Celf is/&jmmuseNoir

There is a reason for the celves ….a new one is born from necessity and when the old situation has run its course

I create a new one 

I realize the struggle of the waiting station of limbo has me ready to fly again

****

I turn from the window to look at him and consider our worlds 

apart 

and then my phone alerts a message

It is Josef….

<<I have an important question if you’d meet us in Jörn’s kitchen>>

yet I hear a familiar shoe scraping nearby 

What is it about those Vikings and their ambushes ….I swear

e.d&film noir jmmusechron/shields for battle

Jörn stands in the doorway of the old familiar art decco bedroom that had once belonged to my biological father, in the penthouse that had once been his that is now partially a museum 

In the dimness and shadows he watches me

“Andreas ….told me …you were here,” he says from the distance 

His words echo 

I sit at the old dressing table with the silver combs and porcelain brushes that once belonged to ….oh, I don’t know—I realize, I should ask Ilya 

“What happened to Ilya?” he asks as though reading my mind, “he said—“

“Oh, we found the overnight bag—“ I suddenly look up at him, “she’s gone into labor—I didn’t know she was expecting ….”

“Oh—how could you?—you’ve been—“

“Yes, I’ve been….I’m not going back there Jörn.”

“You have to!”

“I have to?” I stand up and walk to the window, “nobody owns me. I don’t have to do anything, I belong to me and I decide what I do.”

subway pages

 I think I have read far too many Brontë novels. Or, no—I think I have ….too often paused over their words. Spent hours of time so lost within their minds. Sometimes it is I become a character within their world. I say this because ….well, it was not long ago I read Charlotte’s tale of Villette which I think is my favorite of hers, even more than Jane Eyre. I think that is who I have morphed into; that character but oddly squashed into the uniform of our millennium. It is no wonder. But then ….think of Charles Dickens as he too is as much to blame for ….my Oliver twist that.be.me.

but 

….don’t I live only among words ? it is an odd thing about me. if you don’t follow the Easter eggs you won’t get it and I know some of you do get it 

I start to understand now more what this is about. Yes I know how important it was to Charlotte to be in print 

It’s a different world now and it’s a Matrix and I think the power I have is —words— like my dear Mr. Page once told me when I was his teacher’s pet at age 12. He was the first one who saw me. But he died. Soon after I knew him of aids and…. though this be a tangent of thoughts in streams —it was meant to arrive at the fact the father of me as a writer was a gay man who adored me. And he is always with me because I did not exist until he noticed me when he read my words to the class, then looked at me in front of everyone and said, “you are a writer.”

dyslexic girl of twelve; puff, born! in his eyes. He was the first person ever to tell me I was pretty. He looked like Freddie Mercury during the mustache phase(and had the same arrogance and flamboyance); so—do the math dear readers and wonder how mixed up I am in my ideas of love and adoration (a complicated Victor Victoria version, like the Julie Andrew’s movie) ….anything the opposite of that man my mother was married to 

these asides are literary markers (I always write all over books in the margins my remarks to the author as if they are there) (‘why’d you say that there?’ ‘You ruined that scene you know!’) and often fix their mistakes.

I realize I am intended to be this odd creature that I am so, I hardly care about selling my soul as an artist 

I never could ….this is me. Who I am. I take it wherever I go. That friend of mine who thought she was me and tried to take Electra from me —it shows how extreme ….those that encounter me 

well, take it to the streets I think 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/jmmusechroncontinues;Evasions are bullshit

 

When we get into the penthouse, Andreas says,

“What do you mean?”

Only I’m in search of food and head blindly through the darkened halls straight for the kitchens, snd I remember the way as if through muscle memory 

only once at the kitchens does any source of light provide. When I open the huge double door stainless steel refrigerator large enough to contain enough food for a small army and ….

 “well….” as I look inside the fridge …. “hmm….” And start checking dates ….carrots still somewhat firm …. feta; is that yogurt? the spinach may still be ok but then find some stuffed grape leaves and happily find a spot to devour them 

“So?” he says

“So….?” I say

“And….”

“And….?”

“About his silences leaving so many scenarios?”

“Oh.well—that he is living not just a double life but a triple quadruple life. Not is he fucking someone but how many and what kind so what purpose do I even serve in his life? Back scrubber as he has a good laugh at my expense fucking every Tom Dick and Harry, so—then maybe I’m irrelevant and ….I don’t like that feeling, Andreas. It makes me want to ….behave like a terrible brat but—I’m better than that so, I come to my penthouse, you see?”

 si heureux que vous soyez ici!  Merci!  🎄 en ce moment, j'ai vraiment tellement besoin de toi. god Jul

just takes one tap and~gone 

Electra’s dictionary & film nioir; (jmmusechroncont)sketch

 

next scene with Andreas:

We find our way through the fire-escape off Jörn’s floor. The way to the penthouse’s secret other entrance via the fire escape 

Andreas says in a tone of question 

“you are angry at my father….” 

but I only glance up at him and keep what I’m doing. He watches me and tries to read me, I feel it

But then I say 

“There is so much he does not tell me, Andreas ….I don’t mean about the spy stuff. And when there is so much room for silence ….the mind fills in ….MANY…. scenarios ….”