vampyren som guide genom helvetet;  Jag är glad att du fortfarande är där.  du ser mig åtminstone📌

 This spot reminds me of Hylas and the Nymphs by Waterhouse every day I walk by it

Electra’s dictionary, noir/I am me I am mine prt3;what I believe in

More thoughts of the legend 

I talk about Truth quite a lot on here. I reflect upon it. But truth is subjective to the consciousness it occupies 

so how is it possible to rise above subjectivity?

It is not possible 

so I can only reflect. Observe —do my Scientific Method and log it in my fleeting writing, sometimes in a blog; observations from my lens and see how my warped vision alters it

I don’t claim to be omniscient and proclaim a Truth

I just try to ….humanize it

I —think— emotions. 

Intellectualize it. Likely I am a form of autism as dyslexics are connected so, while I am a sensitive empath and psychically connected to visions that come to me, I recognize that my truth is a truth but it is not the utter truth 

but that is not our role

that is what I believe —our truths matter as much as the utter truth does but the two should never be confused or claim one ultimate victory 

I think my mission here was to learn how to feel. It seems I split off as a child, that’s how the text books would label it 

but that was my lesson ….that was chosen for this life’s journey. To catalogue emotions; to study emotions. To step inside them; immerse…. take it on at full force…. and to turn it into a universal image; Art in order to call minds to a higher consciousness 

To call to minds 

   in order to ignite a butterfly effect 

so where does ego come in? I think that is the Very riddle locked up in the celves/Celf

Those cells inside; those rooms 

so within this vast pool of knowledge I’ve acquired of human emotions ….trauma; fear; every form of heartbreak and loss; shame; humiliation; torture; pain; terror….terror…destitute….a  fleeting glimpse at ego; idolization; everybody’s unicorn; mistaken identity; infatuation; lust; confusion of sexual identity; gender…. 

but ….no joy

that part I missed somehow and ….I think it must be my cross to bear

the gods were jealous of me ….or who knows, I am Aphrodite; not Electra and this journey is ….designed to ….fail unless ….I find that one possibility that purity does exist in humankind ….that pure of heart

so far…. no joy, and I was their champion 

whom they destroyed

we all have a mission; we use me as the apparatus so there I am:

I think of Dante’s tree….I am caught around the trunk and limbs with barbed wire; how does a tough outer shell protect the ‘fragile eggshell mind’* within the broken soul? how does she avoid those that promise but ….then only to find that all they ever wanted was base possession and are not deep enough for more and this is the flaw in my mission; I believed. Is it a want or a need? When does the want become the need? when does the need become wont. 

Someone once told me I should have been catholic because she thought I was the most devout person she knew—she being catholic. She said it maliciously and I think about that label of stoic but no…. they are wrong …. And that is the sad riddle of the celves ….and there seems no legend can find it on the map 

*******

I find the sudden desperate need to —what?

find that desperate faith somewhere in someone —perhaps and, reach with one moment of hesitation and give up to this human weakness when ….I see Bran’s call up on my phone screen. That barbed wire, they never let me go….

“Cloak and dagger, espionage—how did you get caught up in all of this?” Bran who is almost actually scolding when I answer

“You don’t remember? It was always in the background of my life—the assault, and who was behind that? Hired hit man —the years under that man’s thumb who controlled all our lives ….”

“Your father.”

“He was not my father.”

“You got your dna test results ….I read that in your…. so, the sins of the fathers…. born is Electra …. morning becomes her…. but you are my Beth….”

“Bran….” to my ears I hear warning and defense ….but also longing ….and the memory of seaweed arms….and harden myself against this; I know how to pull the portcullis better than anyone; I am me, I am mine, and nothing comes in, nobody trespasses ….that is the code 

so

“And the killer is still out there? The one who assaulted you at Bard and left you with a life sentence of degenerative pain….”

“Uhh—I….don’t know, they don’t tell me, but he’s some known terrorist they seem to be in a cat and mouse game with —all these years….he walks free….”

“How are you?” he asks

I hear concern in his voice; I don’t believe what I hear; never again and choose not to hear what he asks

“I’m so sick of ….controllers—men…. I’m sorry you don’t want to hear this….”

“It’s —fine, I deserve to hear this,” he says

“You mean because you recognize this in yourself? —do…. I think they just look at me and they see ‘target’ ….sitting doe sitting duck….and they build their deceptions carefully hiding their own interests and watch the exit door is in view—“

“Christ, Beth—what have you been through….”he says with regret and ….I almost go back to ‘our’ place in my mind ….it’s there watching me from the box I hid it in

But I babble on ignoring this and so glad of an excuse to ….have someone just listen—he was always my best listener…. “so they know how to back out—they watch thst exit and then tell you how to be. how to feel. perform, and stop trying to see. you. But what about the needs of myself —no, there is no self, we know…..I mean, don’t you dare make a suggestion, a request —a desire…. why should you want or need or ask…. just sit there and be quiet….how dare I think I have any rights at all.”

