E.d.noir(jmmusechron) sometimes when I’m walking …..

 

It is time to return to my post. These intervals in between are not permanent. 

Where is Jörn? But the time on my phone alarms me. 

Only once I turn on the shower heads do I realize the walls they stream from are glass and I can see the world outside; like standing in some waterfall of the fjords and looking down at passing memories of sailing boats through water valleys that lead out to more lost memories 

and this is when I realize that I dreamed. It is what woke me. I was walking and carrying something heavy on my back. Following ….behind 

I was watching a sunrise 

It was the drumming that woke me like a warning. A drumming that vibrated the ground 

where were we going? there was a feeling of such dread as I looked upon the worn and trodden path that recalled me to faces and snatches of emotions, like memories ….kept somewhere deep in the treasure chest recesses ….and squeezed my throat painfully as it blended with the rotten smell of blood on the air 

how becomes born the contradictions in a self & identity as a lie

consider…..

        those human errors. Some truths cannot be altered with white lies

and it is hard to adopt the expected persona of someone else’s unspoken white lie 

that is required to be assumed 

by that living lie

living among those living the white lies —that allow them to continue living the lives ….of a living lie

one learns to interpret what is required by…. the subtleties of tones; of moods…. and learns how to read minds by every foot fall and breath ….the raised voices, the nuances restrained by the tension expressed in swallowed sighs 

but the words actually spoken tell nothing of truths

those words are gibberish and mean nothing at all

keys to electra, encore

 

my mother had a wicked, somewhat sadistic sense of humor 

as a kid I was tested to be allergic to wheat after returning from a school field trip where the youth hostile we stayed at was directly next to a wheat farm in England and I came back violently ill. She was very much involved in astrology and so she got a big laugh at me and said, “you’re allergic to yourself!” —you see, because the symbol for Virgo is harvest and wheat. Years later right before I moved out, one day it was this time when I was desperate to get to work or I’d lose my job. We’d had a very big snow storm and a tree had fallen on top of my car from all the snow. So manic was I digging it out and wrestling this tree as —I’ve always been this size and could have used some help

she took pictures 

I’m a masochist and desperately loved her till the end and still do which should explain so much of my complexities psychologically —what good writing it provides though, hmm? 

flight as game/homage to Jack London 

“look at that beauty!” 

a lovely chase across a meadow 

humans turn so fast. 

cornered

“stop playing games!” said the hunter to the fox 

assateague island, couldn’t drag me away

 This is the island of the wild horses where getting lucky enough for a glimpse of one is all by chance. This is a rare occasion 

pour toi, parce que tu décodes mes symboles et que tu es toujours là

et apparaît toujours dans mes heures les plus sombres….

                    

 

 

as the blue notes echo on….

he stops me after awhile and pulls up my chin to look at him and looks down into my face, drawing back my hair,

“du är vacker….  Jag har saknat ditt ansikte….” and drags me off the floor from where I worship, his fingers touching my lips, “such a mouth you have….”

“What did I reveal to you back in the office? I don’t remember any of it….” I say looking up at him

But instead he lifts me and takes me across to the other side where there is the other twin dome which beneath it lays a wide round bed with white satin sheets 

“It looks like a huge clam,” I say as he sets me down upon it, “it’s like an Art Deco, Fred Astaire film set,” I say as I look around at the curved custom made furniture that seems made out of Bakelite or lucite, “so what did I say? Did I reveal more fascinating lockletter codes?”

But instead he says, 

“you said enough ….but let’s not talk about it tonight…. tyst nu, min prinsessa...min drottning….“ and moves over me, “you are wearing too many clothes…. and….it has been such a long day—and ….has been far too long….don’t you agree, duva? I will tell you tomorrow,” he looks down at me, and decisively, not bothering with buttons, peels off everything at once in two abrupt and swift separate tugs, and tosses both tops and bottoms to the floor, “but now, be quiet and open your legs.”

….and so it is later watching the stars through the ceiling with him, tracing the muscles of his body with my finger tips ….and I  know ….I could never want anyone but him