The Electra; Electra’s dictionary & film noir (jmmusechron)

Jörn walks across the room, it faces out to the northeast, it is a private room within the silo. 

At first it is hard to hear what he listens to. But after a few clicks on the volume, it more clearly comes …..

voices talking ….then just one voice ….a familiar voice. Too often silenced. A voice that speaks mutely. A voice that’s never heard. Like screams that never reach the walls. Like pleas never begged to be heard 

like secrets. like secrets trapped inside…. a choking throat by hands hands that crushed a spine ….with pale and ghostlike fingers weakly prying with a desperate strength for release, for breath, for screams for help, nothing goes out….nothing goes in….and we are very, very far far away

this will not affect us. this will not hurt us. if we don’t feel then they can never win….nothing goes in and nothing goes out and we are far away

The voice from the laptop fills the room, a voice disembodied which seems from so many life times ago

She said:

“I used to hide in her closet. I knew I could never be found if I stayed deep inside the shadows. I would hear how he spoke to her. And through the crack in the doorway, I saw the way he treated her…. she was better than him, he did not deserve her…. the things he said, those names…. I would never be that to anyone…. she was just property to him and a filthy toy…. I would never let anyone touch me that way…. I would never be someone’s toy…. And for years, all men became him to me, all men seemed to look at me the way he looked at her…. so when he called me names like his filthy spawn, they confused my gender until I didn’t know what I was…. but I just could never be what he made her be….”

Another voice cuts in,

“tell me about the boat….”

Another click, to raise the volume, pull the curser back to replay….

“Tell me about the boat….”

Jörn….. 

“Yes….”

“Whose boat was it?”

“The man’s…. our secret…. we could never say he would spend the day with us….”

“Where did you go on the boat?”

“I don’t know…. it docked at the restaurant that time….”

“Where was that?” Jörn asked

“Miami ….we went through the other way and oh….yes….it was called ‘the Electra’….”

If a moment could freeze and shatter ….and a Celf become reborn ….and disassociate 

She watched him stop the recording and pace across the room

 joyeux anniversaire mommy, comme tu me manques

💔

 

she writes….

I have come to see, the muse is the only thing that is real. he follows me through my days, he is always there. he will never abandon me. and as I know I watch him, he is always watching me, inverted worlds that exist in their private realms; energies that ride upon the currencies exchanged through real and forgotten memories and spoken in a legend that only alters as it requires to what cannot be expressed in any other way

when the does a muse choose to be the voyeur?/e.d. (jmmusechron) film noir

 

Within the Cell we step out. And the chains follow us. The prison is real and incarcerates. But the mind can walk away. Can split into as many cells that it may require. It can watch the muse play voyeur and become the watched who watches

we are free and nobody owns us. we are free. we can decide not to feel. not to take the blows. they do not affect us. we don’t need anything or anyone. nothing comes inside.

She walks away. She goes. She sees the muse at his game. when he puts down his bow and steps away from the cello, he shuts off the tracks and removes one hat for another

the recordings play

there are cameras everywhere. and from the silo bedroom, she sees him now. She found the app on his laptop. 

she clicked because she

just had to know

e. d. Noir; a muse’s promise

 

“I know you have had your share of those who have let you down and abandoned you and about myself I know you have had your doubts but— it’s important for you to know. For me to tell you…. I want you to know something, duva….” and here he pauses and looks into my eyes, “you are not alone. If anything should ever happen to you….” he takes my hand and looks into my eyes, “I am with you, every step of the way….”

Electra’s dictionary and film noir; of broken doves Part 2/the Muse revives the empty spirit (jmmusechron)

 

“I wish….” but I stop myself and lean against him, “sometimes I wish we could go back….”

“Back to where?” Jörn asks me

“….home….to where ….” and I take his hands which have gone to my shoulders massaging along the curve of my neck but I take them now and put them back onto the piano keys ….and yet I stop there and take both his hands and kiss the knuckles ….and then look at them to marvel over their unique characteristics I now know so well and know all they are capable of….their music and their artistry 

“We can….” he tells me, pulling aside my hair to kiss my neck some more and say into my ear, “I will be performing at the end of the month and I was going to invite you as a birthday present…. It is a special invitation only appearance at the Swedish opera house. You remember it. But it’s to attract investors for a friend of mine and —well, you are actually part of the attraction.”

“What do you mean?” I turn to look at him

“But—wait, I was going wait to tell you  as a surprise, now is not the moment. First, I want you to understand why it is important for you to remain here….”

“Why? Why can’t we just leave? I want to go—just go back to New York and to Ilya and the penthou—“

“Listen to me—look, I can take you for a visit but for now it is important you are here….”

I turn to look at him,

“Jörn….”

“Duva…..” he takes my face by the jaw into one hand and studies me with a look of apology and sympathy as he says, “yes this world is not what it was when first we met and—with Covid and the madness of war….which brings me to the point of why you must remain at Sunny’s because…. we now know his connections to the events of January 6 and some intel on things that show that there were conversations he was privy to involving the last presidency and Putin where —let’s just say Pandora’s box was opened and we are now living in what that has brought about….so this intel, we think….”

“You think what—there is some information hidden there? I doubt it, all his technology is antiquated!”

“He wants you to think that,” Jörn says simply and after a pause, like an after-thought, “and everyone else….because it is convenient to….”

“You are waiting for an opportunity to snoop around….”

“I want you to. I think there are things hidden somewhere on the property. It would not be mainstream technology. It would be some other method. And it would have valuable information.”

“Valuable?”

“Nuclear ….”

Electra’s dictionary and film noir; of broken doves (jmmusechron)

 

“I’ve realized that the things I once thought I wanted in life…. I don’t anymore….” 

I look up at him from the grand piano. He looks up from his phone and back at me from across the wide silo bedroom and holds my gaze for a long moment. 

He puts his phone on the Art Deco dresser and walks over to me slowly. The sunlight catches in the gold of his hair as he walks towards me. He wears a t-shirt with jeans that is a steel grayish blue, the color of his eyes in the light and the light seems to pass right through his irises with that vampire brilliance as though it lends a visual power. For a moment my thoughts are stunned to silence. 

He stares into me as he nears me and with his eyes still biting into mine, he lays his fingers on the piano keys and plays three notes in succession as he strikes three keys. Pauses. Then four….

what is it….? ….I know this one…. 

but his eyes keep me from thinking of anything 

“What do you want, my little dove?” he says this somberly as he nears me as he stares

“I ….don’t know….” I look away and cover my face and eyes with my hands and speak through the mask of my hands, “the world is such a different place ….now….”

I hear him move, hear the sound of the fabric of his jeans brush as he moves and then feel him sit next to me on the piano bench

With his attention focused on me now I struggle with my thoughts to focus them,

“I don’t like this world, Jörn….”and now I feel him press a kiss on the top of my head as he pulls me into his embrace 

He whispers,

“min lilla duva …. världen var alltid ful.  du väljer bara att inte se det….”

“What?” I ask him

But he pulls me across his lap and sets me to sit between his thighs and takes my fingers with his hands on both mine and lays them on the keys. But we don’t play. Instead, he bites my neck

“Tell me, min lilla duva…. what was it that you thought you once wanted?” but with each word he says, he goes from biting to kissing my neck and whispers into my ear, “tell me....”

“I wanted…. some idyllic ….foolish…. possibility…. that was once inspired ….by my historic ‘mentors’…. of the Arts…. but I should have realized ….that even ….Nike of Samothrace ….lost her head….” I turn to look up at him and stare into his eyes for something real to grasp, “but they are just memories left behind, aren’t they? Memories of their dreams that could not last….”