earlier today we have a conversation that sheds to light even more mysteries ....
this .... I record in document as I struggle with internal demons that.... I am unable to write about, dictionary, and that sometimes make it impossible to breath, or care to as I search for meaning .... and conversations with Jörn that serve now and then lately to cast me back to earth
“You know.... I have often clashed with .... my ideas among my ‘business associates’ —“Jörn is standing near the wide window by the console where his laptop has been occupying his attention along with his endless phone calls
“Your government job,” I say
He gives me an enigmatic look and seems to cringe a bit as he squints into the sunlight looking outside,
“I worry that some people may not understand how very real this situation is,” Jörn says after ending a call and .... now closing his laptop
“Oh you mean the orchestra playing as the Titanic goes down?”
he walks away, glancing at me with a grimace leaving his phone with a look of indigestion and a gesture of finality he moves to look outside and mumbles
“Ostrich in the sand mentality....You need 80% immunity to halt it and there are only two options; to get it and risk fatality or a vaccine. Not everyone understands it is global whether you bury your head in the sand or not. The aftermath whatever occurs will rock the planet.... already it has— we just haven’t quite .... A vaccine is the only thing that can help this world crisis because it is inevitable it will wipe out ....like the next dark ages— I don’t mean to be the grim reaper but....” he shakes his head and looks at me, “realistically, people can’t self isolate forever and with .... already the deaths are creating —it’s an economic disaster —right now for third world countries, next is Europe .... and—“ he thinks deeply and runs a nervous hand through his hair as it gets in his way; he paces across the room
“....duva, maybe now it is time to tell you that .... the branch I work for —yes, I have called them ‘government’ but—“ he lets out a heavy sigh and needs to pause and think.... “we are/we’re not—“ he inclines his head both ways to illustrate and pulls a face at me suggesting any number of things ..... he continues, “I began in that capacity —you see.... the man who hired me was....” Jörn awkwardly pulls his shirt collar which seems now to choke him. He shrugs and continues, “well, he retired not long after I was —hired.... indirectly he.... then asked me to work for him —privately ....” Jörn looks at me again and measures my expression before he continues
then walks across the wide width of the living room which was once a barn and even with its massively high arched walls and ceiling Jörn seems to occupy the entire scope as he crosses it in numerous long strides like a caged predator calculating escape 
“In due time.... well.... I guess you might say I ‘branched out’ ....” he laughs at himself ironically at his own pun and shakes his head looking down with an odd expression as he thinks. He says his next words still looking at the floor and in a very low tone as if the walls had ears, “those men you have seen .... the ones from that night at Lincoln Center and—you’ve seen them before; at the penthouse I think and maybe also other times .... well, they don’t work for the government —they are.... with me.”
“What does that mean?” I ask him
So at first I think he has not heard me because he does not react to my question. Jörn just looks down at the floor as if watching an ant or something only there is nothing there
but I realize he has heard me as finally he says,
“You don’t need to know everything— it’s better you do not....” and walks over to me. He stops in front of me and pulls my face up to look at him
“You have always talked of the individual’s purpose, duva....” he looks at me now with a very direct stare and he says
“do you know what the vampire sees in that dove? —She does not follow the herd; he sees freedom —which was something he forgot and ....is that not what it means to be able to ....find peace?”
“To find peace..... “ I say after he does but shrug as my eyes blur thinking that maybe all doves are not destined to know peace, like a canary in a coal mine; maybe some souls get caught in the inferno by means they never had any say in—
I look at him and say,
“even in a perfect world, do you think the dove can ever find peace?”
Maybe some paths are meant only to illustrate, maybe that’s why some of us are artists to leave the impression behind for others to make of what they will, so be it?
