Electra’s dictionary & film noir; Notes to a stranger

2 January 2019 Electra's dictionary and film noir

There is a sense when you walk into Jörn’s place; a sense of walking into a cocoon as if descending beneath the earth

Even though there are windows. As if it is an alternate underworld with its own atmosphere

“Oh the quiet?” Jörn smiles looking up from making coffee using a French press, “I had all the walls soundproof insulated because of my playing...,” he shrugs casually and pours us coffee in the open plan kitchen. Everything is white, immaculate or of a natural, pale wood tone, “I did it when I first got the place.”

“Really?—so you can play as loud as you want all hours of the night if you feel like it?”

“Yes. And do. That is why I did that. Sometimes in the middle of the night.... when I cannot sleep....” he shrugs, “I always have been this way. I did it last night when you were asleep, did you hear?”

I think as he watches me.... but it was a dream.... I thought

“It was one the things my wife could not stand about me,” he smiles like a lecherous vampire; the kind that wraps you in and keeps you willingly there.

“Wait....” I say, “I heard you at the piano....? Or was that part of....” but then I remember my dream suddenly.... because it was so strange. I remember music.

.... I remember it was like some Bela Lugosi scene only —it was some place outside ....with the moon. It was such a strange dream. Yes, it was an early or ....late sky; a pale light ....outside—somewhere....cold with snow and something else that was odd. A fire pit of some kind. Like a kind of forge. And everything was gray. The sky and the frozen ground.... all the same

This makes me shudder now

He’s watching me in a strange way. He turns his head to look down at me and studies me, his head to one side,

“does my playing disturb your sleep?” 

His question baffles me. I almost don’t comprehend his words. It seems almost like another language. And it is as if instead I heard him say something else —that makes no sense.... I try almost to hear —that instead.... he hands me coffee

And as I take the coffee....I know. It feels....like a flashback —I take it from him.... and our hands briefly touch.... yes it feels— like we have done this so many times before

The fire pit....

I look up at him now and remember the question,

“no.... it does not disturb....” I say this even as a warm shudder rushes through me

I think too of last night with him.... and how sometimes in sleep....we join.... it happens in sleep....it’s happened before—and it seems to mix with dreams. And scenes of memories like a movie I don’t know why I see. But he feels, every time, more and more ....like part of ....my self; part of a subconsciousness; shared....

Does his playing disturb....?

Yes, I remember him getting up in the night and watching his shadows on the wall. As if I expected him to....

“Your face reminds me of those Russian princesses,” he says this thoughtfully and walks over, “you have those cheekbones....” he rubs his thumbs across this part of my face and then holds my face in his hands, “you have such a different kind of beauty,” he stares at me; whispers, “and such juxtaposition....your eyes are dark mahogany flames but your skin is like snow. You look like your father, I see that as ....I’ve been looking things up about him....”

I know he is also bemused by something as well as I am about him.

“What did you mean the other day when you told me that I looked familiar to you when you first saw me?”

He tries to find words. I watch him draw his brows together and he begins to smile but it’s an awkward smile, he shrugs,

“like from a dream. Or a story.... that feels more like an old memory—blurry but real....and it is only real because of the strange emotions—emotions....? Is that what I mean....?” he looks into my eyes again and still holds my face in his hands and shakes his head,”I knew what your voice would sound like before you even spoke— at first I was going to ignore how curious it made me—but then I saw you again and.... this time your eyes briefly met me—“

I suddenly remember this now. It was a day with Nigel.... the day with Eliot.... I only saw Jörn in passing as we were in the lobby and he stepped out of the elevator. He seemed to be laughing to himself as he looked over at us and I remember feeling almost insulted by his expression of superior disdain and wondering what it meant. And why it bothered me

We both are at that moment together right now as we both think of this day in the lobby

I remember how my heart jolted when I saw him—and it was irrational to me ....I remember thinking. And strange too I was attracted to his insulting grin as he stared at me with those pirate’s undead eyes that burned like sparks of lightning.

He says now to me,

“I was reading the part again in your blog—the entry about when you had been approached by an investigator back in The Hague—and something about that really sticks out in my mind....”

“Why?” I ask why ....but I am really wondering how far back he has read. So many of my entries are meant to just analyze through streams of consciousness; so I find myself quite disconcerted

“Because —you said you had something happen to you.... some mystery about how your arm became suddenly paralyzed....?”

It is how he says this that makes me shudder now but I nod.

“Your legal father—“ but he stops himself when he sees me shudder again. He is analyzing my expression far closer than makes me feel comfortable. Instead he says, “he traveled for his business— did you say that one day he left suddenly on a mysterious business trip after —“

I interrupt him,

“the blood test —yes. I know what you’re thinking....”

Jörn sighs,

“your father’s business had to have been a cover operative and things don’t make sense about what happened after your return to the US. Why your assault was never reported and you were never taken to see a doctor....”

I pull away, I go to sit at the table and set down the coffee cup.

I don’t like these things about my past. I hate remembering them. I cover my face inside my hands. Close my eyes.

At first I feel him just watch me for awhile. After a couple of minutes he sits down too across from me at the table

“So you think you are piecing together clues,” I say now. “What is that about? Do you think there’s an old Cold War political plot?” I force a laugh

“No, min lilla duva, I think that your legal father was trying to have you murdered— what was the cause of the paralysis? Did they ever discover the reason? Some kind of virus was it? But then the doctor discovered you had a spinal injury from childhood....”

“Jörn—even if there is some kind of mystery there, do you really think it has any baring on the present?” I ask

“You say you are interested in learning about the purpose of each of our lives; existentialism; purpose and Truth; what your project you say is all about,” he continues holding me caught in his accuracy, “your blog ....you as you write you are delving through and searching for purposes of ones meaning or the significance of an individual’s individual identity.... why these differences in all of us have purpose—isn’t that what you said the other night?”

....the champagne on New Years.... I forgot about this conversation—evidently I became philosophical about myself and isn’t that always awkward the next day?

“The only way to look at truth, my tragic Electra, is by acknowledging the whole truth about who you are—do you understand the necessity of acknowledgement? Otherwise you are not really wholly conscious, are you? So how can any personal discovery hold merit as a Truth?”

“Ok—yes,” I hear his words but he misses something else, “how do I do that now when these crimes are too late to be put to justice—for this purpose of acknowledgment??”

“But is that not the whole purpose of your ‘dictionary’—defining, you are defining, yes? That is your proof that you search for. The one that gives you permission. You are caught in your own shackles and will run out of air unless you give the mermaid back her voice.”

“Only there is no way I can tell my story..... not here. Not in this country. You understand that don’t you? I mean why.... why I still have to keep my real identity secret.”

He does not respond right away but seems instead to search my face before he says,

“you are an artist haunted by a past and the only way to be released is through your work expression. Your work is necessary not for commercial success so much as the need to express this as an artist’s right for existence. The irony of notoriety and the need to be recognized....” he chuckles like it is a personal inside joke. He shrugs, “you need to get this out.....maybe you should do it in Stockholm....” then says in his language, as if only for himself:

“gör en svensk film. Det skulle vara en psykologisk thriller. Kallar det en modern Electra. Vad sägs om en ordlista på svenska? Kalla det konst.”

Only I don’t know what he is saying only that I sense ....as I always have: language is a good place to hide

a dictionary

4 January 2019 Dear Me, notes to a stranger

When I open my mouth to speak no sound is heard

People say ‘you can never really run away...’ or ‘you can never go home again...’

Maybe this is why I am lost

I search for identity. I search for myself .... only I am not really looking for myself

not exactly

It is meaning I search for. As in....regards to purpose. As in the individual’s purpose. So in searching for ‘myself’ it is more that I am searching for a personal brand of purpose as relevant meaning ....for some greater whole; universe.

Does that mean I am some kind of zealot? That I am deluded in thinking that there is any purpose for our universe? Any purpose to our universe?

