the psychic visit continued of the JM muse ‘vampire’ chronicles

“I remember the fear the most and this is what lingers most of all from the dream,” I say

It seems everyone is silent now because to process all of this seems impossible

“My big question to you— well, it’s really to both you guys is.... “ Gerald sits yoga style in the arm chair as he speaks, leaning forward, “well let me just start by prefixing all that with this: something has reached its zenith in either one or both your lives which .... for what ever reason, all the energies are lined up— if you could picture an energy force like a football game where all the key team players are set up, so you see the goal is right there and now the shot comes.... well, Jörn , you asked before if I think these are past life memories so, I should answer your question....

“In all my experiences with people I have met where they believe this is true — certain things seem to always be the big tip off of if this is the case. Like in my case when I went to Thailand and met Haley— other people I have known all experience this typical aspect in the initial meeting. First it’s the eyes. The instant recognition. The other key factor is— not to sound sappy — there’s a kind of overwhelming sexual attraction. It’s not the kind where it’s like teenage hormonal infatuation — this is more like the covenant or worship that in this dimension can only be translated sexually but it’s being directed from —actually— the solar plexus. Which I consider the seat of the soul. The sexual energy that happens is just the expression that is best communicated through physical connection but it’s .... actually doing something more. You know about Plato’s description of the Higher Self? While the soul continues to exist after death and in between life, as we get born our minds in physical form cannot comprehend so many lifetimes. It would be too much. So there’s a part of us that holds all those memories of other lifetime’s of emotions and memories.... this super consciousness.... almost like the super ego in psychology.....how all that manifests itself is this sexual energy because the mind and body can understand it through this sexual level of consciousness.... have I lost you or am I sounding like a complete guru weirdo?”

I smile and look at Jörn. He seems tense I notice.... his brows drawn.

He seems uncomfortable and stretches but stands up. He walks to the window and looks down below at the street. From there we watch him as he leans on the window frame.

He turns from the window and walks over,
“if it were not for these crazy dreams I would think you were nuts right now but —“ he hits his chest hard, “but these emotions I get from the dreams— I watch her die and it’s .... terrible! It’s so real to me that it —it’s too hard to sleep after. I can’t sleep after. I have to get up and play my music for a few hours until I can stop thinking about it.”

“So— can you describe for us —or is it too much right now?”

“You mean tell you how she dies?” he glances at me when he says this

“Yes. What happens?” Gerald asks

Jörn sits down and leans over, he runs a hand through his hair and studies the rug under his feet. He sighs quietly and slowly breathes in. He says,
“I am returning from a boat and I start to run for— it’s like how she described— a kind of hut and I run there somehow knowing.... I dread as I run because— I feel it....” Jörn lays his hand flat on his heart

“When I get to the hut I see her.... “ his voice actually cracks as he says this. He stops talking and shakes his head looking down. He covers his eyes and face. After a long pause he says, “this reaction I feel inside myself.... it’s too real to be just a dream.... “

“So you watch her die?”

“Yes.”

“Is there blood?”

“Yes....” he sighs, “when I go to take her in my arms .... I feel her pass away because she waited for me to come, she knew I’d come.... but I was too late.”

Gerald looks at me,
“didn’t you tell me that you were assaulted when youwere 18?”

I nod.

“Do I remember this right— were you left for dead?”

I nod.

Part 1 the psychic visit of the JM muse chronicles

When we go to meet with Gerald we visit him at his apartment; a modest walk up by the Metropolitan Museum. He has a lot of earthy rugs everywhere and a lot of tones of orange and red and there are a variety of plants everywhere in gorgeous earthenware pots. I notice hand made pottery is also everywhere.

