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Electra’s dictionary and film noir; first impressions (jmmusechron continues)*

 

So, quite compromised, there comes a text

….or rather …. it is the horror of the sound that alerts me, 

no mistaking that operatic shrillness that shatters your teeth through your ear drum as it hemorrhages (Jörn’s text alert for his mother is a short recording of her reaching operatic crescendo)

and …..so it does come somewhat delayed—that ….it is a text message —alert—

“knulla!  det är mamma!”Jörn exclaims

“Oh….” I panic as I try to get my foot from where it is wedged but I fall onto the floor and my hair is caught between a shelf bracket 

but he’s busy texting his mother as I hear another message alert tone come through as he mumbles what sounds like Norse pagan curses, and—I’d rather not mess with that and try to remove my foot from the pocket of his suit jacket but the linen closet is too narrow and it’s the same side he’s holding his phone with

“Yo ! Jörn! ….hey?—hej!”

“Vad?” he glances at me as if surprised to see me —and as I am but he takes a moment instead to think and he says, “you need to go greet Mama and Pappa downstairs right now.”

I don’t answer. Instead fall all the way back now and land against the wall with a bang to my head and almost take the shelf down with me

but what is worse is that we hear Stina’s voice again outside the door. She is talking to….?

Jörn mouths the name “Marcus” to me from…. across the small space of our compromised positions —in the closet. 

We hear her knocking on …. some door near us in the corridor

To my alarm it is my name she calls!

“Oh my god!” I look up at him, and whisper in horror then anger, “she’s right out there! this is your fault!”

He starts to laugh but holds it —successfully back

“You are laughing!? This is not funny—“

But just then his phone begins to alert a call,

“skit, it’s Marcus—“ he whispers as he and I look at each other realizing if they are right outside the door they can hear his phone ….he whispers, as he fastens me up and smooths out the cuff of my trousers as he removes my foot from his pocket  saying, “relax, this works in our favor,” and without much warning, says to me, “just, play along,” as he answers his phone and at the same time opens the closet door as we both fall out the door 

My first impression of Marcus is that he is a very tall man —at least from my perspective. And he wears Italian leather shoes 

Stina is looking down at me, she says,

“so office and recreation ….”

*wanting a break from writing Elan/Raoul script scenes backstory for ep 1; so emotionally draining 

 

I’d cross right over the intangible, 2amuse

 Alors, avez-vous compris pourquoi ils se «rencontrent» toujours “in the closet” ?

(excusez ma récente distraction du blog.  je consacre beaucoup de temps à la recherche de la trame de fond du scénario ;  ainsi que le script aussi - j'ai tendance à être très pris dedans ... il a développé de nouvelles parties surprenantes de l'histoire et comprendra plus de personnages qui aident à raconter l'histoire)

the return of gamine

 

the freedom of hacking off pandemic hair— 

  shackles of weight released; like some rediscovery of artifacts found at an archeological excavation, long lost in antiquity

  so it begins again….  

        with this electra; reinvented 

searching….electra

 

Stepping back as the projectors eye 

I have thought over and over again lately why; what is this I so madly work at; like some marble sculpture that I never stop refining as it grows like vines new insights and it often feels like I am this student letting my story guide me as they come to me through those strange currencies ….does this babble help me figure it all out? I don’t think it was ever a choice to be this dharma philosopher caught up in this saga 

it just keeps ….evolving, going, and this won’t let me go, and look at me and the lengths it’s physically driven me to…. and all for…..this need to …. 

and just searching —in search of answers to the meaning of life, invested years of my life searching, writing, researching and ….still I want to know more —when I’m ‘supposed’ to be slowing down—as if? but I can’t —why does it chase me to keep at it, it is so a part of me I wonder…. and of which I am so entangled in. and maybe it is just that. (the lost Celf in search of the meaning of ‘Self’?)

 it is me and I am it and without it. I never was ….but no—it never really was about me, not as the body of its meaning, just the apparatus to perform this mad life I live ….it was always about ….meaning ….but no, it is even more than this too because it chases me, like I am its slave to ….create this or —no, it feels it is more I am merely its messenger and so what then is the message? humanity ….oh—so would you say it’s the eleventh hour? like I have any voice to speak (talk about voice, mermaid ….) and did our Greek masters think they needed to voice ….? (but I’m nobody, a mute mermaid) (shut tf up, do I care what anyone thinks anymore knowing the stupid things they think about?)(Don’t judge,bitch)

—should I question why? yes—because if I expect to sell it it requires me to question but to sell it requires to forget why and sell it to the lowest common denominator. should I judge? well, the Vikings would not require me to whore —why question why ….because I’m like some mad scientist riding a blind horse at full speed with no reigns I sometimes think—and purely because it feels “it must be”