JM muse Chronicles & film noir more code/ & the dancing bin men

 

“For the longest time I felt I could not be myself…. And it feels like I wandered away from who I am—or was ….but can I go back to the me I was before? I….wish I could. I want to. But —I can’t find her….” I look at him now to see if my words have any impact 

I cannot tell

I say,

“do you know how strange it is to forget what are the things you do between sleep and awake? Not hounded every second, censured thoughts ….. and end up like you feel like you have becomea zombie …. a stranger to ….myself ….you don’t know what I mean; I can see that by how you are looking at me —it’s like, even the books I once loved feel …. I’ve lost all connection ….i cannot find my safety inside.it feels —I am empty inside, a shell shock soldier and…. I’m trying so hard to …. find my —or any footing …. that feels real or solid or safe. What is safety to me? When everyone, people I think I can trust all ….turn out to be frauds and ….it all is so ….terrifyingly random and I am tired of dodging bullets.”

“Come home,” he says 

Those two words are incongruent 

…. you know, I mean in particular to whom who says this to me

How dare he?

“And where is that exactly?” I ask with some leap of an invitation he might be privy to information I’ve not myself come across

Home?

“Last I checked….” I open my purse and take out my driver’s license, “look, says here I’ve got one of those —so …. thanks!”

“You know what I mean….” he says and —when I look at him sat hunched over a cup of hot coffee I notice how small his tallness makes everything around him seem as his large fingered hand cups the little mug

then, I notice that furtive glance around he does 

“Is this really home, duva?” and looks around again 

“It’s honest. No strings attached. No overhead manipulations or euphemism expressions that demand acts —like empty trades for shelter—I’ve been trapped by enough of you predators ….” but I say this much more quietly and stare out the window, “really, what the fuck do you want?”

“You,” he says, “and your conversation—I miss your thoughts …. you thought I wasn’t listening but I was —and ….”

but I know better.

“Than why not say? Why not let me know? What purpose is it to listen only and not be willing to be as part in the experience of knowing the whole of all I am? I cannot believe anymore and that is —too bad. But it is not possible to will a feeling you don’t have and it is not possible to put faith into something that is a fraud.”

just using all  the lines, I was not born yesterday. Tell me, what does it all mean? I’ve lost the will to believe 

“Wasn’t there a code you mentioned?” I shake my head, “you are so full of shit. My conversation?” but I use the distraction of my phone to escape his conversation and happen upon a funny thing on YouTube 

Jörn pulls away my phone in annoyance and forces me to look at him, holding my face by the jaw,

“yes— you are witty and clever and a brilliant artist and some men —one I mean— who really are worth your time can see that,” but I avoid looking up into the bolts of kryptonite

I agreed to meet at somewhere public. There is a nice cuisine down the road from me called Latitude 44 Bistro so ….I agree to meet 

the drape from the window …..winter in the mountains; it is a horizon of cartoon Frozen and polar and fleeing geese which harkens its limp Charlie Brown appeal; the swell in my heart expands. As…. I nearly choke with its joy.

But it’s me. Like consider it is only just a mood, like how I worry for the world but by now I see, it’s not really needing that; it is a habit I must break. it is not my war. and allow what has thrown a dark cloud upon me to will it to go away. I must stop caring so much. Stop feeling. Stop searching for things that are simply not there and never were

“I do recognize and value there is so much more to you than —oh, I don’t know, some kind of a —sexbot,” he says this and drops his head down and says, “unlike—who is that guy you know —why do you?—you should know he is screwing his married coworker!” he tells me

I feel smarted as if by some blow

but I am confused 

“What are you talking about?” I suddenly feel that vertigo and cover my face and from inside my hands I say,

“Jörn, what …. Are you insinuating you are monitoring my calls?”

Spies

they dig up and throw in your face. I shake my head and look at him. Did he really come all this way just to …. to ….hurt me? in this state of frenzy I reach for reasons for such a motive—what reason ?

“No—but why are you here? You do realize the Barn house and old farm house are about twenty minutes from here?” Jörn now tells me 

Is it? 

well, maybe by car 

He hired a car to bring me to Latitude 44 Bistro

I feel like I want to go home 

     and once again I feel that chill because I don’t know what Home is. What or where. Bereft of whatever props that requires 

“Another?” the waiter stops by to ask as he takes my empty glass 

Home?

After the waiter evaporates I say,

“you know, I should have known you’d reappear—pop right back into my life when I saw that article about a Swedish airplane hybrid being tested at my local airport here—it’s like—you had to be behind it! Some excuse to disrupt my life again!”

Jörn looks over his shoulder. A habit. Because the restaurant is empty behind him. 

But then he says,

“yes, because I know the nightmares have returned for you —and—yes, there’s a code only you can crack because ….” and here he seems almost in physical anguish before he says, “there’s a taped session of you that just surfaced….its from one of the sessions you did with Dr. Risa Rothschild which only they seem to have possession of and —this code was created as use for what we consider terrorist purposes.”

But I laugh. Only not at first. I keep replaying what he said. About the fifth time I laugh. 

But stop. Because I replay part of what he said again.

“How do you know about the nightmares?”

I notice the snow has started again. 

Slowly, I raise my eyes to him. 

I get a chill. Like I know before he says it.

“Because Gerald has been in touch with me. He’s worried.”

Worried?

Now I say,

“can you Venmo me money to Uber home now?”

“No—wait….I should tell you ….I was sent part of the tape so—I know what it is about.”

That sick taste. It rises up. And I feel sick. 

