reflections in a scrying pool.... images emerge

Electra & the search for meaning in a meaningless world

Electra’s dictionary; symbolism

This painting was inspired by Van Gogh


I painted it from Chris’ left handed guitar when we were still together

I’m not sure what he’s done with it because he kept it, maybe he uses it for target practice

I called it “Van Gogh dreams in psychedelic sound” (minus one ear)

Van Gogh is a word in my dictionary

Svenska schack or Agamemnon and Electra & Echo and Narcissus hidden in Film Noir chronicles (of the JM muse) continued

something i meant to write about and never got to last week—

It was one morning, Jörn went to go shower —I noticed that he left open all his notes on his desk. Papers all spread out, his Mac left open to all his open documents

I guess I was thinking I would find more about his secret agent work or.... who knows but instead it turned out to be

his opera —

he writes the music down as he listens to his recordings and replays them so it is in layers of audio and then the sheet music but, then I discover he has notes on his computer documents that tell the story....he has the storyline mapped out in one document and then the songs and what they portray along with the actual written bars of music with words (all in Swedish)

From what I was able to translate of it using my app....

The character of his mother —or I should say portrayed by his mother.... she is the narrator sung operatically through the opera 

(along with the scenes that have sung dialogue and some action)

....but

it reads as though she appears to be God! 

—or something like it and turns the mermaid into a dove as some kind of punishment to the wolf—who isn’t really a wolf, just got turned into one by her for.... I’m not sure about that part

but it seems to appear that the dove was really at first just a wild sprite or —angel—I’m not sure ....and then God’s husband is a Demi god.... but I did not get to read beyond that as Jörn caught me, returning from his shower and ....wrapped in a towel

he is quite protective of his work, I noticed 

he says, protecting his work from my eyes,

“I’ll show you.... it’s just not ready yet....” and shut off the Mac and closed up his papers in a drawer so.... I’m full of suspense

Dear dictionary.....

It has been such an emotional time for me

   and I find it hard to center artistically.... I have been so scattered these several days—no, weeks really.... can you read between these lines? If you know the codes it all makes sense

the parallel life underlay

  this play

(as Will might say)

but, honestly, Dictionary,

I think about that thing Jörn said; how I avoid ever saying what my conflicts are —he called me a pussy, I believe, wasn’t that hat what he said ....right? And then laughed at me.

But.... I have thought a great deal about that since he said that. It has been bothering me because I have never thought of it that way. Because then I guess I am a fraud if I’m not willing to .... you know....

 he’s right

As much as I worry he may be some evil incarnate slaughtering women and children .... but maybe only to that other life

that her

 that was me...

they say soul mates reincarnate together when they have unfinished business between them

I read this recently because I have been searching for data on others who may know these strange kinds of experiences that .... we share and I believe this is what drew us to each other. It was something we knew but didn’t know what it was we knew

 just that we knew

and with this I start to suspect.... sense .... and believe....

I think he has something to teach me. And strangely.... this I sensed about him right away.... since the first moment I saw him. And with it too —an innate faith of a kind of trust .... I feel he knows things or .... no, it is more that he has the ability to understand how I’m wired and —knows what I need to hear .... I know this only because it comes from some instinct; call it emotional intelligence. Because I think the reason the girl was drawn to him ....was because she knew he valued her and could ensure her safety. This innate sense she could be safe with him. There is something to be said about what fear can do to someone

It is this underlying sense now that I feel about Jörn that I feel ....that it cannot be explained by logic.... but I know it the same way I know why she loved him.