Gerald is what anyone would call a nerd and he often calls himself this too, so I am not insulting him by saying this. I am also one myself so I cannot judge against this in anyone. I knew him years ago during my bookstore days, those days when people met at Borders on a Saturday night for coffee and  to watch some grunge band that would be playing live at the cafe

Back in those days when I was knee deep in Virginia Woolf and Baudelaire he did the occult section and he was going for his doctors degree in religious studies and metaphysics. You would not think it to look at him; he goes to the gym and has neatly cut brown hair and wears square black framed glasses —the same kind as me actually. He wears a very ordinary dark blue knit pullover with Levis and thick brown socks. You would not think he was a New Age Medium.

So we take off our shoes and come in

He offers us herbal tea and after making quite a ceremony of preparing it in front of us, we are only too glad to agree. He asks us if we prefer music and samples a few as he invites us to sit down

The sofas are grouped in two areas and both spots have book cases filled with books with tables. He selects some background music and begins lighting candles

He does all this as if it is simple as going to have your taxes done —only no, but that’s not really all that simple then

But, anyway, in all this time Gerald is looking at the both of us and staring, at times, at Jörn .... he seems very focused as he studies both of us

“So tell me about these dreams....” Gerald says casually folding his arms and leaning back on the armchair he sits in

Jörn looks at me awkwardly and nervously pushes up the sleeves of his thick gray sweater

“I told him about your dreams,”  I say by way of explanation as I look at Jörn’s eyes as he now looks away


....and then he looks back at me. He keeps looking into me.... he stares into my eyes but says aloud to Gerald,

“the dreams began after the first time I saw her in the lobby—no! It was before that....” he mumbles under his breath in Swedish as he thinks; drops his eyes and turns to Gerald,”they started when I began reading her blog. I had not seen her yet —did she tell you? I kept getting her mail. The damn postal person kept fucking up and so— I got curious —I don’t know—and looked her up —so I found her blog. There was her picture at the profile part and that’s when I saw her. It’s an odd picture as she is obscured. Like one who is hiding .... like the shadow of her too on the blog page. But.... the dreams .... like when they first began they were first just these chilling shadows —“ he stops and shudders, then continues, “then I saw her in the lobby that day talking to these two irritating English guys and this time I could see her eyes clearly.... it was like seeing—a ghost or.... that night I have the dream again.... this time....I see her in the dark.... obscured. The first time. Just her eyes glowing....afraid.... but this time I see her eyes —wide and scared and then always someone comes and she screams....”

Gerald looks at me,
“Are you ok?”

I feel strange. I say,
“I didn’t know that.... he didn’t tell me this.”

Gerald takes a long sip from his cup,
“usually when I get a strong feel this way about a person it turns out that a very important turning point is in the process of occurring. Usually. But in this case we have three people with similar dreams. Did Dawn tell you that I had a dream about you and I called her out of the blue—we haven’t talked since—what? Five years?”

“At least,” I say

“We’ll text sometimes—but you know how it is, she was living in Michigan for like the last ten years and.... now she’s back and — I think there’s something significant about.... why all this —and the timing —or really more while for me it’s a strong hunch but that it feels like a memory to you guys ....”

“Is that what it is then?” Jörn asks with a self conscious shrug. “Are you suggesting we knew each other from a past life?”

“Before I answer that, tell me —where you are in your spiritual belief system? Are you religious?”

He smiles,
“I’m Swedish.... we are not big on religion and for the most part I agree with that .... but.... however—there are some things I feel that I suppose you would call spiritual speculations.... about things. I mean—you know what I mean, I think?”

16 January 2019.... hauntings of a pirate

I have always known something deep within myself. Always been aware of ..... looking for someone—it never has made any sense to me but the dream

.... you see the dream? Where I go through a pathway.... I have dreamed this dream all my life. The first time I saw him.... I knew

.... it’s been he who I’ve been searching for from my dream..... I knew he was here

and I knew why

the beautiful haunting of his vampire eyes....

12 January 2019 Film Noir; the beautiful haunting of his vampire eyes (edjmmusechron)

Last night in sleep I recall somehow in the experience ....the realization of ....the knowledge I have been re-living the same dream. Flashing images that unfold like scenes and plays like familiar, long distant landscapes that trigger thoughts, like memories that hurt. Sometimes different. Sometimes the same.