The universal consciousness....  well, I don’t really care if anyone considers me deluded this way. For me, it is more necessary to search for this Essential Truth

Whether I make sense to anyone.... I have only become tired of searching for proof

Because I cannot quit myself, can I? I cannot escape my own thoughts. I have done exercises where I change my way of thinking or changed my narrow opinions of some matters I fall into being blind about as I know I am not perfect.... I do know that—but after sifting through the debris of my mind over years of discussion with all walks of life, studies through research and my own travels which this last few years I have done a lot of

....well, I have found that one cannot escape oneself nor one’s essential truths

They just haunt you

And chase you down..... to be true to the Self is .... the actual teacher. It is so easy to believe that the Self are the negative criticisms you find yourself guilty of

I call my alter ego Electra

Because at the center of my madness

....yes my madness..... because I realize that this chaos I live within is a kind of madness

I cannot live without my madness.... you see, the center is my father’s rejection of me from my earliest life memory. It devastated me as a child

It influenced my understanding of my own importance to the opposite gender. It was like having been told my own gender was not acceptably up to my father’s standards.... it’s an innate sense all the way inside of my own personal self value. I did not adequately measure up to my father, in my mind and so I felt emasculated of my feminine gender

and to compound this was the Oedipal secret that I am unable to speak of

Except here

through suggestion. The riddles. The themes. The themes.... which are the hints of codes to follow

It is a dictionary I write. A dictionary that lists my versions of meanings of words. My invented codes that let me hide my clues kept only for me.

Or the very very clever

I dare you

It is such a heavy .....shame—so Electra bears it

As I run away from Chris, my estranged husband to people that reflect with fun house mirrors warped reflections back to me

“Mirrors should reflect before throwing back images,” Cocteau said, and forgive me for loosely quoting him this way.... he also said, “there is nothing worse to a poet to be admired through being misunderstood....” his tragedy of a poet

I did not feel seen by Chris. I felt invisible to him. I don’t know why unless it was that I felt he did not hear ....what my heart was asking him for

It was to be acknowledged and to have this reinforced by expressing to me his acceptance —for all that I am.

To heal the rejection

It was wrong to need this from him. I suppose. But it was what I needed

You cannot run away from your essential self. This I have found. Even if I have tried the Pavlov conditioning to convince myself that my sense of gender is good enough for the opposite gender for which I long for.... I will never believe it

Electra’s dictionary is code for Oedipal’s dictionary, as in accordance with Heraclitus

When I look up at Jörn I see he has been reading this.....

He says,

“Your voice is lost here.... but maybe it’s the language.”

Existentialism and tragedy in modern day Acts; Electra’s dictionary

“I don’t ever like New Year’s,” I tell Jörn now, because I’m nervous about the staff’s party “I never like to go out for it....so I never do— everyone is always drunk....”

“Well, now you don’t have to go out,” he says

“Very funny!” I laugh at him, because he’s making fun of me—“yes, because it’s right here.... but now everyone will be drunk in my place and I won’t be able to escape them!”


“So maybe we can escape before midnight, min lilla duva, and we go to my place and let the staff take care of it. It was for them, they wanted it....”

“And now they’ve invited people from The Met! What the fuck? So, don’t let this go to your head but I’m actually glad you’re ....here....”

“You mean your pirate to make your escape?”

“No, because you do this kind of thing all the time—you’re used to being with this kind of crowd....you know, the Philharmonic, Lincoln Center type people ....”

He is standing before the mirror putting on a tie, and while he’s listening to me he is also also, I notice with amusement, admiring himself.... he can be a bit vain .... (he looks good in a tie, especially Nordic blue ones)

“I don’t notice those people. I mostly ignore everyone,” he reaches for his jacket and puts it on. He had a performance tonight and the party has begun without us

“But aren’t you the host?” Jörn asks me

“No, I don’t think anyone thinks that.... I’m like the custodian—right?”

“When are you changing?” he asks me with an odd impatience as his vampire eyes sweep me

“Changing?” I look at my reflection ....

“You can’t wear jeans, min lilla duva....”

(How does he know?)(is there a rule book?)

“Oh.... am I wearing jeans?” because I am not in the mood to care. “Hmmm.... well, they’re here so it’s too late,” and I start to go

“No, no— you aren’t going to face the Metropolitan museum in jeans on New Year’s Eve,” he pulls me back easily by my arm and drags me to the closet; rifles through saying, “take those off!”

So he pulls out the black one. It’s still his favorite. But slowly he he removes everything else I had on under what I wore. We hear the clatter of dishes in the next room. He takes everything off and slips the black dress over my head,
“simplify things for later—at midnight ....”

He says,
“sit down, where’s your make up?”

He picks dark red lipstick but keeps my face pale.

He says,
“I suggest one glass of champagne downed immediately and the rest will go fine....min lilla duva.”

We walk in together and everybody looks at us.... and start taking pictures and he hands me champagne

The staff have evidently taken over
—everywhere —because the furniture has been all rearranged so I trip over unexpected furniture as I meet someone from the New York Times. And festive decorations hang everywhere like an explosion of Gatsby glitter —but instead it’s 2019

30 December 2018; Scandinavian Noir

Jörn goes for a run every morning when it is still dark out —I don’t understand why he would go out in the dark, but he says it is the best time to go—because the streets are quiet....which I do understand as I like going on trail hikes for the same reason. Still a wet and dark chilly run in the morning.... bears some insight into this musician’s extreme measures of discipline


“I have to ask you about something....” he says last night to me.... after

(....he seems insatiable, and when I tell him that but he claims it’s my fault) 

“you write about knowing me before....”

I feel my face burn but look at Jörn,
“yes, it must seem strange to you that I should write about this—is that what you think?” I look up at him but it is hard to see his features in the dark

I watch and see how he is lost in thought a moment and .... how he is self distracted ....in his thoughts. I need to see his face then— because we are in the dark so I sit up and move into his lap —I look at his face 

and he studies me now,
“I got the strangest feeling the first time I saw you—I thought maybe I had seen you in a magazine or— I don’t exactly know what I’m trying to say but.... it is such a strange feeling that you remind me of someone.... that I can’t remember or almost—but it was even before that. When I saw you in passing that made me wonder about who you were....”

to say that he trespasses when he looks into my eyes.... more than anyone ever has .... well

So I think about what Gerald said to me on the phone as Jörn suddenly now asks me about the staff, seemingly to change the subject

“Oh, they want to be more functional—actually they came up with an interesting idea,” I start to say now as I look at him

I forget what I’m about to say. Instead I just look at him.

“What?” he asks and his eyes meet me

I am still at a loss.... the strange light from outside the windows that play on his face, I get distracted looking at him, you see.... the strange plains of his face that are so ....distinctive that I feel something trigger inside— again I think about what Gerald said about ‘unfinished business’

I say,
“Ohhhh, the staff— they are part of the stipulation of inheriting the property. They were worried I was going to fire them but I can’t really, my lawyers explained it to me....”

I realize my words come out vague

“....so....?” he waits for me to continue and seems curious

“They want to open it to the public and also have a Christmas party.... so we have chosen New Years..... I think I told you?”

He smiles down at me and stares into me
“.... you might have....not about opening it to the public I don’t think....”

“Ohhh—well, you know, he was famous.... they think people would like to see some old photographs and some famous documents that once changed history,” I shrug as I say this and look towards the window and the night’s skyline

“The way it was explained to me by my inheritance lawyers Johnny and his wife Joanie— the penthouse is treated like an estate. Some peculiar New York law that most people would never have heard of but it dates back to the turn of the last century as the penthouse is part of a greater property that has remained in the family since that time.”

So as I pause in thought now, I think about how below that window I look at, there is the city’s ever-present, segmented snake of cars 

that... as night descends the eyes of the serpent awaken

“The father you did not know,” he states this thoughtfully

“Not per se.... but his presence loomed heavy in the background all my life—I imagine much like your own father.”

“My father?” he smiles and looks at me oddly as if trying to imagine something. 

“Well, you mentioned that it was expected you would go into the family profession so— I thought your father must have had a very strong looming presence for you growing up....”

He does not answer that. He just stares at me silently a moment. After awhile he says instead,

“does it bother you when I speak of my son and my....daughter?”

“No, why should it?”

“I just thought it might seem in bad taste to you,” he shrugs

“Bad taste? Because you’re married still? But so am I.”

