Electra’s dictionary/Invisible Ink;scene continues

 

He says to me,

“I do see you.”

I am by his window looking out. 

The distance between us feels infinite

 it seems

 and the energy it takes for faith far less so 

I don’t believe him. He only shows me what he decides to let me see. And I wonder if then he can only see as much of me as he feels in the mood to bother and try. it makes me wonder who I have been in love with—he gives as much as he is inclined and then he retracts as if everything between us never was and so I am the idiot ….but then that means he too is another fraud…. 

“Duva….”he walks over to me and pulls my face up to look at him taking my chin in his grip, “I am your father figure,” he whispers into my ear

I say,

“no! a father—? someone to raise me up high and be my cheer-leader, daddy, no, you lock me out —you don’t allow me near you—how can you see me?” and move away but he pulls me back as I fight him, “how can you see me when you are pretending and playing your games? I’m not at your disposal—“

“Duva—“

“You don’t see me, you stopped looking.”

“I never stopped,” he says

“You don’t even read my words anymore,” I say

“How would you know?”

but what I wish I could really understand is—what is it he is afraid of….? what I would see if he showed me his whole self —or of how he would feel showing it?

left in stitches(scene continues)/e.d.&muse

 

But whatever Jörn was about to say is upstaged by a sudden interruption of more familiar voices entering the apartment in an excited rush and —in a heated argument that…. is making my head pound as their language is not kind to migraines 

“Oh!” I gasp and cover my ears and eyes, “why does my head still hurt?”

“Don’t touch the stitches!” Jörn says as he rushes towards me from the window where he had been pacing to but almost defeating the purpose, I’d hazard to guess, he calls out loudly in operatic tenor,

“snälla håll nere rösten!”

and this rings and seems to echo in revolutions 

“What do you mean stitches?” I am horrified now as I look up at him

But he is too busy looking at the back of my head and pulling away my hair in the exact spot that has been pounding and—

“ouwh! fuck!” I say and reach back to feel what he is looking at—but—he slaps my hand away! with a sort of reprimand —I can only guess— as it’s in his language and I cannot spell what he just said; still, the tone says everything, doesn’t it? As I suddenly feel like I’m ten 

“Your hands are dirty!” he says in English 

“I’ve been unconscious—“ I start to get up to wash my hands but he pushes me back 

“You shouldn’t be walking around —the doctor said,” he tells me and then he looks at me in —that way— which makes me think I’m risking being put over his knee with a spanking if I don’t get back in bed

So I give him a look displaying my surrender because I ….actually don’t care enough anyway 

I get back in bed and crawl under the covers as suddenly it feels like I ran a marathon 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/vampire eyes

And so, because —with the staggered television sounds snd a piece of a conversation that belongs to…. ? …. oh, it’s too involved to quite wrap my head around just yet…. 

my head is so foggy, I sit up and put my head in my hands 

I don’t know what I was expecting but I think it was that when I pulled my hands away from my eyes I would see something …. like a miserable container interior or—the drear of farmland and Sunny’s lodge 

….or, the Adirondaks even….

like the bunker underground I was buried in for so long ….my god was that, like— only just a little over a year ago? No…. then it was the high school stalker ….Shit— how many nightmares can you list off in ten seconds that have happened in my most recent life? ….but….

Now—alas …. it looks like, i have succeeded in losing my mind, bravo, as I am hallucinating or actually having a very lucid dream— unless, who knows, by some lucky twist of fate, I am …. fucking saved from that slow suicide that has been my life as my —magic pumpkin could have arrived in time, thank god, to get me the fuck out of there—as if—at last, and …. nice dream

To be back here

Because as I look around my surroundings —my grogginess wears away 

as again I sharply notice …. those very signature things …. it is that strange otherworldly quality I remember …. somewhat majestic, only actually sexy, yet in a sort of clinical yet most un-dreamlike way as

….everything is white, minimalistic 

—then I am startled with —!

“ni två är som två bortskämda brats, jag kunde höra er i korridoren!” A familiar high shouting voice now says. I hear a door slam. 

Then another familiar, yet slightly shrill operatic voice says,

“vet du vad den där ungen — din pappa — gör?  brat är det rätta ordet, han beter sig som om han var tio med den där överprissatta hörapparaten.  visste du att den höjer och sänker volymen?”

What is going on? I am so confused, I find, as I slowly start to realize this weird dream—isn’t one, and I appear to be back in Manhattan in Jörn’s apartment and in his bedroom 

I hear him now say,

“hur mår patienten?”

And it is Josef’s familiar voice who replies,

“Jag kollade på henne innan men hon var fortfarande inte vaken.  har hon hjärnskakning?  det är inte säkert att låta henne sova.”

“Jag ska gå och träffa henne nu,” I hear Jörn then say and then hear footfalls of steps near. 