…. I see his face; long and sharp as he emerges to me from shadow …. a bearded blonde warrior who ….looks like Jörn. 

I see him in the shadows; I see his eyes. His eyes are Jörn’s .... the hair longer with part of it tied with a thong, pulled back from his forehead. His face obscured. Like the shadows on the wall. The hair is longer and there is a great scar that distorts —a slash over one cheekbone, and golden facial hair that covers his jaw and chin. I recall the shadows it creates on the wall that is shadowed on smoke. And the fire pit. I recall an orange glow of metal and animal hides.... the hands are the same, elegant and strong like a craftsman; like an artist

It seems I go often there…. where is there? to visit him in sleep lately; I seem to walk through a pathway to find him.... and a feeling of seeking.... shelter. Shelter among the heap of hides

Always it seems, I watch the glowing flames and watch as metal hits metal from long arms. I realize he is a smith; smeden....

It is when we are at the Strand bookstore, when I am fishing through Anaïs Nin diaries and flipping through the purple pages that I experience a chill that floods over me. It begins with the top of my scalp and goes down my neck through my arms and spine

Jörn is a few isles away looking at something else on a table and quickly I glance at him. I don’t know if it is the words on the page or the proximity of where and how he stands there but I feel suddenly feverish.

It is something in the description of her words, something in her pace and fluidity that melds with the memory of my dream. I don’t know why. I recall his body slick with sweat as he carries the weight of metal to hammer a flat, long blade; I recall a sense of irrational lust and the memory of detail of sinewy.... the smell of the hides and the ache to have him within my sex as I watch and as those pirates eyes turn from his work to watch me

“What is it?” Jörn causes me to flinch as he is suddenly next to me and he takes the book I hold in my hands and gestures with one shake of the head towards the place to pay, “let me buy this for you—Andreas is waiting outside, I just got a text.... come....” he pulls me along, slipping his long arm around me so that I am caught up to walk along side him

We are meeting his son for lunch as Andreas has decided to find me interesting and wants to know more about who my real father was

“So he was a political leader?” Andreas asks

“In a way,” because these questions make me uncomfortable but I like his son; he’s very sweet, very charming
“I saw his statue the other day,” he tells me

Jörn looks at me with one raised, blond eye brow to tell me he is impressed. He says to Andreas,
“what made you go to that part of the city?”

“I wanted to see the statue,” he grins boyishly.... I sometimes forget how young he is. Because he looks so much like his father I often believe he’s just as wise but it’s not true; Andreas is still rather impressionable

Jörn smiles at me, with a shrug,
“he finds his civil protests interesting ....”

I nod

“But he was tall?” Andreas asks me

I nod

“But you didn’t inherit that trait,” he laughs because he likes to make fun of the fact that I can wear his sister’s defunct opera coat which is actually big on me

“Obviously,” I concede with a smile and a shrug

Later as we walk behind Andreas, Jörn, who carries my purchased book in his other hand says,
“what was it in the book that gave you such a spook?”

“Oh, you mean back at the book store?” I see his nod as blue eyes piece through me, “oh— it wasn’t the book.... it was about my dream—this one it seems I keep having.”

I see his sharp look and he says,
“I’ve heard you mumbling in your sleep. You seem to repeat something that I cannot make out. But I —haven’t told you something; I was afraid you would think this too crazy but.... no first tell me about yours....”

I feel the familiar chill along with the cold sweat that seems to erupt from my hands and through out me; I look at his eyes. I stare ....in there

I say now as I stare,
“I think it’s a memory, Jörn.... I think somehow all this time that....”

I shake my head unable to allow myself to say what I’m feeling aloud

But I see he reads me as we walk and he pulls me along and looks ahead as we cross the street, Andreas ahead as he speaks on his phone to his latest female conquest

“When I get up in the night, min lilla duva, it’s because.... lately it is because I have such a terrible dream about you,” and now he shudders

It is awhile as we walk and he says nothing more so I finally have to ask,
“what is it about?”

