Thoughts within

 

The hardest part of present day life for me has been more about the prison of the perimeters 

and the loudness of the very negative society of the twenty-first century

one cannot escape it

I really don’t mind solitude; if I am to be honest, I prefer it

I do miss getting to travel

I need change or I go crazy 

which —may be .... I have gone, 

as I talk to myself here quite a lot. There is such a strangeness .... out there. I don’t know if it is the removal of physical interaction with members of society .... but people seem particularly “extreme” and brought to their lowest denomination 

What does a healthy minded person do to escape the perils of hostility and narrow minded crowd thinking 

as big as the world relatively is to me, it has begun to feel too small

I don’t want to be negative and I guess I come here to clear these thoughts of where I am being blind .... 

I don’t regret things I have walked away from but I do regret the disappointment ....

if philosophy is for those who can afford the time to, I do it when others sleep 

I guess because I fear my dreams 

Part 3 Of Walls and keys, noir a pirate’s legend; Electra’s dictionary (jm chronicles)

 

“Remember those walls I built?

“....I found a way to let you in 

“Burning through the darkest night

“Think I’m addicted to your light

”....Pray it don’t fade away....”

Song lyrics to song “Halo” —Beyoncé Knowles, Evan Kidd Bogart, Ryan B. Tedder

https://youtu.be/wkABWE-WUC8

Somebody’s here! somebody’s here..... Oh my god! what is that? What is that?—what is that banging? 

I watch the conveyor belt moving .... there is a barrel on it and it seems to be rolling and bumping into another one 

..... but no! there is a banging somewhere —it’s coming from somewhere .... somewhere else! 

I spin around searching the huge space I find myself in —oh god, I’m trapped! Did I just get myself locked in here? How do I get out of here? I glance up at the staircase where at the top some door slammed down that was what seemed like the wall behind the pantry shelves — which opened when I turned the key

but how do I open it from this side??? because that banging—there’s someone there! 

I move away from the gated office cage with the monitors and the tables and start to back up towards the stairs where I just came down

Wait.... wait.... I hear....I hear a voice! —shouting.... ! —Where is it coming from? —it’s shouting something —at me— they know I’m in here! I try to figure out where it’s coming from.... muffled —like through a wall. A wall? I turn around a few times confused because .... it sounds familiar .... it sounds....like— I walk back towards the conveyor belt— it sounds like, “duva!” 

I stop and freeze....

Where is it coming from? I look around 

“Duva!”

Yes, I did hear that

I look for the flashlight again on my phone and flick it towards the extremities of the vast darkness 

The banging again! And with it,

“duva, open the door!”

The door?—oh.... the door.....I can see it now because of the light from my phone—that.... must be where he is....

Why do I feel like such an idiot now?

I walk across the cement floor and see the door clearly now. I notice it has a door handle that has a locked button..... as Jörn is obviously banging it from the other side .... he must have got locked out

I turn the handle and the button pops open

Jörn swings through the door as if catapulted through and lands on the floor 

He looks a bit odd.... oddly pale and .... his clothes are odd too.... he’s sweaty and his hair is a bit matted and stringy —like he’s been there awhile, maybe?

I look where he’s come from which is dark as pitch, but some light from the basement and my phone allow me to notice he was at the top of another staircase

He pulls himself up from the floor in a stumble

“Where does that go?” I ask

before I realize Jörn has blood on him

“Oh my god!” I grab his hand and look up at him as my heart begins to pound in my head— there is something wrapped around his hand.... a purple scarf —to stop the blood

“It’s ok, I just sliced it trying to jam open the door—where the fuck have you been!?”

The last part he yells at me

I look at him confused,

“what?”

He grabs my phone to look at it,

“oh, you never got these?” he waves his messages at me

“I....” I take my phone back, yanking it from his grip—but I decide not to continue because I’m afraid of the look on his face 

“Do you never check your phone for messages? Or don’t you know how it works? Let me guess—you turned your phone off because of that fucking clown again?”

“You were supposed to be back three days ago! You never called!” I shriek at him because now I’m angry at him all over again 

“Well, if you checked your messages once in awhile you would know why!” he shouts this and it echoes 

I watch him walk towards the cage now and.... only now .... really take in what he looks like.... what he’s wearing....What is he wearing? a silk purple scarf....? and what looks like a slick black rubber —jumpsuit ....? or—? could be....it’s hard to guess ....maybe it’s suppose to be like a motorcycle jacket? —over—a skintight jumpsuit....It’s got the rivets ....or.... are they studs.... 

I half run, as I’m becoming a little sickeningly, curiously amazed with wonder, so I stop him on his way inside the cage grabbing him by his upper arm to pull him around— as.... I see he’s wearing a fishnet shirt underneath and— I grab his hand, as something just caught my eye,

“red nailpolish?” I look up at him, “Jörn.... is there something you want to tell me?”

