e.d. Noir (jmmusechron….?)

And when I do report to Stina, I leave the grounds and take a long walk to the next road out that leads to a pasture and then the bee farm 

she asks me without further ado when I make our weekly call,

“so have you anything to report?”

“I do actually….” I tell her but wait as I watch a nearby car drive away, “I was doing some cleaning up in the attic area and—“

“—yes?”

“I came across some interesting things ….some boxes which —well, among some valuable pieces from Africa and Iran—“

“Iran?”

“I found some old files of….documents and ….transcripts….”

“Go on.”

“Apparently he was an interrogator during his time with the FBI—“

“We are well aware of his agent background,” she sounds impatient now

“—from the Cold War,” I continue as if I did not hear her tone 

“What sort of files did you find?”

“It looked like —files of things like roughly drawn maps or….I don’t know, like those football strategy plans —I hardly can decipher their meanings, but—“

“He’s after Retnuh Nivek, you do realize—and he may be setting us up because he thinks we know his whereabouts,” she coolly says 

“Do you!?!”

“He has an old score with him and ….”

“So that’s why….” I shake my head 

“You’re his bait. He’s a hunter, remember? He can’t resist. His finding you on that road was no accident ….or that convenient old school chum stalker of yours  who he set up ….”

“Shit….” I stand in the middle of the dirt road pacing its width frantically 

“Calm down—we have not left you there on your own, haven’t you noticed the drones around?” But my mind is swimming and I have no time to process her words before she switches approach to ask, “have you seen any new people around then?”

The qualms I felt in divulging his life details seem to fly out of my thoughts now and I answer her, 

“Well….” I take a long breath to calm myself 

“You have…. you know, Jörn is concerned for you….” she says in such a way as to shake my wits even more into ….putting my faith once again in ….what I’d come to feel a lost cause 

“How would you know?”

“He thinks you are being watched—and it could be possible that Sunny is just an innocent bystander,” she seems to coax me

“You don’t believe that though, actually, do you?”

“Who is it then?” she asks 

“It’s a man ….he came by with the boys—“

“The boys?”

“Oh…. the Amish boys.”

“What….Amish—?” she pauses as it seems she think “oh…. they are known as Pennsylvania Dutch, are they not?”

I laugh,

“well…. did you have to Google that? They live among themselves. It’s a separate culture ….they did not approve of such things as electricity back around the turn of the last century….”

“And what’s it to do with Sunny….?”

“He’s quite —connected among their community, particularly the Prince family, I guess they are the family he never got to have as an agent….There’s a driver who—you know they don’t drive cars—so—“

“You think their hired driver does more than push the pedal to the metal….” with her usual finesse of using American expressions with slightly off Swedish intonation, she finishes my sentence for me 

Et je vois que tu es toujours là.  cela signifie-t-il que vous vous en souciez ? montre-moi

more thoughts of the legend; reflections

 

I always knew there was something “emotionally” wrong with my mother.

unhinged. 

I knew her differently than others in my family. Looking back now, I understand why her bond with me was bittersweet. I looked like the man she loved and lost and I was the daily reminder that she was marked in her husband’s eyes as his whore to abuse behind closed doors.

I watched from the crack of my mother’s closet door. I watched scenes that marked ….into the eggshell of my mind….I saw that vile little evil man 

but also, I saw her manic highs

I saw her lows

her lows made her cruel ….usually most to me

but I understood

I was willing to be thst for her

I listened 

I told her how much I adored her

I forgave her everything 

She was not diagnosed manic depressive

it was a secret that I saw but she hid well…. but she was quite mad…. quite mad…. and with a husband prone to violent behavior to members of his household—the exception the molesting daughter of his blood and sickness; behind closed doors were two plus one lunatics we all lived …. in that yellow house 

I reacted to her mood swings. I bore the swings. I was depressed when she hurt my feelings with her shunning and spiteful words…. that was why the self harm began, you see; her rejection made me wish to die when she shut me out and would ignore me for days; weeks…. And later years ….why do females in my family hurt me so ….the men not as much, just the one—my personal Hitler 

