Peux tu voir?

 à quel point elle se cache dans la fiction pour enterrer tous les aveux de ses peurs réelles

Driving DC noir (jmmusechroncontinues)

 

I head down the corridor, ignoring that feeling of deception I cannot get rid of in my gut…. 

And walk to the elevator which I’d not seen before when I’d gone up the stairs from the street. I realize now why Jörn said to go this way for when I get out, alone —as the building seems to be empty of nearly everyone, save a few walking towards the exits—that, these doors lead out the opposite side of the building and I am now standing facing another street, not looking in the direction of the water. It is a few minutes I am standing there and begin to worry as I look around watching delivery vans go by. The others who leave the building hardly seem to notice me.

I get a chill as I stand there waiting and consider if maybe perhaps I had better order an actual Uber but I am too worried to, thinking something might have happened to Jörn. 

I walk down to the corner and look down the next street and reach inside my bag for my phone, but suddenly I see the white Volvo peeling down the street and as it swerves, it comes to a screeching stop. The passenger door swings open,

“Get in!” he says

And it is the urgency in his command which I don’t bother to question and then, I am hardly in the seat with the door not even closed when he accelerates at full speed down the narrow street

“Fuck! What’s going on?” I grab onto the dashboard by the glove compartment 

“Put your seatbelt on, we have to get to DC!” he shouts as he looks at me, “we have a problem—!”

And as I turn to look behind us, I see a delivery van is not far behind, much too close, in fact!—also driving at full speed….

“Get down!” Jörn shoves my head down as the windshield shatters with a round of popping sounds and, delayed, it occurs to me —we’re being shot at

    

Electra’s dictionary pulp noir/ Dr. Evans’ office visit part 3 (jmmusechroncontinues)

 

The momentary confusion that I feel in coming out of the hypnosis that I realize had been prompted ….by design…. from the old recording of Dr.Rothschild’s that she had obviously kept ….now sends, in a flurry of thoughts 

that sense of feeling cornered ….

and from that triggered thought I find I land upon others ….such as

I have gone from that sense of being stranded and living in one prison —the underground bunker in the Adirondaks ….to that other prison —of my high school stalker and do now find myself forced to live out yet another sentence as where I find myself as the companion/groundskeeper of a supposed retired spy but forced to report back as his spy because …..why? this part has me rather stupefied as I sit there in that foggy aftermath of that blankness which comes when you know your brain has been prodded whilst under some form of a tranquilizer —how induced, I am not fully sure

befuddled ….I look up at Jörn assuming, he is why I feel this way

 ….as I watch him…. peeling off fake press-on manicured nails 

I hear the sound of them hitting the porcelain sink of the lavatory as he has left the door open and from the psychiatrist’s couch I am still sitting on, I have a perfect view of the lavatory’s interior 

I feel entranced to watch him; perhaps it is the after-affects of the hypnosis ….so…. fascinating really ….he’s so methodically professional —now as I watch him removing his make-up. The glasses now removed, does one eye at a time; he uses some sort of white cream, so fastidiously neat and orderly, almost like a surgeon, so careful and practiced. And then it is the lipstick, off it comes, leaving not even a stain of any residue; then washes his face with a foaming cleaner, scrubbing up to his hairline and then the hair itself; under the faucet, washes out the setting and then in a blink, it is tightly tied back…. he is himself again completely transformed before my very eyes!

I get up and walk to the lavatory doorway,

“Jörn, what is going on?”

“Not here,” he whispers and presses an index finger to his mouth and implores me with his eyes but looks at the time of his watch which he now reaches for from inside a gym bag which had been stowed in a cabinet under the sink, “although, I think everyone has gone,” he says, as he puts the watch on his wrist and deftly secures it as he moves back into the psychiatrist’s office from the lavatory to open the door a crack that leads back out to the main office and listens 

“Yes, Melina has left—she’s always the last to go,” he tells me

I realize she was the receptionist behind the sliding glass from before

“Are you —like—working here?” I ask

He looks at me conspiringly as he shuts the door again,

“Candy Bergen is Dr. Evans assistant —until ….her return from the UK—she’s guest lecturing at the university discussing theories and how it links to archeological evidence—“

“What!?”

