Could not leave this turtle on the road

 

Don’t fall asleep; noir

 

don’t fall asleep

don’t fall asleep….What is that? It’s a dream. 

     no. no—we’re not here. up at the window. Watch the light

such a strange sick cold, both cold and too warm. the shouting occupies the mind, the awareness of all the blame ….don’t fall asleep, don’t start to think it is all right. don’t feel the way the chill rushes across that demon touch like icicles that cut with the splinters; jaggers across the soles of your feet. The sting is better than the terror, let’s hold onto instead how bad this feels, “he’s waiting outside to pick you up. Now you can go home….” 

“No safety or surprise….”*

I fell asleep

No! the shaking begins. the cold inside. no one is taking us home. it does not exist for us. 

“It’s time to go home,” he says with the too firm grip that says exactly what will happen next. there. but it is not. for us. never for us. we will never know it. the chill is too warm on my skin, the vomit tears holes in my stomach …it does not exist. for us. we do not. no one knows we are here. it never leaves. 

“Go to bed!” 

don’t fall asleep….oh my god —he’s killing me. I try to scream but I’m choking ….he’s killing me

“Duva, wake up!”

*”no safety or surprise”/The End; the Doors

 

as the blue notes echo on….

he stops me after awhile and pulls up my chin to look at him and looks down into my face, drawing back my hair,

“du är vacker….  Jag har saknat ditt ansikte….” and drags me off the floor from where I worship, his fingers touching my lips, “such a mouth you have….”

“What did I reveal to you back in the office? I don’t remember any of it….” I say looking up at him

But instead he lifts me and takes me across to the other side where there is the other twin dome which beneath it lays a wide round bed with white satin sheets 

“It looks like a huge clam,” I say as he sets me down upon it, “it’s like an Art Deco, Fred Astaire film set,” I say as I look around at the curved custom made furniture that seems made out of Bakelite or lucite, “so what did I say? Did I reveal more fascinating lockletter codes?”

But instead he says, 

“you said enough ….but let’s not talk about it tonight…. tyst nu, min prinsessa...min drottning….“ and moves over me, “you are wearing too many clothes…. and….it has been such a long day—and ….has been far too long….don’t you agree, duva? I will tell you tomorrow,” he looks down at me, and decisively, not bothering with buttons, peels off everything at once in two abrupt and swift separate tugs, and tosses both tops and bottoms to the floor, “but now, be quiet and open your legs.”

….and so it is later watching the stars through the ceiling with him, tracing the muscles of his body with my finger tips ….and I  know ….I could never want anyone but him

~blue memoir perverse~ vampire waltz vault noir (e.d.jmmusechron;)

 

“Three stories?”Jörn looks doubtfully at me looking up at the structure, “more like six—it must be the height of all the trees confusing your judgement,” and as he says this, he starts walking towards it, carelessly dragging the jacket and button down shirt that he had impatiently dragged over his head now drags over the grass 

“Where are you….?” I start to say

He stops and looks at me, over his shoulder —and with a teasing sort of smirk, lit by that challenging twinkle in his eyes —and then, before facing back towards it, he tosses his head at me, like an off handed command to follow, as he heads right towards the silo 

And because I’m curious, I follow cautiously behind him, totally not sure I want to see 

I had not noticed there are windows, albeit placed discreetly in such ways as to make them blend into the surface of it and as he leads the way, I notice a laid out stone path; a walkway that is cleverly also well disguised from the entrance towards the buildings, where he parked the Volvo. The path leads to the side and as I follow him there, I realize there is a twin silo that was hidden from the side we walked up from; just the same and just as high; two silver towers stood beside what would appear to anyone else as an abandoned barn and stables, presiding over what is visibly an overgrown, defunct and unplowed farm 

As I recognize the line of trees and how the sun dips in its descent as the other side of Sunny’s hunting grounds, I become somewhat intrigued, as I see Jörn head right up to the side of it, and reach a door —and standing there, punch a code into a keypad

Again that challenging look at me, and with a wink, he pushes the door open and goes right in, leaving the door open

I don’t know what I’d expected going inside, and at first I try to get my bearings as my eyes adjust to the surrounding darkness, so I don’t notice where Jörn has gone. I swivel around in a circle to take it all in, within the dim lighting ….dim lighting —which comes only from the concave windows letting in the early evening light 

I realize it is furnished like an entranceway; like some grand circular hallway with staircases on two sides and a large marble console below a gilt mirror. It’s almost hilarious, the attention to detail —as if to model this after some old mansion, as everything has been obviously custom built made as it had to be as it follows the circular shape in a concave interior. It is like walking into a warped M. C. Escher drawing, or like an Alice in Wonderland reality 

The acoustics create an echo as every footstep carries upward to bounce in a strange surround sound and I suppose, so distracted am I that I don’t notice anything —but what I am caught by to look at, as though engulfed and entranced in this kind of warped space, that the music which comes, seems to happen of it’s own will

I suspect it must have been the strange acoustics which disorient my ability to immediately recognize ….the opera

“Coming, duva?” he says above the recording of his pounding keys….

