e.d. Noir fortress(jmmuse)

 

Thoughts flow clearest best when the present is possible to be drowned

running motors; howling winds; raging storms; brutal workouts; crashing water….

it seems hard to reach that temple inside

there was such peace within the cool stone interiors of the cathedrals 

I recall the serenity —but not from their priests

because rituals are excuses to —avoid—and the serenity I also did find amongst the Druid groves 

and perhaps it was even stronger amongst those woods and forest floors where the dark green moss grew by the kelpies’ ponds

rituals are incantations to keep minds from questioning ….how often I have used this to keep going in the face of despair 

….how long have I been sunk within that morass 

    like I’m waiting ….still…. when is it time to give up that ghost? I wonder

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….