“No, it’s not that I mean because I know how you feel about.... your own daughter....”

“Oh....” So, I freeze

“When you write it helps you .... it is like a kind of hypnosis that you may not realize— unravels your subconscious....but I have begun to notice that it is not just a drama you are writing about your life — it’s a mystery. You don’t realize this, perhaps? I have started to realize you are trying to unlock a hidden crime that maybe you yourself are not even aware of but I have begun to piece together the clues....”

a ghost of Xmas present; Jörn

A few moments this Christmas evening to write (Jörn is practicing the next symphony in the dining room; we are at his place and it inspires me to write)

These things about him I think about and.... they fill my mind. Like a flood.

I think about how it is to go to Lincoln Center and ....how I like to watch him from the balcony.... to watch his face.... as he becomes immersed one with himself into his instrument.... like an intimate love scene.... the strange expressions that cross the severity of cheekbone ....somewhere here is the part of the Transylvania vampire .... but then he element of rogue in the deeply brooding, pale Nordic brow like that of a dormant warrior caged in the 21st century

His music moves me

I fear he has planned it this way—I am put at a disadvantage by being sat among a crowd to play voyeur like an orgy of spies

It disturbs me how beautiful I find him because he disturbs me deeply
Tonight at his place (his son has gone out)

Jörn says,
“come here....” his long legs are stretched out long across the length of the white leather couch and —it is the subtle smile that just touches his lips

Since it has only been a month since we have known each other, we did not get ridiculous about the holidays.... without planning to, it seems we’ve chosen to spend it with each other
When I come to him he opens long arms

.... and for all his vampire coolness, Jörn can be so warm .... at least to me... as I am starting to see that he is much different to everyone else.... like I am starting to understand that nobody else sees this side that he shows me....

And his passion.... which is to me as unexpected as I.... can feel the soul inside the vampire

How is it possible for only one month of knowing him to feel what I feel? .... like his skin; the texture of it ....everywhere on him. Across his shoulders

He says to me,
“kiss me and stop writing and put down your phone.”

So I crawl up his body and straddle him and do what he says

17 December 2018; Electra’s dictionary; the vampire chronicles of Jörn

We leave the Met heading back to the apartment building —as: soon he has to meet with the Orchestra for tonight’s performance of Handel’s Messiah

He holds my hand as we walk; automatically going to the outside of me.... his unconscious primal instincts

Everywhere we go his hands absently reach to touch me ....

Jörn says,

“you’ve been living Upstate and —before that Michigan and Oregon?—you should know I have been stalking you—“ his eyes look at me and tease me; he laughs, “I mean on Instagram—you take a lot of pictures hiking—But now you are here? Because of what? You just found out your father had a secret inheritance for you?“

“Is that what the doormen told you? Do they stand around gossiping all day?” this just pops out of my mouth—maybe quick defense. But I’m not really miffed. Just always surprised to be such a subject of talk.

I have always had people talking about me, I don’t quite know why they care....

He shrugs as if to say I’m right.

“Gosh,” I say, “they’re worse then a sewing circle,” and look up at him

But then, eloquently with no words, he says with just another move of his shoulder, ‘so, is it true?’ only now adding with raised blonde eye brows. His face is so expressive, especially his eyes. I’ve never seen such fiercely piercing stormblue eyes .... with lascivious dazzle

I say,
“well.... it was supposed to go to the media circus but I got lucky as some other story was going on and ....”

“I bet. The media circus,” he laughs. “Although,” he is thinking....”in his lifetime ....who you are could have—“

“Could have caused a lot of commotion....”

His eyes meet mine as he begins to understand. He is putting together my portrait in his mind. Why I was a secret. What impact did my natural father have on society?

“You were their love child?” he asks now

“Yes.”

“But you were smuggled into the family of your mother’s husband. The one who was your legal father. And he hated you,” he continues, “and he would beat you....and call you—you wrote:  ‘bastard-nigger-baby.”

I shudder in the wind and look away

....It is all so outside his own society I realize.

And the times have changed fast these last decades —people don’t worry about the same things they used to.

But they did then

We walk on and he says,

“So you are here now; you have come back after many years. But you’re not really from here—New York City—I don’t see you as a city person, or I should say a ‘New York City person’ —maybe Amsterdam, yes.... I think you prefer nature.... don’t you?”

He is right,
“Yes, what about you?”

“I like both. Cities and countryside. But you don’t know the city, do you? you seem lost and terrified of it,” he says this with a teasing laugh at me and looks with his Vampire eyes that X-ray through me

I laugh,
“it’s all the people.... I’m pretty shy... actually.... Plus they are so gruff and confrontational that I feel like I have a negative run-in experience as soon as I step out the door.... I don’t really belong anywhere.... you know—I’m like a Jonathan Swift and a Candide in one.... I’ve accepted that I am just a misfit. Total outcast.”

He laughs,
“you’re too beautiful to be a misfit.”

“That’s what you may think.... only it’s true. You should know now before you get in any deeper.”

“What should I know?” and here he pushes me up against the side of a building and waits for me to say as he smiles at me

I falter at first—he is so physical ....so beautiful. He has pale brows and lashes. They make his eyes look so dark. His strange Nordic features set me in wonder, even his nose which is so sharp with nostrils flared.... I go to kiss his mouth and then I pull back embarrassed, “I am a total nightmare of an oddball....”

“No,” he says because I pull away and ....ignoring anyone walking past us, he pulls me back to him and kisses me as if we are back in his bedroom; it makes me think of him on stage; how he throws himself into his music, exposing his emotions with complete physical immersion .... he seems to block everything out but the moment
“you’re an oddball....?” he asks; his eyes seem to dance brightly like faceted sapphires, “so is that what it is about you....if this is what is a misfit looks like, then I guess I like that you are a misfit,” then holds my face in the palms of his hands. I am aware of how small I am next to him and I fear how ridiculous it may seem—not to people in general, just to him

his long musician’s hands have such a power to disturb me intimately. But it is not just his hands. He makes me behave so .... badly. He distracts me. All I seem capable of when he’s near me is wanting him

I think it is this way for him too .... he’s always touching me  .... absently. In public too. Just fleeting touches his hand flat against my belly

Like when we may be out standing for a moment by a store window or at a place to pay. He will put his arm around me and discreetly lay a hand pressed below my navel, then breath into my neck and cup my sex where my thigh begins
—what is more perturbing are the moments when some part of my mind feels a sense of indignation but then.... I forget and then I don’t care.... there is such an overwhelming power to him; especially his hands

“Do you really think I am bored with life?” he looks down at me

His direct non-sequitur takes my brain awhile to decode


“Yes. I do....” I whisper against his lips..... “and I think this is why you are drawn to me. Because I am nothing like anything you have ever known.”


He asks,
“would you like to come along with me when I go in to.... do my work?— or have I already bored you with my music?”

“You mean —to go with you?—again ....for the Messiah concert?”

He shrugs awkwardly,
“you don’t have to.”

It is this shrug this time that melts my heart

I mean.... his eyes....

he is a luscious demon with those eyes; they penetrate; they fuck me; his eyes fuck me....

instead of answering him, I pull him to me by the back of his head as he wears it long and tied back; I put my mouth on his and put my fingers into his hair, pulling it loose to touch it

Apocalyptic emptiness

....these fleeting thoughts as I pass through the end of one stage and turn

there is awareness over how voices I’ve listened to before were harmful. They wanted things from me as they opened their hands and offered me their veiled gifts

I see I have turned the corner and learned how to keep going on calloused soled feet that gained their rites of passage at last

they will no longer chain me down

I walked away at last

      I didn’t know I had instilled the callus as shield with the rubber exterior that bounces and deflects what once I had no defense against.... oh those flesh eating parasites.... goodbye. I don’t care anymore. No I’m not an asshole, I’ve just gone hard inside from the callus of experiences of a journey you will never know. If that makes me cold, so be it, but the world was always cold on this path when faces sneered and turned away in narrow judgement

I find warmth in places I’d never have expected .... New York which once had been my punisher comes now to rescue me as if the ghost of my father carries me to his historical monument. I stand at his statue on this city’s street and humble myself at his feet knowing awe stumbling to it by sheer accident.... my father

“What is it?” Nigel asks me as I watch absently squirrels gathering their acorns. Sit on the wood floor with legs up against me, my head against the wall. “You’re so quiet these last few days...”

