Electra’s dictionary/surprising message(jmmusechron)

 

Something for which I will never understand, is how I have witnessed an attitude from some —either in my past or those in passing ….as though they own a piece of you, or all of you because they open a door, say hello or insist upon some tiny generous act of such which was never asked for 

independence is like oxygen to me and I see now —this— has been what keeps me on this solitary path and ….really separates me from the stereotype of my gender ….so much so to the extent that I really do wish to be called some other gender ….yes, I would chat with you, I would enjoy the hours in discussion only though if it is understood we begin as equals ….until you prove yourself not up to par ; then I would grow bored I am sure

and I see now this is what feels most threatening to that mighty gender or those posing as such but thank god I am older now to look at the generation I’ve been among and can laugh at them all now for their lazy minds and sloth like energy to prove them able to keep up with the will and conversation which I enjoy to challenge 

oh how they bore me

I see an interesting email,

“Oh my god!” I say aloud, “someone is interested in my project!”

It is on the way back from headquarters, but now with it all catching up with me, feeling sick in the car —the tension sets off the spinal pain and causes the inflammation ….from the stress of day, all the switching gears of events which began in the psychiatrist’s office, then the ordeal of being shot at 

….and the other part I have not written about —what happened on the highway when Jörn got out

to chase them I’d thought but…. that’s not what happened. What happened was—the one chasing us got in through the backseat door ….and holding a weapon attempted to kidnap me which is exactly what Jörn was banking on….calculated risk so he says

I look up now from the email and glance at Jörn’s profile

“You’re still angry,” Jörn says now as he drives 

“Can we not talk about this anymore today?—my head is going to explode,” I put my head down between my legs feeling unwell but I say, noticing a shard of glass on the floor, “the windshield is fixed….”

I hear Jörn’s casual grunt,

“while you were giving the statement.”

“So I’m going back to Sunny’s—what’ll I tell him?”

“He’s been unaware you were gone,” Jörn says, “he had a health emergency while you were at Dr. Evens, he’ll return by tomorrow noon, likely….so….”

But I notice we are still en route towards the lodge yet,

“this is not the way….” I say as I realize

“No…. there is an adjacent property which ….” that pause I know

“Let me guess, Airbnb?”

And I hear that chuckle

hollow streaming

 

what a world we live in now, I don’t understand it as it seems we have wandered past the idylls of an optimism once sung about that had inspired me as an artist to wish for that new renaissance 

years ago, it was the time when I met the woman seer; the psychic I have written here about before who told me all those things that wound up happening ….she knew of all the things that happened in my childhood, then about the other violence I had known …. she told me of the losses and of the heartbreak I would know as a mother, and my ability to know of things before they happened and the wisdom that came with this…. she told me that of love it would not come easy to me; I would not be seen for myself ….not really but she said that much later, in my life, that through my written words I would one day be seen and only then truly loved…. I think she only said this to give me faith to carry on and that was very kind of her, don’t you think, my lovely followers I am so grateful for?…. do you know how often I have wished she had been wrong?

I don’t know where we are going, Electra but I do wonder if we are ripe for an alien nation 

DC headquarters scene continues

 

“How dare you tell me this now!” is what comes out of my mouth 

and I run up to him to slap his face—but he stops me by grabbing my wrist 

….and then we are eye to eye looking at each other and I search his for ….truth ….I look deep within their beauty and keep myself from falling in….into them,

“controlling …. I feel like I wait my whole life for my fate to be decided and years wasted wondering if any of it has meant anything ….if I have….or was it all just a game to fill in your time while you keep searching for some better elusive prize….“ I say and look at his hand wrapped around my wrist, “do you think I’ll wait forever for you—what if we don’t have forever?”

He loosens his grip on my wrist and brings it down to weave his long fingers through mine and uses our hands to push me too him, pulling my arm this way behind me and pressing our fists into the small of my back

“Did you mean that?” I ask 

But his eyes tell me. The poker face dropped…. and his eyes are so beautiful when they are vulnerable, until now I don’t think I ever saw this quite ….so

“Yes,” he says 

Another knock jolts the moment as the door bursts open and Stina enters,

“we need to get your statement!” she says and slams a recording device on the desk and with a curious glance at the toppled chair she hauls it up in one motion 

Driving DC concluded; Pulp noir(jmmusechron)/Electra’s dictionary **

 

It is later, at headquarters when I don’t want to think about what just happened—I find myself in an office that faces away from the congestion, overshadowed by some trees that camouflage the reality of the surroundings.

There is not much to look at in the room, only a plain office desk made of mystery wood and stained to look lustrous, but exhibiting no unique individuality of the nature of tree texture which I find I prefer somehow. Prefer it because there is no need to lament the fallen sacrifice of that glorious vegetation. 

I avoid thoughts of Jörn, thoughts of the danger of what occurred during the chase and his estimated …. choice to play with my life —speaking of sacrifices ….I feel so angry….angry at mankind, angry on an unreasonable scale at a species and gender too that I’d rather not deeply reflect upon…. I have learned through personal experimentation that it is not realistic to counter what you feel; you cannot annihilate what you feel—the result, instead, is you bury it, but when you bury it, it’s just covered up, poking internally like a thorn in your side and reminds you whenever you try to move about 

So I acknowledge this. As I look at the fake wood of the desk, try to name the mix of colors that I recognize went into the stain’s hue….alizarin crimson….as I cling to this ….because it is one of the two of my favorite colors ….especially Windsor and Newton’s….and pulls me temporarily down an avenue of release ….away from the rawness of the savagery of my own anger 

yes I grab onto this fabrication ….thinking of tubes of it….squeezing it out and how it glosses and shines as it catches the light still so pure on my imagined pallet ….why ruin it? poised over it as I know in time it will not stay thus, the air has already contaminated ….its existence to remain ….so

Out the window something distracts me….a movement of a bird ….

then….no, it’s not a bird, too jerky in motion, not the natural kind anyway; drone ….’a little bird told me….’ 

again, I am wrong, I’m being paranoid —just a helicopter descending as now I can feel the nearby vibration shaking the building 

and look away….I had shut the abrasive overhead light off with its LED migraine caresses so the grey of the carpet and walls are subdued in a lush of FBI shadow I prefer to be cloaked under

Desk, chairs, a cabinet discreetly in one corner, the other, corner window and steel sills with pulled up blinds

There is a knock at the door that is startling though expected that comes just a second before the door opens 

“Are you all right?”

