Lately I have been thinking about ‘Voice’ and how any of us of whom walk this earth has any. 

As an artist.

As a thinker.

As a citizen of this planet …. And The Love Letter We Leave Behind ….

it feels like 

        there is something important to preserve that —may be is becoming lost. Is this the role I should take then. 

There is so much futility. I don’t wish to add more to the heap. But still—no….it feels lazy to shrug it all off ….not my problem, not my generation, not my place, not my role; and it could be true. But I ….can’t. It seems I just can’t. It seems I am unable to sleep at night because I am haunted by the sense….I just did not play my part as I should have, and it won’t shut up so it could be it’s just a mental dysfunction I have…. DNA memory from dear old dad. Believing I needed to make an impact on humanity. I ….could have just inherited the delusion and it’s time to snuff it out….but….it seems wrong;a waste; an irresponsible attitude after everything —all the shit of the past.maybe I’ve been aware all this would happen and would have to first ….before I gave my voice 

24 Janusry 2025/Jm muse chron

Today I get a message from Josef asking me if I could remember to pack up some things he forgot to bring 

That is more than just one message; there are several in just that humble seemingly innocent request. 

I see it come up but I walk across the room. I think again of Manhattan —how long has it been …. 

The penthouse renovations would have been completed six months ago. Ilya has her hands full with three kids now. But all the carpentry and some interior details took the longest to complete. Historians had to be consulted to match colors and fixtures with the era 

So…. with the shadow Interpol director pretending to retire and wasn’t it Jörn who claimed he was his cover? Which poker face is not bluffing? They play off each other don’t they ….the sun on the longhouse from the dream ….i remember now.  The Folkmoot ….

It is usually only the boat and the hut from those dreams but ….there was the voyage and the stop at the ….island 

Everything though feels different now in such a way that lifts me and bathes everything in a brighter light…. I’ve been sketching again, and painted twelve hours straight on the mural …. I am me again or is it that I feel accepted fully for me? What peace this allows. Such flow of inspiration is renewed

The dove

She writes …..

    I look upon it all as would a monk in meditation 

        the cells we live inside 

                  the Cell

                             I ask —facing the light as daily I do need to know; what for ….and the silent answer loud is in reply …. You are upon it ! ….the words echo ever after ….worry not nuntius 

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

“for me…. all you have to do is write 

      and know whose woman you are.” 

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

The tumbling emotions crash; (jmmuse)

“There’s always been rumor I exist,” I shrug now after a deep breath. 

Identity?

I get up and walk around the room….strange to be back here again ….back at the barn house in our old bedroom. 

“You get used to hiding ….” I glance up at Jörn sideways to see if he is looking at me and he is 

I turn my back a bit. Take a deep breath ….

“one day —I was a teenager in Holland ….it was this one day in Amsterdam. I stepped away from my family —the Calvestraat…. I got approached by an Italian fashion photographer —well known then, he gave me his card and said they were searching for a new face— he told me he could make me famous—that I had an itgirl face and that I would be the next face of Clinique ….” I laugh now 

shrug

“It is just as well but ….of course it was forbidden!” 

The card shredded up. I could never stand out. It was law. I am nobody. I don’t exist. 

It is hard to always process the road blocks intentionally put in my may to destroy me ….it can make me crazy if I let myself really comprehend the masterminds involved 

You learn to hide ….all the very things I desired were roadblocks against me. I didn’t understand as a young person. I blamed myself. I never knew what it was; why …. it was me; something cursed ….i just didn’t get it until the sessions with Dr. Rothschild ….

“No RADA for me,” I say laughing at myself