Jörn studies me through narrowed eyes and then shakes his head,

“let’s go,” he says and points back to the lavatory, “you go through to the other door —it leads to the office building’s corridor which leads to the elevator. Go downstairs to the ground floor and if you see anyone on the way out, and if they ask —say you are waiting for an Uber ride.”

“Where are you—“ I start to say, but as I watch what he does I realize the answer as he takes the gym-bag, now containing all of Candy Bergen’s disguise, and now fully changed into blue jeans and a gray and white pinstriped t-shirt and gym shoes as he climbs on the counter of the sink to the window above 

“Oh my god, what are you doing?!” I ask him, “are you jumping or do you think you’re Spider-Man and going to scale the wall?”

He holds back a laugh and says into my ear,

“there’s a fire-escape on the other side of this wall,” and before I can respond to this, he kisses my neck behind my ear and bites my ear lobe as he says, “I’ve parked down the alley, look for a white Volvo, it’ll have an Uber sign,” then leaves a wet trail with his tongue right before he jumps out the window 

“Shit….” I say a bit dazed to the empty room as I stare at the window 

Vakna/Electra’s dictionary; dreams everlasting Noir(jmmuschron)

 

I watch the swirls. They move into their vortex center, as it seems I dream. I do not want to be here. If I could be anywhere in this universe, it would not be here….and this I think as I sink into that deep abyss; feel it suck me in, pull me down….and drain me….within its swirls ….there I go into the downward spiral 

My safe place ….it was a cool and shaded pond, in a canopy of trees; their heavily leafed branches throwing cool comfort in a shadowy paradise, with their textured limbs of bark and moss…. I lay within a small boat that would rock from the intrusion of encroaching animal visitors, who were never aware of my presence 

I knew that pond so well, knew the perimeter of its curves and the stretching tree roots that reached around ….and there I’d dream laying on the bottom of my little boat, looking up at the cover of green foliage, like a ceiling in some fairy’s kingdom; a kelpie’s ring to lore 

I do not know why I went there, how I could recall the scent of the moss, the ripple sounds of fish who’d jump, the flapping wings of geese, the hoots of doves and later….owls as the sun went down ….but I’d dream of him as I lay there in my kelpie’s kingdom; the boy who came from far across the field who I’d never see again 

It was so vague at first when Dr. Rothschild first began those sessions with me. Those details of landscapes…. of anguish….of hopes…. of dreams…. but I’d first seen him there, he’d been hiding in the night ….his language somehow a bit different, his cloth colors, his eyes, his manner, the shape of his jaw and skull along his brows and each time the lull of Dr. Rothschild’s voice recalled him more and more….

And like that image in the water; reflection or a-telling….soon would dissipate and be replaced like the ripples erasing off a chalk board or like a stage curtain or silken veils; like sails that recast entire new scenes 

What had Dr. Evans found in Powys?

I heard myself say 

In sleepy thoughts as I leaned back into the deep seat, stretching out as if still there in my boat, looking up at those branches and leaves

 ….but now it comes back to me as I lay there losing track of now—confusing time; which present ….am I ….at? as I hear Bran’s voice in my mind ….our last conversation as I’d asked him what he’d thought of all this and DNA memory theory —as it was to do with me 

“Do I think you are ….gymraeg …. “ and then, to himself, “ydw i'n meddwl eich bod chi'n gymraeg…. “ and he sighed heavily before he said, “your complexion—no, it is not…. felynddu—eh, that is, well, not that is always the case but, the true—Cymry ….go iawn, eh….more swarthy than your cool color ….you have perhaps that other mix from the other parts ….and it could be from your other aboriginal roots of the Americas, or no ….it seems to me it may —yes, perhaps ….be from the Northman….Brittany which ….I can see is also there, you are so many things Beth….who is what?” and here he’d done that deep chuckle 

Beth who is what 

….

