes)

It is when I see one of the guys from the furniture truck carrying a deer skull with antlers that I run over,
“no, wait— please no animal carcasses,” I tell him

The guy looks at me and seems to see right through me,
“I just bring the paid inventory. It’s supposed to be dropped off. If you want to return it you have to arrange a bill of lading—“

“Can you just take it back to the truck?” I ask him and mumble, “I mean, it’s already dead. I can’t imagine why it’s considered inventory—or maybe we can bury it,” I feel my skin crawl looking at it and shudder, “please, can you just bring it back to the truck?”

But then it occurs to me because of how he looks at me that he thinks I’m just some brat

so instead I look for Jörn and wave at him. I see him talking to one of the other guys about how they should go around the back for something they’re bringing in because there’s a wider sliding door

“What’s wrong?” he comes over

“I can’t have any inventory left on the truck,” the guy tells him

“A dead skull?” I look at Jörn

He shakes his head at me and makes a frustrated hand gesture at me,
“I realize this stuff is neither of our tastes but what am I supposed to tell Lisa? She’s contracted to design the interior and Lorenzo is taking the photos....!” he seems frustrated I realize

“Ok but— no animal carcasses,” I say anyway

“Oh you saw the bear rug?” he asks me

“Oh my God!” I say in horror

“I guess not,” he mumbles and then tries to compromise with me. “What is your problem about it? Is it that they are animals?”

“Dead!”

He sighs heavily,
“what about your one thousand vintage Coach handbags you have everywhere?”

“Well, they’re vintage,” I say and back away from the dead animal head pointing at it, “that thing had a brain in it....”

“And what about your handbags?”

“Well, they’re vintage. They’ve already been dead for over twenty five years —I’m honoring their memory so —it’s ....different! plus they do not look at me—like, look at that thing, it has eye sockets, wouldn’t that give you nightmares?” I wave at the skull, and start gagging and then ask him, “what did you do with the bear?”

“I didn’t do anything with the bear! It’s somewhere in there!” he waves at the house

I look at the house and suddenly don’t want to go in there

“You mean it’s in there now?” I look at him. “Why is she putting dead animals everywhere? Does it have a head?”

Jörn chooses not to answer

He says,
“I’ll tell the guy to take the skull and bear somewhere, all right, how’s that? Anyway, I’ve had enough of this, I’m going for a run— “

“You’re going running? Now?!” I ask him watching things move across the lawn, “did she leave her tablet so we can figure out what to do with everything? I mean, are they just supposed to dump the stuff anywhere? Because that looks like what they’re doing!”

I just realize he is serious about running as ....he’s wearing his running clothes ....!

“Why are you so angry?” I ask him

He stares at the trucks and the furniture and the trees being dragged and says,
“Lisa....”


I look at all the stuff everywhere too and then at him

But he has this expression as if he has reached his limit

I don’t understand .... at first

only you can set your watch to his madness ....

as well, I realize it is not on his morning’s chosen plan A agenda, so now by default it seems it is mine

I watch him go over to the guy to discuss about the skull and carcass though before he takes off in a mad sprint across the front lawn

I watch him disappear ....

great....  then I go wedge inside through the door where there is a headboard still stuck in it....

the downside, I guess, to designing with a tablet

I look around now at what was once the huge main room. It was a huge open space ....before the truck arrived.

I see his beloved piano overshadowed in the middle of it all looking like an alien in an alien world. Poor thing. Only I really mean Jörn. It makes me go over to it as the poor thing looks like it needs a hug and ....then I find I touch the keys

then turn around to look at all the furniture everywhere. Rather daunting. Like some warehouse of crammed and oversized merchandise.

And consider.... In one of my careers I was a retail merchandiser so ....I find all this is like déjàvu and start tearing off the cardboard to see what things are

and start shoving things across the floor

 ....and force the headboard out the front door

Soon after this, however, I lose my patients with Bob, the deer-skull ‘inventory’ guy from before —who I thought was not exactly nice and I see him carelessly toss a box but I hear it land with some kind of telling clamor and crash that does not sound altogether whole

he sees that I see this. So I decide to press the advantage and go over to the box that I realize has a lamp in it which he just tossed and so I shake it. It makes the very telling sound of shattered glass


and say,
“what about broken inventory?”

“Shit....” he whispers

“How ‘bout this..... I won’t say a word about this if .... you do me a little favor?”

“Okayyyy—what?”

“I just need you to get your buddies to come over here and—uhm...help me move a few things around ....or I can just call Lisa....?”

(More décàvu from my manager years)

After a little over an hour I see that it isn’t so bad without the dead zoo characters

 I realize Lisa has some kind of theme going on. It is all mostly neutral tones of gray, beige and natural woods and fibers and all mostly large pieces and by scale it should all somehow work or

maybe could —I mean

the wide interiors ....

except for a few misjudgments about the placements of light switches and electrical outlets which must not appear on her tablet, so there are some logistic problems, especially about opening some doors in the bedrooms, or closing them—depending on the choice


And I consider that maybe sawing some of the furniture would help to fit them better but there does not seem to be a saw anywhere around

and so just climb over the back of the loveseat to get out the doorway

It is when the guys and the trucks leave that I truly begin to worry

But it gets more worrisome when Jörn calls me from his jog

He says, what sounds like,
“they’re coming....!”

