JM Chronicles/Noir thoughts Electra’s dictionary

How little my inner routine changes even with the Swedish headquarters 

I try to paint in the studio Jörn built for me next to the sauna but my mind is so restless.

The news is horrible everywhere and all I want is to bury my head in search for something that makes any sense to me anymore. 

So after an hour holding my paintbrush and staring at nothing, I decide to walk back to the barn house. Jörn and his father have hidden away in Jörn’s office with Zoom meetings and the transferring of power from Josef to Jörn requires hours of them locked away.

Elsa has gone back to the city. She said to see Andreas perform and check in on the Swedish Opera House that is actually located not far from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. A block or so from Gerald’s and not too far from the Plaza hotel. But when I think of present life ….

I don’t fit anywhere that makes any sense

I’m not used to family; to people noticing if I’ve stepped out or returned…. The awareness of that unknown phenomena to me (always watching but never among one; always watching from outside, the outsider; other people with other families from outside their window; like my nose up against the glass: wonder—what is that like?)I felt and noticed of the ‘familia’comfort of Jörn’s family presence. Being around them. At first it was so hard for me ….accepting thoughtful gestures even as I like to give them, accepting it is impossible to me…. I’m not used to it. I find moments when I stop and fall into thought as I try to determine if —I don’t mind if anyone notices —was she hit by a car; fall into a pit; get accosted by someone…. No, I’m not used to that 

And also, I realize something else that seems to bother me…. The real world out there? 

Real? 

I find I have trouble connecting with the electronic world. I don’t notice that people have an authentic heartbeat. 

People, I guess I find, aren’t real in the real world, 

it’s all a persona and though people are talking constantly out there through that electronic screen, no one is saying anything. They are just filling time and deluding themselves that time is endless for them and they just get a set of new hearts when they refresh their game 

and deep in such thoughts, irony! what’s worse it seems I keep hearing Link’s theme playing in my head 

but for me, it is not at all what being alive is—I cannot giggle life off in empty performance and stare at a screen and make pretend as the real game —life— is meant to be engaged in but people don’t do that much so, I find I sit and often brood ….trying to find something constructive to fill the void that’s gone missing out there 

“Duvan,” Josef has taken to calling me by Hanna’s version of her father’s name for me

and when he says it now it gives me such a start as I hadn’t seen him there

I look as he walks over to me,

“you have been angry at me,” he says and looks into my eyes with his deep Nordic blue that sees everything

9 January 2025 the scandi-UN JM Noir Chronicles; Electra’s dictionary

“No he’s not thinking of just his one term—he’s building an empire,”

     Jörn’s voice carries high up to the rafters of the barn house from below 

but I stay back by the railings 

the Swedish ‘UN’ (as I like to call them) are in privy council  

        as the American wife of my Interpol spy chief I can only reflect. And consider …. the chronicles of history and the ancient great minds of philosophers and political thinkers ….the mind reaches mostly in hope for the bestowing of some kind wisdom to be imparted ….chi-scry into the mental waters as I sit up against the corner walls by the hall where the edges meet

to come to the mountains again

now

 seems to call upon some awareness to search a higher consciousness; inches from Montreal I feel the currency from every polar direction

and more…. the moon is reaching its fullness 

the apocalyptic chasm within the human soul 

    is at war with the deception of a make believe world at the cost of everyone’s blood 

Electra’s dictionary—the tape continues

Once more into the deep morass:

I remember Norma from the Jamaica life. She always wore white and it contrasted so well with her skin. I adored her as a child. She did not visit often, always showed up at my mother’s cocktail parties with her tall, lanky blond white husband. He was ….Ethan Rhys Jone’s secret serviceman; the one who hired the big thugs that always shadowed us.

She was ….the one who looked after me when we had the secret meetings with him. I’d go with my mother in the car, we’d drive over the causeway and the smell of the ocean as that view opened up and the wind blowing through the car windows. She loved to speed. Especially on our way there to meet him at his boat 

“You will always be special to him,” Norma said leaning down to hug me when it came time to go. I hated leaving. I always felt safe with him

“Do you know why?” she asked me. Then she said, “because you are the only daughter! You’re his princess!—that makes you special to him, don’t ever forget it! But I’ll tell you a little secret—you are the most like him of all!”