He almost laughs but his smile stops as he shakes his head at me— because now I can see he seems more than a little bit peeved at me and is trying not to lose it; I know this by how his nostrils are flared and the muscles in his jaw but he keeps his eyes cool on me as he says with a note of sarcasm,

“I am hoping you have some nail varnish removal.”

as if that explains 

I take a step back from him and drop my grip on his arm—step back and look at him. I don’t know what to think —if I’m angry....? am I ....? .... well.... so.... instead I show him my own set of fingernails and say,

“the only paint I use goes on canvas, in case you haven’t noticed!” I tell him starting to feel uncomfortable now and more than a little perturbed, “why are you dressed like you’ve either come from a Rocky Horror Picture Show party or an appointment as a dominatrix?”

He starts laughing now as he walks straight into the cage ....as if he does it every day. Well, maybe he does—but as if he does it every day with me.... because I realize he doesn’t seem at all surprised to find me there

and then like a deranged person I snap, “thanks for missing my birthday....”

I decide now to start looking at his text messages ....

Wow.... there’s .....a lot.... of them.... it seems I’ve missed .... quite a lot..... 

I find there’s much more to take in all at once—it’s like a graphic novel of War and Peace

and.... there’s one that’s a photo.... which actually is a photo of that weird drawing upstairs .... the one drawn in black marker—the rectangular light switch drawing —that must have .... actually been.... drawn there for me.... as .... there is another pic and this is actually a pic of the key hanging on —the peg.... with messages telling me why.... and how to find the Allen key to open the.... 

“You didn’t see this?” he asks me now from inside the cage where he’s standing pointing to something on one of the tables 

I start to come closer to see what he’s pointing to

“No I....” I start to say

until I realize .... he’s taking a bottle of champagne from inside a little mini refrigerator I had not noticed before 

and he’s got two champagne glasses —suddenly I feel like a total loser because the thing he’s pointing to on the table looks like a gift meant for me

I go over to it as I whisper “shit,” to myself 

It’s a black satin pouch with something obviously in it, concealed with a long velvet drawstring green ribbon pulled closed

“Oh....” I just stare at it

“You didn’t see it....” he says 

I hear him shut the little door to the mini fridge and the scrape of his shoe as he walks over with the two glasses 

I look up at him

He gives me a sarcastic smile and then pops open the champagne bottle without saying anything more 

“I’m sorry....” I say

He clinks the glasses,

“you don’t want to know what kind of day I just had,” he sighs heavily and starts drinking out of one of the glasses, “skål,” he says, “and happy birthday—it’s still one minute to midnight, so, I did make it, duva.”

I take the glass he’s handing to me

“I don’t have a lot of time though— I hope you still have the key?” he walks over to.... oh, there’s a sink there? He starts washing his hand that is bloody 

“So—what? What key? Why were you stuck down there? Did you lock yourself out?”

“You were supposed to have opened it four hours ago—if you read your messages....” he says, adding the last part under his breath, “tell me you have the key, duva?”

“What key?”

“The one—“

I look at him—as he points to the top of the stair case I came from 

“Just to let you know— when you pull the cord up there— it releases the ‘guillotine’ door. It gives you about ten seconds first .... so, I hope you have the key?” He asks with a subtle inclination of his head and a sardonic look of warning in those startling vampire eyes that at this moment blaze with an iridescent fire 

“Oh....” I nod as I think about that .... “hmm....” 

“Duva....” he sighs losing his patience 

“Why, is there no other way out of here? Why would you—“ but I stop suddenly, “oh—“

He looks worried now and moves closer 

“Oh?” he asks me

I start to smile as I say,

“Oh, please tell me why you are dressed like that?”

I see he’s about lose it now,

“Really, this isn’t funny—we’re already behind on time as it is, please, tell me you have the key!”

It only has just occurred to me, I put it in my other back pocket of my jeans as I feel for it now and show it to him,

“I have it here! Where are you going? You just got here!”

“No, I didn’t just get here, duva—I’ve been stuck on that stair case with bats for the last three hours trying to message you!”

“Oh.... well.... where are you going and— why didn’t you have a key for the other side?”

Jörn doesn’t seem in the mood to answer that but he takes the key from me and goes straight over to something else by one of the computers where there seems to be a network of devices .... one of which .... that .... the key must also .... be used to initiate something —as I watch him turn it in some lock, I hear that sound again.... it’s that humming sound .... and then after that there is a loud click .... and a motor going as it seems to have activated another conveyor belt

“What’s it doing?” I ask him

But he’s watching the monitors now. He goes over to one of the computers and starts typing things and then he starts turning on more monitors. He picks up a remote control and taps a button and I follow his gaze to one of the monitors he’s looking at. He’s making the camera focus closer 

He turns to me and says,

“this button pulls you in closer,” he says, “this—goes further away, see? To move it around you do this....” he waits as he watches my face. Then he says, “you got that? Show me what I just told you,” he says now

He hands the remote me

“Why?” I take it from him, “why, Jörn? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you are going to have to do this,” he says now

“What! Why? I am? What is this? What is this all about? Is this some kind of bomb? Are you a terrorist?”

Now he starts laughing at me,

“No! —why the fuck would you think that?” and apparently he thinks it’s a great joke because he can’t stop laughing over it, “and if I was, do you really think I would ask you— Miss Bambi over here—to set off a bomb,” he’s laughing at this —maybe enjoying the thought too much but then checking his watch suddenly, seriously now, he says, “show me what I just told you how to do.”

