Electra’s dictionary noir/when is red bad?

“Also, is the present concern about your sister ….” Jörn paces the width of the room wearing a posture of tension that —outside of myself, alerts me

He looks at me,

“you do realize this too, do you not?”

I quiet the rage 

I turn my gaze to the first window nearest my scope to …. 

nothing comes in …. do you …. ? Celf…. 

     and watch the walls with inner vision as the bullet proof walls come down over the standing walls. Armored. Bolted. Nothing comes in 

armored …..I feel nothing 

I look at Jörn knowing he is about to let loose the arrows and wait for them to hit 

because I can’t feel —I don’t feel ….not here—nothing goes out ….

I look at Jörn dead on,

“so have your genius master mind shark tank come up with why she is targeting me yet again? I’d love the intel ….”

I pretend I don’t care. 

And maybe I don’t anymore —I mean….about anything ….how can I get hurt if I truly don’t care? It occurs to me that it’s possible that without knowing this, ha, I’m numb with the scar skin of war and endless battle. Tough. Tough skin. I don’t mean it—it just happened by itself ….

He shrugs,

“It’s not deep—she’s not exactly complex,” he chuckles and shoots me a casual glance with kryptonite but says, “as Willem puts it, ‘it’s the narcissist same old tune, how boring’ ….”

Jörn sighs and walks back to the window after pausing to study me (I’m laying across the bed and looking at him upside down)

I actually feel bored. Suffocated. And sick of it all 

I sit up,

“is there some note I should pin to my calendar over this? Because I’d rather go back to ….Willem—“

“You don’t care that she is after something?”

“It won’t work, and no I am too wiped out on this incarnation’s life to care anymore about anything —so….how exactly is Willem involved in —you know…..”

Jörn crosses his arms over his chest,

he paces in deep contemplation as if weighing out conflicting thoughts,

“You met him—Elan….he was then involved in ….well; we knew him from Le Havre; he’d port there …. but he had a past neither of us then knew about….” Jörn comes to sit beside me and looks down into my eyes studying me. I am as if frozen now; stunned …. I wait holding my breath ….He brushes a long strand of hair aside that has fallen across my face and cups my face within his hand and stares …. “you have the same eyes—the same face and expressions ….he saw it first, actually….” Jörn stands up and walks back to the other side of the room, he goes to the other window and sighs, then as though now decisive, he suddenly says, 

“ever hear of Redbad?”

Electra’s dictionary noir/acceptance

“So my meeting Willem in The Hague ….” 

it has been a few days since I have let the matter come up again ….it has been days lost in thought….days like wandering in a mental fugue ….days where time seems to have gone through warp lapses and then I do not even know how long I have been wherever I am at that moment lost in so many layers of thinking and thoughts spiraling within and upon myself that this becomes heavily physically exhausting to manage ….

but there is no escape so ….

I find Jörn in the stable. I’d forgotten about Choklad with so many things that have happened —and continue to happen 

So approaching Jörn here with my attempt at some question I struggle with 

I look at Jörn with the horse and —there it is….! Another memory ….triggered by how Jörn lets Choklad nuzzle his wrist —I know this! I’ve seen him do this ….but now these thoughts are always happening ….memories of Elan’s imposed into mine like a fresh morning wake up to day, to lay like indelible ink into my mind….becoming like canon to my residual Celf image because it links to so many lost neurons of memory that explain ….my gaps, like pressing your fingers back into gloves that have long formed to you 

He still looks like a Viking. Even in his twenty-first century clothes. He stands the same way as he did on a battlefield, the same set of those broad shoulders that could sweep a six foot gash through his enemy and yet, he seems just as at ease with modern technology and that is impressive considering how it is hard to get some older people tech savvy 

Why do I think this now as he stares at me with those vampire eyes; their weird iridescent ice blue that reflects oddly off of light around him, always giving the impression that they twinkle with some magic sparkle 

I do not think of last night. I do not think of his hands on me ….as only now do I remember it…. it seemed like a dream but then, doesn’t it always….without warning I shudder recalling his touch ….

I let my eyes reach his again now. 

But he is grinning at me. 

That grin ….I feel my face burn into flames realizing where my thoughts had just wandered as I remind myself he can read them 

I cannot look at his eyes now

He says,

“when you met Willem in the bar—wasn’t it Wassenaar? Yes, we already suspected we’d found Elan—he was already sure.”

“So you mean he’s ….?”