I look at him and search his face and wait but —I feel as if I already know 



 

Electra’s dictionary and film noir(jmmusechronCont)/ of spies like us

Spy in the house of love

“So is it like I am under house arrest?” I ask from the deep plum couch that has sucked me under its spell 

He stands by the window in silhouette watching the water, and in the evening light I see how the gold still shimmers in his hair 

“Hmm….” he is lost in thought. Slowly he seems to drag himself to the present as he turns to look at me

There….it always causes such a stir both in my mind and ….within that place they call the solar plexus….it had been so long since I saw him until now….I forgot what this does to me. What he does to me. I once read somewhere that if someone makes you feel this way ….the butterflies and sweaty palms ….to run. To get away. That this person is wrong for you. It was Cosmopolitan magazine. Some article ….and there was a quiz involved, I think 

I don’t want to feel this way. 

I look away. I get up and walk around. I want to vomit. 

How does he show up in my life as he pleases?

“No, you are not under arrest,” he finally says 

He looks at me closely but I am not looking back at him. but…I feel his kryptonite 

Electra’s dictionary and film noir/the fence

I feel his eyes upon me as I watch the water from the flat. I have been so long lost in thought. And lost. Jörn walks over to me 

He turns me to him and takes my face into his hands and holds me there to look at me,

“where have you been?” he asks me

“I have been lost,” I say to him looking up at him; and his hands as he holds me there ….holds me…. as if …. together; he holds me together ….I half want to burst like a glass Christmas ball into a thousand tiny pieces in his hands

His eyes look with their purity of the unforgiving kryptonite that always demands truth and sincerity ….even as they do not always deliver the same in kind 

And here is the crux of it all —what is there at all in life if it is not real ….

I say to him,

“I have to confess a terrible truth I’ve discovered lately, and that is,I don’t care what happens to me, so, tell me—why do you?”

only he does not answer, instead he does something that almost embarrasses me ….he bends down and kneels at my feet, he removes the shoes I wear carefully one by one; each buckle he undoes carefully as if I am made of glass. Then he kisses my feet; first the left one and then the right one. 

And it is because,you see, I feel so broken inside…. so empty of having felt much kindness for so long from anyone that I don’t know how to feel any more so that it is easier to block what this does to me ….that it moves me because —it scares me. Then he stands up and returns to holding my face, but I drop my eyes,

“no, look at me, duva, you are precious to me, do not ever doubt it,” and then lifts me. He brings me to where he has drawn a bath and he says now to me, “let me wash you,” he puts me down by the now full tub and shuts it off, “I want to heal you….”

****

There is an unexpected wilderness, a strangely kind of otherworldly beautiful patch of land on the southern fringe of Delaware where the line meets Maryland; Strawberry Lane 

There is this beautiful old dead tree that is sadly graceful which I find myself inspired to sit under

“my dad named the road,” he tells me 

I am on the fence between the worlds and I don’t know how I came to be here on this road. Some goes to the north and to the east and another west. Each time what i think I find I can believe

 seems to, I find, 

turns to be, 

is more delusion

*^*

I do not regret having depth capacity for emotion or I’d not be an artist, but I regret those who were incapable of sustaining by their own personal defeats 

****

And with my eyes closed I lay in the bath and I hear him say,

“you are my muse,” he says before he goes 

It is only moments later when I hear the opening notes of “the dove in flight”

JMMuse Noir (Ed)continues

And as I stare up so wistfully at that tiny phantom of a helicopter speck that is not even there

I hear Jörn make the oddest—and yet—familiar sound. Like an apologetic cough before,

“jag är ledsen, duva….”

I do turn my head quick —but!lights out!! All goes dark like dreamless sleep 

….was there a prick, a jab?I don’t know ….

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/jmmusechron;Purpose refrain

 

I have become so rather lost in thoughts. I have digressed so many times. 

as things keep interrupting my thoughts—yes, 

so I forget where threads got left hanging there

can you imagine a thought like that?yes, that is what this sort of open-knot-work has become

;some spider who gets interrupted 

and all the weave 

is fraying 

and the spider is left hanging 

I wonder if this is the lesson after all —the net cannot hold the trapeze artist. 

Only some of you will get that. 

Or caught in her own weave?

I don’t know…. 

so, it seems I get so rather lost in my thoughts on some dusty road whilst running away from constant surveillance;the suspicious eyes of a retired agent …. and only want to get

Lost ….

But actually do

and even my phone seems to be caught in Bermuda’s Triangle; a tiny wheel inside it mocks me as it spins for several long minutes where google maps is claiming to be   

so get out of the car and look around realizing there is nothing around.

but does it really matter.

I half think I purposely got myself lost here so as 

….I’d not have to go back.ever.but now it is quite terrifying to realize no one will look for me.or know I was here.or came here.or care.

Those moments when you evaluate your life. And yourself.sometimes I wonder how it felt for Moses coming down from the mountain 

There is a random old log sitting on the dusty dirt road and so I sit down on it and try and clear my thoughts. 

What have I gained from all this exploration ….have I learned?

Yes.actually. And documented it all here in code. 

And had I ever tried to go mainstream in the past it would have been a waste of time, and I always knew this but then —I guess I believe the world wasn’t ready for anything I had to say. But that was true for Socrates. But he was Socrates. But how would anyone have known of him had he never tried to argue? But he was Socrates. 

this is the debate team in my head.and so I do actually feel about to fall apart there right in the middle of that depressing dirt road when out of nowhere I hear the loudest helicopter overhead and ….speaking of spiders ….something drops down very much like one —with golden hair

“Duva—I know you said you want no part of our schemes—“ as if he was just returning from the shops, hardly taking a breath 

“I —never—actually ….said that….” I stare at him 

And then look up as I see the helicopter from the hover just suddenly takes off 

I look up at Jörn and then at the car,

“uhhh—I’m lost and I’m having car issues so….” I look back up at the now long gone helicopter