à quoi ressemble un effondrement implosant

Sometimes in sleep we join

sea air fills my head 

as the voices drift up from the courtyard …. 

I say to ambush …. 

voices linger across the currency ….strategies and plans spoken and hatched…. 

someone else says, 

surprise attack….

Only I don’t want him to go. I don’t want him to go chasing some evil demon….don’t want him to—fear—tempting fate ….and watching the sea as it drugs the mind with its hypnotic rhythm; how it pulls and tugs….you back…. on its currents; ever forward its encroachment onto the temporal earth; pulling away to sink and drown its sandy flesh, leaving behind skeletal shells that fossilize 

….we are all fossils, dust

but we are more than this, 

more, much more, than flesh, 

     more 

          even 

              than ashes

                   and dust….

                       more, 

                           much more too….

                                than de roet 

he says it is ‘to heal….’

I forget myself…. the limitations of the human mind that conflict within but it is so easy to give in to

How I have searched and longed for, in truth 

—why I have avoided anyone getting too close

this bond. It cannot be broken. not even by lifetimes. Still it keeps me

like that first moment when I first saw him…. It was something in just his walk

I recognized….

the way he moved ….

how his hair caught on the breeze ….the hut with the deep fire pit; the beat of metal against metal; the symphony 

“Tell me why you stay,” he says pressing himself deeply within ….as thought and words are like tedious knots; booby traps, confusing and causing any ability to process to malfunction 

“Tell me,” he says and withholds himself and his motions

But dream takes over, and I watch the shadows on the wall…. and listen to the pounding of the piano keys ….his opera that plays in my mind as I press to him mimicking his motions —and with it, it naturally comes, this urgent need wrap around him, to press to hard to him as I say,

“no,” as I do this

but he does not move at all

“….please….” pressing to him

Only he repeats,

“tell me why you stay,” still holding back

“Please….” I say, and whisper,  “don’t go with the others—promise you will stay here, I don’t trust the others!”

“Stay where—here? The others, duva?”

“Yes, please! don’t make me wait….”

he says,

“wait for what?”

“The sun, you said! Don’t make me wait!”

“Duva….?” he says with a jab in a whisper, sinking deep, pressing 

“don’t leave…. promise me! Don’t leave here alone, please!” but all thoughts dissolve, overcome by the fluidity of his moves 

I hardly hear him say,

“no, never again, duva! I promise —not, never again….”

but I do hear ….as it echoes in the morning in my mind 

…..upon waking

segway next scene/A short from Electra’s dictionary

It is hours later in the master suite, when I am alone, that I think of what Stina said …. leaving me to brood over our conversation on the beach earlier

 she had left my company to return to the others with this parting remark —said almost like an absent-minded afterthought—

“it must be quite curious for you wondering about what Retnuh said— the Will …. and your sister….” 

It is the calculated inflection of her words ….and then the well timed pause between 

“I know if it were me I would want to get my hands on any information that could be dug up on her—any idea who would have access to unlimited personal information?” and then she says, “Quid pro quo …..” and walks away

So I sit there for a long while staring into the waves not realizing how long until I feel the chill of sundown blow from the water. and get up and walk back

only then to find that I get lost in thought again, watching the water from the balcony off the master suite, going over all recent events and conversations with everyone …. and hear the muffled voices from the courtyard drift up from the secret spy meeting outside…. Jörn’s particular, distinctive dry voice often dominating the conversation, with loud responses from the others 

“Do I wait for him?” I say to the empty room, he never said ….how long the meeting would be. nor if he would be leaving soon after …. I think now, and wonder again about the conversation he meant to have with me. And start to feel sleepy ….as I think over and over his words…. analyzing his words for a clue 

but I go in circles and have to give up and go to fill the marble deep tub with water and sit on the ledge and watch it as I wait wait for it to fill high enough, and then, sunk deep into the water and shut my mind to everything 

When I get out to dry off, I notice the towel has a monogram of initials and an insignia…. I feel my face suddenly burn when I recognize both …. design and initials —on all— of the silver gray towels…. Wtf….

 I don’t even have to remind myself that they match the engraving on the platinum pendant I’ve been wearing all year since he gave it to me. I know the design well…. 