A moment later I hear a tap and look up and see Jörn in the doorway of his bedroom 

“How are you feeling?” he says before I have a chance to get a good look at him

I force myself to sit up and prop myself to the headboard and look at him 

And as I look at him ….I say,

“what am I doing here?” only now I see he carries his big cello. 

I see him set it down now as he sees me looking. He walks across the room and draws open the window sheers and looks at the street below for one moment before he turns to me 

and yes….he is beautiful …. sleek golden hair tied back in a knot, a Nordic god….and immaculate as always, I notice as…. he wears his symphony clothes ….?

“Are you playing back at the philharmonic?” I ask even as I realize I’ve not allowed him the chance to answer my other question 

He raises one finger to start to say something but then changes his mind and walks over to me instead and….

Only, it is his eyes ….those ageless, timeless, immortal vampire eyes that dazzle as deadly as kryptonite with their strange northern lights glow and 

it is déjà vu …. because how many times have I looked up at him from this exact place on his ….bed ….but it has not been for ….so long that ….we have been here ….and …. I am so confused and ….

it seems to fuck with my emotions ….

Electra’s dictionary and film noir; smörgås dreams

 

He comes to me in dream …. that tenuous grasping of an energy through the currency. 

it comes in waves, even as sounds are muffled and my senses are confused or ….are they dulled? only, I get such a sense that he is—with me— somehow;

or so it does seem only this thought gets mixed up with a seeming unrelated sound of a helicopter and the smell of the sea…. even as I had been dreaming of a lovely winter’s lake that was frozen with a dove flying in the distance, and through the mist came a man on a white horse …. and the distinct scent of citrus-ginger and leather, like Boss cologne as I seem to be lifted and weightless

And because my eye lids feel too heavy from whatever that strange smell was and the bump before that…. I can’t seem to connect thoughts 

And perhaps it is later when I hear a high pitched operatic voice bouncing off some wall in the distance with a cello, piano and violin in the background but again fall into a thick cloud of strange dreams. 

Strange dreams indeed, because now as I become aware that I am awake and look around, I still think I am dreaming. Because I know the scene well. But it does not fit my present. Of what I thought my present was. Is. Is?

The door ajar. Sounds carry. Loud sounds. 

First loud. Then soft. Then loud. Very loud. Too loud. It’s annoying. It’s a tv commercial. Then it’s something else—a movie, I know the voices —or—

It gets too loud!

But then I hear a very strangely familiar voice shriek,

“om du inte slutar använda din nya hörapparat för att styra tv-volymen så tar jag den där stora hammaren och det kommer att vara slutet på din nya leksak, jag lovar dig att Josef!”

 I think this time maybe you hurt me too deep 

 

e.d. Noir

And so I think 

What I most liked about him was not his typical Nordic characteristics, it is a funny thing because I had not thought to consider this somehow till now ….not the pretty nose, nor the baby blue eyes you commonly see—and why do I think of Jörn now when it feels as if I walk the plank ….of life….to jump into the deep watery depths of foul play that is the story of my life ….I think of Jörn with his slanted vampire eyes, ageless and tattooed on my soul with all the changing colors of the sky and with it all the moods ….how is it I still can long for him ….I wonder ….my vampire is not a pretty boy unless ….he’s in that mood 

Whatever made me think such random thoughts? ….strange…. I think —until …. I realize …..

It seems….ohhhh ….I start to lose consciousness ….even as I hear ….as though after; delayed —the sound of something hitting….. that— I realize, was the impact of something hitting my head from behind 

and all goes black 

     right before my hand slams down and randomly turns on the Volvo excavator ….

Electra’s dictionary & film noir (jmmusechron2continue)

Those moments move in slow mo as we are stopped and nothing happens….I watch the hands on my watch move as my thoughts go madly and wildly in circles; dangling between logic and panic

And I brood inwardly with anxiety, fingers at the ready to start the Volvo engine

and poised there in mid space my mind disengages from my physical moment ….and sink into deep space thought….

And I start to think about how different life is without all those people who are now gone. When you have no one left, you look at life differently

I reevaluate purpose whilst in a semi trapped   and contained 

and when you are no one to anyone and you have no one, the fears of abandonment are long realized so…. behind the anxiety itself comes the sheer panic having to be contained and knowing nobody is there to care to look for you 

and suffocate ….in a container 

when I loath being contained at all

has kept me in this hirghtened state of terror mixed with panic because I am used to flight and running for freedom 

I have not been able to; instead trapped …. I look at the interior walls and …. my body wants to jump out of my fucking skin 

I hate being contained. I need space. I need freedom. I need to walk and pace and do physical things and …. this place is driving me crazy ….and the fear is …. what if nobody ever finds me…..?