He becomes noticeably disturbed,
“it is a strange vision..... makes me feel so hopeless.... and I have to get up and play my music....”

“But why? What is it?”

“I don’t want to say.... it’s too morbid.... did you say your friend Gerald is a ‘seer’—a psychic?”

“In a way....”

“Do you think there’s a reason he had to tell you.... you know.... about what you told me he shared with you?”

“I don’t know.... I guess.... I mean.... yes, I think he believed this was necessary—somehow. He’s never done anything like this with me before but I do know he ..... well, has done work with people where he knows things.”

“Yes. I see. Do you think I could—we could.... not to be strange about all this but, it’s been happening a lot and now you tell me about you and your own dreams—could we meet with him possibly? I’ve been wanting to ask you....”

“But— you mean because of what you dream— what is it about?”

He shakes his head,
“I don’t want to tell you. I don’t want to upset you....”

“Please—this just makes me need to know more! Tell me, Jörn....”


He glances uncomfortably at me. He says,

“it is .... your death.... “

10 January 2019; codes encoded corrected & in conversation; Electra’s dictionary

smeden, Sweden; codes and conversation

Jörn laughs at me when he discovers I have been trying to learn svenska (Swedish) in secret

So he tests me; he says,
“show me what you know so far....”

He stands there challengingly with a kind of smug look on his face

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” I ask

He holds up one hand like a crosswalk cop and then does the underhanded wave, ‘come’ and says, fast as whiplash
“prata på svenska....” And raises his brows with a shrug and a nod

“....hmmm?” I ask trying to rewind those sounds in my head

He says it again,
“prata på svenska....” but still, it comes out fast like a bebe gun shooting rounds

“Ok? Uh.... how do you say slow down?” I ask

He smiles holding back a laugh,
“kan du tala långsammare....” (which he says just as fast)

He looks at me and does that wave again and walks over to me

“Ok.... kan du tala l-luuu....”

He stands close to me, and looking down at me repeats it over me staring into my eyes. So I try again  ....but he is not satisfied—he does this several times making me repeat like a drill sergeant and each time he says it again he waits with an imploring nod

It is about five or six more tries before he begins laughing and says,
“you had it right about six tries back,” he pulls me to him in an apologetic embrace and says,”but you’re fun when you are confused,” but then he laughs and says, “säg något....”

?

.....?

Covertly I reach for my phone as I still have it on me and dig into my purse mumbling “.....mmm hmm.....” and nod wondering how that’s spelled.... (somehow I figure it out).

But he sees what I’m doing. He seems to think it’s a comedy act and is openly laughing at me by now,

But once I realize what it means I know how to answer and so I say,
“Jag vill att mitt namn ska vara jordgubbe.”

Jörn takes me by the shoulders and sets me back a few inches to take my phone away. He looks at my phone and shakes his head as he says,

“Du vet att du bara kallade dig en jordgubbe?”

So I try the phrase again,
“Kan du tala l-la—“ and get stuck on the long word

“Långsammare,” he says laughing at me

But I have lost my patience for now and so just say,

“yes I want to change my name to Jordgubbe,” I tell him (because, it is—so far, my favorite Swedish word) and so I repeat it, “jordgubbe.... jordgubbe....”

I notice he puts my phone far away from me as he walks across the room to his piano. Without warning he sits down and dramatically pounds the first several bars of Bach Taccata and Fugue in D minor in rapid succession on the piano keys, then just as suddenly stops so that the last notes are still echoing in the room as he says, turning towards me from the piano bench and says to me,

“and why, min lilla duva, are you studying my language? Are you concerned my contract with the philharmonic is nearing the end?”