I sigh giving in, noticing his hand is still bleeding,

“this pans it and this goes in and out.....” and I do it for him as I look at the monitor 

“Ok, good....” he says and waves me to the computers, “a few more things— and I wrote everything down here for you, but I’m going over it with you; you’ll have time to read through my notes as it’ll take a few hours to get there....”

“Get where?” I ask

He shakes his head,

“duva, there’s no time now— had you unlocked the door four hours ago, I could have explained everything but as it is, I’m going to be speeding all the way to Maine— there’s a coffee maker down here, so I suggest you make some as —it’ll be a long night, the bathroom is through there—“

“Maine!”

He was walking back to check something else by another monitor but stops to look at me with a guilty expression. He sighs and comes over to me. He puts his hand on my upper arm and leans against the table by where I’m still standing next to his gift for me,

“look, I meant to explain everything to you but— remember when you mentioned to me about moving somewhere? You said Amsterdam or Maine— you think I never listen to you, I know, but—I decided both would be perfect so .... I’ve .... needed to set up where to store a few things .... it’s a cover....” he indicates his clothes, “I remember —too—you told me you used to manage a boutique in New York— I need you to run —I bought a business, they happen to have three shops; one in Amsterdam, one in Portland and one in Stockholm—“

“What kind of business?” I look at his clothes, “god, not an S and M leather place— I didn’t run that kind of boutique.”

He laughs,

“no, it’s rubber, or pleather; vegan friendly, I thought of you, but right now it’s mainly online since the pandemic, but hopefully, it’ll go back to being open because the Portland one has a club in the evenings which will be perfect for my cover....”

“Your cover?”

But he just gives me a wicked kind of grin 

“And yours, duva....” he winks at me, “it specializes in .... unisex clothes —I mean—oh, I almost forgot, tomorrow you have to call someone about the website— I sent you the number, your name is ‘Elton’—“

“Elton? You’re kidding! Why am I Elton?”

But he goes back to check the monitor 

“Oh and the boutique is called ‘The Cabaret’.... “ he starts typing something and I watch him for awhile 

Then I say,

“Elton is not exactly a macho kind of name—am I supposed to be a cross dresser too?”

“Well, I had to work with what you got, no offense,” he laughs

“And who are you? Eunice or Jonie?”

“Greta,” he says and comes over to me, “I have to keep Stina off my trail, I needed a good disguise and this is what I came up with. She’d never think to look for a tranny in a rubber shop who does cabaret shows— I need a cover to shift the gold across transatlantic and this just seems like the best plan.”

Evidently ....I need to read my messages ..... I am thinking 

“Is that all there is to it?” I ask 

“I think you’d know; it’s not like you’ve never experienced this .... side,” he gathers my hair into his hand and pulls it aside from my neck and kisses me there, leaving chills, he says, “wash up for me,” and puts his mouth back along my neck and sinks in his teeth, then says into my ear, “I’ll make it up to you.”

....

And it is later, after more instructions and after he leaves when I am left there to think about it all

and find myself staring at the gift still wrapped and hidden in satin and drawn closed in the velvet ribbon 

I decide to open it now and pull open the gathered fabric

There is a silver box inside 

a silver box like from an expensive jewler’s shop ..... I look at the design on the box

emblazed is a kind of branding emblem of what appears like a warrior shield and within it in gold lettering:

JM 

Smeden

uteslutande platina, uteslutande det bästa

Stockholm, Sverige

I open the box. It is a necklace.... it looks like a locket. It glows silver gray-blue in the light. But I realize it is shaped something like—a safe.... with a key that dangles like a charm.... it looks actually like —another safe ....actually

I realize there is a note inside the box folded up

It says

~here is my riddle: what fosters hope; something I long disavowed; so what fosters that? trust? where you stand reading this you see I have and if we have reached this far then this is hope you can~ 

....And below the printed words there is a drawing, a much better drawing than the one on the wall of the light switch; this one is of a lock

I look again at the box....

JM 

Smeden

uteslutande platina, uteslutande det bästa

Stockholm, Sverige

I decide to Google it.... 

JM Smeden, Stockholm, Sverige ....

    “exclusive designer artist jeweler metalsmith Jörn Milström who works exclusively in platinum, putting out new pieces only once every few years that auction at priceless amounts. Not much is known of this reclusive philanthropist beyond his involvement in various worldwide orchestras, recently affiliated with the New York Philharmonic, Milström’s musical family ....” I stop there

and I think now.... the pirate ....

how much about him do I really know....? 

and yet.... don’t I ....? in my gut feel  .... I do know .... Smeden

and so I think, maybe I was wrong about one thing, though, I think now .... about ....Beatrice  



Electra’s dictionary; Of walls and keys; noir a pirate’s legend part 2 (jm chronicles)

 

I follow the humming sound which takes me in the direction of what would have once been the kitchen’s side door.... but it is not the door that the sound was coming from. It was the wall which had faced the door, and usually camouflaged by the corner wall that is the partition through the small vestibule that always seemed like a narrow pantry because of the shelves. In fact, the shelves are what kept the wall inconspicuous, when it was there.... because that wall has disappeared!