And how he could leave an indelible impression on her heart; on her soul; like tattooed and woven through her entire soul. Yes it is possible to imagine how this could be possible

And —in my present life these things he says and things he does I think must have significance somehow now....now in the present and it makes me think of

the mute girl inside. Mutated. How I left her behind. Even the knight walked away

only sometimes she seeps out between the cracks needing to be heard.... but she gave up her voice

and has gone deeper inside

I fear I have lost meaning as an artist .... I don’t know if I believe in hope anymore

and this worries me. And as an experiment as I document my emotions in symbol, I think I dare to find any proof that any of it matters .... what is the purpose

is there purpose after all and if not then why art

    as someone who once has defined herself through this self created reality spoken in the tongue of hidden meaning with the prop of drama to hide behind—anonymously

What is the purpose to define identity if it does not even matter? This dictionary; diary; journal is my own personal documentary on Does It Matter? Why not just keep her in there forever

because what else do you do when you are a dirty secret? You cling to the shadows because that is all you have ever known and all that was permitted.... go sit in the corner where no one can see you.... don’t outshine your sister by showing off

Sometimes I wonder why she did it.... you know, Mom.... but she told me why. She was demented as a person but I forgave her that long ago. She just loved this man who was forbidden so it was a Romeo and Juliet situation. He was forbidden. She was only 21 when they met and he was .... well, who he was. He was once written somewhere I read —as described to be at one point in his political career as the most powerful man in the world. But in that Gotham way....

They never officially ended even after their marriages and divorces and his remarriage.... she confided to me he was her big love and she never got over him. I know because that was what I did for her; I listened to her and was her shrink or her lap dog or her pin cushion or her Oedipus

So the reason I was abused at home was because I looked like this other man and I was her consolation for her not getting the man she wanted. At her whim or mood she ignored or fawned on me and dressed me like her pedigree poodle

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It is a few days later....

“Why do you hide your face, min lilla duva?” he asks as we stand outside the door of his place

I am thinking of the contractors back at the penthouse that I have to remember—they come tomorrow with some marble to install

—Johnny and Ilya convinced me of this but now I have to figure out what these guys are saying

(the construction people)

....whenever they explain their problems to me.... and it isn’t just the accent that’s the challenge as I have never actually owned property in my life so .... I don’t know anything about pipes and tubes nor tiles and flooring but I’m an artist so, I usually pick the prettiest choices and make it up as I go

“My face?” I ask him but because I seem to constantly get a stomach ache as soon as we are about to face the firing squad—I mean, his mother.... I tend to use whatever props I have handy .... hats work well.... scarves.... jackets with collars up

“Yes,” he says and decides to not open the door right away. We stand outside his door and he puts his key in his pocket. He looks at me dead on; stares

“Stop!” I say and hold my hands over my face

“This has to go,” he says and pulls off my hat, “and the glasses—why don’t you wear contacts?”

“Can I have my hat back?” I ask him, holding on to my glasses and reach to grab hold of his jacket sleeve as I say, “you need to remove this, Jörn, and can I have my hat please?” I yank at his jacket

He laughs and shakes me off like a flea ,

“no you’re not getting your hat, but no really, you need to stop hiding behind these—“ he tries to take off my glasses

“I can’t see without them so, you need to let me wear these and to answer your question— I used to have contacts ....” and I yank at his jacket and get it off one shoulder

I notice he’s smiling at me

“They’re not home....” he says

“Oh....” my stomach ache instantly goes away and he lets me take off his jacket

“So where have they gone?” I ask as he opens the door

“I’ve sent them to the Hamptons,” he tells me in that lecherous vampire way he has

“You sent them?” I follow him in

“I even ordered a car for them,” he tells me and shuts the door behind me, “they’ll be gone all week....Andreas went with them....” he holds me up against the door and smiles at me

(edited/altered again*) Part 2 next session at Gerald’s

“He signed a consent for me,” Gerald clears his throat.

“What—does—that—mean?” I ask expecting anything at this point— perhaps the ceiling to open up and Odin to come flying in

I just hold my breath

He sets down his mug and pulls himself into a full yoga pose; even his hands and fingers; he closes his eyes

He takes a few deep breaths and with his eyes closed he breaths out and says in exhale,
“we taped our last session. He wants you to hear it.”

Why do I shudder in fear?

I watch Gerald reach for his phone to find the voice memo— 

I suddenly ask now,

“How many times has he come to see you?” I ask this as I reach for the chai needing the strength suddenly “how often does he come? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Gerald looks at me in this way; you know.... like the cat who swallows the canary

and looks awkward

I sigh,
“well he admitted it to me that he has come to see you .... Gerald, you can’t say? Client/professional-confidentiality?”