His hands run up my arms as he sits behind me. He pulls me to him sitting behind me

“I think that I realize now that identity.... is a riddle about the measure of being different.... and I don’t know why the relevance of this has left me so empty lately. The shift of meaning seems to appear to me more about the emotions that drive us; the desperate ones.... What is voice, Nigel? When I can only whisper?”

A listing of the Tales and Fables

A convenient compilation of the SansinGauf Tales and Fables from previous entries for purposes of codes and literary references; suggestion; clues;& encrypted meanings for those on the labyrinthine breadcrumb trail of morass

(from June 11, the Legend Creates a Fable)



When I meet with the wizard he tells me I must write a fable

I say why?

He tells me I am indebted to use my gift to deliver a message

To whom?

But he only says in a vague shrug,
“Humanity.”


The Legend Creats a Fable...... this is The Fable he has asked me to write for humanity:



What she knew falling down upon the soft mossy earth was total exhaustion; for the Faery Empress had traveled many leagues and fought dangers that jeopardized her mission and her very survival.

It had been long known of her coming to this part of the deep forest world and her arrival had been expected and hoped for these many generations as fables and legends had been passed down and embellished upon of her purpose and the change her influence would create by her arrival.

Only SansinGauf knew of the grave dangers that would challenge the possible coming; the Empress Faery. He had watched her progress and journey from his glass; the one he had made of Dortil sands; ground by ritual by the full moon for six cycles. He alone knew how to make such a glass and how to ask of it the wisdom it was known to portend.

SansinGauf had watched her fall six nights hence from that very glass, she had been chased into the Forrest by the lapis swans who were the deadliest sending creatures the Hadesissians had and were mostly reserved for extreme  situations as their venom, once administered, emitted such a strong poison that it drained the great Hadesiss of a week's supply of his kingdom's emnil grain; the grain his peasants lived on who worked the fields.

Once she had reached the Forrest World, however, the lapis swans could not follow and this territory was beyond Hadesiss' commanding empire; not that it was with respect that the swans turned to head back to their master with their news; the invisible wall at the entrance of the Forrest World would kill any without invitation, instantly, by agonizing death if the ageant's sting (a deadly bee-like creature that lived only in the Forrest).

It took six days for SansinGauf to find her, using his small, pocket-sized glass. It was tedious going all the way to find her, however, as the exterior parts of the Forrest were more overgrown with ruckless weed than anywhere else (ruckless weed; was known for its camouflage charm to confuse invaders who might have managed to pass the invisible wall).

He watched her fall. In the glass. She fell like a broken sparrow.

He had watched her from the glass.... longer than he could remember. Only, it was only one human life time ago he first saw her. How many hundred had he seen through? To walk this earth and go unnoticed and drift in between worlds; toiling here, toiling there.... admittedly, he had spent several human lifetimes being rather lazy. Quite lazy, in fact. Enjoying the nice plant that the valley friends provided. His valley friends; he liked to spend holiday with them. They were somewhat known in the human world, roughly speaking. Amongst that world, they shaved their feet to fit in, but they did not really fit in. And only the ones that wanted to ever left this world for that one. They did not tend to stay away, however. Why would they?

So, as it was, SansinGauf, knew how to relax, but he enjoyed his work more and being the most admired Sansin yielded a great deal of reward so as to make his work quite enjoyable. As far as wealth, he would likely be the most wealthy in the world, but he owned nothing. He was obliged what ever he desired if he asked. But SansinGauf was a wizard of principle and since he never accepted payment to treat the Forrest World's ailments, if there were things he required for a need for which he could not provide himself, he would gladly accept an obliging gnome's provisions; whatever that might be. This is, no doubt, how he came by their weed.


(from June 12 Fae of Morgan)



Fae of Morgan




When you speak of shape shifting, that is only just a shadow of what it is. That is to say, it is a kind of illusion that anyone is the shape they take because everyone really is everything and everything does contain everything.

SansinGauf was wizard stuff, to be sure; the kind all legends of his kind are based upon. Wise and yet still curious, thus containing that element of wonder always. This is the secret of youth; to stay in wonder.....

In the Forrest World time stands still. Rather, there is no time. You go in there and the rest of the world continues; you can watch it all through a telescope too and it looks like speeding on a highway. The images move fast past the windows. That is how time looks from the other side.

Within the Forrest World SansinGauf was exactly as he always was; is; slight of body, like an agile and lean skinned athlete and very tall of frame with notably long arms and fingers; his legs were quite long as well; like his toes and feet which gave him great balance walking ledges and hills; so he had some quality of one of those daddy long legs spiders, wearing a long cape (that took on colors like gray or sage or deep marine blue) and a long, wilted knitted felt top hat dyed of woad and mended numerously with silver gilt thread that fell to his right shoulder from years of knocking into his sheep staff (his sheep were used only for their wool and they never left his side unless by his command).

So watching the Empress Mage Maevis Fae fall like a broken sparrow.... well, it was his moment to become one with this myth, for he had watched her story unfold before him.... on that other side of his glass.... she had been like his mythic legend; untouchable yet almost real; all these years, you see.....

To be sure, it is necessary to mention, many stories have been based upon SansinGauf, in fact, in your world, too; many legends and many fables.... he is wise and powerful; he is old and young; he is generous of heart but always keeps his head about his shoulders.....

She was a little fallen angel falling from the sky

and so, like a magnetic chord to his very center he was pulled to that little faery; to save the belle with the misty gossamer wings,  invisible to the human eye.....her fall rang with her cry that sounded like little bells tinkering down a well. Tinkering bells.....

She looked like a redwood tiger lily

That was her color. If you took alizarin crimson and mixed in a bit of gold.... she was a wood faery. Heir apparent .....faeryqueen; but she had been raised among peasants to protect her identity. A bit wild, to be sure and possibly feral as well; how could he not love her?

And so it took him days to locate her because of the ruckless that grew everywhere; and yet he knew this Forrest very well, even the borderline parts because he traveled quite often beyond it. This journey took him many days and he journeyed alone, without his sheep as the thick brambles would have easily caught their wool. He came prepared too, knowing about the poison of the lapis swans. By now the Hadessins would have given her up for dead not expecting that SansinGauf was watching out for her; long prepared and aware of the forecast. He had prepared the potion and knew what had to be done to preserve her life and revive her from the haunted sleep that slowly consumed her breath.

When he finally found her night had long fallen but it was a full moon. She had actually fallen between the shield of the wall and her invisible right wing was badly caught. This was unfortunate ....his heart broke for her when he realized, rushing to her side; this had not showed on the glass and he realized this would take more time.

When he touched her face it had gone that shade of pale violet. He had only just made it in time. She was down to her last breath. He moved to her side quickly but with light and careful moves and knelt to her, placing his mouth gently over her deathly pale delicate lips; he breathed. He breathed for her. One very long breath first. He exhaled into her, speaking the words. He watched the purple smoke choke out of her. Then lay down beside her. He could not free her wing until she could breath on her own and the violet cast to her skin was gone.

He had to tilt her face to him as he lay carefully beside her, keeping the caught wing slack so as to not cause it further damage. She was still in pain, the caught wing....he could feel it.... the poison of the Forrest shield had been slowly killing her despite her magick; he reached inside the deep pocket of his cape and felt for the silver box. He placed the flower petal against her right wrist where the pulse beat and held it there with his thumb. He cast ....saying incantation, tapped her with the blue jeweled tip of the fine handle of his blade where a blue energy of light took to glow and come alight.

And so he lay thus: one arm cradling her head and shoulder and the other hand holding the soft petal to her wrist, breathing into her. It was slow going as she was so cold. Her veins would not allow the flow of the potion until she reached a warmer body temperature, he knew, which is why he erected the shield of camouflage; throwing his cape about once peeling away all that lay between their flesh. Bare skin to skin they lay beneath his cape; he breathing into her mouth and holding her tiny wrist; he then closed his eyes and fell asleep holding her to him as if he were her fortress.