Only I don’t know how to answer him. I walk around the vast room and search the surfaces of the tables set at various places between the piano and the rest of the open room. He tends to prefer minimal design so there are not many objects to distract myself with. I find his phone and wallet but only to touch it and then set down

“I know so very little about your world,” I tell him, “is it strange to you that I want to know?”

“No, of course not,” he says, then taps the piano bench at a spot next to him and says, “come sit beside me.”

When I go over to him he begins to play something. He then stops and reaches around me to play with me inside his arm. I find this surprisingly intimate. He takes my right hand and places my fingers on the keys. In a soft voice he says, “you used to play, I remember you said.... play these keys....” and he shows me, running his fingertips along my fingers. We play it together, his long fingers over mine. He takes his left hand and plays something else. Then we do the same keys again. He shows me another combination in the same range and plays more at the same time with his left hand.

He is warm next to me, I feel the heat of him through the crisp linen of his shirt and the subtle scent of his body that always smells so good. And always seems to drug my thoughts. His music moves me. His passion.... I find easily caught up in

we do this awhile and I follow his patterns.... so easily—as though I read his mind.... a very intimate kind of secret conversation and.... it feels intensely erotic and strangely—almost— only.... while yes, it is erotic it seems, too, to come from some deeper place.... some higher place; yet lower too. It is powerful and somewhat.... almost dark

So it is through this music and his closeness that an image comes to me. A memory. It is another memory. A dream maybe I dreamed last night? I don’t know. But it is the forge, the fire and a memory of his hands but ....I don’t know why ....I suddenly say,

“svärd.”

He stops playing suddenly

He looks at me. After awhile he asks,

“what made you say that?”

I shake my head because I know it wasn’t something from the Swedish phone app. It wasn’t from anywhere.

He says,
“were you reading my mind? I was just thinking about something I thought about today I was .... passing ..... the Met and —you said the word just as I thought it just now.... what made you do that?”

It is so strange to me too. I am just as baffled and shake my head. I say,

“I think I dreamed it” I look up into the vampire eyes that dazzle like a pirate’s gems and hear this phrase again from my dream, “—mid..... midnattssol ....svär—dtillverkning....svärdtillverkning.... “ I say it aloud with hesitation not knowing why but somehow knowing what it means—“it was last night....you woke up again in the night and I had this dream.”

Jörn’s look within his eyes is almost spooked and he says,
“the midnight sun. I had the same dream last night.... smeden.”

9 January 2019; touch on discussionof motif; a short from Electra’s dictionary; epiphanies

I meet Jörn before his performance

He paces the hallway and then motions for me to follow him. So I do

“Is this a coat closet?” I ask him

“Nobody’s using it right now,” he says but smiles like a vampire who’s hungry for blood, “don’t worry, I’m not going to ravish you here....”

only he does not keep that promise

So, Eliot was right, but it was a public rehearsal—which I have never seen before.... a somewhat informal performance and a bird’s eye view of professional musicians

and so then.... it occurs to me as I watch him from the balcony that.... I am ascending to hell but I am looking down from the balcony

If Nigel was Beatrice then Jörn is Virgil; my guide through Hell

7 January 2019; Electra’s dictionary; sketching out the concepts to explain the indie project

It is such a surprise when someone from my staff tells me that Eliot is at the door

I’d gone out walking earlier and then it became so cold out that I turned and came home intending to write but then Eliot drops by unexpected

I’ve not heard from him in months.... not since Nigel and I....

He walks in as if he was only here yesterday and kisses me hello

“So, have you been avoiding me?” he asks

He sits down without waiting for an invitation and when Iyla comes over asking if we want coffee, Eliot says,
“Yes.”

Should I still be surprised at his presumptuous actions?

I don’t sit. I go over to the window and look out

“Don’t worry, I’m not a spy for Nigel,” he says

I don’t believe him though

“So.... what brings you here?”

“Well, I was wondering if you had been giving any thought lately about the film....“

I study him

I have such a hard time taking him seriously. The fact is: I don’t actually like his style of film making. It actually irritates me.... so, how do I tell him ‘no thank you’ ?