“How dare you!” I say, not a shout but still spat, despite my intentions to not expose my emotions

Jörn looks at me, now changed into a dark blue business suit, superbly, expertly cut to outline his every angle to advantage 

“Do you keep a wardrobe here?” I ask because he only just looks at me

“I understand you’re angry,” he says as he carefully walks towards me

I turn away from those eyes,

“angry….” I say but the laugh I attempt never is conjured and I get up and kick the desk chair….and we both watch it ungracefully topple in an awkward tumble, landing wheels up, one hitting the wall and spinning 

I look at Jörn again now….he glances from the chair to me with one brow now cocked thoughtfully and —a stiffness around his mouth that holds back a desire to —laugh? that his eyes betray revealed by a twinkle he attempts to hide by looking down quickly 

“What is it with your kind that just decide what will happen without asking first? How dare you decide for me?”

“My kind?” again that raised eyebrow 

“Your—species!—breed!—gender!—type!—controlling, bossy, assuming, superior—“

“Now you’re just rattling off adjectives in tandem that challenge my grasp of your language as you do tend to morph their meanings….Duva—look—“

“No, you look! You can’t just pop in and out of my life and think it’s ok to play craps with it! Being shot at on the highway—“

“Now that wasn’t my fault—“

“But telling me to stay in the car when YOU get out and leave me there as bait —WAS!—“

He shrugs grudgingly but there’s no remorse,

“it was well calculated, you were never in any actual danger, duva—“

“Says who? According to who? Whose calculations? Not mine —from where I was sitting!”

“Duva—“

“Don’t ‘Duva’ me, fuck you! How dare you play with my life—my safety—my needs—what about what I want, what about my fucking opinions of what I want to happen or —DO!? I have to get back to the lodge—Sunny’s going to wonder, don’t you even see that much? Deciding for me when—you’ve put my—my—fucking —cover—at risk!!—jeez!….I want out of all this! I want to get out of here—away from you and away from your species telling me how to live my life—“

“You mean gender, right—? I’m pretty good with English but like I say, you can be challenging!” and he laughs at me

“Fuck you, Jörn!” I snap and then under my breath, “translate that!”

There is a pregnant pause

Then within the silence he says,

“Jag älskar dig….” 

and his voice has gone dry ….that it cracks

It touches some unknown nerve within me

At first I don’t understand. I hear instead his tone. It has been awhile since I thought of the phrase. Especially connected to him. But….slowly it registers.

Why now? Why say this now? In an FBI setting of all places too….why now? Is it to shut me up?

I look up at his eyes. They watch me. 

“I don’t want you to go back there,” he says and ….it is the vulnerability that I hear ….and see….that disarms me

**freedom of choice among other things, hidden in my meanings I rage about here; read between all the legend lines

      

 

 

upon some paths today

 

happened upon some deer in a nearby field before the rest of herd took off

 

How my dna memory theory ties to my dictionary; Electra’s dictionary

 

When I was first researching the man who was my illegitimate father, for the longest time, all I ever knew at first about him was what I could find mentioned in history books and periodicals; his political career overshadowed sadly by how the press slammed him and how the government dubbed him intensely as notorious and how he has so often been extremely, and intricately maliciously documented 

But I knew also of his work before he went into politics, his work as a leader in his community as a reverend and later, his well known speeches that laid the groundwork for labor laws and workers rights, what he did in congress; his speeches can still be found all over YouTube and the internet. Of course I knew that he was the forefather of the civil rights movement

But I never suspected the dark roots went beyond his notoriety  never thought there could be much more worth looking into beyond the early struggles of his father’s early life as a young man struggling to find his own way. A way that…. lead back from the tobacco plantation of Virginia; a half breed whose mother was a Cherokee squaw concubine of a decorated confederate general whose father was a powerful plantation owner and slave owner. The general died on the battlefield and the pregnant squaw was tossed but was taken in by the man who became his step father and married the squaw and was by then a freed slave who brought him up as his own among the sons and daughters who later came to the freed slave and squaw

When the man I refer to here as Ethan Rhys-Jones had reached the height of his success in congress, those southern roots found him and, according to what he wrote in his auto biography, had been approached to visit the historical site that had been his family lineage by someone in the city’s political seat. They had wanted to celebrate an historical 

date and have him publicly appear. He had replied simply “no thanks, I have no wish to ever step foot on that plaque of land.”

I’d always sensed there was some mystery within my blood. Some strange attraction to things I could have had no knowledge of but innately have always felt just as I had felt about Native American things.

So one day recently, around when I had Covid in 2020, I got curious and it was soon after my dna test results came that I decided to do some of my own detective work wondering what might be found in public records. I started with the gravesite which I’d found in an old photograph and it lead me on a shocking path first to the founding of the colonization of Virginia and all the way back over the ocean to King James and on and on the name traced further and deeper, connecting like dots of a tapestry puzzle and all connected to political powers and historical aristocracy going as far back to the Franks and the Normans of Brittany

My fascination with dna memory theory all come from things along this path that has lead me through my story ….I believe I am made of all things and contain all peoples