in history class I used to think I could hear the voices of the people from the plague 

between hallucinations it occurred to me how easy we slip into history 

forgive my madness and disregard if I make no sense 

it is my need to record thoughts somehow to make sense of later....it has been such a strange and dangerous kind of nightmare but I’m still breathing— and I know this is a blessing 

 ....there were moments I did not feel quite alive yet, I am 

such strange and profound visions —and experiences

how does something like this travel all the way from China without a passport? 

pass over; dodge dogma....

and sometimes, I swear, I can feel the voices all the way from China ....

but am still not myself; insanely, so weak— so tired 

....something seems to have shifted deep within me —and it feels, there seems more urgency —to say 

.... please, be ok

writings on the wall

day 7 or twelve not sure what today is or since onset


document:


very cold dizzy hard to breath

no more convulsions

hallucinate in between




the weight of my phone is enormous but need distraction

some grip on news of the world; the individual verses the greater elite whole and worry for

the vulnerable

Russian roulette protect the vulnerable use logic think for yourself be strong stay alive

the weight of my phone is enormous but it is less then what Orwell’s time machine would be

I know I will keep on ....

writings on the wall

....stay alive

notes on the wall



it is clear that I am ill. the cold is so bad. it hurts

the shaking .... is worse 

Between the passages; notes of a lost dictionary

and so I have not been feeling well

I have had no problem with isolation as that as a rule being what they call my type (INFJ)

but who knows how these things get around

they say movement excites the cells or something .... I don’t know but

I have said nothing of it and kept it to myself as some are only carriers

last night I had a fright because I couldn’t breath and then I was shaking and I thought I was dying and I got scared because I want to see my daughter again so ..... well

I don’t know if she reads my blog often but I know she does sometimes....

so she should know I miss her and miss writing our stories together and I don’t know if she can still feel me squeezing her hand but I do as I’ve not let go

such is life in the twenty first century .... history documented on public walls

to anonymous strangers sharing the time on the planet

like pages blown across a subway floor of a lost voice

like that caveman with the art .... that he left on the wall of a story of his life

maybe it was a woman

and maybe it was about a man with vampire eyes

because of a promise or something that goes beyond life and time or maybe it was just a message hidden in code intended for just the one champion who could solve it; so be it

Electra’s dictionary; Noir world/the pirate kingpin (jm muse chronicles) 31 March 2020

earlier today we have a conversation that sheds to light even more mysteries ....

this .... I record in document as I struggle with internal demons that.... I am unable to write about, dictionary, and that sometimes make it impossible to breath, or care to as I search for meaning .... and conversations with Jörn that serve now and then lately to cast me back to earth


“You know.... I have often clashed with .... my ideas among my ‘business associates’ —“Jörn is standing near the wide window by the console where his laptop has been occupying his attention along with his endless phone calls

“Your government job,” I say

He gives me an enigmatic look and seems to cringe a bit as he squints into the sunlight looking outside,
“I worry that some people may not understand how very real this situation is,” Jörn says after ending a call and .... now closing his laptop

“Oh you mean the orchestra playing as the Titanic goes down?”

he walks away, glancing at me with a grimace leaving his phone with a look of indigestion and a gesture of finality he moves to look outside and mumbles

“Ostrich in the sand mentality....You need 80% immunity to halt it and there are only two options; to get it and risk fatality or a vaccine. Not everyone understands it is global whether you bury your head in the sand or not. The aftermath whatever occurs will rock the planet.... already it has— we just haven’t quite .... A vaccine is the only thing that can help this world crisis because it is inevitable it will wipe out ....like the next dark ages— I don’t mean to be the grim reaper but....” he shakes his head and looks at me, “realistically, people can’t self isolate forever and with .... already the deaths are creating —it’s an economic disaster —right now for third world countries, next is Europe .... and—“ he thinks deeply and runs a nervous hand through his hair as it gets in his way; he paces across the room