I walk over to it now.... what.... the.... fuck....

What-the-fuck..... in fact I say this out loud a few times .... now .... as I stare at.... blankness— or rather— blackness; as there is now nothing behind the old beat up wooden shelving.... it is .... like some kind of empty —?

But it’s too dark to quite see, actually.... I need more light....

I search for a light switch. That might actually work, would be helpful.... and spot a dangling pull that seems to hang by a lightbulb up by the narrow opening behind the the shelves.... 

“....what-the-fuck,” I say again out loud but under my breath because I feel strange —what will I find? I wonder if I even want to know .... and I feel breathless now and dizzy .... but, I know there is no way I am going to turn around and just head back to the barnhouse now, and pretend as if there is nothing weird going on. Already, I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, as mad as I feel about Jörn missing my birthday 

This is the very thought that prompts me to duck under the bottom shelf in order to reach for the string that will illuminate what has been behind this wall. 

Yes, my mind is racing— I’m thinking: this must be how he gets to the house....? Maybe? Does it have an underground catacombs? I suddenly stop.... I mean, who knows what’s lurking in there.... he’s a fucking spy! What if he stores dead bodies.... ?

Do I really think that?

Well, who knows.... I purposely avoid creepy crime thrillers because of shit like this.... 

Should I go back?

Unless— no, wait, didn’t I once hear Lisa say the place belonged to an architect? And before that some farming family who .... had a distillery! She said they hid it in the basement because it was during prohibition!

I feel better remembering this now and take a deep breath before I reach to pull the light cord. But as soon as I pull it, the bulb immediately blows in a flash of light.

“Shit!” I hiss —and it echoes....

What the fuck.... ?

Only now do I remember I have my phone in my back pocket

I had it turned off.... because of Chris .... the texts .... and I guess, too— because I am more than just a little pretty pissed at Jörn

It takes awhile to locate the “on” button .... and awhile for it to boot up.... 

during which time the damp chill reaches from the nether regions beyond what ever has been existing behind this wall all this— which smells dank and the air has a definite chill that seems to breeze across me as I stand there waiting to see.

In a flash of the phone powering on....

I happen to find .... there are half a dozen or more text messages....

no, actually more....

possibly about a dozen. Maybe more. And quite a lot of phone calls, apparently too, that I’ve missed....

Shit....

only, I find I’m more curious to know —and suddenly more glad to distract myself with what’s up —here—

I opt to ignore the .... yelling messages .... and search for the flashlight app

I get only as much as a glance to realize I am at the top of a staircase when I drop my phone

and the door slams behind me with a defining ~click~

leaving me in total darkness ....as I hear my phone land somewhere down there 

shit.... 

Well there is nothing to do but start groping in the dark. I get back onto my hands and knees but very carefully because the steps are narrow and slippery; I use the wall to guide me down in the darkness until I land with my knees safely on the top step. As I start to move down the stairs my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. This is when I start to see there is a bit of light glowing from further down, and as I move towards it I hear more sounds of kinds of humming; like the sound of motorized electrical things. I notice too that my hands have gotten filthy —but then I  spot my phone on the bare and gray cement floor .... as a chill goes by me. I land onto the bottom and stand up now then I quickly bend down for my phone

Only I glance around me before looking at what the text messages are about

“What.... the.... fuck....” because I find myself unable to come up with anything to explain what I’m looking at

There are tv monitors in various places.... this is where the light was coming from.... 

I look around some more .... barrels .... lots of barrels..... a complexity of.... what looks like conveyor belts.... and rows — about twelve — all lined up.... with wooden barrels ....

I look back at the tv monitors .... 

         they are inside the cage 

The cage.... what is that? 

I walk over to ....?

Oh, it looks like some kind of.... office? What is going on down here? I walk over to this .... cage— a metal enclosed cubicle lined with three desks— or long tables.... with boxes .... some stacked, some open.... filing cabinets.... packing equipment; flattened cardboard boxes, rolls of packing tape, eco-friendly packing peanuts.... computers .... cameras!!!!

Shit! 

I’m being watched!

There’s a camera right on me with a red light flashing!

I look at the monitors from where all the light is coming from..... what is that? I walk over to what it seems to be showing. Oh.... it’s spanning.... and lighting in surveillance .... one seems to be some railroad tracks somewhere and .... it takes awhile to understand what the other is recording .... until I notice the ripples and how the light touches them before it occurs to me it’s water waves....

Why would he be filming water and railroad tracks?

Suddenly I hear a loud noise and jump! Did I hear a scream or was that me? No, it’s the conveyor belt! It starts moving now!

Oh God! 

Oh my god.... oh my god.... 

Oh my god—someone’s coming

Electra’s dictionary: Of walls and keys; noir, a pirate’s legend part 1 (jm chronicles)

31/August/2020

the fine line between diary and Noir 

There has been such a heaviness lately  .... 

and something somehow off between Jörn and myself .... 

and now his comings and goings  .... and there are so many things ..... left unspoken between us.

