e.d. Noir (jmmusechron….?)

And when I do report to Stina, I leave the grounds and take a long walk to the next road out that leads to a pasture and then the bee farm 

she asks me without further ado when I make our weekly call,

“so have you anything to report?”

“I do actually….” I tell her but wait as I watch a nearby car drive away, “I was doing some cleaning up in the attic area and—“

“—yes?”

“I came across some interesting things ….some boxes which —well, among some valuable pieces from Africa and Iran—“

“Iran?”

“I found some old files of….documents and ….transcripts….”

“Go on.”

“Apparently he was an interrogator during his time with the FBI—“

“We are well aware of his agent background,” she sounds impatient now

“—from the Cold War,” I continue as if I did not hear her tone 

“What sort of files did you find?”

“It looked like —files of things like roughly drawn maps or….I don’t know, like those football strategy plans —I hardly can decipher their meanings, but—“

“He’s after Retnuh Nivek, you do realize—and he may be setting us up because he thinks we know his whereabouts,” she coolly says 

“Do you!?!”

“He has an old score with him and ….”

“So that’s why….” I shake my head 

“You’re his bait. He’s a hunter, remember? He can’t resist. His finding you on that road was no accident ….or that convenient old school chum stalker of yours  who he set up ….”

“Shit….” I stand in the middle of the dirt road pacing its width frantically 

“Calm down—we have not left you there on your own, haven’t you noticed the drones around?” But my mind is swimming and I have no time to process her words before she switches approach to ask, “have you seen any new people around then?”

The qualms I felt in divulging his life details seem to fly out of my thoughts now and I answer her, 

“Well….” I take a long breath to calm myself 

“You have…. you know, Jörn is concerned for you….” she says in such a way as to shake my wits even more into ….putting my faith once again in ….what I’d come to feel a lost cause 

“How would you know?”

“He thinks you are being watched—and it could be possible that Sunny is just an innocent bystander,” she seems to coax me

“You don’t believe that though, actually, do you?”

“Who is it then?” she asks 

“It’s a man ….he came by with the boys—“

“The boys?”

“Oh…. the Amish boys.”

“What….Amish—?” she pauses as it seems she think “oh…. they are known as Pennsylvania Dutch, are they not?”

I laugh,

“well…. did you have to Google that? They live among themselves. It’s a separate culture ….they did not approve of such things as electricity back around the turn of the last century….”

“And what’s it to do with Sunny….?”

“He’s quite —connected among their community, particularly the Prince family, I guess they are the family he never got to have as an agent….There’s a driver who—you know they don’t drive cars—so—“

“You think their hired driver does more than push the pedal to the metal….” with her usual finesse of using American expressions with slightly off Swedish intonation, she finishes my sentence for me 

Et je vois que tu es toujours là.  cela signifie-t-il que vous vous en souciez ? montre-moi

more thoughts of the legend; reflections

 

I always knew there was something “emotionally” wrong with my mother.

unhinged. 

I knew her differently than others in my family. Looking back now, I understand why her bond with me was bittersweet. I looked like the man she loved and lost and I was the daily reminder that she was marked in her husband’s eyes as his whore to abuse behind closed doors.

I watched from the crack of my mother’s closet door. I watched scenes that marked ….into the eggshell of my mind….I saw that vile little evil man 

but also, I saw her manic highs

I saw her lows

her lows made her cruel ….usually most to me

but I understood

I was willing to be thst for her

I listened 

I told her how much I adored her

I forgave her everything 

She was not diagnosed manic depressive

it was a secret that I saw but she hid well…. but she was quite mad…. quite mad…. and with a husband prone to violent behavior to members of his household—the exception the molesting daughter of his blood and sickness; behind closed doors were two plus one lunatics we all lived …. in that yellow house 

I reacted to her mood swings. I bore the swings. I was depressed when she hurt my feelings with her shunning and spiteful words…. that was why the self harm began, you see; her rejection made me wish to die when she shut me out and would ignore me for days; weeks…. And later years ….why do females in my family hurt me so ….the men not as much, just the one—my personal Hitler 

I had been misdiagnosed years ago for clinical depression —they were wrong. I just needed to heal. But some things you don’t heal from. It is up to the individual to figure out how to survive and build their armor and maybe one day triumph 

It is not depression when you hurt or grieve. Those emotions are correct to feel. They should be experienced, not masked by chemicals society enforces 

we should accept differences of others ….accept and appreciate their unique perspectives 

How boring if everything was straight up and down 

pour toi; grenouille de paix 2

 

 vampyren som guide genom helvetet;  Jag är glad att du fortfarande är där.  du ser mig åtminstone📌

 This spot reminds me of Hylas and the Nymphs by Waterhouse every day I walk by it

Electra’s dictionary, noir/I am me I am mine prt3;what I believe in

More thoughts of the legend 

I talk about Truth quite a lot on here. I reflect upon it. But truth is subjective to the consciousness it occupies 

so how is it possible to rise above subjectivity?