At this Jörn calls me .... I recognize his ring so I go over to my bag that is laying by the sofa.

“Jörn?” I answer the call

“Come meet me here....” he says in that voice

“You mean at Lincoln Center?”

I hear him laugh,
“no, I mean the Taj Mahal—where else, min lilla duva?”

“What time?” I ask and feel Eliot watching me. I turn my back

“I’ll give you time to get ready and send a car for you around seven, how is that?”

After I hang up with him I look at Eliot as Iyla brings the coffee

“Sorry, what were you saying?” I ask him now because I find myself a bit thrown off. It seems to be Jörn’s way with me, I seem to forget whatever I am doing

Eliot stares at me and it starts to make me uncomfortable

“Who was that?” Eliot asks me, “I know it wasn’t Chris—because you never look like that when.... wait—it’s the bloke from the lobby, isn’t it?”

“‘Bloke’?” I ask

“The big Swede from that day....”

“Why would you say that?” I ask him

Eliot just watches me,
“it was that look you had that day.... it was something—weird about that—and you have the same look now.”

“What look?”

He shrugs,
“like .... you just saw a ghost —rather sort of spooky—he’s kind of —not quite.... there was something berserker about him; sort of daft—it’s him isn’t it? Are you seeing your neighbor now? Isn’t that like incest? Or fraternization?”

“What?!” ....because I don’t know what else to say.... it’s not his business! And I do not need him to go tell Nigel....

“No! Don’t tell me, you are!” he starts laughing, “it’s written all over you....”

“What is? What are you even talking about?”

I drink coffee and don’t bother answering him in any more detail

“So why are you going to Lincoln Center?” he asks me

I shrug,
“oh just to go to a concert.”

“Since when are you into chamber music?”

“You didn’t think I liked classical music?” I ask

“Well, to actually go to a concert—but I am pretty sure there’re not doing one —aren’t they in rehearsals?”

“How would you know that?” I ask him

“I actually overheard a conversation on the way over on the train —what is it, Scheherazade?”

Eliot is an actor. I often forget this. Not really a good actor. So, why does he always fool me?

I start to think now about what this is about so finally I say,
“you saw me with him, didn’t you?” because I remember one day I thought I saw Eliot across the street when Jørn and I were leaving the building together but then I forgot all about it

“Well—yes....”

“It was that day—“ and remember it now as the evening of the first concert with him. So I look directly at him, “did Nigel put you up to this?”

“You did block him on your phone....” is all Eliot says to that with a shrug

I feel angry

I try not to say something. I tell myself that nothing I say will be good and the consequences even less good. I just breath hard because I feel like a dragon ready to spit fire at him

Finally I think of something to say,
“Are you spying for him now? Is this about your silly little film or about Nigel?”

“I was here for selfish reasons actually—was hoping you were not actually shagging the Swede so that I might have another go with you!” and he actually laughs

Why do I keep him around? I always thought he was comic relief but right now it feels more like he’s inspiration for target practice

“Look, I’m sorry, that was rude of me,” he stands up, “do you want me to go?”

“I don’t know....” I say and sigh sadly shaking my head, “because I don’t really know what to make of you and I never have. I am so used to people leeching on me that I don’t even notice it happening ....you want something.... of course you do; everybody always wants something from me.... it’s plain; obvious, I mean, isn’t that what was always behind your interest in me?”

“Probably—at first; but I always thought you were cute,” he shrugs, “and I’ve never had an original idea in my life so I thought I could use your ....story because—of our family connection....”

I sigh heavily. No, this does not surprise me.... I finish the coffee,
“I need to get ready so, why don’t you go now? Not to be rude —but I will say this: I will think about the film idea but only because you’ve admitted you don’t have the ability of an original thought—because maybe you can leave the thinking to me. Only the real problem is, I don’t know if I can trust you so— I need to think and —right now get ready for the symphony, all right?”