And the call gets dropped. Mobile phones don’t seem to work very well in the mountains.

I try to call him back and by third try I hear through the mountain static,
“they will be here in an hour!”

I have no idea who he means

And the call gets dropped. I call again.

“Who?” I ask

“They’ve decided to surprise us and come a few days early,” I hear his dry, crisp voice cut through the line and the sound of his breathing as he jogs

So it sinks in that he means his family

“Oh no....” I look around at the mess

Jörn says,
“so—can you find something to make for dinner?”

“Dinner? We don’t have anything, remember we were going to go get things tomorrow?” I start to look in the cabinets walking between odd angles of furniture to get to the kitchen area and find I am right as there’s nothing besides angel hair pasta

“They’re bringing wine and fika stuff—what about that crate of tomatoes the neighbors left?”

“When did you say they would be here?” I ask him

“Around four....” more static

“That’s like ..... soon! Where are you?”

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes, I promise!” he says and the call gets dropped

Electra’s dictionary film noir; shifting props between the scenes (jm chronicles)

it is over breakfast coffee I ask,

“how much are you renting the house for? I will split it with you.”

“How can you do that?” he asks me

“I’m editing the newsletter for Johnny and Joanie now— you know, for the Jones Historical Society. That’s what they called me about the other day.”

“How much are they paying you?—what kind of newsletter?”

“I don’t know; I forget.... it’s for like email subscribers and their Facebook page—and IG too.... because —look, Jörn, I know it’s because of me we are here, I can’t have you foot the bill.”

He acknowledges this last remark by just his eyes as he seems distracted by something in his thoughts

So I say,

“also, I have always paid my own way.”

He’s thoughtful as if thinking about something else, and instead of answering me he says
“you didn’t explain that Hannah’s photo shoot is at the penthouse.”

“Oh, didn’t I?”

“No.”

“Oh....”

But now he says,
“You know, I had been thinking about taking time off from the orchestra before this came up, duva—as you are aware, the opera has consumed my mind .... and it ....I cannot work on it full time if I am rushing off to concerts every night.....” he says by way of explanation for me, “and most of my income comes from .... the government job,” then he changes the subject suddenly,

“You know she is living there,”

“Oh, I know.”

“Then you should know about my daughter’s notorious parties.”

I laugh,

“she is keeping Ilya busy so I think your daughter is in safe hands,” I say because I’m not worried. “The photo shoot was her idea and Ilya loves the idea because it’ll bring more patrons to visit so, it really is a good thing. You don’t have to play the heavy even though I know you like to. Hannah is a good girl.”

He laughs when I say this in a way that communicates how erroneous he believes what I said is

But then I remember what I’d been wanting to ask him

“So what did you talk about with the art director the other day —was that who he was?”

“In Montreal? Chants Libres.... yes....” he gets lost in thought but then says, “it’s given me some ideas.... I want to try video taping some performances there and and overdub it which reminds me; my equipment is supposed to be arriving today —oh, and just to warn you: we will be going over some music to prepare for some recording so it’s bound to be pretty loud because of these high ceilings but so is the concert hall in Montreal so ..... Duva.... I’d invite you to come with us to Montreal when we go there to perform it to record but ....you’ve misplaced your passport.”

“Oh.... yeah.... hmm.”

“You really have no idea where you left it?”

I shake my head,
“um—pretty sure it’s nowhere I can find....” but I can see he sees right through me

He lets out a frustrated sigh before finishing his coffee and then walks towards the piano but he mumbles,
“you know exactly where it is.”

His remark suddenly makes me aware of something I had not really been until now; how close he really does pay attention to everything. And keeps the poker face.


And I find myself thinking about that conversation when he said all that about the safe master.....

this means he has known a great deal more than he pretends and for longer than he says. So I wonder how much he already knew about me before we even met. Yet, he seems unconcerned when he allows these tidbits of himself to let slide. I know he does this with intention —to test my reactions? Should it bother me? Or should it bother me more that I don’t care?


I spend the day cleaning deciding to leave Jörn to his opera as he has been struggling with a musical arrangement all morning

my way to be  preparing for the parents, I guess. But actually, I like cleaning as I find it’s good therapy in a zen kind of way —and even better than meditation because when you are all done everything is clean.

By afternoon I realize things are quiet in the house and notice Jörn has been cleaning too as I see him through the window to outside and see him washing the car. The car that he refers to as ‘a company car’; a white XC40 Volvo he has been driving which we drove up here in
*****

It is later when I’m cutting the big blooms of hydrangea pompoms that grow everywhere.... when two trucks pull up.

One carrying two topiary trees and the other furniture ....and so I think: she’s designing from her tablet?