Il me voit

thoughts of legend 

I have been aware of a sense of bereft 

and the cheapness of life. this precious time we spend in the flesh. this precious time we spend with each other 

through time as it is marked by those who left us their accounts of life …. 

what does it mean ….?

there has always been war….savagery….horrors ….unspeakable cruelties 

I was thinking about the discussion/debate with Finland and Sweden over NATO and you know…. I was thinking that how as far back as history as we know it is marked there has always been pacts with tribes, cultures, nations, countries ….The Franks, Burgundians 

they say necessity is the mother of invention …. I suppose it’s necessary to edit as you go —things change; times changes realities 

relatively speaking but I believe at times such as these, it is always better to find strength in numbers and only burn those bridges that connect you to the enemy breathing over your shoulder and adjust your autonomy when it is safe to otherwise there is nothing but principle but also, it may be time to alter one’s perceptions of self in the grand scheme of life and humanity 

I was thinking about Jim Morrison today too—such extreme thought swings perhaps but ….not really; he was a clever political animal; the son of a military man and he witnessed the Vietnam war as a young rebel voicing out 

he was deep down a philosopher and a poet but such a humanitarian which comes out vibrantly through his poetry 

it is always his poetry I most adore about him. his style influenced me. he was a literary scholar and a graduate but he chose to break rules consciously aware 

but what I thought about him today was …. when those of us who first followed him in the mysterious glow of his disappearance 

we believed he was alive; that his death was a hoax. Like his idol Arthur Rimbaud; so, we believed Mojo Risen had sneaked away escaping attention from a prying world ….and as long as he walked the earth …. we had faith …. we cheered him as the poet who got away from the devil of the commercial society that ruined him even as he sought it; he thought he could conquer the world

I don’t know why I write this 

it’s just words …. am I a fascination? only that? a fetish ….I always hoped one would really see me ….see me….to be understood and adored for that is more important than to be cared for only to be whored and who ever loves an old whore or are they expected to quietly expire like those yellowed photos of a pin-up girl…. Jim Morrison once said something similar to that…. 

but he did actually die in Paris of an accidental overdose much like that Uma Thurman scene in Pulp Fiction because he didn’t know it was heroine he’d inhaled; he hated heroine ….why did I think of this today? ….the tragedy of a poet ….did I ever write here how I discovered my biological lineage connects to medieval and ancient French aristocracy….I know it sounds outrageous but it is documented and I realize…. so it seems I contain nearly every nation in my dna  

dna memory ….? what about that ….am I just haunted?

captured fleeting freedom

 

Electra’s dictionary noir;a voice from the past/Beth who is What

 

“Does Sunny get deliveries from anywhere?” Jörn suddenly asks me, looking up from his phone

“Is that Willem?”

“He came by boat,” he says simply 

“He’s here?” I ask and jump to get up but Jörn puts his hand on me, “not here, he’s docked….”

“Chesapeake?” 

Jörn nods.

“On your boat?”

“Duva….” he looks at me in irritation 

“Oh—no, that would be obvious, wouldn’t it?”

Jörn does not answer that, instead he says,

“He’s on a shipping cruiser….”

“Oh—deliveries? Well…. the US postal service comes with packages by truck if it doesn’t fit in a mailbox.”

Jörn looks back at his phone and taps into it

“Why?” I ask 

Only as he is intent on texting to Willem he is distracted and doesn’t answer so I think about this and come to some logical conclusions why Willem would consider the need to know this and realize they are working out how to move Jörn 

“There’s usually delivery around noon,” I say but then ….I realize they would have the intel or the means of things like this  

“When are you leaving?” I ask with a heavy feeling in my chest 

Jörn looks up from his phone briefly. He looks at me steadily before he says,

“tomorrow….”

“Just like that? Where are you going?”

“Is there anyway you could get away without calling attention to your not being there?”

“Tomorrow —? Like afternoon you mean, is that when?” I ask, “yes, he won’t be around during that time and I can find a good explanation ….you mean to—say goodbye ….”