“....duva, maybe now it is time to tell you that .... the branch I work for —yes, I have called them ‘government’ but—“ he lets out a heavy sigh and needs to pause and think.... “we are/we’re not—“ he inclines his head both ways to illustrate and pulls a face at me suggesting any number of things ..... he continues, “I began in that capacity —you see.... the man who hired me was....” Jörn awkwardly pulls his shirt collar which seems now to choke him. He shrugs and continues, “well, he retired not long after I was —hired.... indirectly he.... then asked me to work for him —privately ....” Jörn looks at me again and measures my expression before he continues

then walks across the wide width of the living room which was once a barn and even with its massively high arched walls and ceiling Jörn seems to occupy the entire scope as he crosses it in numerous long strides like a caged predator calculating escape 

“In due time.... well.... I guess you might say I ‘branched out’ ....” he laughs at himself ironically at his own pun and shakes his head looking down with an odd expression as he thinks. He says his next words still looking at the floor and in a very low tone as if the walls had ears, “those men you have seen .... the ones from that night at Lincoln Center and—you’ve seen them before; at the penthouse I think and maybe also other times .... well, they don’t work for the government —they are.... with me.”

“What does that mean?” I ask him

So at first I think he has not heard me because he does not react to my question. Jörn just looks down at the floor as if watching an ant or something only there is nothing there

but I realize he has heard me as finally he says,

“You don’t need to know everything— it’s better you do not....” and walks over to me. He stops in front of me and pulls my face up to look at him

“You have always talked of the individual’s purpose, duva....” he looks at me now with a very direct stare and he says

“do you know what the vampire sees in that dove? —She does not follow the herd; he sees freedom —which was something he forgot and ....is that not what it means to be able to ....find peace?”

“To find peace..... “ I say after he does but shrug as my eyes blur thinking that maybe all doves are not destined to know peace, like a canary in a coal mine; maybe some souls get caught in the inferno by means they never had any say in—

I look at him and say,

“even in a perfect world, do you think the dove can ever find peace?”



Maybe some paths are meant only to illustrate, maybe that’s why some of us are artists to leave the impression behind for others to make of what they will, so be it?

Notes to a stranger defined; Electra’s Dictionary & film noir (jm muse chronicles)

isolation seems to clear unnecessary static

and has the ability to show how much gets avoided

how easy it is to hide behind a lot of noise



Jörn snuffs out the candles arranged around the bathtub no longer needed as day breaks through the skylight above us

it is so still here in the middle of the night and early morning that you can hear branches crack when a deer gallops off even through the walls

Only now, I still hear his music in my head even hours later

and then ....after we came upstairs .... and later

he is quiet but there is something which has shifted .... I feel it....

it seems that our personal circumstances have been in the way

I think

like some invisible wall

Even as some other force seems to render all facts as unimportant

so no, I do not normally trust, and no, I could not trust a spy

only this is not what I see when I look into his eyes

“When you said to me— you know that morning when we decided to leave the city ....” I say wrapped around him and, unsticking my skin from his to adjust within his crossed legs in the bathtub, “what was it you said, Jörn? ....that you thought it was a mistake to have gone back to the city; do you remember that?”

I look up at him

he meets my eyes without faltering

and now, there is a moment there.... where something is said between us

with just eyes

he holds me there and

after a long moment says,
“I.... couldn’t go through with it, duva....” he whispers it to me with a kind of urgency. His eyes become ever more intense now as he stares into me drawing his brows .... then

he closes his eyes and presses his forehead up against mine

and neither of us move for just that instant

when he draws back to look at me again, I see that his eye lashes are wet and clumped together and his eyes have gone red

“What?” I ask in a whisper and reach for him staring back at him, “please, Jörn, tell me....”

“You were right not to trust me,” he says in a lowered voice

“No, Jörn....” I say

He shakes his head,
“..... I mean—you were right too about what you said that—I was ....trying to crack you —and .... had it been any other .... case .... but.... you.... And—I couldn’t— I just ....knew I could not do this ....with you— I knew what it would do....to crack you .... and I just.... I just knew that I couldn’t do that —to you....“ he stops and pulls me to him in a painful grip and presses his chin on top of my head and he says, in the tone of someone in confession

“I think I always had a feeling I .... wouldn’t be able to —go through with it....”