SansinGauf was always caring of small animals, of course he loved his sheep and all manner of living creatures.... his great love had been his step sister whom he could never have and all his life his passions were shared with deep affection, but no one had ever captured his heart since his first love.

Watching Fae fall from the sky, as Fae is her name, plain Fae....

the years of study and preparation for when the time would come to ....entwine their fates and purpose as it had been long foretold, long expected to prevent what was to be the evil threat on the horizon


seeing the Empress before him at last, SansinGauf was nearly in awe and all his years of healing kicked in

only stopped to realize for a second--

.....he needed to heal, not just the flesh, but the fragmented soul inside as well.... he felt it as he lay beside her..... felt her soul and all of her pain for within there he felt the poisonous wounds of this incarnation .... the kind to damage deep, which she hid so deeply that it haunted her waking mind. She had spent a life beaten and in chains until she had been found by the faery kingdom and reclaimed; too late.

This had been known

But only now did he understand what this had done to her

knowing only the greatest force could possibly heal this

but where would the chances be to save humanity if she herself was not healed? SansinGauf lay there beside her thinking, watching the full moon watch him; watch them.... it was by morning when he stirred and saw that her invisible wing had been freed..... by the power and light of the moon and the morning light; morganlicht;

"Fae of the morning light ...." he whispered aloud, giving her his pet name, whilst still half asleep. He was over five hundred lifetimes older than the Fae of morganlicht .....

.....and SansinGauf had been called upon for this, task..... and well, she needed a healer, after all; he had saved her life which made him feel responsible for her, so in conflict of emotion he felt ....love for her

like a father but also,

like a lovesick poet.

By the light of the moon he had been too exhausted to find resolution with this thought and fell asleep under the full moon on the eve of the last day of April, as depicted by the human calendar and then awoke breathing out the morning dew of Fae

(from August 4, King Shite)More tales from SansinGauf
From SansiGauf's 'Tales of What's in a name?'

'SansinGauf and the One-day Swan; or Sin of Ella'

Once upon a time, deep in the Forrest long, long ago there was a small kingdom. A very small kingdom. There was, of course, a very small king, King Shite, but he thought he was a very big king as he presided from his throne of Shite.

He liked wealth. He liked to advertise ....his idea of his own wealth as it made him feel big.

King Shite was also not a very attractive sight but he always knew to be respected it was important to portray an image of glamorous appeal to complete his facade, so in his search for his queen he looked for the trophy prize, no matter the cost of character.

Ella was everything a queen should look like. She was beautiful, regal, a charming hostess, desired by many and looked the figure head to a principality's jewel in the crown. There was just a slight blemish or two about her reputation that the family had done well to coverup. King Shite only discovered these little scandals after the first born.

The first born; his golden child. King Shite welcomed the addition of his first born with joy and pride, never once concerning himself over the fact it was a girl, even as tongues tsked.  If he thought there could be a female king then he wrote it in his law books; carved it in stone, as well, and hung it over her crib from the first day of her life. Her name was Duday and would one day be King Duday

Heir apparent of Shite, she also wrote laws from that day forth. Duday grew up in a charmed image of life; if life served her sour grapes, King Shite turned it into a punch --sometimes his backhand was lethal

Duday inherited the king's Shite-y physical characteristics and from early on, the golden hair on her head only crowned a warted cauldron, hot nest that seemed a witches curse; nose of toad, pitted olive, and lard of belly. However, and good for the young female king to be, she had another trait inherited which confirmed without a doubt she was in deed the king's seed as it emphasized her predisposition towards personal greed and self advancement at any cost of conscience (assuming there ever had been any as the king's line were not goodly folk). She loved to take. Even if it was not at first hers. In the end, everyone always found that what was hers was hers no matter whose it first had been and as this was one of her own laws, this was not stealing; nor unlawful

So, along these measures, she was a good, honest, and just princess of Shite; the heir apparently to the king of Shite; yes, she was good, and just to be the next king of Shite-land, learning, first hand, the king's arbitrary rules of conducts and law.

Queen Ella, though beautiful and charming, was not happy. In truth, she had been forced to marry this king by her family as she had one too many clandestine affairs; sadly, all ending in her heartbreak. Queen Ella was not really bad by nature. However, her choices were not usually very good. She also had an unfortunate nasty trait that only came out when her heart got broken. This trait was to turn into a beast and lash out at anyone who happened to be near. The smart quickly learned to know when to stay away.

There had been one love that she believed was her true love but for many reasons her family disapproved of this love. Among the her family listed was: already had a wife, was counted among their feared and prejudiced enemy, and he was a dangerously powerful warlord known as the Black Panther King; although a godly man and loved and hailed by his people to whom, in turn, he was loyal and just to.

However, Queen Ella's first several years of marriage went smoothly. For when Queen Ella tried, she knew how to live in good behavior, abiding sanctities of contracts and public handshakes. She also enjoyed the riches King Shite swathed upon her to charm her into the submissive queen he imagined her to be. Queen Ella was willing to go along supposing this delusion, almost convincing herself at times that her smiles were sincere. The king tried, after all. And she enjoyed the boxes of chocolate he surprised her with.... the silks.... the lavish summer palaces he built in her name that they traveled to often..... the banquets..... the jewels..... the flattery.... and even, at times, his beastiality.

It was only those other times.....

When she could not sleep


Was it King Shite's loud snoring? Or bad breath?

Was it the memory of King Panther?

Or was it the emptiness in her heart?



(August 17 from the Man Who Sold the World)


the man who sold the world

Once upon a time long ago..... back in the time of kingdoms and heathens

there was a princess who, by will of her family, was to be married off to the prince who was from a northern kingdom, in past, often at war with theirs. So this alignment was to seal a pact between two rival kingdoms over power through land

Both lands lay across the edge of land before it dips suddenly and  deepens sharply into sea

If you go to the edge, you may look out..... into the sea

That never ending sea that continues as far as your eyes can see

White capped.... and often brutal.....

but in cherished times, a backdrop of such breathtaking beauty it stops your heart

These two lands were neighbors and so, it is possible to imagine the awkward proximity these rivals have of their enemy

If at war, the neighbor mocks you in sleep

Boarder fears

Unrest

So you must always install men to stay watch all through the night.... this becomes the quiet and constant paranoia only enabled further by continual skirmishes between them occurring whilst the kings slept. If they slept. For both learned naught to rest and to sleep always with one eye open

The joining of the opposing kingdoms through marriage presented the best solution as other deals were struck to ensure their ease of comfort of power control that would not emasculate their thrones

In the presence of their people and legal aides, the bargain was struck

So it was a fine day when the Princess Lokael was firmly guided to the alter before the court of her lands of birth and for the first time her eyes befell her prearranged betrothed on this wedding day.

To be sure, her heart stopped

and she did stumble. Her lady maid whispered and steadied her foot.... but the Princess Lokael had not broken the current his eyes upon hers held her within

She had been angry

She had raged at her mother and father over this union....insulted over the filth it had left on her skin to be bartered like a sheep. For to her own family she had only been seen as a doubtful reminder

Lokael's family never felt she was of their blood as both her parents had been dark and she had been born with hair like fire

The prince's family had no such prejudice for reasons that went back generations. As well, the two families did not mix beyond their negotiating meetings

And so, on that wedding day when for the first time his eyes befell her, the Prince Ionydd watched her emerge from the cluster of ladies.... his eyes were dragged by the power of her flames.... and he could not free himself.... and never broke from that moment on consumed as he was

It was a silent pact

Between them

Whilst neither had wanted the bargain

But they had not been at liberty to communicate their wishes to each other

But by family obligations, they had to fulfill this bargain. And each knew this

In the princess' mind she had been prepared to thwart the desires of the princes' every wish from the start.....

she had intended

However..... once the magnet drew them together that fine day.....

and without spoken promise of the necessity of words, together, at their alter of union, they built a private, silent and more sacred bargain that needed no pact nor handshake....