Things I wish .... that he would say .... and I guess do

and this sense of something that feels not right seems to consume me

unless it is just me — like how I know I push away.... 

 .... maybe it is the reason and this method has just worked to riddle me 

but there is something between Jörn and I 

 I can’t place it ....

and with it an uneasy feeling of exposure .... 

this feeling like he has gotten through some crack I ....never expected him to find 

and too —Jörn’s missions of late have become ever more mysterious; they have left me to wonder more and more about who he is in alliance with and .... still, even though in the end, mostly I find myself concluding that .... he seems mostly in allegiance to himself.... but this thought does not, however, bring me to believe that he is like any kind of mercenary either; no I would not think that either, really, you see, because I do see—he does have morals, and, as I have found, like, how I have seen in his actions towards his own family, he is devoutly loyal to them so, he does have his own high standard of ethics, I have seen myself.... even as he would not broadcast this; he would rather keep everyone guessing for reasons only he knows

He left some time about a week ago expecting to be back by now and as he is not, I suppose I guess I’m .... disappointed

there have only been short messages by text from him that are so evasive .... to leave me wondering 

and maybe I must bolt the walls 

and beware the vampire eyes 

and so I spend a few days avoiding thoughts of him and driving aimlessly, as this time he has left the car with me, and also wanting to avoid people but today I find I drive to the trail that we went to that day and decide anyway to get out to hike it 

and it makes me think of that day.... and I start to think about that odd thing that happened that day. When it was so hot.... and how lightheaded it made me .... and how ever since that ....thing that happened I .... yes! I realize .... that is the day I noticed .... the change 

it was after; like something different ..... but was it me or him?

 .....

I stop to think about this and sit in the exact spot we were at that day. I try to think. What happened? 

Today it is less hot and a there is a breeze as I think to clear my mind.

And instead decide to free my thoughts from things. 

The world even. 

Out here alone it is almost possible. Off the radar where here I can pretend I’m not a part of that world where it seems the inmates are running the asylum these days 

.... I would so much rather be out among trees and tall grass where even the brutality of nature I trust more than humans and their nature. 

*****

But

returning to the world is unavoidable because the Adirondaks gets dangerous when you can’t see your way in the dark

When I return later, though, I find I feel so caged .... and pace the barnhouse..... and I feel overwhelmingly claustrophobic and find too that I’m  — actually angry

Yes at Jörn.... because ok it is my birthday .... 

And maybe I’m being childish, I mean so what? Right? who really wants to celebrate getting older anyway, but ....still I feel angry at him .... for not bothering to be here

so i guess that’s why I go to the gutted farm house as if I’m about to murder someone and nearly  kick the door down 

and I walk right past my mediums and ignore my painting with the table of my clutter of brushes..... as I am in a wild frenzy, and I’m clearly losing my wits, so I am now madly searching the shelves as if looking for evidence for something 

like what? I don’t know 

maybe to see if there is anything more like of his cryptic receipts lying around .... but of course by now I am almost completely enraged. And unfortunately I find nothing more, really, as the shelves are mostly bare besides some cans of plaster and besides that it is a little grimy and dusty, it is all quite neat and clearly visible; all in order —but then.... something suddenly catches my eye I guess I never noticed. That key? ....I stop in my rise of this strange hysteria as ....I notice it hung on a peg ....I don’t think it was always there—? I decide it seems a bit new as it looks shiny as if just cut by a key master or— do I imagine that?

So I turn around and start wildly looking for things to give me an idea of what it goes to.

And now my thoughts go to that day with that woman and that Smulagan guy....  

Why am I thinking about that day? Because wasn’t it that day when they came to the house  ....it was when he had just returned that time ....when they said he was seen at the airport.... yes, that’s what it....was.... because I remember wondering ....

How did he get to the house without coming through the back? 

Which I am only remembering now— why....? 

I’d totally forgotten this till just now....

And my heart is pounding in my head for no reason but .... just a weird feeling

and I start searching the walls for—what? 

What am I searching for? Cracks in it, hidden panels ....? ....and .....I search the floor planks too.... cracks in the the floor.... and then go through to the gutted kitchen....like a maniac now as I now search the parts under the sink, and by now I am covered in dust and filth but I find don’t really care .... and get down on my hands and knees looking at every joining angle to the wainscotting and crawling over ants and dead bugs — shit! I get a splinter— which hurts —as it goes deep in my hand, gross blood, I hate blood ....and I have to get up to wash now and work it out

What am I doing? I think. I’m crazy, I must be....

I have to question my wild state. What is wrong with me? This is stupid, I’m in rewind if my life with Chris, it must be because he’s been texting me all day ....  stop myself and calm down ..... forget this .... go back to the house and take a bath and just fuck everyone 

And Jörn ....? I mean —he tells me to get divorced yet.... he’s still with what’s her name....

Fuck birthdays

—I wash my hands in the sink  as if to wash him off me and then turn around to lean against the edge of the sink and shake my head mostly angry with myself then

But .... then.... I glance up

And something catches my eye.  I notice something 

How long has that been there? 