“Where do you want to start?” Gerald asks me, adjusting his sitting position, “why don’t we just start the recording?”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Jörn’s voice fills the room.....

Recording: it always begins the same way, it is a kind of howling .... it howls— and rings in the air with a hammering and echoes like a chorus ....

like Carmina Burana but not as nice.... and more male vocals—mixed even with mine.

Some times I catch myself waking up with the sound in my lungs .... that’s when I get up to play.....

it’s become worse since ..... since meeting her.... min duva.....

seeing her eyes that day in the lobby..... like a turtle dove.... her eyes, those colors of the feathers and like my dream from that same night....

she tells me she dreams in color too.... I know from the other dreams.... all the blood

All the blood on my hands.... it is smeared like across my eyes, pours from my sweat into my eyes.... smeared like a giant movie screen across the wide battlefields, the rocks, the earth.... the mud..... even the ice and slush .....

this dream has always been a part of my life but I have never been able to tell anyone because..... this won’t make sense but— I feel guilty.... for something.... for things..... as though I need to —suffer somehow; martyr or do a kind of penance which I cannot explain because I’m not religious..... but I always get some all consuming heavy weight of guilt for —something— which.... I always have felt

and has made me often feel this need to sacrifice my own needs.... my own dreams and especially about happiness and part of why I felt this obligation to .... do the government work; this shame this need to give back something .... she’s told you, I assume? About my secret second job? I know since we signed the paper there that we have trust about confidentiality—and I know how to find you [here Jörn laughs and you can hear Gerald’s laugh too]....

when I saw her in the dream back in October, when these new dreams started to surface.... yes the colors.... with the dark blue robes and the red hair—I remembered something.... I was reminded of another dream or maybe really it is part of the whole dream—which isn’t really a dream —is it?

You know I never believed in any of this about reincarnation—not that I disbelieved either, I just didn’t really like thinking about that kind of thinking....

but there is as an older dream. Which is darker and what I was just describing to you.... where there is slaughter .... gruesome and —sickening—along with this a prevailing sick smell that you taste at the back of the throat— and mixed with it a wild high.... a kind of euphoric madness that I find .... where I feel most of the center of this guilt .... which often forces me to wake up.... why I need my music to .... release this

And ..... well.... [heavy sigh....]

In this dream I see another warrior torturing a woman.... and when I look around myself and see heavy bags of plunder and dead children .....and this I mostly find it hurts to look at in the dreams.... I think it must be about— or connected to.... his own family, his own losses.... I don’t know—is it me? Who then is it? But I feel it. Know it. Or is it more that I can’t deny it. That I wish I could. I know from the emotions that I am responsible for what I witness ....the tortured woman .... the mother to the girl.... she wears dark blue robes like her and has the red hair and as I see her I always hear someone screaming for her mother.... and it hurts in here.... in my pulse— in my beating heart.... I hear the sound of the girl’s voice screaming.... as I watch the torture of the woman being slowly slaughtered and cannot watch it any longer with the sound of her screams ....and this is why it seems—I have to stop it.... and do with one stab into her .... to give her peace..... but I know it is my fault somehow.... and then I see a dark blue image running away into the trees..... in the distance

(*no doubt will be edited again still—the perils of writing while hiking & in public places; dictionary: excuse this maniac’s approach to a writer’s craft)

Shifting props behind scenes in a dictionary; a Tootsie kind of nightmare day

and so, because the session with Gerald is still too heavy to write about yet —you will have to forgive me, dictionary, if I opt to avoid

    upon leaving Gerald’s

but then, it becomes a Tootsie (the film) kind of day bumping into Nigel after

How he says that Jörn might be something vomited from Hell....? is that how he said it—?