For.... this was a pact of trust that was beyond mortal flesh 

agreed between in deepest faith .....from that first eve of their consummation


But what neither knew was that the Prince's father had bigger visages than what was agreed upon in this pact; he was interested in the princess' lands and so.....

And so, in secret,the King made another pact with Yiogeoth who was known for his warring ships from beyond that sea....

(from August 20, the Fable continues; edge of the eclipse)



So in our tale our prince of those northern lands Albion; Avalon, Prince Ionydd, as he was…. and he was worth the double take to our fair, but flaming haired Princess Lokael, and as well, she was worth his lightening bolt shock as there was great love shared between our royal lines that may have been signed in blood, but their love became the stuff of legends.

Between the two of them, they produced three offspring. Two before her capture and a third years later upon her return to the island….

But are we getting ahead of ourselves?

Bailey interrupts and challenges me that I am not up for the task at hand. Am I prepared to tell this tale?

“Do you not think I am the perfect person to tell it?” I ask him.

‘Sweetheart, I’m not in the room with you and they will hear you….’

‘oh, I said that aloud, didn’t I?’

‘I don’t think you should chance it just now….’ but then I sense his sigh as he continues, ‘the eclipse is close…. The pull is strong with you…. Wait until…. Hmmm …you will know’

(from August 27, Loki hair like flame)

"If you are studying anthropology then I can't imagine why you are here...."

"Why would you say that?" he asks me simply

"Well, because it is so far from ....."

"--from???" he feigns ignorance; is it to mock me?

I ask him

He turns himself away ....we are on a walk and we have reached the bridge.... there is always something about rushing waters.... what is that.... it is the magic mystery of the water spirit that is so attuned to this earth

He looks at me and I see  the the wise old man.... but he is not old, you see.... I see it in his eyes

he looks past me, he looks at scenes he sees inside me

he is searching for the entrance into the labyrinth

but that he knows it's there

he does not ask.... he is aware

so I watch with curiosity

I wanted the champion ....do not get me wrong; but the cynic is born of loss of heart

I turn away now because our silent conversations seem to be going faster than us mere mortals can.... manage .... to withstand --we are, after all, bound and contained to the vessel that is connected to this earth and realm.

"There is a symposium ...." he stops pointedly to look at me. He stares. It is again confirmed by his eyes.... as he seems to decide...too --then

"Do you know about it?"

I just wait

"Well? Tell me if you do, this is important."

"I don't know," I tell him

"But your eyes say you do..."

We both smile. I feel so.... strange ....and stirred

"Nigel....who are you?"

He is looking down into my face like someone who has seen this so many times. As if memorized, he outlines my lips with his fingers. They move to my chin and he lifts my head up to look at him closer.

"Why do you tremble, mon fē?" but he has moved closer and has cornered me by the wall outside and he rests his hand on my shoulder, gently and with no more than an unspoken command, he draws me into his arms without moving a muscle. And when I do, his arms go limp and wrap around me like a vine. He seems to fit around me thus, each part of us a place to fit as he presses me to the wall. Nobody sees. There is no one around. Everyone seems to be at church. And we too worship

"I was studying the founders of Oregon in the library ....that day you walked in," I don't even know what made me stop in there. I think it was just part boredom and part trust that this was ....an actual hunch.... there was a book mark inside the book that I was reading and it was of a druid....seemed misplaced reading about Christianity being the motivator of the book's subject in why they missioned onward to Oregon, newly arrived as they were.... I am studying anthropology ....yes.... but that is not the extent of my research; it's just one part of what my work is covering...." he stops and reflected. He studies me some more and touches my cheek with the back of his fingers. He touches me as if I am porcelain and.... I don't know if I should be offended by this, only that I react automatically. I find that with hardly the suggestion of any intimacy he manages to disturb my deepest intimacies

He looks at me now as if he knows it ....too

I see him smile

Slow. As he watches my eyes. I see he uses subtlety. That is his choice tool --and weapon?

He is about contrasts and symmetry.

"We are twins," he whispers against my ear, "only I'm a man and you're a woman...." his words only sharply make their point when I feel within my audio orifice a sudden tickle that leaves wet. It is staggering to feel this.

I hear his laugh only when I feel his arms catch me!

"I must have lost my balance!" I say as I'm embarrassed and dizzy

"I think you fainted...." he whispers this into my ear and quickly moves away to look at the effect his words have on me. "You're flushed, mon fē...." he stares at me now and leans into against the wall; and with one very adept move he holds both my hands to the wall by lacing his fingers through mine. "Have I told you how beautiful I think you are?" and he has become intense now as he looks at me, "I didn't say what had been written on that book mark.... it said 'Loki with hair like flame' and I looked up and saw you...."

This shudder was all consuming because he had touched every level of my being with that; I was in chaos trying to find my ground and.... he smelled like cedar which.... reminded me of something else.....

it is like breathing underwater.... to kiss him

it is the way it happens without thought of how or what or why; instinct without the intention because it is the air that fills the lungs

breathing under water

his mouth .....but tenderness is only the edge of how aggressive his subtlety is spoken

he knows how.... and has the willpower to ....

"I was only to be here until next Wednesday ...." stop

I am used to this.... yet I feel the sting

I think of Bailey's words.... I'm his little fool, aren't I?

from aug 30 the walls; part ix

"Why don't you just tell me who he was?"

"Because I don't want all of this to be about him."

I don't like this conversation .... I am uncomfortable

He takes me to the university library and begins to play a game of his clever skills at research and at first, I admit, I was extremely fascinated with everything he was showing me. I mean.... he is so smart, I could listen to him all night and it wouldn't matter about what he felt like talking about because I like all these things too; I've never known anyone like him before. He fascinates me. It is his mind. I love his mind.

But now he says,

"so what was his name?"

"Who?" I ask.

He waits at the university's keyboard to type in what he's asked me.

"Your real dad."

At first I freeze, then feel sick and then start to get dizzy ....and have to grab the table because I start to fall and cannot breath. My instincts force me to bolt and I just go, I run out of there and hear nothing but my pounding heart

I don't know, nothing clears for awhile, I am outside and I can catch my breath again. To my relief I have managed to do this without attracting attention. Soon I realize that Nigel is there and I begin to wonder about how long he has been there.

He is watching me

"Wait.... I say.... what were we just talking about?"

I look at him. I am disoriented. I dislike when this happens to me. It really worries me. I think Nigel affects me.... I think he is getting in

getting in

getting in too close.....

I begin to hyper ventilate and he starts to walk towards me ....I am scared

you know

because

how can I trust him? I can't let him in here

And then it's so much worse! I get sick right there! So....

But Nigel ....he is so sweet to me. He removes his oxford shirt to put it around me because he says I was shivering. I don't remember this, just his hand holding mine once we are back at his university flat. He draws me a bath and bathes me and has me lay inside his arms in the water. And then he hums to me. His voice a soft rumble that vibrates from his chest....I feel it through my back rib cage like I am a xylophone; my head a tuning fork.... and let him take it where he may

He tells me silly stories from things he read as a kid.... and I hear it in his voice. I hear it..... when I turn and look up at him I know he has known hurt .... I know he has hurt too.... this is how he recognizes mine.... he was once hurt .... this is what it is about him.... he is fierce and vulnerable at the same time. And I am mad for it about him. It is what I crave about him. There is nothing for it because it was there as soon as I saw it there in his eyes. This is the strange duality that -- why do I think of Hegel?

he seems half ashamed bared before me ....I see that--because he fears he may have hurt me without meaning to

I cannot say what happened back there but I would like to know

This has happened to me before. Something in conversation will trigger my mind to go blank and I won't know what was just said. And then the talking in my sleep gets me in trouble.