Cold springless chill noir

I cannot escape this coldness. And even still, I have become such a stranger to myself, and stranger becomes the events one is forced to know is going on out there 

I am a stranger to myself now.

I wish it were not so but it is beyond my ability to understand how even colors have lost their luster and perhaps it is a numbness 

Who wants to live forever …? like that Freddie Mercury haunting line from “Highlander”

The Vampire soul ….the immortal soul ….if our lifetimes are to purify through our experiences then ….? (the level of tedious and excruciating fails) (…there is so much behind this question that I cannot begin to try and attempt which direction I would take it; which is correct? but none; which is most necessary? all; which to start?—it’s beyond start, dear….)and then there is how our choices steer our courses  

Why has the world grown so cold ….? and I am glad to be deep in these derelict mountains because —if you looked at the earth from the moon as those pictures the astronauts just came back with ….don't you feel it?

Vikings crossing blindly across a sea in a wooden boat, humans in a tin can fly to the dark side of the moon 

I have lived so many lifetimes in this one ….why do I dream of Viking? There were others 

but I guess it seems the unfinished stories or the ones that mattered are the ones you are meant to learn from and I don’t like leaving work unfinished 

I guess then, as I can’t just walk away, Jörn has some importance I have need of 

Clearly, someone has gotten hold of that DeLorean 

—as there is no other explanation for how wildly amuck

 this time line is spinning 

Hvað hefur komið fyrir þig?

Ertu þar?

hefurðu verið?

nokkurn tímann verið?

 

The Big Reveal begins/Electra’s dictionary my vampire lord

I suppose I must have finally passed out from the schnapps ….

“….but there is so much more than you remember ….” Jörn is saying 

it seems he has been talking ….even as I was not conscious….but he speaks to me as if I am….for how long has he been speaking to me thus….

I am sprawled across the giant bed in the giant master bedroom that I know well, as have shared with him ….

like a life time ago

And as I think this I hear him say,

“so many life times that ….you could never understand ….how even centuries and new eras sweep into decades and centuries ….people die and you learn not to attach ….but still you would think ….the memories would have faded to nothing ….replaced by newer—fresher—more dna upgraded ….humans….you’d think your beauty would have faded from my memory ….?without a photo to hold onto ….replaced by some supermodel along the way ….is that what you thought….Elan ….” he whispers this 

It is dim darkness. Our eyes look at each other 

and I don’t really know if it is the left over of being drunk ….but I am held as if out of myself but fully present 

and my questions are in unison of things I can’t fully grasp but think anyway and —intensely ….feel 

I turn my head on the mattress to look at him 

He is standing with his arms crossed, half his body turned to the window but his torso snd shoulders are turned inward towards me 

“You don’t remember ….” he says to me 

I hold my breath 

“You only remember up until the night when you died in the hut ….”

And more still— I hardly dare take a breath 

He is staring at me,

“but that wasn't the time I was ….too late….”

That sick taste and my mouth goes dry. That cold heat. That knowing dread.

“No,” I whisper and shudder as a deep chill overcomes me as I start to whisper,  

“Jag är tillbaka före midnattssolen,” the words seem to come on their own; as if it is their free will possessing my vocal chords

“Ja….Jag är tillbaka före midnattssolen…. you were saying that on the field the second time you died—the final time—“

“Second time?” 

“Ja—yes….another signal to me that it was you….you died and came back—when I got there—you see….and but—you see?—that was it—how I knew—you see?— how I knew it had to be you —that you are Elan—because it was the same date of the same year of your life at the other —lifetime….there was another father you don’t remember—the Druid was not your blood father….you knew that ….I mention this now because you are still being haunted — this is where the father complexities came from—but watching you still fighting like Don Quixote’s windmills, completely blind and I cannot keep standing like a bystander and say nothing anymore ….”

I sit up,

“What are you talking about?”

“You don’t remember him ….you used to talk about him to me ….he was from the keltoi line, the real Celts, not the ornamental posers you see strutting at comic con ….he was from the Germanic tribes from across the Alps but….he became a mercenary ….that is how he found your mother —Elan’s ….she was from the raids ….I believe some kind of Siberian tribe, she was a seer, she was trained in the arts of healing and she had natural skill —like you do…. but he seemed to care for your mother and she had good stories of the early years but—you always felt he wished you’d been born a boy so —you never felt you measured up enough ….that is why ….you always find yourself in ….”

But I finish his sentence 

“The Self fulfilling prophecy ….complex ….”