“Your Viking?”

“I don’t want to talk about it….” I say, “he is just one of dozens, I mean, don’t you remember? Or no, people choose how to recall details and they edit out their own guilt.”

“I’m sorry Beth….” he says suddenly 

And I stop babbling madly 

He says it again 

“You should know…. they didn’t win over you….I’m so sorry Beth….”

*JDMorrison 

electra, ce monde te tue

 https://youtu.be/XTtopI620ZU

 People suck

Electra’s dictionary noir; I am me ,I am mine Prt2

“Did anyone see you get out of the postal vehicle?” Stina asks me from the front seat, in her usual no-nonsense tone that always gets my back up 

“I don’t think so, Willem pulled up beside a dumpster and —you know, I was….careful. I’m not an idiot,” the last part I say defensively 

“Good. You seem to be a natural at this.”

I never know with her if she really means anything she says. But I am so lost in my brooding thoughts of ….well; is it anger —or pain?

I think about getting lost somewhere where no one will ever find me. Just ghosting everyone and everything ….as if I could but still…. I think about it…. and I’ve done it before  

even as the things you run away from still haunt at you, pressing the eject button that gets you out the emergency exit is very freeing 

I like feeling free. The illusion of freedom is so thrilling to me; no strings, no one to check in with, no one who would notice that you are alive or dead 

just go. because people and myself are not natural companions and only because I forget not to trust; I start to believe them…. and nobody ever tells the truth ….wrap you in and I suppose part of it must be the challenge of whether or not they can crack you like a safe; conquer you…. 

it isn’t that I don’t believe in love.

so what do I believe in?

“What if I told you I know a doctor who is working on DNA memory theory and is actually in the area?” Stina suddenly says 

“What?” I sit up right and for the moment forget my brooding 

“Yes. She’s got her own practice as a psychiatrist but she has devoted years of work researching this very subject. Her name is Dr. Rachel Evans. Her practice is in Chesterton,” Stina goes on to say in a strangely friendly tone 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know this is a subject that interests you. You’ve written about this, haven’t you?”

“Great, so you are reading my blog now—I can’t imagine why unless you want something from me.”

“Are you interested in talking with this person?” Stina asks me

“In exchange for what?” I ask, “because I thought originally you just wanted me to spy on Jörn and ….well, you know more about his whereabouts these days than I do.”

“So—in exchange ….I would like you to find out more about Sunny.”

“Sunny?”

“Yes. We have suspicions he is not as retired as he pretends to be—possible links with not just what happened on January 6 but possible covert operations to undermine more than one country’s government dealings….”

I think even if she said he was a little green man I would be too numb to care 

I don’t answer and lean my head against the window 

I feel so trapped. So isolated and stranded. But mostly so sick of believing people who deceive me

“Dr. Evans is expecting your call,” Stina tells me, “she also happened to be a part of a recent excavation in an area in Great Britain known as Powys.”

I see her look at me in the rear view mirror 

I think about ….how there really is not that much to excite me or challenge me lately 

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Just—pay attention to who he meets with, who comes by. I want you to just watch for things. And check in with me once a week.”

Electra’s dictionary noir; I am me, I am mine

 

I stand at the shipping launch as I watch the large cruiser slowly diminish into the distance; lost upon the horizon 

and I feel as if I have seen this scene so many times 

repeated 

over and over

the landscape alters in dreams. the lands change replaced and overlaid with patch worked memories and dreams from …. so many of the celves 

I feel so empty inside …. I am lost upon the horizon 

Do I know the uniformed postal worker with the odd accent stands nearby? as I say aloud to myself,

“….how will I get back?”

But what do I mean? from that lost horizon ….? or from some long lost land….

“Your ride is here,” the postal worker says with his Dutch accent that only I can hear him say as amongst the activity, there is noise of the water; of the motors all around; of voices making static on the wind…. and the wind itself ….which carries the sounds away, far away from the maddening crowd 

I turn and see a black car with an Uber sign in the window of the back passenger side and I see the familiar figure of Stina step out of the car and walk over

I look at Willem as Stina nears us, she calls my name and says,

“you ordered a ride?”

“Did I?” I say still obtuse to no one in particular but …. perhaps to myself 

Willem walks casually near me back in the direction of the postal van and says,

“you should go with her. She’ll bring you back. I will text you later; we can’t talk here— don’t look at me as I walk away….”

Then he walks to the van

I turn to Stina,

“oh—yes, I’m ….who the ride is for….” and I am so numb inside that I just walk straight to the Uber car with no emotion and feel so exhausted when I slide into the back seat…..