When I see his eyes I know already we have something crazy between us, there is a pull that tugs from somewhere deep and I can't get enough of his eyes. I kiss him on the mouth and wrap around him

these came from the blog entries as follows

http://legendsofelectra.blogspot.com/2017/07/faeryqueen.html

http://legendsofelectra.blogspot.com/2017/06/fae-of-morgan.html

http://legendsofelectra.blogspot.com/2017/06/the-legend-creates-fable

html?m=1http://legendsofelectra.blogspot.com/2017/08/from-sansigaufs-tales-of-whats-in-name.html

http://legendsofelectra.blogspot.com/2017/08/the-man-who-sold-world.html

http://legendsofelectra.blogspot.com/2017/08/eve-of-eclipse-of-dawn.html

http://legendsofelectra.blogspot.com/2017/08/prince-and-fae-awaken-eclipse.html

http://legendsofelectra.blogspot.com/2017/08/loki-with-hair-like-flame.html

http://legendsofelectra.blogspot.com/2017/08/why-dont-you-just-tell-me-who-he-was.html

http://legendsofelectra.blogspot.com/2017/12/so-worthy-my-green-eyed-warrior.html

Oregon Chronicles; Writing on the public bus on the way to work

    ......makes it easy for anonymous confession because..... I've been skirting some issues and missing keys.... and letters with fingers on bus rides that don't make sense.... code and typos & hidden

It is so much easier to say out of context .... but I don't know where to begin but my no gray matter shades are more psychedelic

So if this were a Quiten Tarantino movie we would rewind

Because there is this darker side to Nigel and me

I have only glossed over

I don't want to put what happens in a light of any filth

sexually .....and to ignore this

in my Electra confessions

This is my dictionary

& ....I am Electra

It happened there. Right there.

deranged so —I worry we are treading on some areas that --as an artist?

.....but isn't it what matters, then.... anyway

Dissecting the scientist; of the Oregon chronicles & meeting Nigel

"This is too soon for me, Nigel...." I tell him and feel myself shrinking before him.

"Is it really so deep?" His tone disarms me. Again. I try to pull back.

But his touch.... is like both father and mother.... to me. 

It is a strange notion and not one I understand at all but like the curious cat one has to know; maybe because I’ve never known it and....

There is such a strangeness

the odd way he looks at me, and how he calls me his ‘mon fē’ from his childhood realm;

Only some moments I find I feel I am like —what is it, exactly? like I am his lab animal that he studies....looking under some microscope?

and something else that is sort of twisted that, at present, I am too shy to write about ....and I start to fear that —
I don't know, this thought occurs to me—this apprehension.... that we are —like ....only sinking further kind of into each other's madness

or is this what all civilizations begin like?

He seems to see me—

unlike Chris—

who would look right at me and not notice me there. So how is it that Nigel knew I was an artist from just one glimpse at my hands.... that day at the Ashland library....?

That day he looked so.... proper Englishman in his neat oxford collar and wearing a fedora.... like some scientist from the 1940’s.... and did I write this already? He isn’t just a professor and a doctor of psychiatry, he’s also an archeologist—he was some kid prodigy and finished his first set of degrees by the time he was twenty..... but should I be flattered then that the way he looks at me actually makes me feel like ....some kind of artifact found in a bog—

isn’t that a strange thing to feel? He has the oddest stare....

To illustrate between the lines
.....my hat fetishes (which for me goes back to when I first started being aware of style and old Greta Garbo movies) After Garbo the Daisy hat from the Great Gatsby that Mia Farrow wore, and I would love that bowler from Unbearable Lightness of Being but, truth told, I am most partial to the newsboy

so about Nigel.... he likes to shop for clothes with me and go into the dressing rooms
—is that weird?


Our fetishes.... I think that is behind the kinky edge of our sexual attraction

I have glossed over this about him. About us. It confuses me. You see. Switching roles; role reversals and I suppose I am not ready to write about this

but he can make the simplest motion erotic in a strange coquettish way that ..... disturbs me

It is like a shattered mirror

meeting Nigel

today I return a book to the Ashland library-- it was such hot today, the heat made me dizzy

I met someone; his name is Nigel, he is working on some project; he researches.... what is it he said he does? he vaguely said something about anthropology .... then he stared at me.

So strangely, and it made me think: like the lighthouse, his eyes.

 as I turned to go

I don't know if it is because I could feel his eyes first, it is when I look up from the floor that I see him sitting at the desk and somehow I drop my phone and my glasses fall off at the same time, both landing in his lap! I notice his book is on druids but his bookmark has the image of Loki

and this is how we meet; losing my sight and all communication, I suppose this would have been the only way ....how else do two shy people meet

 after all?
He says to me,

"Hi, I'm Nigel,” it began


Then he says
“I would like to see you again.... would you mind-- may I call you?"

So....

he says he wants to meet again

I am always in hesitation over new acquaintances


But there was something about how he kept staring at me that made me curious

So..... we do, we meet in town for coffee. He has has such mystery about him and it seems he stares at me when we talk. He stares at me; what does that mean? watches me.... everything I do..... and when he calls me later....and says something so strange,

"I want to know everything that has happened to you.... I want to understand your mind."

I tell him I have to go and later I think about it and wonder.... what does he want?

he stays on my mind all day and later I go slip out to think; it is so stifling there at night where I'm staying in Talent, a very small --not even really much of a town with one grocery store and its own little library, a couple of shops that you never see anyone go inside and everything is closed by five

and by now the sun has already begun to set ....

it is by the clock by where are benches with vines that wrap around the entrance way to a kind of secret enclosure and there I go to think and be alone, escaped from the opprssion of the family whose house I rent a room from as there are no apartments anywhere around

it is when I am there awhile, I notice someone across the street ..... and see him there!....  as if he knew I'd be there

he crosses the street and walks over to me but stops a few feet away and looks at me and waits, then finally says,

"Say something," he seems to watch me like.... a kind of subject....I think

 I will write more ....on this..... I have to think ....I need to be alone

Faeryqueen

'I think you need to be honest with yourself-- he was destroying you.... everything you gave have he used up; your cars, your credit, your exhaustion.... you were being evicted for the third time.... he drank your rent and blew it on whatever manic idea crossed his mind.... sober is he? What's in there....? He never saw you.... you were a blurry drunken haze; a dream; he never saw you....'

I cry when he says this....

'It was your final martyr act ....and now your true work begins.... you have suffered all human pain now.... you have allowed yourself to experience what human form is.... so now be like a good Tolkien princess and perform your miracles....'

I am crying.... very funny.... he is so cruel. So very cruel....

I must reflect

I see Eliot has texted and I need the distraction

I have come to the conclusion that everyone is crazy

His text is that he is here! I am so happy..,.,! Wow, I was not expecting his presence at all and I feel myself become flushed and stupid

Why does he affect me this way. I look at him and a want to throw up. I mean, I get seasick. I get that weird feeling. What is that? An adrenaline rush.... each time I see him it is better than the last time.... I don't know.... I hate this feeling

I really do

So I have to stop because Bailey is in my head. He is looking at me with concern

'Oh there you go again!' He tilts his head to one side, 'Angel.... when will you ever learn? You've always had that weakness for the boys, but I cannot bare another broken heart of yours, it's just too painful to watch you....'

Already I am crying, and I hear him sigh as I turn to go; just bolt right out of there

This world is crazy or I am or both and isn't it all so fucked up anyway? I am only stretched like that bow; springloaded; about to be jettisoned through outer space

He said breath

Fae of Morgan

Fae of Morgan




When you speak of shape shifting, that is only just a shadow of what it is. That is to say, it is a kind of illusion that anyone is the shape they take because everyone really is everything and everything does contain everything.

SansinGauf was wizard stuff, to be sure; the kind all legends of his kind are based upon. Wise and yet still curious, thus containing that element of wonder always. This is the secret of youth; to stay in wonder.....

In the Forrest World time stands still. Rather, there is no time. You go in there and the rest of the world continues; you can watch it all through a telescope too and it looks like speeding on a highway. The images move fast past the windows. That is how time looks from the other side.

Within the Forrest World SansinGauf was exactly as he always was; is; slight of body, like an agile and lean skinned athlete and very tall of frame with notably long arms and fingers; his legs were quite long as well; like his toes and feet which gave him great balance walking ledges and hills; so he had some quality of one of those daddy long legs spiders, wearing a long cape (that took on colors like gray or sage or deep marine blue) and a long, wilted knitted felt top hat dyed of woad and mended numerously with silver gilt thread that fell to his right shoulder from years of knocking into his sheep staff (his sheep were used only for their wool and they never left his side unless by his command).