I return from the hide back at the house and feel disturbed 

even as I know these are different circumstances—

why is it that people in my life continually drop in and out of my life at their own convenience? ….No one is ever really there completely one hundred percent. There is always their own agenda which hardly includes me beyond —whatever fascination (fetish?) they have for me

and it makes me wonder 

So disturbed ….I pace with my arms folded as I silently yell at the walls ….silent ….always silent 

what does a voice mean when whatever you once had to say seems ….lost completely in the noise 

In effort to put my mind somewhere else I turn to read the latest of the war— and pick up my phone which I’ve kept on silent since I left the hide ….just wanting to be alone with my own thoughts 

….and drawn back to my phone as it is my only connection to the internet as such and …. see a message through messenger from someone I have not seen or heard from in over eight years 

<<how are you?>>

I tap it to open it and stop….

“No,” I say aloud to the empty room

I put my phone down and cover my face 

The tone of a call comes through voice call. 

I hesitate as it tones three times ….and then, tap the call

“Your Welsh needs serious help….Beth,” the familiar lilting voice says

“Bran….?”

Electra’s dictionary Noir/Of copycats & codes(jmmusechron)

 

Jörn suddenly asks,

“so, you and your daughter are talking again?”

“Oh—you read that in my ….”

“Blog,” he finishes my thought

“Mostly just texts for now, but we have talked, yes. After all these years …. but yes…. we had a four hour phone call of us mostly talking about writing and art ….”I look outside and find myself thinking about her back in Michigan. Then after a moment lost in thought I shrug the nostalgia off, and pause before I say,“but ‘between the lines’ we tackled all the heavy shit. And—well, it is sad but it turns out it was all misunderstandings. Makes me wonder how much Chris might have poured gasoline over things to ….”

“Help turn her against you.”

I shrug and don’t look at him and ignore the heavy weight of his meaning there. I mumble to myself something 

“What did you say?” he asks leaning towards me

I shake my head,

“it’s not worth even saying ….some things ….he’s ….said to me ….recently.”

“You know he’s the narcissist,” he looks at me closely “….don’t you?”

I realize he heard me

“I don’t want to talk about him. He is one of dozens of people in my life I have needed to let go of, I guess it was some kind of overhaul I’ve been going through to edit out the toxic individuals in my life.”

“Like MM?” he raises one brow at me when I sharply look at him “speaking of …. narcissists… don’t drop the project because of….”

“Oh. You…. figured that out….so….you have been keeping up, haven’t you? I didn’t know you had the time.”

“Stake outs get pretty tedious and mind numbing when you have to wait wondering if you are about to get blown up….” he remarks casually 

“Shit—Jörn! Where—?!”

He raises his good hand and shakes his head,

“don’t ask….”

“I —see…. well, I’m glad I can provide you with some distraction….”

“Is your daughter writing with you now?”he seems genuinely interested

I laugh,

“it’s the other way around. She has a few stories and ….well, you know…. it’s what we always did together before. It’s fun. She likes a different genre so—I like her stories…. and they’re fun so ….I’ve been assisting her for ideas when she gets stuck on plot lines. It’s ….yeah…. It is actually a lot of fun,” I chuckle, “but I’ve always found her fun. I’ve missed her so much…. and I’ve really missed it. These things we used to do….” I stop to collect myself but then…. “Hard to believe it’s been so many years ….she was just out of high school then ….years. Like….over six…. It doesn’t feel like it when we talk or text or work together….so weird how even with our separation she has so many of my traits….” I laugh at the irony. 

only I am no good talking about myself. 