“Duva….?” and again I hear that music ….it takes over from Dr.Rothschild’s hypnotic tone

recall yet another scene ….upon scenes—a stormy New York City night upon a darkened stage ….when we’d lost power and ….somewhere in the crowd….that night when we performed soon after I’d first met Josef and Elsa

….and long, lovely arms ….they carried and wrapped around me; the Vampire Waltz ….as ….the music spins me within the spell of ….the brilliance of vampire eyes; their power of kryptonite —dispels and overcasts all ….that ever was —and conquers all….of me 

“What did she find in Powys?” I say as I open my eyes and see Jörn looking back at me as he snaps his fingers,

“Vakna!”

an artist lives by shadows & illusions/delusions

 

Electra’s dictionary; a lost legend/Dr. Evans’ office visit part 2

“Do you really mean to go through with this?” I look up into the light glints of kryptonite 

They glance up at the camera,

“of course it is your choice….”

is this the dark ages, I find I wonder ….?

a time when there can be no Renaissance nor evolution 

and no new faith to strive for ….enlightenment 

apathy seems to have sunk into my pores 

it seems that it is possible to become desensitized to the witnessing of horrors and living in dangerous times 

the true meaning of depression is the absence of emotion; a disconnection to meaning 

recession and the great depreciation; the more things change the more things stay the same 

I stare at the wall to the right of the camera and notice more of those odd swirl designs that remind me of Celtic symbols. I lean back against the leather sofa but I whisper,

“you just want to search for more codes…..”

That sound he makes in his throat I recognize; I know every tone he never needs to annunciate just by his subtle inflections…. how easily I’ve fallen for every minute suggestion; of eyes, of voice, of touch and ….scent …. they put me under 

“You are free to go,” that seductive voice now does say to me

I look back up and past the lenses disguised by artful design; I search…. so very desperately ….for meaning 

do I imagine that I hear his music playing? do I imagine I hear him say “min lilla duva….” 

as the lab coated blond walks to the desk and then…. I hear a click…. the room is filled with the voice of Dr. Rothschild ….and I remember in rewind…. 

“Go to your safe place….” 

I remember ….

She says,

“tell me what you see….”

And I hear my own voice fill the room as I watch the swirls on the wall that repeat the pattern of the carpet …. woven in my mind ….and draw me down inside them like a spell 

I am drifting aimlessly on a raft in an endless ocean. I am drifting to nowhere with no connection to anything 

I am drowning in nothingness 

I see the stars in the sky, some five pointed and some six; I see hammers and the crucifixes which mark souls lost in time 

I hear my voice say

“I am in a green and shaded grove….that is the last time I saw him….”

Electra’s dictionary/ notes of a stranger poker faced pulp noir (jmmusechron)

After a moment, I walk back to the monitor and look at her on the screen

“Dr. Evans, tell me—what do you mean in your reference to DNA—are you speaking of —that is, have you breached into confidential information like—my recent DNA test or—“

<<“No— I’m not referring directly to —to that kind of information…. but not excluding the findings it might have brought to light….”>>

and here I see her stand up and walk around the wing chair and lean on the back of it looking directly into the camera as though staring straight at me and ….there is something of that old woman from the waiting room in her gaze at me….which causes me to shudder. 

She continues….

<<“but the theory Dr. Rothschild was so involved in proving…. how memories can be handed down through one’s DNA; ‘DNA Memory Theory’, I know you refer to it often in your writing,”>> she says

“You read my blog….”

<<“Someone mentioned your blog to me recently, that is how I found you—“>>

“Someone? —you mean Stina….”

<<“—who?”>>

“Who mentioned me? —how I got your card? Like you don’t know!”

<<“My business card? No— I wouldn’t know about that— I heard of you through my associate —who will be conducting the study with you during my absence —oh! I’m running out of time, I’m the guest lecturer—but—I hope you won’t mind—my associate….uh—I assume you are open minded —uh, as—many of my patients deal with emotional issues to do with gender ambiguity—have undergone ….procedures and— oh! I’m being called I must go—I hope you decide to….well, it’s up to you…. but I do hope you decide to —because I feel that you have as much to gain from this experience as—we—do….”>> at which point the zoom freezes and then she disappears 

When the dark haired man in the lab coat reappears from the door he vacated he looks at me a moment and waits with a kind and patient smile

“You are waiting for me to decide —or not— to go forward with —Dr. Evans’ experiment,” I watch his expression as I say it

He shrugs,

“you can always come back—you can think it over.”

