Electra’s dictionary Noir; jm chron/Waits&measures

Thoughts move more swiftly lately

The view I have come to love more from my glass foyer ice cubed shaped ad hoc studio.

    I suppose it is the permanence that, in its quiet way, works like a gentle fingered massage to my skull —Jörn never has to say a single word —I feel all his acutely and ….he does this consciously without intrusion 

And I appreciate this space —it isn’t that he allows it, it is that he understands it 

something I have still as yet to; but that is for another moment

no instead, I think about those minute and rather forgettable things I think of —the space of time in between events and there is my peace because it is in these such moments I think of in past when I recall being open ….to letting him in 

one has to be able to, 

the shields willingly laid down 

and when the inner Celf knows —this one’s ok, just feel the energy

How long has he searched for me? How many lifetimes with his one life time has he ….longed? ….but it is without sense to myself, it is only with the desire to fully understand him ….and once I remove myself from this equation I understand a little better ….and in time….i shall ask about the weight he has carried through the ….wait

Electra’s dictionary noir/more diary continued

Perhaps it is serenity I have sought 

    while it has seemed as though I could not find my way in this world —now I do; now this unsaid truth has been whispered to me, all is well within

my north 

    has always been where it always was 

Who I am— and all of myself fully I’ve walked that tightrope all the way and —how very blessed to know ….Jörn knows the whole of me 

….and more 

      to be seen is one thing but to be fully and utterly 

               loved and desired for ….perhaps a scope of things I cannot now comprehend 

That question again echoes …. “Do you know how long I have searched for you?”

Like some kind of indelible ink burned into my mind, he repeats this question to me for days now; I am haunted by his words 

It is too much—a lifetime of loss is more than enough for me—how many has he known….?

and—that nerve; that gut reaction of an empath —I am too much to the core of my Celf gutted ….by this very tragic thought 

Electra’s dictionary/diary noir

Dearest Celf,

today without expectations of anything, it is a better day; I do not probe into my thoughts, I do not wonder so much about how many rings are within Jörn’s tree and all that this involves ….instead, I have a better day 

We have been back a few days, and while I did dread having to face the family drama, perhaps considering the impact of —things ….they have given me space 

When we first pulled up again to the property, I was struck by the sense of how much it resembled ….the long houses from my dreams —my ….visions….or —memories— I suppose it is time to accept —but still, I just choose not to take it all full on in all that it means ….and choose to do so without censorship of thoughts I ….let it

I always resisted the memories —I see now. The fear was there always with the whispers in my dreams 

Only as we pull up this time—the barn house with the two story plate glass window and the clear view of Jörn’s grand piano —I blink twice because I think, looking past the house, that I see double. 

But no…. 

And only as Jörn pulls the car around to the side of the house by the kitchen entrance do I see—there, past the sauna house —there! where the old original farmhouse used to be—is now —another barn house! It is the twin of the one in front —exactly the same—and ….like this—in parallel, it is de ca vu —almost ghostlike, I had to blink as they look like the ….memories; the long houses past the hut—they are lined next to each other the way they would so often appear in ….those dreams. 

When you think of time as endless —you start to comprehend Jörn’s family’s behavior 

   and I realize the space they give me now is but a second to them 

They now occupy the newly built replica house like the one we all had lived in together before. And as the damage done by the assassins has now long been successfully removed, I hardly recall the way it had looked after that horror went down. 

Somehow, whether, it is from the sense of those other memories, or how well it holds off the howling stormy winds, it is like a fortress to be within walls like this again. And I guess I choose not to question why ….things like—why do I matter so much to Jörn? ….his “Duva….”

No, I do not bother with these kinds of questions, as it no longer is relevant to the big picture ….and even Jörn has given me space. Space to think and to write and even paint ….as the farmhouse had been where I’d gone in past to paint, now there is a better space with natural light as it is the open foyer under the stairs with floor to ceiling glass walls that behold an Adirondak mountain forest of frozen white

but there are screens which I added to enclose the space and set the easel and mediums upon the slate floor and for awhile I am glad to just paint trees as I think or don’t think and ….let thoughts wander 

And of course without meaning to…. I start to scry 

Electra’s dictionary JM chron/Diving deep into vacuous

It is odd and funny the way the mind goes; the trail of thoughts that lead you ….sometimes down and climbing up walls of unexpected attics 

Because as he drives through our timelined walled highway, I play a mind game with myself. 

I ask myself—find some safe place I know …..some reliable place….a place I would feel best at ease to be

right now 

And, of all places—it is the art warehouse. So as Jörn drives now in silence, and our thoughts are linked—yes, I feel the tickle of his probe….but a latent talent I immediately know….?—I instinctively, and without hesitation, probe back …..and demand the space it provides as I defend the fortress of my mind 

and ….

there we are; it is predictable—the list of locations that require fulfillments ….their list of items with item numbers ….find the items by number; write it down what isle in the massive floor layout that included numerous shelves, upper cubby space, warehouse cubby space, and still to be received by the shipping and receiving desk that belongs to the daytime shipping and receiving staff by the loading dock 

I’m not in the car anymore; I’m there in my space at the warehouse —it’s a work bench made of heavy duty hardware which doubles as the shop’s carpenter and handyman’s work space —and— the PM night shipping desk—mine

Only now it occurs to me—by AM it belonged to Anthony. We passed as he’d be leaving. He’d be punching out. I’d punch in. There by the ordering department office was the punch clock. There was our desk

Why do I think of this now as he drives? 

Time lines 

My eight hour shift…. my work home was that desk. A workbench. But ….