I go over to where my table is with my brushes and buckets.... drawn on the wall.... Like in black ink. Scratched in. No, it’s new. I would have noticed.... I think? Like a very crude drawing that.... is not very good, actually, but that looks like....? What is that? it looks like maybe it could be —what? like a drawing of —is that supposed to be a drawing of a light switch? It is more like black marker I guess; a long rectangle with a lever thing it looks like, maybe. Weird.... but it makes me think—remembering now something else. By the sink. There is a switch that doesn’t go to anything but it seemed to be like it should be for a garbage disposal but if you flip it nothing happens. Which I remember I found kind of peculiar especially because after I asked Jörn he seemed oddly unconcerned. That sudden thought makes me go to it now. First flip it up and down again a few times. Nothing. So I I tap it, press on it to hear if it’s hollow ....,then search for a screw driver. 

But there’s nothing around; not even a toolbox around.... so I try my fingernail  —but that doesn’t work at all, as it tears my nail. Is this nuts? I’m crazy. I’ve obviously lost my mind again. What am I doing anyway? I wonder.... only no, no—that drawing .... it actually —looks seems new as if freshly drawn which I guess I should wonder mire about but I don’t 

I mean, instead I’m thinking —I would have seen it before as it’s right by my brushes and 

I think about ....Jörn’s casual shrug when I asked as if to change the subject when I had wondered about the switch, like what’s it for.... 

I find an Allen key in the drawer by where Andreas kept his stash and go back to the switch plate and start unscrewing the little screws ..... my heart pounding ..... as — well

I unscrew it and —remove the plate and 

I see what is behind it.... a lock....like the kind you put in a door 

So now I run to get the key on the wall and try it..... and yes, it fits.... it turns.... and ....I hear a sound, like a quiet hum —like the kind of sound that .... garage door makes as it opens.... but .....this is not a garage door

om de te dragen het fluwelen gewaad van de roet

pass the door, through the curtain willow vines and do not mourn what never was, instead be glad who she was is no more 

it seems the smog seems not to let the light; what if, alas, we are thus caught, and naught to be? the fate is cast within the din eternally and forever thus held in purgatory ....

Electra’s dictionary; Regret (noir; jm muse chronicles)

 

“Down the way, the road’s divided

Paint me the places you’ve seen

Those who know what I don’t know

Refer to the yellow, red and green

Maybe he’s caught in the legend

Maybe he’s caught in the mood

Maybe these maps and legends

Have been misunderstood ....”

                                                                — song lyrics to ‘Maps and Legends’ by R.E.M.

https://youtu.be/kXVeHjj_odw

“What fosters hope?” Jörn asks me 

His question at first baffles me

it is when I find him staring out the window into the blackness of the night

having only just now entered the room

I had bad dreams

it was a marathon of dreams, as it were; 

like several at once ....overlapping each other and mixing .... as if my mind was split in several sections 

then images spliced.... then as if they were copied and pasted 

a jumble of angst ridden images

and parts repeating .... during it I knew why. They made sense. But I became aware it was too much to let my conscious self keep that door open wide. There were parts from childhood... and parts from .... those other memories .... as I write of them here and share and I guess I take for granted .... woven through these scenes  ..... Those dreams —the ones that make me wonder about the immortal soul; those  emotional images that I can’t reconcile but have imposed themself for so long now in my life most especially during troubled times and through very deep sleep. This time they all wove together with these other ones about what I’ve been writing lately about as —they have lately reared into my thoughts from events; my current regrets that haunt me .... now so much .... things like the unavoidable.... inevitable .... entangling sorrow

“Love,” Jörn says academically answering his own question

and his one word holds me there 

as if I never heard the word before; indeed it sounds foreign .... coming from him

is it because I never heard him say the word before?

Or is it how .... he says it

He holds the sheers by one finger as he stands by the window thoughtfully .... he’s been lost in thought. So now as he says it....

     ....well, I see the artist that he is; the musician .... and I see his introspective mood; the same look of mood as I have seen whenever I watch him at his piano doing his composing. Working through a puzzle ....it is like; how he goes over and over a sequence ....the short brackets of movement in threes. And then he goes back over them to play them all in sequences ....together; repeating themes, what seems has become the soundtrack of us

and as I am caught there looking at him my own thoughts are still tangled in the chaotic place I woke from

“You were dreaming,” he says this now, “I heard you.”

But my mind is incoherent of the meanings behind what he’s saying 

as if I need to translate —caught between the worlds 

and any or all of what to deduct from his topic of conversation 

“I’m sorry —what?” I say suddenly overwhelmed as I fear I must have missed something rather important and have to go to sit down on the couch, “what time is it?” I say this even as I wear a watch and realize it is still the middle of the night. But I didn’t hear music. No that is not what woke me this time. He was not playing his piano

I had spoken to Gerald earlier

     as I have been troubled 

some by these dreams —but it occurs to me now that instead of ‘those’ dreams being the cause of the disturbance I have been feeling.... instead, they seem to intervene and recall me back to safety these last several times. And in fact, I realize, they always did.... they present themselves during troubled times, I have said.... but they are not the cause of what troubles, no—but they are more like a raft over troubled waters that act to pull me out as ....I feel I’m drowning 

they may be sad but only for the way it ends up but .... not the other parts .... instead they are —

“Love,” he says again and lets go of the curtain sheer and as he turns to look at me

I look at him now. Without my usual masks of defense shields because at this moment I don’t feel afraid to search his face for answers. And his gaze back at me is open and direct. But he says nothing more. It is just his eyes.