So watching the Empress Mage Maevis Fae fall like a broken sparrow.... well, it was his moment to become one with this myth, for he had watched her story unfold before him.... on that other side of his glass.... she had been like his mythic legend; untouchable yet almost real; all these years, you see.....

To be sure, it is necessary to mention, many stories have been based upon SansinGauf, in fact, in your world, too; many legends and many fables.... he is wise and powerful; he is old and young; he is generous of heart but always keeps his head about his shoulders.....

She was a little fallen angel falling from the sky

and so, like a magnetic chord to his very center he was pulled to that little faery; to save the belle with the misty gossamer wings,  invisible to the human eye.....her fall rang with her cry that sounded like little bells tinkering down a well. Tinkering bells.....

She looked like a redwood tiger lily

That was her color. If you took alizarin crimson and mixed in a bit of gold.... she was a wood faery. Heir apparent .....faeryqueen; but she had been raised among peasants to protect her identity. A bit wild, to be sure and possibly feral as well; how could he not love her?

And so it took him days to locate her because of the ruckless that grew everywhere; and yet he knew this Forrest very well, even the borderline parts because he traveled quite often beyond it. This journey took him many days and he journeyed alone, without his sheep as the thick brambles would have easily caught their wool. He came prepared too, knowing about the poison of the lapis swans. By now the Hadessins would have given her up for dead not expecting that SansinGauf was watching out for her; long prepared and aware of the forecast. He had prepared the potion and knew what had to be done to preserve her life and revive her from the haunted sleep that slowly consumed her breath.

When he finally found her night had long fallen but it was a full moon. She had actually fallen between the shield of the wall and her invisible right wing was badly caught. This was unfortunate ....his heart broke for her when he realized, rushing to her side; this had not showed on the glass and he realized this would take more time.

When he touched her face it had gone that shade of pale violet. He had only just made it in time. She was down to her last breath. He moved to her side quickly but with light and careful moves and knelt to her, placing his mouth gently over her deathly pale delicate lips; he breathed. He breathed for her. One very long breath first. He exhaled into her, speaking the words. He watched the purple smoke choke out of her. Then lay down beside her. He could not free her wing until she could breath on her own and the violet cast to her skin was gone.

He had to tilt her face to him as he lay carefully beside her, keeping the caught wing slack so as to not cause it further damage. She was still in pain, the caught wing....he could feel it.... the poison of the Forrest shield had been slowly killing her despite her magick; he reached inside the deep pocket of his cape and felt for the silver box. He placed the flower petal against her right wrist where the pulse beat and held it there with his thumb. He cast ....saying incantation, tapped her with the blue jeweled tip of the fine handle of his blade where a blue energy of light took to glow and come alight.

And so he lay thus: one arm cradling her head and shoulder and the other hand holding the soft petal to her wrist, breathing into her. It was slow going as she was so cold. Her veins would not allow the flow of the potion until she reached a warmer body temperature, he knew, which is why he erected the shield of camouflage; throwing his cape about once peeling away all that lay between their flesh. Bare skin to skin they lay beneath his cape; he breathing into her mouth and holding her tiny wrist; he then closed his eyes and fell asleep holding her to him as if he were her fortress.

SansinGauf was always caring of small animals, of course he loved his sheep and all manner of living creatures.... his great love had been his step sister whom he could never have and all his life his passions were shared with deep affection, but no one had ever captured his heart since his first love.

Watching Fae fall from the sky, as Fae is her name, plain Fae....

the years of study and preparation for when the time would come to ....entwine their fates and purpose as it had been long foretold, long expected to prevent what was to be the evil threat on the horizon


seeing the Empress before him at last, SansinGauf was nearly in awe and all his years of healing kicked in

only stopped to realize for a second--

.....he needed to heal, not just the flesh, but the fragmented soul inside as well.... he felt it as he lay beside her..... felt her soul and all of her pain for within there he felt the poisonous wounds of this incarnation .... the kind to damage deep, which she hid so deeply that it haunted her waking mind. She had spent a life beaten and in chains until she had been found by the faery kingdom and reclaimed; too late.

This had been known

But only now did he understand what this had done to her

knowing only the greatest force could possibly heal this

but where would the chances be to save humanity if she herself was not healed? SansinGauf lay there beside her thinking, watching the full moon watch him; watch them.... it was by morning when he stirred and saw that her invisible wing had been freed..... by the power and light of the moon and the morning light; morganlicht;

"Fae of the morning light ...." he whispered aloud, giving her his pet name, whilst still half asleep. He was over five hundred lifetimes older than the Fae of morganlicht .....

.....and SansinGauf had been called upon for this, task..... and well, she needed a healer, after all; he had saved her life which made him feel responsible for her, so in conflict of emotion he felt ....love for her

like a father but also,

like a lovesick poet.

By the light of the moon he had been too exhausted to find resolution with this thought and fell asleep under the full moon on the eve of the last day of April, as depicted by the human calendar and then awoke breathing out the morning dew of Fae

the legend creates a Fable

When I meet with the wizard he tells me I must write a fable

I say why?

He tells me I am indebted to use my gift to deliver a message

To whom?

But he only says in a vague shrug,
“Humanity.”


The Legend Creats a Fable...... this is The Fable he has asked me to write for humanity:



What she knew falling down upon the soft mossy earth was total exhaustion; for the Faery Empress had traveled many leagues and fought dangers that jeopardized her mission and her very survival.

It had been long known of her coming to this part of the deep forest world and her arrival had been expected and hoped for these many generations as fables and legends had been passed down and embellished upon of her purpose and the change her influence would create by her arrival.

Only SansinGauf knew of the grave dangers that would challenge the possible coming of the Savior; the Empress Faery. He had watched her progress and journey from his glass; the one he had made of Dortil sands; ground by ritual by the full moon for six cycles. He alone knew how to make such a glass and how to ask of it the wisdom it was known to portend.

SansinGauf had watched her fall six nights hence from that very glass, she had been chased into the Forrest by the lapis swans who were the deadliest sending creatures the Hadesissians had and were mostly reserved for extreme  situations as their venom, once administered, emitted such a strong poison that it drained the great Hadesiss of a week's supply of his kingdom's emnil grain; the grain his peasants lived on who worked the fields.

Once she had reached the Forrest World, however, the lapis swans could not follow and this territory was beyond Hadesiss' commanding empire; not that it was with respect that the swans turned to head back to their master with their news; the invisible wall at the entrance of the Forrest World would kill any without invitation, instantly, by agonizing death if the ageant's sting (a deadly bee-like creature that lived only in the Forrest).

It took six days for SansinGauf to find her, using his small, pocket-sized glass. It was tedious going all the way to find her, however, as the exterior parts of the Forrest were more overgrown with ruckless weed than anywhere else (ruckless weed; was known for its camouflage charm to confuse invaders who might have managed to pass the invisible wall).

He watched her fall. In the glass. She fell like a broken sparrow.

He had watched her from the glass.... longer than he could remember. Only, it was only one human life time ago he first saw her. How many hundred had he seen through? To walk this earth and go unnoticed and drift in between worlds; toiling here, toiling there.... admittedly, he had spent several human lifetimes being rather lazy. Quite lazy, in fact. Enjoying the nice plant that the valley friends provided. His valley friends; he liked to spend holiday with them. They were somewhat known in the human world, roughly speaking. Amongst that world, they shaved their feet to fit in, but they did not really fit in. And only the ones that wanted to ever left this world for that one. They did not tend to stay away, however. Why would they?

So, as it was, SansinGauf, knew how to relax, but he enjoyed his work more and being the most admired Sansin yielded a great deal of reward so as to make his work quite enjoyable. As far as wealth, he would likely be the most wealthy in the world, but he owned nothing. He was obliged what ever he desired if he asked. But SansinGauf was a wizard of principle and since he never accepted payment to treat the Forrest World's ailments, if there were things he required for a need for which he could not provide himself, he would gladly accept an obliging gnome's provisions; whatever that might be. This is, no doubt, how he came by their weed.