He says to me, 

“for me…. all you have to do is write and know whose woman you are.” I love the things he says to me

passing the baton to: JM chronicles/film noir

How altered I feel now. And to find myself back at the barn house again; as if nothing ever happened 

I think about the last few weeks as I stare looking across the length of the room to the window that faces the farmhouse.

But I remain where I am. Reluctant to get out of bed. 

The night of the retirement party …. feels like an eternity ago —straight from Latitude and still in my Christmas sweater, he throws me into the Swedish UN in the barn house living room. There’s Elsa dripping diamonds in her gilded gown (alliterations unintended)

well— it was Josef’s ‘retirement’ (but do we really believe he will ever retire?) as much as the passing of the baton ….everyone was there. I recognized Marcus; the director from the time in the Hamptons. Of course the usual suspects; Stina, Smulligan

I did have to work it too because Elsa, once she scared away the catering crew, wrapped an apron around me and joined the guests! It was like being back at Starbucks behind the barista machine with a massive line and my entire staff quit on me. You don’t forget how to juggle but how dare she?

Why don’t I care ….? I feel calm, so relaxed; considered and cared for and whole somehow

Andreas was there but only about ten minutes as he was rushing back to Lincoln Center.

They put a helicopter land behind the house —an interesting new feature Jörn came up with so it’s like a commute to Manhattan and the noise!

I was too busy to enjoy the party and exhausted after. But somehow it is like Jörn’s family has bonded to me now. That shut out feeling isn’t there anymore, I feel included which ….I've never felt or known before 

The last clear day I could get out before the snows hit I was on my way back to the house and my mind was on the smeden…. from the regressive memories …. the barn house from the drive up looks like a Viking longhouse and suddenly I remembered something about —that time

dictionary, dearest

he knows my ways,  it is like our own choreography. it is intuitive with him; we move so easily together …. sometimes I think —this is why— this is what makes sense…. no words needed, I think, I feel, I breathe him.i am content within his arms….how much I’ve missed this ….but no, I can never tell him, must not ever say ….but now—right now….i know peace 

JM muse chron/Electra’s dictionary and film noir “I don’t exist”

“Try to remember the sequence of events….” 

we are ….we are —where? I’ve not been sleeping —there seems to be some kind of ….ominous warning comes lately to me whenever I sleep 

I am half mad lately. Such weird things in the dreams thst I just can’t will myself back into sleep 

“What happened first?” 

Oh….  it is Jörn’s voice.

It is present. I am confused. 

“What?” I say 

“The time with the ….the time you had your first episode as a child,” he says now with a soft and most reluctant sigh

but even thst feels ….

    as if it belongs to some other life …. who was that little girl? where did she go? no, she just disappeared, don’t think about her anymore …. sometimes I know it is wrong. We ought to honor her. But she just couldn’t stay. And was just not tough enough. I guess we don’t like her for that. But we keep the guard anyhow. 

“What time?—oh—the buckle scar?— I was five …. “ unconsciously I put up my hand to where it hit and wonder why it matters to Jörn to ask me this—is it twisted in the codes of the hidden medallion?

Jörn walks back and worth in front of me.

He says,

“Duva ….” and it is his voice 

You see. It catches me off guard. He kneels down to where I am sat watching the black forest night view behind the piano. I watch into the void through thst two story plate glass window. Even as I know what he plays…. as he stops and steps away …. I still see the shadows on the wall of those bats as I hear hear him play those familiar keys 

   it lulls my mind back ….

          there

His voice is up against my ear but I am drowning because I know what he is going to say,

“think….when did he stop coming? Before or after the incident?”

it is like a rush of golden white light.

“After.”

And the clear. The clouds break away.

He says,

“but not right away,”

“No…. no…. It was much later ….it was because of what happened ….”

but I cannot speak. I try. I go cold. 

He says,

“that’s enough for now….” he lifts me and carries me from the floor