Then he moves over to look at the pages of his sheet music with all his scribbled notes of writing and as he does this he says to me, 

“you know, the reason I rework the opera—duva.... is because I am trying to —recreate ....the memory.... the dove,” he sighs pausing just a moment —then, with a quick, heavy impatience as he taps a stack of sheet paper to make them neatly line up together; it is one of his odd habits, and again, hastily, without pausing he continues, “I’ve been having them too, you know that, I’ve told you this before—it is what prompts the musical scores, my inspiration I guess, you could say, and I realized, you see— it is love; that is what has been —that nagging —that haunting—I mean why —?— but then, I realize! isn’t that really the basis of —well ....all masterpieces.... why they stand out in our memory; their brilliance.... All the great works....” and he draws his brows and shakes his head then picks up a sheet of his music to correct one of his notes and says to me with the need of driving his point, “what fosters hope.... this is what has been the missing element —no, not missing, I just did not really think about it as I’ve been so frustrated trying to get it all right....”his face lights now because by saying this now he seems to understand it. Now

And here he stops

Oh. Yes. I do get it. I get what he means

But then....

Oh.... I think.... 

oh.... and let out a breath .... suddenly .... maybe disappointed 

I shake my head and go back to my own troubled thoughts; the dreams and my earlier conversation —

“I spoke to Gerald earlier today,” I blurt out suddenly 

“I know,” he says

“You know?” and look at him behind my hands as I press into the tension in my forehead 

He walks over,

“yes,” he says and smiles as looks at me

I make a gesture; getting annoyed so he smiles again,

“I called him too....” he waits to watch my expression, “that’s when he told me he’d spoken to you earlier.”

“Oh.... so why didn’t you say anything about it before?”

He shrugs,

“we were both busy talking about other things. Remember? You. Me. About that shipment you know about now.... For you the photographer about the penthouse and the budget cuts you have to do because of —“

“Oh—Ilya, yes....” I realize he’s right and mumble, “the pandemic has taken over everything.... well....” I start to focus now as the fogginess of my mind clears a little. Maybe that is what caused the dreams, I start to realize.... feeling trapped and impotent, caught in such limbo 

I think again about what he said when I walked into the room

What fosters hope.... ?

And I think again now .... of what he is saying 

I look up at him ....  it was something that Gerald said to me on the phone .... how —being at— well what he called ‘ground zero’ .... seeing things first hand, not read as some words across media sources. The front lines 

He said,

“after people have faced death some people choose to pretend it didn’t happen, they need the security of some safe return to their version of reality.”

I remember reading somewhere once that often as a reaction to being through something violent and life changing event some people become excessively extravagant and spend excess amounts of money  —Louise Bryant, I think it was, who spent lots of money on clothes and shoes after her life had been dramatically endangered during her experiences in the Russian revolution 

Because now I think I do understand what maybe I had not before 

“Sometimes, you know, when you meet again— ‘unfinished business’ does not have to mean disaster,” Gerald said to me before, “sometimes it is to heal.”

So I remember this now as I look over at Jörn as he is still busy tapping his papers in that absently nervous way he does

“Is that what it was he felt when he first saw her, Jörn—after the dove flew away?” I ask him

He looks quizzically at me not getting my meaning 

But instead I ask,

“what did you talk about with Gerald?”

But he is still thinking about what I first asked 

he blinks in a way that seems to pull him back to the present,

“I asked him if he’d known of people who meet again in order to —fix a mistake.”

chased by demons; Brave noir World, a pirate’s hoard (jm chronicles)

 

my mood has been  ....odd

as the strangeness of recent has heavily hung 

and especially from the past week

sometimes it seems that I have arrived at some alien world and in another time apart from time altogether; people talk about a “new norm” but I don’t think the meaning they first thought that meant is ....what will be what anyone was or has been expecting. And ....I suppose it is just that I can feel these things. It is hard not to absorb the climate of this hardly brave but —is— definitely a most strange new world’s current atmosphere .... as I quietly internalize from a corner within 

For yet, as well, particular to me and .... my life....even so.... more recent old personal matters in my life come to ghoulishly haunt me 

with the same old teeth and claws bared

and I suppose I often must say through the dictionary ....to, I guess, acknowledge through codes what seems to never otherwise get to be expressed overtly; this little voice must stay quiet; always remain .... silent.... unnoticed and unseen 

So inward, as always, I go to retreat....