I never could share. never knew how. strong silent type….the growing up years of my own ….kept me there silent in the corner ….where they sat me in fears of the belt valet

you never learn how ….so instead you learn how to write in code….and become uncomfortable now when you try

“Anyway…. So…. My blog—Jörn …. I assume it’s you—I mean, you know—the blog hits….?” I ask him carefully 

But at first Jörn seems not to understand what I mean 

after a moment he smiles as he realizes my question 

“You mean—“ he hides another smile and then chuckles, “your cryptic posts ….which can seem like—are they codes ….or part of the story? yes, it was me, I got your messages—” his tone at first is teasing as he chuckles but then more searching as he now narrows his eyes on me; today more grey reflecting the day, with specks of taupe, “what was that ‘copycat’ you mentioned?”

“What? ….oh…. yeah—well, there were similar hits but —I don’t think they were you.”

“Then who was it, duva?” he meets my gaze, “you need to watch that….be careful.”

“Watch what? It’s not like I’m leaking secrets because I don’t know any!”

“Well, the copycat doesn’t know that, do they?”

Electra’s dictionary pirate noir (jmmusechron); radio signals🎭

 

I am silent as Jörn checks his phone for messages and emails and turn away slightly so as to allow his requirement of privacy and yet, this affords me the opportunity to look again at the unopened message still causing me confusion and glance at him

The only part of the unopened message reads: <hey, I know it’s been a minute but —have you ….>

“Does Willem know your whereabouts?” I ask carefully

Jörn stops reading something on his phone to look at me,

“have you heard from him?”

“I….” 

“You have,” he reads me

“I wasn’t sure….” and sigh with resignation and move closer to where he remains propped in the corner of the hide’s wood structure 

He gives me a look and reaches his hand out and waits for me to hand him my phone 

Again I sigh with resignation but this time with a heavier sense of indecision and I still grip my phone as I hand it to him

Again that look at me with those kryptonite vampire eyes that have powers beyond my understanding and immediately I release my grip

“Why didn’t you open it?” he looks up from my phone, finger hovering over the message

“I guess I wasn’t sure….”

He nods at me thoughtfully before looking again at my phone. It is a long look he gives me,

“how….” and now he studies me more critically taking in my full appearance for the first time since I discovered him here, “how have you ….been?” and narrows his eyes on me, observing me much too closely 

“What do you mean?” I ask him

“Well, before I left here, last time, I bumped into Smulligan down at ….” he waves to indicate FBI headquarters which is not too far from where Sunny’s property is by car

“Oh? And?” I ask 

“Stina was there….” 

I look away,

“does she seriously still want me to ….”

“Stina does not give up that easily,” he chuckles to himself. But I feel his gaze remain upon me and with it, those omniscient invisible tentacles that miss nothing and after a pause he says, “you’re too thin, duva, I am concerned and ….at least if I know you are reporting back to someone I’d…. be able to focus better….”

I suddenly look at him as his remark quite surprises me

“Jörn ….” and shrug, “how am I….” I say aloud thoughtfully and look away again to consider how best to reply. Only it occurs to me that…. no one has asked me that in so long; not even the Celf. “I am ….” and get stuck on how to answer “I don’t know…. Ok, I guess…. but…. I suppose I miss some semblance of—home….you know.”

“You were ready to leave the Adirondaks,” he says 

“I know but — don’t you miss the philharmonic? Our life back there?”

He smiles and suddenly gives me an uncharacteristic playful wink and pats a spot closer next to him, and when I move closer, he pulls me inside his arms with my phone,

“I know I must reek of sweat and blood,” he says in apology as I lean against him

“It’s not so bad,” I tell him, “it’s not like I’ve never sat in a sauna with you or—other things, and I’ve missed your smell.”

“It must be love,” he teases, “you open it,” he gives me the phone and I open it with him there

<hey, I know it’s been a minute but —have you ….seen anything of moose over there?>

I glance up at Jörn now

Jörn taps my reply into my phone with my hands still holding it,

But to my surprise he taps back

<crab fishing>

I look up at him but he just looks at the phone 

It is only about forty seconds when Willem’s reply comes 

<I thought herring was on the menu>

Jörn replies 

<the red herring disagreed>

 de nouveau;  télépathique