I half don’t hear nor understand anything Nigel says after that. Maybe I short circuit more easily than the average person

I have a cap on how much my emotions can take before I need to run for cover

I say at such point,
“I must go,” to him

Nigel reaches for me as I get up from the table and throw my bag on to go

“I’m just worried about you,” he says to me

“Well—gosh, I don’t know what to say about that....” and I look right at him. I no longer see his lighthouse somehow though ... I mean I think I have a bad habit of self delusion—especially about men; I give them far too much credit and in hindsight I always realize I seem to fill in my fiction where they lack and credit it all not to myself

“Listen, I am sorry about how it went down between us,” I apologize because I have a moment of feeling guilt but I add, “maybe you hoped for something I’m not wired for—I don’t mind that you may be bisexual as so was I once but I was always monogamous and to simplify this for you, Nigel....” I study his eyes now that have lost their power over me and, yes, there is a sadness about this, to be sure, but not when you realize it was never based on a truth, “it’s not that I cannot be broad minded about being capable of having an open relationship but— well, you never asked me nor considered and still, as I’d have said no, anyway— it is not physically possible for me to be close to someone intimately once I don’t trust them. I just am not equipped that way....”

He stares back at me and after this moment when I see his eyes go red I decide I have to go

“But I—“ he begins

“No!” because I can feel what he’s about to say and actually run now for the door out of Starbucks only he runs after me outside and he says it anyway as I am rushing away from him

“I love you,” he says this

I cover my ears and say,
“No-no-no, stop! Please! You made a choice—do not make me the bad guy!”

“Don’t you think your Viking might just be rebound?”

“Please ....stop calling him that. He’s a musician, he’s not a fucking Viking—and you know nothing about our relationship, you have no business even going there, ok?”

“You know— I saw him leave your apartment building the other day and meet up with a woman,” Nigel tells me

“What? Have you been stalking me, Nigel? You know.... let me go, I need to go—I’ve had such a day, do you mind—?”

He grabs my hand and pulls at my phone that I have my fingers wrapped around and he says,
“please un-block me!” and he grabs my phone

I look down the street wanting to be gone from here.... I think that is the only way he’ll let me go so I say,
“Ok, fine,” and pull my phone from him. I open him in contacts and unblock him. I show him this now. Then I send him a text to prove it. I do a smile—

:)

I look at him,
“Ok?”

“Will you message me later?” he asks me

....?

I look at him and then again down the street. Later.... ? how long is later, I wonder

I sigh heavily and say,
“Ok, listen, I have some things I want to ask you about DNA memory and, how ‘bout I try and text you tomorrow?”” Yeah? Ok—so, yeah—ok?”

I dread the hug but then he does it

and then I start to run down the street and lose myself in the crowds

but I still hear him calling after me

It is after a few streets of weaving in and out of in order to feel free of him that I finally take a deep breath and slowly head back to the apartment building but finding myself taking the long way back

It is some gear shifting when I realize I have to face the Swedish chorus and....

Jörn which after everything

still, I arrive at the apartment building far quicker than I had expected to and find myself in the lobby standing by the postal boxes and staring at the very spot I saw Jörn for the very first time. I don’t know why but I am somehow frozen to stand there

It is awhile before I realize he is suddenly standing there. He makes me jump in fright

“What are you doing?” he asks me and comes over to me

“How long have you been there?” I ask him

“How long—? I just stepped out of the elevator and I saw you—what’s wrong?—where have you been? I sent you a text,” he says

I take out my phone as I had thrown it into my bag which must have muffled the sound, but the text messages opens up to my last :) to Nigel

I nervously cover it but he doesn’t notice and then I open to his

It simply says: where are you? Im starting to worry

Which makes me think of what Nigel said before. And the other thing he said. What woman?

I look up at him

He reads my eyes,
“what?” he asks

“I went to see Gerald,” I say through all the static going on

But then his phone does his mother’s operatic “Oooooh!!!!” alert tone that makes us both jump

He looks at his phone,
“Come,” he says pulling me back outside

“Where?”

“Mama.... I—“ still he drags me along skipping the necessity of explanation or invitation

“Where are we going?” I ask

and then we are walking to the corner convenience store

I look up at him and then at my wrist in his hand,
“sometimes I think you must must confuse me with your daughter!”