I never much thought about Anthony …. ever

yet we shared the same space. I’d clean up each night/morning when I was done. He’d hardly know I touched an object of his. Knives, razors, staple guns, glue guns and more all neatly replaced and filled up; surface cleaned tidy 

Is that what it is like ….I look at Jörn’s profile and think —

    we inhabit the same space but 

         how we imagine we own it becomes our reality 

why do I think of this now in relation to ….Life and our conceptions of —Reality ….it’s all relative but; isn’t it more necessary to see its relevance to the Self

It’s more about the subjective need to see one’s meaning in one’s relevant space —the other reality is theirs and 

Not actually relevant 

                                   to what you need to do

Electra’s dictionary noir JM chronicles/ thoughts in rewind

It is awhile; I don’t know how long, but it seems I fall into daydream, as though my brain yields the reins and gives up over to some higher conscious mind within. You can see the layers of time in the mountains…. when they cut into them to make the highways, the geological time lines, they exposed the secrets of the earth for all to view…. I watch this go past us as he drives…. They are all different colors, the layers, like sand art, but this is the earth’s past in fingerprint for some of us to get a glimpse of. 

Perhaps watching this hypnotized me, lulled me into another state which from mental weariness it was easy to fall into, but caught by the earthy beauty; a reminder of life…. And the seeming insignificance of …

Only now does it start to sink in; his words….only now do I see how possibly unkind I was but still—I am not quite there emotionally to let all of that through

“Do you know how long I have searched for you?”

Only now do I ….only now….watching the geological lines of time….speed by me….as Jörn drives, grinding his teeth ….his words only now reach me ….like objects that bounce in slow motion, his words ….start to take shape in my thoughts…. What would that mean

Really?

When we first headed out, leaving the property of that creepy home that belonged to my natural father, he had tossed out that incomprehensible question,

“What would you do with a thousand years?” and pausing to look at me as he pulled into the gas station to fuel for our journey to the Adirondaks from the Catskills —just as he opened the driver side door to get out— he looked at me with those Vampire, ice-blue eyes with their bolts of kryptonite and added to the question, “….or more?”arching a pale blonde brow he stared at me, beaming with those bolts into my soul

And now, only now, as I watch the blur of lines speed by I thought about this question

And I then —after a long reverie of thoughts over ….events-of-history …. I thought of him and —what has he seen?

Maybe it was exhaustion from the last few nights…. But I found myself suddenly swept over by what his words meant. The other words. 

….how long he has search

   ….for me

Driving back to ….the dungeon?/Electra’s dictionary noir

I suppose it is the need for “normalcy”, after a great shock ….because I do not question things; I do not even for a moment go there at all even as the frozen snowy scenery’s alarming and desolate beauty should be enough to sober me out of this catatonic state of ….disbelief 

You try to make it normal —or you try to fit your head into how far off the bend this ….all goes 

But then it’s not real. Is it? I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming this. This cannot possibly be ….

be why …. all those strange feelings from the moment….we first met

I literally slap myself. Wake up.

I take my hand and slap the side of my face.

“Duva?”

Jörn is driving. Of course he’s driving. This is all normal, see? We do this all the time…. except when we don’t…. We have those lapses. Lapses where I’ve had enough of his spy games and shut the portcullis….

       And I must think because I’ve missed something ….was it perhaps during our lapses—do they hibernate—? —or have intergalactic meetings to determine the fate of Earth? …. at this point any wild idea I am willing to put on the table to examine…. what things has he been he up to that I have dismissed ….? I mean—clearly I have been missing so much ….Gerald?

“Duva?” Jörn touches my arm…. I get the strangest—strangest ….what is it? It goes like a charge right down to my fingertips. I even watch my index finger jump on its own. I always ….put it up to his effect on me, you know, the way he has this way to just melt my knees as soon as he is near. I’ve tried to shrug it off, I don’t like to admit it; but he has the strangest effect on me and even as we may just say that it is sexual; it would be doing the effect an injustice not to include that the sexual trigger is caused by the other things that ….he does to me. 

I turn my face to the frozen mountains and pull my arm close to me 

No….because it is more now that I realize —he knows what he does. But worse; what he uses. 

Only….these are things I must see

I must integrate Elan’s ….i must integrate my lost memories from the life when I was Elan ….because I still carry ….what we lost and—I know that within all of that loss, heartbreak and pain, I suppose there was anger at him; why did he leave me there; why didn’t he get there in time; why did he let me down….and worse even;was I not enough?—for him to make it in time ….but these are not my thoughts—these are what I recognize as hers—but that I have thrown upon lovers in my own current life, like a self-fulfilling prophesy, all through my life, looking for people who will let me down; it has repeated, I see now looking back at my past; like being in a subconscious loop of self punishment for ….trusting him—a killer; a pirate

I turn to the mountains and look as the chaos of speed smooths the horizon into an impressionist landscape

I take out my phone. I look at my messages. 

I say,

“Gerald has not answered any of my texts,” and now I look at Jörn’s profile. There—I see the nostrils flare ….

He knows I watch him, but he drives in silence now. But as he clenches his jaw, there it is! The glowing blue is illuminated by the cast of the sunlight through clouds, reflected on stark white mountain peaks all around —it glows as if connected by its light source energy 

“When did you start to know?” Jörn asks now

I say, turning back to the road in front of us as he drives,

“it was not a sudden knowing. It was more that I started to realize how much energy I had to put into trying to find reasonable explanations for —too many weird things —that made all the other odd things seem like child’s play once the idea that those odd things allows everyone in this ….to hide the bigger more seriously fucked up thing.”

Jörn says to me….

 he says….