“Go through with what?” I ask

“Those times .... those chords we played together ....I knew because of some of your dreams —when you spoke in the night during one.... and from the old tapes of you; I suspected it had to do with something from around that time—that period of your life when he —your mother’s husband—had the safe crafted by the Dutchman ..... and I knew about the awards you won for the Beethoven solos....” he takes a deep breath and continues, “it.... was just a hunch, but I noticed the first time when we sat down to play ....  that.... the sequence of chords ....“ he shakes his head and hisses slightly, “.... my ‘associates’ ..... are not pleased with me, duva....” he sighs with a note of defeat and takes me by the shoulders to look at me as he continues,

“the evening at Lincoln Center— that night? It was a set up, a trap for that guy we caught and you were the bait. But really, I think it was a test, duva....for me.... !“ he raises one brow and measures my reaction to see if it registers, “but ....once I was getting ready to go on —suddenly I —just couldn’t go through with it —which is why I was in such a bad mood that day— so I tried to text you not to come .... remember? But you turned off your phone text alerts,” this all comes out in a rush now as he grips me

He pulls me to him and as he does so I can feel his heart beating rapidly through the warmth of his skin

but oddly .... I am not alarmed

instead —I feel a kind of ....relief

“Yes, you were very tense that day,” I say dazed and thoughtful as I remember  this now, “that is why —I muted the text alerts ....I’m sorry,” I tell him feeling guilty now and try to look up at him

“Duva— listen to me—do you hear what I have just told you?”

I pull free and look up at him— and see that careful barrier of tempered storm inside his eyes seems ready to burst free

“I heard you,” I say looking back at him and then I ask, “why? Why did you .... I mean ....”

“It was that last time —when you became sick when we were doing the chords together.... and —skid—I realized ..... I have been playing a game with myself about you....” he whispers this and shuts his eyes

“What game is that?” I ask

“Like a game of denial— as if my years living a dualistic lifestyle of ....compartmentalizing emotions.... gave me an edge on how to .... handle .... what was happening between us....”

“What was ....happening between us?” I repeat, “what do you mean by that, Jörn—how do you mean that?”

It has always been that he would always falter and look away whenever I directly dared him this way

But now he looks right at me

it occurs to me how different his face looks —without the armor

it occurs to me .... what is it? but I am caught by his look, the intensity of that stare within the sharp angles of his Nordic features that —captures me.... I reach to touch his face caught up in it

“Do you really need to ask me that, duva?” he replies in a deep whisper

But—his question baffles me

I don’t understand his meaning —only I see an expression I have never seen there and wonder if he is telling me something

which I fear

and maybe this is why I say, in a kind of daze, inappropriately, before thinking,

“I think I like your winter pale skin better than when you are tan,” and draw my index finger across his face

But he ignores this with a note of annoyance shaking his head,

“Duva.... ! do you understand how this changes everything?” he tells me

“How? Why—what are you talking about?” I ask

“Because —do you not understand?”

“No—yes....Yes.... I do —I think .... because —they are angry at you for ....? —what?” I ask because it is not fully clear still

“Because I chose to protect you —instead of what I was supposed to do,” he tells me

Electra’s dictionary film noir….. more from the secret shorts vault/(edjmmusechron) 25 March 2020

I go down the stairs, I walk in the shadows and watch him at his piano as he plays and watch the muscles of his back and shoulders that flex

and find myself swept into images of dreams I have known and seen so many times…. but only at such times as they choose to let me recall them …. and find now, as such, I remember this now …. from dreams.

It draws me out, as if it calls to me, this elusive and seductive sense; so familiar, so warm to behold and…. now as if summoned by this sense, I find a place to sit....and give up to as I float into its manifestations.  The charcoal smears softly in the pale light and comes alive on the sheet of sketch paper....

I know every shadow and angle of him by heart.... every crease of his face ....as if I put it all there myself.... how long I searched those dreams to see his face; to see his face ....again ....but it was always obscured in dream, the wind caught in his hair and cloak, blowing across his features

I put down the sketch pad and walk over to him as he plays and stand behind him at the piano  ..... I run my hands down his shoulders and back and kiss his neck and feel his hair fall loose against my lips as I take the cord from his hair. He stops playing.

I take his hands and pull them behind him....

but he lets me

and slowly wrap the cord around his wrists and tie them....


“Do you trust me?” I ask him and watch his eyes

He doesn’t say anything. He just watches me. When I kiss his mouth he shuts his eyes and gives into me as I kiss him. I move in front of him onto the piano bench and wrap around his hips and it is awhile.... before I move down to touch him.... and with hands, lips and mouth I feel him ....give into me