****

As Jörn has been away a few days now —on one of his usual secret missions

and at first I go to my studio—the old gutted farmhouse but then.... find disturbing things there and.... spend a few days not even knowing what I do

as I don’t really feel in the right mood to paint

Instead I just stare at the pirate in my painting and .... hear that sea 

hear it crashing .... the waves.... and think about the dreams .... like those that first came through; like the sounds of the drumming, the horses hooves beating and trampling the earth

I look up at him and see from the dream

consider him.... and look at the boats on the shore and what else has to go there.... fix the foam and the swords, the shadows .... as I see the scene alive from dream before me; and as always my works have their own life; they tell me what to put, what to write; they speak their own life to me, like I’m just the vehicle, the medium 

I look too at something folded in my hand 

 .... as I have found more strange things like some evidence Jörn has left uncharacteristically around.... 

and so disturbs my contemplation.... 

and as I know I am not meant to ask him questions, 

this one sided double wall, 

only ....I do wish he was more forthcoming

there is so much I wish he would say.... so much about him I want to know ....beyond that stare

and now....

what he has left neatly folded together under a large can of plaster I spotted sticking out as it was wedged in an out of the way wall shelf ....

It is so baffling to me.... 

Which is why, instead, I now find the farmhouse oppressive with whatever mysteries it keeps me from 

I go to the sauna —the separate little shed, that is actually cool because it is well insulated from outside and also because it is without any heating by the wood burning stove because it has been too hot. 

That now makes it seem almost more like an outer space ship or more like a space waiting station, sitting in the backyard, overlooking the forest beyond; especially as the interior, with its minimalist starkness and pale wood ....it stands in dramatic contrast viewing the jungle of trees it presides over

I look at the papers in my hand: one pink, one green and one white ....trying to figure out what he is up to  because—

it is more perplexing receipts .... dated over a week; one seems to be for a shipping cruiser— ? another for jet fuel? and the third—

But I get interrupted by a sudden burst which causes me to start 

and nearly jump out of my skin!

“Why have you had your phone turned off?!!” he nearly shouts this at me

“Jörn! My god, you scared me!” I gasp at him trying to catch my breath as I jump to my feet

He is holding my phone and waving it at me as if to demand an answer 

I notice he’s gotten some sun and he’s wearing his running shoes but his jeans have smears and some mud, or grease, like his shirt

“I’ve been calling you since yesterday—I thought something happened to you!” Now he does shout at me

“Chris started harassing me again,” I turn my back as I explain 

“Chris? Did he come here?” Jörn starts to look around, ”has he been here?”

“No— he’s now in Michigan! ....actually—“ I almost laugh now

“Michigan, I thought you said he lives in New York?” Jörn tries to make sense of what I’m saying 

“ —ha—!” I force a laugh at that, “yes, he’s visiting there —and! Ha! guess who he’s staying with—? You won’t believe this! the other ex! Crazy, right? like— what are the two of them up to—? Right? you know, one Butchers and the other is just Lew-d—Chris started sending me texts at two in the morning Monday night! Two in the morning! a fucking barrage of them! —they didn’t stop! which is why I turned my phone off —you see? This is normal for him; it’s how he gets—he just doesn’t stop, he’s relentless!”

I can hear in Jörn’s voice he’s irritated as he asks me,

“Why don’t you just block him?” 

“Because I don’t trust him, you know? I need to know what he’s up to because —he’s there, you see? and staying where my daughter is—! it’s just madness! Isn’t it? And—you know, I had this feeling— I suspected ....back in May I mean.... you know—that Chris was behind what happened with my daughter —her letter to me— remember? especially when he admitted to me that he had been talking to her— you know? he is like that.... sneaky and manipulating and ....people don’t even realize he’s wrapping them up— he’s a gaslighting professional nightmare....“ but I lose steam exhausted of it then and just suddenly don’t have the energy to go on and stop talking— giving up because .... it’s just not worth it anymore 

yeah.... I stop and give up my tirade defeated .... because it’s done isn’t it? I’m done, anyway— as by now it is a dead horse 

and I won’t beat that dead horse anymore; those 

because ....I think I have finally learned not to give it power, not anymore—especially not to him .... I long ago walked away, didn’t I?  just let it swing there over my head like old broken Christmas lights ....and really there is nothing more to lose, is there? they’ve already taken everything 

“Why don’t you just divorce him already?” Jörn asks me in a tone revealing he is tired of it too

“....yes I am done with it.....I had enough— with all of it actually.... them—! ....all of them....You know.... “ and I say as I think this, “sometimes people just choose to blame others for everything instead of facing their own truths— have you ever noticed that? They look for scapegoats all the time— that is their pattern all their life and —I guess I am tired of taking that role for everyone— finally .... you know, they don’t realize that they are the toxic ones —and not the ones who they accuse others for being —but, whatever.... never mind.... I wasn’t even going to tell you about this garbage but — since you asked so....” 

and then I look down at what I dropped,

“Actually, wait— Jörn, I have a question for you—“ and now I pick up the receipts I dropped, “why are you shipping gold to Sweden?”

But he just stands there looking at me blankly ....

I think a bit surprised. It occurs to me I actually caught him off guard 

“And quite a lot, I must add!” I look again at the receipt

I notice he runs his hand through his hair now as he thinks ....before he reaches for the receipts to grab from me 

and then quickly with a glibness he says,

“I buy gold all the time— sometimes that’s how I get paid —do you think I’d just keep it laying around?”