It is not possible 

so I can only reflect. Observe —do my Scientific Method and log it in my fleeting writing, sometimes in a blog; observations from my lens and see how my warped vision alters it

I don’t claim to be omniscient and proclaim a Truth

I just try to ….humanize it

I —think— emotions. 

Intellectualize it. Likely I am a form of autism as dyslexics are connected so, while I am a sensitive empath and psychically connected to visions that come to me, I recognize that my truth is a truth but it is not the utter truth 

but that is not our role

that is what I believe —our truths matter as much as the utter truth does but the two should never be confused or claim one ultimate victory 

I think my mission here was to learn how to feel. It seems I split off as a child, that’s how the text books would label it 

but that was my lesson ….that was chosen for this life’s journey. To catalogue emotions; to study emotions. To step inside them; immerse…. take it on at full force…. and to turn it into a universal image; Art in order to call minds to a higher consciousness 

To call to minds 

   in order to ignite a butterfly effect 

so where does ego come in? I think that is the Very riddle locked up in the celves/Celf

Those cells inside; those rooms 

so within this vast pool of knowledge I’ve acquired of human emotions ….trauma; fear; every form of heartbreak and loss; shame; humiliation; torture; pain; terror….terror…destitute….a  fleeting glimpse at ego; idolization; everybody’s unicorn; mistaken identity; infatuation; lust; confusion of sexual identity; gender…. 

but ….no joy

that part I missed somehow and ….I think it must be my cross to bear

the gods were jealous of me ….or who knows, I am Aphrodite; not Electra and this journey is ….designed to ….fail unless ….I find that one possibility that purity does exist in humankind ….that pure of heart

so far…. no joy, and I was their champion 

whom they destroyed

we all have a mission; we use me as the apparatus so there I am:

I think of Dante’s tree….I am caught around the trunk and limbs with barbed wire; how does a tough outer shell protect the ‘fragile eggshell mind’* within the broken soul? how does she avoid those that promise but ….then only to find that all they ever wanted was base possession and are not deep enough for more and this is the flaw in my mission; I believed. Is it a want or a need? When does the want become the need? when does the need become wont. 

Someone once told me I should have been catholic because she thought I was the most devout person she knew—she being catholic. She said it maliciously and I think about that label of stoic but no…. they are wrong …. And that is the sad riddle of the celves ….and there seems no legend can find it on the map 

*******

I find the sudden desperate need to —what?

find that desperate faith somewhere in someone —perhaps and, reach with one moment of hesitation and give up to this human weakness when ….I see Bran’s call up on my phone screen. That barbed wire, they never let me go….

“Cloak and dagger, espionage—how did you get caught up in all of this?” Bran who is almost actually scolding when I answer

“You don’t remember? It was always in the background of my life—the assault, and who was behind that? Hired hit man —the years under that man’s thumb who controlled all our lives ….”

“Your father.”

“He was not my father.”

“You got your dna test results ….I read that in your…. so, the sins of the fathers…. born is Electra …. morning becomes her…. but you are my Beth….”

“Bran….” to my ears I hear warning and defense ….but also longing ….and the memory of seaweed arms….and harden myself against this; I know how to pull the portcullis better than anyone; I am me, I am mine, and nothing comes in, nobody trespasses ….that is the code 

so

“And the killer is still out there? The one who assaulted you at Bard and left you with a life sentence of degenerative pain….”

“Uhh—I….don’t know, they don’t tell me, but he’s some known terrorist they seem to be in a cat and mouse game with —all these years….he walks free….”

“How are you?” he asks

I hear concern in his voice; I don’t believe what I hear; never again and choose not to hear what he asks

“I’m so sick of ….controllers—men…. I’m sorry you don’t want to hear this….”

“It’s —fine, I deserve to hear this,” he says

“You mean because you recognize this in yourself? —do…. I think they just look at me and they see ‘target’ ….sitting doe sitting duck….and they build their deceptions carefully hiding their own interests and watch the exit door is in view—“

“Christ, Beth—what have you been through….”he says with regret and ….I almost go back to ‘our’ place in my mind ….it’s there watching me from the box I hid it in

But I babble on ignoring this and so glad of an excuse to ….have someone just listen—he was always my best listener…. “so they know how to back out—they watch thst exit and then tell you how to be. how to feel. perform, and stop trying to see. you. But what about the needs of myself —no, there is no self, we know…..I mean, don’t you dare make a suggestion, a request —a desire…. why should you want or need or ask…. just sit there and be quiet….how dare I think I have any rights at all.”

“Your Viking?”

“I don’t want to talk about it….” I say, “he is just one of dozens, I mean, don’t you remember? Or no, people choose how to recall details and they edit out their own guilt.”

“I’m sorry Beth….” he says suddenly 

And I stop babbling madly 

He says it again 

“You should know…. they didn’t win over you….I’m so sorry Beth….”

*JDMorrison