How did I not notice this on the towels until now?

I text Gerald from the edge of the massive, Spanish, pirate ship bed 

<what reason do two souls meet again?>

and press send. And as I do I find I am magnetically drawn to stare out into that vast deep blue sea and the waves that hypnotize my mind 

why do two souls meet again….? Are we destined to repeat our past mistakes? Is he still that pirate in the guise of a spy? do things always repeat…. until you get it right? …. but maybe not everyone gets to find out

After a blank space of time of being somewhere I know not where, re-entering the present reality finds me staring at the phone …. like it’s some kind of alien…. when an alert sounds, as if it is from some space-age enterprise and, for a moment, I seem hovered between parallels of realities …. one foot in this world and another in that long forgotten land in that little hut they shared, and now, with the scent of him on the sheep hides. strangely, now, when worlds collide, I feel the overlap within my mind as it fills my head 

A reply text comes from Gerald 

he says:

<sometimes unfinished business is, in itself, a powerful reason>

<but how can it be resolved? I mean—because he was not there in time to save her?how can this wrong be made right?>

<but also to resolve. as your friend, I can be a bit blunt because you can be extremely obtuse so…. don’t pretend not to be aware of your issues of mistrust. your meeting now is no coincidence. what reason do two souls meet again? My ‘professional opinion’ would conclude —what was too quickly taken away, to have the second chance to love. to feel. and to heal.>

from Beatrice to Heathcliff (edjmmuse)

a hidden door to doorways

It was this queer chill tap upon the shoulder. I mean that day…. I think, at first, it was his walk…. of all things…. he had a strangely strong familiar aura about him …. it was as if I was drawn to stare; as if a magnetic field drew me to keenly focus upon him. I knew that walk before…. how often and how many times have I seen such an image emblazoned on my inner retina …. he moved easily within the faded dreams outline of ….. the pirate on the boat…. his every manner filled in the gaps of memory the dreams had not shown but now made the memory image stronger and more clear ….

And then it was his eyes; that haunting, wild beauty balanced between noble and savage 

 

how cruelly he thinks to tread across my emotions in his hobnail boots

    which I deflect like an empath’s magik 

immortal pirate; the man with the vampire eyes(e.d.jmmuse)

 

there are other times I recall about the pirate from my dreams; the man with the vampire eyes

…. and I still see the strange and vast landscapes 

I seem always in search of to find again those long forgotten plains and barren hills

—they reach out from my subconscious and from the depths of sleep in dreams —and remain imprinted in my thoughts all the next day…. traveling journeys often on foot and with the vampire shadow that falls over my view; the gold flax of his hair shimmering on the wind and following behind him

….sometimes when I’m walking; it is something about the motion of the swing in my hips and the weight I carry….

this is when, on the oasis of my thoughts, upon that horizon ….

I can see him from the line of shore…. and the boat waiting

loaded for the journey

noir modest proposal/e.d.vol.1jmmuse

As Jörn and I head towards the back courtyard, it escapes my awareness, somehow, until much later —how at ease he walks through the back and towards the house as if he….? uh, well, like I said, it did escape my notice….

and we walk through the back way, where the hedges are shaped like trophies and then past the Grecian statues with ….my thoughts on what he wants to talk to me about —and ….as I recognize dully looking over, at first just two or three, then I realize there are others there….

“could you do the coffee?” Jörn suddenly turns to me. He seems to be guarding my vision to keep me from seeing who else may be among the group

“Jörn—“ I hesitate, while trying to see behind him, “you want —me— to do the coffee —and then what? Tiptoe and leave it twenty yards away?”

He gives me a blank stare, as if he’s lost the plot —and then laughs, but too cool, of course, I see right through it,

“no, I meant I’ll meet you in the kitchen and then I can take it in.”

I head off and find my way to the kitchen, and only about now do I start to wonder about those other things ….