He lets go my wrist,
“yes, it must be the height thing, förlåt mig—I’m sorry,” and adds “actually, she’s taller than you but you are about the height she was at eleven so, you could be right.”

I realize we are here to do some grocery shopping as he’s methodically grabbing things

“Didn’t you say your parents are leaving soon?” I ask because I’m noticing that he is choosing items by the dozen or such that his mother likes; cinnamon buns, a few bags of split peas, a jar of herring and knäckebröd

He gives me a guilty look and shrugs,
“well—hmm.... as it turns out....”

“Oh no, what....?”

He nods,
“they are going to be here a bit longer....do you need anything? I don’t think you have been eating, you want ice cream?” he asks me

“Ice cream?”

I hand him a half gallon of milk

“Oh, that was the other thing, get the next size, Andreas goes through this.”

Maybe I hand over the gallon a little too hard as I get him in the stomach

We go up to pay

“Anything else?” he asks me partially sarcastic as he asks, “some Loko maybe?”

I decide to take it as a suggestion and go get some

We go up to pay and as the cashier asks if that’s all Jörn asks,
“do you have any straws?”

“We sell the reusable stainless steel ones,” he tells Jörn

“Perfect,” Jörn pays and hands it to me

Stockholm syndrome/Part 1 of the next Gerald session

I go to see Gerald; arrive just as a previous client leaves

—another wrapped in mystery— who passes quickly by me, her face, too, completely obscured and hidden by a bright magenta silk scarf wrapped around her and only visible, her smooth dark skin. She rushes by me and departs down the hall

So I hesitate outside the door

Gerald lives not far from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the street heading up his place always shifts my mood by association

This one like many art museums I have known, the Metropolitan is possibly my one place of refuge here in the US, like a home away from home since my life growing up in the Netherlands —where every street there is like a museum —and I think this standing there of ....how I do miss those ancient streets that have kept their gabled faces like some bridge of time that connect our present time to that Middle, medieval past

A bridge

I think this just as I go to knock on his door. But first take a breath before I do

Because time.... which is relative and a concept or perspective but really—what is time.... when a memory is forever

I believe time must play out in present and exist eternally

that repeats always in the present tense

Like my diary; my dictionary.... written in present tense; these crumbs that link my present to ....

and why I had to create my secret self; my secret world.... inside me

The veiled cocoon of misleads and false turns with the secrets folded inside the patterns

—————-

When Gerald answers he does not seem at all perturbed by his previous session, despite the evident passionate state his client left in. Instead, he is relaxed and cheerfully placid,

Today he wears, with faded jeans, what seems to be a Hawaiian shirt but I notice that there are flamingos hidden all over it like some Magic Eye optical illusion. So it makes me laugh

“Oh, the shirt? Kaylee bought it for me; most people don’t notice the flamingoes ....”

Gerald is not the Hawaiian shirt type with his wiry frame and nerd glasses but then, he wears it tucked in and buttoned up so that one can almost believe he is wearing a tie, despite the jeans juxtaposed with his neat, side parted hair and clean shaven face. And yet he exudes this Buddha serenity without the need for the costume just by his calm and collected aura

And coupled too is the scent of frankincense which hangs in the air when you step into his place and seems to wrap its own kind of hypnotic spell.

He waves me in towards the kitchen

“Chai?” he asks me

“Isn’t that intense for what I am here for?” .... shoes at the door I ask; then follow him into the kitchen

“I think we both know you are going to need it,” and already he has made it i notice as he pours from a colorful tea pot into a carnelian colored porcelain cup that sits in its own unusual saucer. He hands it to me

He pours some for himself using his usual cobalt heavy mug with its asymmetrical shape, then we sit on rug piles on the floor with just one hanging paper lamp lighting the room

I blurt unable to contain it to myself anymore

“But I don’t understand, Gerald! Why is she in love with him if he has kidnapped her and worse witnessed him kill her mother? Is it Stockholm syndrome?”