Dwi angen ti.  Nid wyf yn iawn

llongddrylliad emosiynol

a gwrando ar y ddwy gân ABBA newydd…. pam ydw i'n crio mor galed?

 

roedd fel taflu arian ataf yn ffordd i'm calon.  fel dwi'n rhyw fath o fachwr….  Yn y canlyniad….  Rwy'n prosesu'r tonnau sioc….  Dwi angen dip mewn datrysiad glanhau llwyr i ddod oddi ar y teimlad….  socian, rinsio, ailadrodd

Electra’s dictionary and film noir notes of strangers (jmmusechron,ed)

 

The chill air with wet hair bites at the nerves. We watch the sky. The sea and the fire…. and the feel of hands. They weave through my hair ….and this time in the night as I watch the shadows on the wall move in tune to the music that pounds upon the piano keys …. I forget who I am, where I am —I forget time and place

…. and disperse into the nonsense of senses to the rhythm of the Long Island ocean waves. It adds skewed dimension to dreams, such as warping images 

They melt into the fabric on the static, and senseless like shadows across the wall

there is only this. Yes, it is this. This sense that it does connect somewhere ….and …. I do hope it will find its way to me and within such lucid dreams, I feel into the great chasm beyond those leaps of faith and —know that here I do trust. Yes. Here I do. It is here— because here —I know…. without question 

and just grip so tight onto it; and with it, it comes like the warmth that spreads with the scent of cedar and sandalwood, and the silk of his hair —and without need to reflect, give up and wrap around pressing in to me, unconsciously awake, and like so many times we have once long before done this so like this, we move and join to each other in that age old embrace and where somewhere in consciousness and time, and wrap around him 

 under that big mysterious sky of characters  the waves crash

and take him upon the shore

****

It seems awhile that I stare into those waves. And the waves it seems I watch ….and the foam ….mix with cloudy images ….like thoughts…. like memories, water and waves and sky and foam ….that reflect like clouds in the stillness 

And I see his face …. I see another face ….beside his face ….I see another time 

and no he is not the pirate here nor the spy but another time …. he is younger but it is the same eyes ….and it is somewhere cold and …. the gold of his hair in the light —but he wears a black Cossack shirt —why should I see this now? ….I wonder looking at him, from —across the wide circle because ….

“Duva!”

I wake up

 

  he pulls me up from sleep with his hands under my arm pits with a slight jostle and stares at me —the same way as the dream and ….for a long moment I am frozen in mind; my thoughts  seem somehow misfired; mis-wired between unconscious worlds ….still within 

I stare at him. And touch his face. I trace his eyes with my finger tips staring into them …. with my eyes burning; I touch his mouth ….and then the bridge of his nose and mold my fingers across his face up to his cheek bones seeing ….so many ….many ….memories 

 but he stares at me intensely,

“duva….?” 

It is kind of a fraction more of moment where I feel myself reeled back into the present moment —by him 

He says,

“It was happening again—you were screaming.”

“Was I?” but all I remember is ….watching the water and—oh, yes, the dream when I saw —him?

“What’s wrong?” he asks me

Only does it occur to me that it is the middle of the night —and we are in the Spanish pirate’s giant bed —together…. so, what part was the dream that was so…. familiar

“Is something going on you’re not telling me, duva? What were you dreaming?”

“Why?” I ask him and—staring at how the moonlight’s shadows fall ….in hollows of his face which —distract and mesmerize me but wondering why he’d ask this, “something going on?”

But …. why is it that he just looks at me so oddly?

 🎂

                                         🎂

e.d.jmmusechron/“Stina’s Pawn” reflection scene(from within a fortress)

{Contrast of parallel lives:}

(Scene is ‘Electra’ in bedroom at Southampton’s house after Stina’s proposition about babysitting/spying on Jörn)

panic, like being flushed through a tunnel into white heat that just tastes like fear…. but we don’t let it reach inside…. just a reflex ….hair trigger that awareness ….the awareness ….there’s reason ….for and in the codes as….this is the only safe place to put ….

trust ….

this implosion, I will own it, electra …. I will —I do own it…. as you know, I thought it was a safe gamble but —anyway—fuck; we land on our feet every time, don’t we, e.d.?

to put a marker here, I document here and show you through example how secrets get expressed through literary code…. the language we speak in, my immortal pirate with the vampire eyes

****

I think now of how it felt to be locked in “the dungeon” 

and ….

those days alone inside that crypt where the safe had been

….imprisoned behind a coded barrier 

…..and I think about Stina’s proposition …..not knowing what to do

….the confusion of trust 

    is it such a surprise to face this now?

For, how many times have I had to revise my list of those I can truly trust? ….switching loyalties because they were not whom they said they were 

switching loyalties …. like a repetitive dance until ….you are the only one —you/theCelf—knows who is ever consistent and says what she means 

….yet I always get cornered….

Jörn though…. and I go back over to the towel with his platinum/silver embroidered monogram that shines like his eyes in the light; such powerful kryptonite ….and I think of Gerald’s words when I asked him why should two souls meet again lifetimes later…. I had thought it was to settle some score, they always say that, don’t they? 

but no, I’d never thought it could be ….”to heal”

….so then ….how do I proceed? It would be so wrong to plot behind someone’s back ….and my conscience would never let me….. but also…. how could I ever do that to Jörn? I could not. And then I think about how Jörn said —I could not trust…. only —I do— I do trust him—but ….I can’t tell him I do and —I don’t know if this omission voids it out for its value ….and if it does, what does this mean?

….but then, I never got to ask—does he trust me?

and with this thought I turn to look out at the ocean waves as they work to lull my mind….and lean against the headboard feeling tired