Another story continued/Pandemic reloaded’22

 

<why> her finger slips 

….before she has the chance to finish writing the message 

as she had paused to think but, too stumped on what to say, sat staring at the phone keyboard screen till her finger slipped 

<why?> comes his answer 

“Shit….” she whispers aloud to herself 

<….why didn’t you tell me?>she replies 

But she turns the phone face down and looks again at the white-noise of the runway 

She thinks again about their ongoing almost “V for Vendetta” dialogue over the last three years 

you know, in the film…. 

where she’s half dead and he’s fucking with her and pretending to be a cell mate beside her ….

why does she think of that now? 

so what does she know of him anyway except —what he wants her to see

That and …. those accidental things he shares …. his reactions to her thesis’s sometimes are obvious but ….what does he ever  really expose? 

Still…. The truth is—she has wanted to know him in ‘real time’ 

no, does she mean ….

‘3-d’? she taps her finger nervously wondering why she wants to run …. run to the toilet to vomit …. actually but…. to flush away three years? seems extreme and excessive as running away now would be like burning bridges wouldn’t it? 

It all started with an article she had written covering years of research on a topic not too many people really know about. So, it was like finding a needle in a haystack when someone there being anyone even slightly aware of the subject and… . Over time she noticed 

his location and the IP address popped up in other places of her work as time went on when she was going through her old research online but, the weird thing was it was like his thought patterns 

….always triggered ideas by where he decided to search in the archives

 ….like that story all written in letters between Griffin and Sabine; her first letter appears as a stranger to him. As she saw his drawings appear as he did them —and when he changed them ….from a far away island as he drew

What does he even look like? Beth nervously looked around the airport filled with masked faces 

well…. she has seen his photos and some live footage of some interview he did; it was for the auction when she first stumbled upon him on Reddit 

….they never did FaceTime nor zoom ….. either he sensed she didn’t want to or he didn’t …. hologram, virtual conversations. so nauseating. she always felt—watching some freak gremlin version of yourself in hi-glow, migraine HD blinding tones and find the one you converse with looks even worse but technology is all anyone eats, sleeps and thinks about but this is the 

surreal …. Pandemic life …. faceless faces of society hidden behind masks. 

And how removed anything real has now become 

but what is real?

there is nothing real; real is relative and she thinks of that song by Radiohead, Fake Plastic  Trees 

Yes, she thinks looking around the airport …. it is life today, there are no more trees so we are left with tons of plastic instead ….

Her phone alerts a message 

She turns over her phone 

<look behind you>

At first she freezes. Then she replies:

<how would you know what I look like?>

<you showed me that one of a kind Nepal bag when you got it. Turn around….>

more thoughts off a shelf from a ‘Celf ‘

 

it was years ago when I read the novel Kitchen—decades; of so many things that touched me in her story, and of one I often reflect upon a character in it. It was long before how we see things now, you know—but her friend’s mother in the story, who is so very fragile, yet so strong and endearing, turns out to actually be the boy’s father. And I think what touched me— as so often I have stumbled to understand what it means in the whole of ‘self’, and the gender aspects in life experiences and perspectives —somehow it seemed to me this character longed so deeply for the boy’s mother that he became her to fill the void. I found this utterly moving 

Another story

 

                                       ~•~

Beth adjusts her mask as she waits by the terminal. The layover limbo makes her nervous. She sits by the glass partition on the tall chair by a tall round table. She wears travel clothes; a black ribbed turtleneck with black nondescript trousers, Chelsea boots and trench coat. She gets a text

<I arranged my layover to land where you are….my flight just landed, where are you?>

For a long moment she is too stunned to react. She looks away from her phone to the wide open windows that shows the runway of planes taking off and landing. She stares at this now but does not see what she looks at.

She sees instead the funny, cryptic messages back and forth between herself and Stefan which have been going on for three years. 

But they have never met. 

She sits there frozen wondering what to do ….

                                      ~•~

and on and on

 https://youtu.be/aXyRIZEG5w8

my mother had a few interesting pet names for me that began when I was a child and still called me by them up until she died and I was, by then, in my thirties too. There was “imp” , “red fox”, 

and “pumpkin head”(her favorite and most used choice) to name a few

No doubt why— I guess this band owned a place in my heart during the 90’s ….I’m trying to remember her other nick names for me 

who would have thought we’d be here 

 la télépathie

 

I feel such an emotional exhaustion. and feels almost too much. or maybe it is. 

I don’t know if it is the impact of people’s reactions because it was easier before people started to ask me things. and well….  I do desperately wish people thought before they dispense advice about things they are ignorant of. It is hard to be tactful when people insult both your intelligence and your ….predicaments ….especially when it was brought on not even by my own actions . I am too tired to be enraged. I feel run over. Forward and back kind of …. roadkill 

to think my biological father dealt with this kind of notoriety on a regular basis and on front cover headlines long before social media existed. Makes me look like a marshmallow withering in the corner. I’d only like it about a worthwhile subject on something worth anyone’s time 

But I never liked attention that way. I only like fiction drama, I don’t do it in real life. But it seems people of that nature seem to target me (MM long ago said it was the red hair) and imagine I’m worth their game and I never notice their act because I want to allow the benefit of the doubt …. Maybe it’s time to stop doing that. If I am my own knight then I must believe everyone has a weapon against me unless they prove otherwise. I should have always been that way but I never wanted to be the cynical type

Now I know why the cynical types exist. 

There is more story 

   More E.d, more Noir too, I suppose, and even more Brenda in the rubber shop with you know who 

     I’m just so world weary that I feel like I need a lifetime of peace before I can ….and I think I am done with people from now on and this time I mean it 

(Kurczak, btw—ty)

that vincent van gogh syndrome

not with glamour nor humor, really, do I imply at all that, so many times it has felt I am living a life in between pages of some tragic Dickens novel 

those years ago, when the psychic I met told me those things that all came true

said something else rather disturbing; it was during those years I studied between HB Studio and the Academy of Dramatic Arts in Manhattan —she said something like…. oh—you are not meant to be on a stage to portray heroic characters ….you are meant to be one of those desired to be portrayed in legend and most likely will be, but likely not in your life-time;but your life will not be easy as you choose these experiences for the purpose of knowing innate empathy for the human experience in order to purify within ….and without —those you touch ….but you will feel a life of being unloved; a life mostly lived alone and on your own; it will be a very lonely journey ….but not forever ….

some things you forget in life but as I encountered every crisis she outlined and —when— just by the timing of the stars and her ability to sense my energy; was so correct, (as she said my immortal self chose this time for the knowledge) and when nothing else has guided me as well as her words through these last twenty-five years of them haunting my memory of our meeting …. not forever, she said has carried me through