“How long have you been Dr. Evans’ assistant?” I ask

“Oh,” he looks surprised and his face flushes slightly, “I’m not Dr. Evans’ assistant—I’m a nurse on staff here; all I’d be doing here today is—if you decide to go through with the experiment —would be to administer the ….shot—that is, with your permission—her assistant is Dr. Bergen who has years of research and work exploring the mind and human behavior and ….that is who would be….conducting the experiment….”

“A shot!” I feel alarmed and go back to the leather couch to sit down, that lightheaded feeling having returned and to myself I repeat, “conducting the experiment….” I look up from the spot on the floor I had been momentarily mesmerized by; the abstract design in the carpet reminding me of those strange symbols from Celtic designs, “are you familiar with the research?”

Again, his face is brightened as he flushes and shakes his head, “I’ve not been present yet for one of Dr. Evans’ experiments—but I’ve read some of the logs she keeps. It’s similar to treatments for recovering from dependencies—they do hypnosis—it’s quite effective….” he stops to consider and inches back a few steps, “if you would prefer….”

“What is the shot?” I suddenly ask

Again a bright flush,

“….uh—a barbiturate—ah, a kind of anesthetic—“

“What kind?”

“Umm….it’s in the family of sodium pentothal —it’s a similar—”

I laugh nervously,

“‘truth serum’? Isn’t that illegal—?—unconventional!—“ I laugh again 

“Well, I’m sure it’s not illegal or—“

“They gave that to spies during the Cold War right before giving the lethal injection,” I nervously say this wondering as I look around the office what I might be getting caught up in

“You know—maybe Dr. Bergen would be better qualified to explain, I’ll just—let me just….” then disappears behind that door 

A moment later it opens but whoever I might have been expecting ….I have no idea

Tall, slim and also wearing a white lab coat over a fitted red dress and wearing high heels, this Dr. Bergen’s face turns from the door, at first hidden under a well made up face of perfectly applied lipstick with sweeping blond tresses that reach the broad shoulders of the lab coat, now turns, a face somewhat more obscured with stylishly studious framed glasses and artfully elegantly made up pale colored eyes….

I gasp.

There is no mistaking ….

“Greta?!” 

I say this more in a gasp that is impossible to stop

“Dr. Bergen!” and glances nervously at some spot on the wall ….

I look in the same direction, now noticing a camera 

“Candy….” ‘they’ say, as to —correct— and clarify; the tall, blond…. clearly trans with ….a slight Northern European accent only noticeable by the inflection of consonants and syllables, “you Americans insist on titles of formalities despite your revolutions….” says with a casual chide but—the eyes glare a kind of silent command

I stare…. aware my mouth has dropped open from the gasp —in need of oxygen 

“Ohhh….my….” I cannot breathe…. and for a few dizzying seconds, I hyperventilate …. “God!” I say…. because I cannot ask what I want to ask but…. anyway stumble with my wits…. breathlessly under my breath I mumble, “what-are-you….doing….” but stop my next choice in words completely dumbfounded 

‘They’ say,

“I am here to conduct the experiment—with your permission of course—in the absence of Dr. Evans.”

“….why?” as I just stare…. at this dazzling tall blond standing in front of me 

and aware of the camera clearly watching the both of us, am forced to forgo any real questions I’d prefer to ask….as I consider ….

consider…..

Stina’s insistence …. the old woman in the waiting room…. the references to Dr. Rothschild by Dr. Evans….

“Am I really to undergo hypnosis?” I ask —as— this seems the most logical choice of questions to put forward 

They look at me….oh those beguiling kryptonite eyes how they do hypnotize 

“I am a qualified doctor of mental behavioral studies….” and ….as I hear ‘them’ say this…. I suddenly remember that detail—a card never once fully played until now