I had been misdiagnosed years ago for clinical depression —they were wrong. I just needed to heal. But some things you don’t heal from. It is up to the individual to figure out how to survive and build their armor and maybe one day triumph 

It is not depression when you hurt or grieve. Those emotions are correct to feel. They should be experienced, not masked by chemicals society enforces 

we should accept differences of others ….accept and appreciate their unique perspectives 

How boring if everything was straight up and down 

pour toi; grenouille de paix 2

 

Electra’s dictionary; a voice to be heard; Beth pwy yw beth a phryd

 

Electra, 

this morning’s dreams mix with real everyday incidents. So, I relive the scene later when 

Sunny calls out in alarm—in painful, physical urgency and then I recall —oh, I knew this would happen; we know how it goes 

later ….

—here I stop to reflect upon how strange some things shift and alters things —of people and—of the importance of some things…. such things like a nearby neighbor who is moving away, so suddenly my presence to Sunny here becomes more required ….and think about how that fits in with what Stina is asking me to do…. I mean, if what she said is true —it makes me wonder how it is that he suddenly appeared on that road to rescue me from the last stalker I just had to escape from 

But…. my brain gets so muddled over this double double triple agent spy stuff, so  instead, my thoughts choose to turn to write instead about my  ‘Persephone’…. and how that heavy weight which had pressed so hard upon my heart that I could not ever inhale all the way ….the adjustment to lightness with full lungs now alters my perceptive view through the kaleidoscope that I see looking at me in the mirror 

And even Bran ….he calls me again today ….he says he doesn’t like,

“that nobody cares if you’re alive? Really Beth?”

“Well…. I’m working for Sunny, he’d start to wonder if he didn’t see me for a few days….”

“Honestly Beth….” he stops to edit his thoughts; I hear his mind shifting the course, “I was surprised about—your ‘Persephone’” Bran says 

“Oh….”

“I remember how close you were so….but you are talking again?”

“It’s ….been a long several years,” I say and sit down, as I have been pacing 

“So, how is that going?” he asks

“You know…. if someone wanted to see in actual life ~inheritance over environment~ study —she and I are living proof that—as much as they tried to turn her into one of them and not be like her mother….it failed. Even her sexual identity label is like her mom’s but her generation are comfortably out.”

“Hmm, I never doubted your attraction to me, Beth—did you?”Bran asks me

“To you? Of course not, but you are the exception —you’re deep —and sensitive—and….you’re —nurturing….”

“I’m nurturing? I don’t think Clare would agree,” he says and then he says, “well….you always brought that out in me, you have that way—it makes men want to protect you—“

“Protect me-!?”

“—take care of you,” he amends

“What!?—why? I don’t need that from anyone!” I feel defensive, “I can take care of myself!”

And at this moment I get a text from Stina:

<have you called Dr. Evans office yet?>

I ignore her message and walk to the window to watch a herd of deer playing in the near field. Two with massive antlers stop to look directly at me from the field as I listen to …..Bran’s lilting voice that ….throws its sheepish warm coat from across the sea…. and for a split moment in time ….I am perched in an alternate time ~Beth pwy yw beth a phryd~

“Well….” he concedes but he says, “to your credit, I don’t blame you for all that armor you wear—I think if anyone deserved to hate men for everything that happened to you, I wouldn’t have blamed you for completely turning off men. I really couldn’t blame you, I would have had I been you,” he says

“Yes—well—but the alternative wasn’t much better so—there is a fine line within that gauge of yin-yang on the dial between male and female ….and I gave up fine tuning my definition and —realize ….it’s more to my liking avoiding most humans altogether —unless they prove they have something worth my time to interact with —on any level.”

“And where do I fit in?” he asks 

“….you never had to doubt….but there is only one of you, isn’t there? And ….you disappeared. And…. you’re an artist so…. that is under the umbrella of my orientation—oh! Bran, I have to go—” I say when from downstairs I hear my name being called

“Beth—don’t hang up—wait, ….can I call you again?”

I hesitate

He says,

“I can’t not have you in my life….it’s so good to hear your voice.”

 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