of spies & codes

 ….and as my thoughts wander they go to him, and what I know of him is that he would never say if something were the matter.he would give the impression of having his world in control.he would not tell me.he cannot be weak;what he thinks is weak;to show it….especially to me.never.but it is what you do after you recover from your moments of weakness that are what count.but —if it is his pride, then his war is within ….and myself be silent; because, as always, I know he will emerge more powerful in his contrition.yet,id never waver

 i shall miss you

ceiling thoughts

centering….a few days off to find myself and keep everyone the fuck away…. thoughts seem to actually crystallize as I reflect 

so, the longest relationship I had was with ex Chris from 2003 until 2015. And what is strange is that he is from generation X and after so many years of Nintendo and being his twin among his pals with the fist greetings upon entering ….I don’t fit with my generation anymore. they bore the fuck out of me and they can’t keep up with me …. 

purpose —why am I here….sometimes as spirit it seems I feel so much of everything —and everyone around me 

but anyway, what did the grunge generation think?

we were so naive ….but then ….what —the fuck—if…. anyway? I mean, hey, today I got mistaken for a high school kid by a sheriff as I was walking—so, I guess maybe youth is in the beholder or I am a charmed fairy after all 

 like those old monks in their cells. you see? 

~more later electra, dearest, between our dog eared chapters~

E.d.Sizerhands, (a short) deflection;Electra’s dictionary

(another aspect and hint about the Electra theme and patterns)

I remember as a child standing by the bedroom door after I got one of the beatings. Of course I did not know about biology or whose I was back then —or what that meant, but ….to me I thought he was my father. So I would wait at the door after each time he hurt me for him to say he was sorry and say that loved me….”

I look up at Jörn as I say this, 

“I thought each time that he intended to just ….throw me away ….so, maybe now you may understand what my anxiety is about….” I don’t say 

He comes up from behind me and leans into me then, drapes his long arms around before he says in a deep whisper into my ear,

“I will never abandon you….” 

https://youtu.be/UKoCj_xU8L0

(don’t you see him as a spy?)

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