I follow the trail of his discarded jacket, shirt and tie as he stands in just the suit trousers with his bare back to me, looking at me over his shoulder by a doorway and as that now becomes the brightest light source, it draws me naturally to go towards the glow

and only once past the doorway, do I realize, when it closes and we ascend, we have walked inside a lift; half circular, like a crescent with the widest part glass, and only as I feel us moving upwards, do I realize it is a concave picture window, showing the world outside as the drama of his opera follows 

so strangely hypnotized, I watch the scenery as we ascend 

When we reach the top, the door of the lift retreats and opens under a dome of light filtered from outside. Directly beneath the dome stands a black grand piano 

I don’t even have to ask 

….but I look at him….with just his index finger he motions to me —but still—I stare at the piano as I go, without noticing that we now stand just outside the lift but are now enveloped inside an elaborate master suite which takes up the complete width of the top of the tower. The ceiling, a complete dome with a full uninterrupted skylight, exposing the sky above, so that the iridescent shade of the white of the walls is almost blinding 

“Perhaps this is better,” Jörn says and flips a switch

I watch as the dome seems to shift, like a prism, filtering out the glare, the tone now takes on a more lavender iridescence, bathing the room in a dreamy tone of mother-of-pearl mauve 

“Sometimes I think you just want to be on stage all the time,” I say

He shrugs,

“bath or shower?” then walks across the wide space and turns a chrome crank and from four heads, showers water, “no? Not feeling it?” but he keeps it on and goes to the clear tub that had been screened off by floor-length sheers and then starts the bath, “patchouli or lily-of-the-valley?” 

But I walk over to the piano instead. sit down at it. I look at the keys remembering. I stare at the keys as if they are ghosts….because I see our hands…. and remember 

and remember….

codes

I look up at him with alarm 

He looks at me thoughtfully and sighs. Then goes to shut off the shower first, then the bath. He walks over to me in his personally tailored, well-cut trousers which emphasize all his advantages with tasteful ….discretion 

and so walks towards me with a sigh of resignation and stops right behind me then leans over me. He takes my hands in his and places them on the keys. Then in this way, we start to play ….the opening notes of his opera which he joins with the recording that plays through hidden speakers ….but it is how he touches me…. how the lightness of his fingers ….touch mine

and like a master, he does not miss a beat as he caresses my fingers with every struck note. He presses his mouth to my neck and climbs onto the piano seat behind me ….so that I am wrapped in his arms as he cloaks me within his notes, 

surround ….soundly

….until someone’s phone sharply interrupts ….

“ohhh!” 

—is ….that ….me….? 

as I seem to fall off the bench onto the floor

“Duva….?” 

“Your phone—“

“—don’t bother,” he says quietly and reaches to pull me up

“….the codes, Jörn—in the office before….”

“No, min lilla duva, don’t bother….” 

And his voice cracks as it did before in the headquarters office as he says now,

“don’t you know me by now?” 

like it did when he said….that age old phrase….and moves to pull me up, 

“don’t sit on the floor, come here,” he says

but I don’t move because my head is caught up in such memories ….I feel dizzy with it and his music ….and the habit of always having him so firmly deep inside of me, so impossible to ever ….want to let go

and being with him again makes me breathless, 

“my lord and master,” and from the floor move to my knees facing him and stare up at him but then put my face into his lap where the tailor’s discreet cut draws me and ….feel him through the fabric first with my kiss —and then my hands and close my eyes ….to just feel him and the warmth of him through the fabric as …. and until ….I am reassured ….he burns for me….

and he says something but I don’t know what it is, or whether he pulls me or pushes me or draws me or caresses —or if I imagine the grand piano vibrates with the notes he plays 

I only feel for him and only know that I feel ….want to feel him, need to, need to have him and feel him against my lips, as it seems it has been forever since ….because I need him, need to feel him, need to taste him and have him….

weekending

 

The man with the vampire eyes(jmmusechron)

As one door closes another opens

I have known people in my life, who at the time felt so necessary and looking back at those people as I recall them —those that now …. I can almost hardly remember anything about them; not even the places we shared and what lesson I can glean from this is about the power that I conjured and gave away; and how the mother of invention is only conceived as necessary 

the power was always there. in me

the inventor invents as necessary 

faith is a power within and 

as Charlotte held the torch for me, dear reader, I draw strength from you

and this I think as Jörn pulls up to the structure ….as it seems almost like something from some other world 

He stops the Volvo before a monolithic silo that appears to be three stories high

It is still blazing hot even with the sun going down, and the dimming light reflects off the metal of the structure, dwarfing the stables and barn beside it

We get out and I turn to look up at him,

“what is this?” I start to laugh but it’s too hot and I stop and then, as he pulls off his shirt, over ripples of sinewy muscle my laugh caught and I look within those vampire eyes ….and I realize ….no, he is not one of those, I know within myself ….no, he is bonded to me, imprinted upon my soul itself which I have always known since I first ever saw him in my feverish and strange dreams 

No….he is a part of me no matter how at times he enrages me

 

Life is so strange/no drama please

since arriving as a former ex-pat  to my country of birth, my track record for living at any one address has averaged 2.3 years and a time in any part of the land mass 

the irony of this is the one only exception, which was Cedarhurst New York, known for the orthodox community 

my daughter was nine months old when we arrived and was five when I moved out. It was only several feet from the train tracks and about a mile from JFK. Between the half hourly invasion of train arrivals at the station, at 6AM and 6PM was the concord and then of course was the traffic of the regular overhead planes. 

The motion of such shook the walls and made dust of them on the hard wood floors

My husband was transferred from his job in Ann Arbor to work at the World Trade Center. During our years there my parents passed away six weeks apart, I was divorced and lost custody and felt the vibrations of the collapse of the Twin Towers just a half hour from our apartment building. Then it was quiet with no trains and no planes

My ex-husband had left the building. And during those years at that address were other things too. My ex-husband interviewed my second husband for a job, only weeks before I met him at my night warehouse manager job at Pearl Art Supplies where I trained him to count miniature architectural objects, like fake plastic trees until 3AM 

I didn’t know about his previous job interview. 

I still average 2.3

Life is so strange. Don’t you think? 

(….thoughts to be continued at my next work break)