I find I wish I had spoken to Gerald …. and I wish …. there had been a moment alone with Jörn 

before having to face the firing squad to …. say things

….because there are these moments I find I am overwhelmed with such a sense…. I feel him within myself ….as I’ve always have ….long before I saw him that day for the first time ….

but I wish he would say…. I want to know what he thinks ….he never says …. he never confirms anything at all ….and then I have felt as if I am out of my mind…. it surly then just must have all been in my own head and so then I must be crazy ….to believe ….there is this —that memory; that life and ….bond there between us…. because so many times it has felt I can feel him when he is not there ….reaching for me ….I feel him in my mind speaking to me just like I know what is behind the awkward silences that sometimes happens because I hear him somehow…. I just wish he would say it out loud and to my face —but he confirms nothing, he says nothing 

his silence devastates me 

Do I believe him to be the cool spy even when he is off of work? Do I believe him to be the composer/artist and actor of many talents even off the cameras behind his own scenes? Does he ever face himself in the mirror and ask —“did I know her once before? Did I recognize it? Or even —do I feel in a place even deeper than the heart?” But mostly…. does he feel? and ever admit to himself that ….I matter to him? And do I really think he is capable ….of deep emotion? anyway

I stand staring at the French press confused….

….And have to remind myself —why? am I —making coffee…. 

I fill the giant kettle that weighs a ton and put it to boil, then go in search of coffee…. 

and then with my back to the room I hear someone open the door as I start to scoop coffee into the glass coffee pot

She says, 

“What are you doing?” and I see Stina is walking right to the 19th century antique silver coffee pot and setting it under the space odyssey coffee maker

I want to say the same back to her but then she seems to know what she’s doing, as I see by how she drops in a few pods and presses a button.

So I walk back to the stove and shut it off.

“Walk with me,” she says now 

The shock of her statement of demand sets me off balance 

She gestures with her head toward the kitchen door that faces the beach

“But the coffee….” I say

“He can get it. You’re not his slave,” she half glares at me in the way to obey her as she glances, imploring, like: out the door and now!

We go the opposite direction of the back courtyard. Instead she leads me to another part of the beach, past the lifeguard post where she spots a bench and motions me there

We sit down

“I don’t want to waste time. So I will be blunt with you,” Stina says in her usual ‘friendly’ way, as I take note with amusement that, today she has pulled her hair back into a severe sweep and is wearing unexpected brightly colored high heels, “what are your plans?” she now asks

“My plans?” I look at her searching for a clue what she means by that

“Yes, for your future. What are they?” and she looks at me frankly

“Why is it your business?” I ask and laugh, “this is not your jurisdiction!”

“No but Jörn is,” she says. 

Her eyes go cold

Something shifts somehow. I feel another conversation. So I wait and watch her face

“And by default you are my business,” she says this like a battle strike

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite following you,” I tell her

“I need him back in our country and it seems we have an obstacle in our way. So I want to know what you want, what your plans are —you understand?”

“No—it is still —actually, even more hazy….unless you are talking about a different Jörn, because—in case you haven’t noticed —he does what he does. I’m not your obstacle, he is.”

“Then you are fooling yourself but that is not my business and now let’s try to change the dialogue, I think, yes? I know you are some self claimed starving artist on some hippie mission—what is it? You want to save the earth? We have Greta Thunberg,” and there is a weird pause 

and then smiles or maybe it’s indigestion

“Ok. La-di-da,” I say

“What if you had a sudden mystery backer who would fund your project?” she says now 

“Is this a joke? You forget Jörn is not short of cash so if it’s a question of me looking for money, don’t you think I could just try asking him if I really wanted to do —what—what do you know about my project anyway? It’s a bit too dry for you as it’s to do with humanity and I don’t get the feeling you have explored the subject—so exactly what are you suggesting?”

“You have too much pride —I don’t think you would ask Jörn. That is why I think you would consider doing this because you would be doing something to earn the cash,” she says

“So you don’t think I have business ethics or personal ethics? Are you asking me to spy on my boyfriend for you to pay me to fund my project?”

“Not spy. Babysit.”

I have to laugh,

“have you met Jörn? Babysit him?”

“Did you know Jörn is now on a mission to go after Retnuh Nivek? Which is putting at risk another operation we now have in place that takes precedents,” she watches my face before she then says, “we could sweeten the deal —as I am aware he has been working on an opera. There is an orchestra I know he wants to play his music because I have heard him mention it. I could arrange their involvement.”