Electra’s dictionary & film noir/of Volvos and other things (jmmusechroncont)(more teaser)

 

looking back now, it is hard to remember all the little details ….as my phone was separated from me at the time 

but it seemed such an enormously long while that the truck drove as the pace it was at and all without incident 

I suppose too that during that time I was lulled into a hypnotic feeling of focused calm as I reflected intently ….upon truly everything …. the immediate situation I found myself in…. the state of the world and things going on in countries everywhere…. Sunny and the life I have been living underground—no, I meant undercover as ….as…. 

Beth who is what yet again ….what am I, who am I ….and what the fuck am I doing here?

I thought about the neighbors, the author/actor who ….

and how or why do I find myself again in danger and there seeming no way out….? 

Yes I think about this, I remember this part well, thoughts going in circles as I martyred myself with unkind words aloud over how sad my life turned out and angry at…. oh…. but it no longer seems worth it you see….you know….anymore….as the truck rolled on….and I thought: this is a professional driver , not a regular criminal, exactly, because I can feel the attention he takes as he rounds the curves….yes, he…. as I heard a cough earlier on …. And so I think…. Was he hired only to transport ….? Or does he even know I am in here? ….scream? I decide against this based on a strong hunch 

Instead I just play with the Volvo buttons snd levers as I look for how to start the engine 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/teaser (jmmusechron)continues

 

….as it slowly comes to me that where I am is in motion, I force my mind backwards to try and recall what I last remember ….as I look around the interior of the truck’s unit, which is mostly empty

in fact, I realize that it was this fact that caused me to wake out of the sleepy fog I somehow got put under ….put under…. ? for now, as the truck takes a turn, I am thrown across the floor of the truck’s studio sized container unit like a pinball and have to reach my arms out and search for something stable to hold onto —as I’m jettisoned and rolled around, and no, I don’t really need to search, though, as I collide into the answer; the only other object in the truck’s container unit besides me, I now am struck against as I encounter it—a Volvo excavator 

should I wonder? But no, out in the middle of farmland and rural country, these really are everywhere. I don’t question. Instead, I grab hold of a part of the step up to the door to stabilize myself and wait for the truck to return to its normal speed on the highway. When it does I haul myself up to the carriage of it and climb inside it, anchoring myself into the seat. I look around inside it trying to figure out if it could be useful if I found out how to start it and managed to…. specifically as a defense or way to get out of here

Electra’s dictionary (film noir 2b ….continued?)

It is on my way back from a walk when someone drives up alongside me and —for just a flash of an instant I think it’s someone I know….only I don’t get to find out 

as it seems either something hits me on the head, or I trip over a rock in the road ….and it is only later when I start to wake from a foggy dream that I realize I am in the back of an empty moving-truck that feels is going at full speed and, without windows for baring— I have no idea where I was going or what time of day

 

Electra’s search for peace found in pieces;thoughts along the journey at the bend 

the dialogue within my head has been paused. it seems. like a submarine that sinks down into fathomless depth to avoid 

the pause of ….the flow of the flow of streams of consciousness ….it is because I am guarded; it is to go into stealth all my truths because I find that where I am now I cannot be myself. So it is not possible to toggle between the artist me and this other me, who isn’t me at all, but has to be this me now because —it is a role ….in order to survive. No I cannot speak my political leanings, I cannot defend even my views….whether it be for humanity or not

but I don’t know how to be fake. how to exist. that way. day to day. 

but it happens another way too—the gray seeps in ….and creates a plastic; empty; fake feeling ….in the end 

 and it is like being the sock instead of the foot; stretched out, empty and misshapen 

I start to suspect that this might be the storm blowing itself out and that I am about to be —I believe—recalled back to the Celf again 

but only if I get all the pieces right

Electra’s dictionary; my guide through hell (jmmusechron)

I have been so shattered. I don’t know where my head has been since…. since ….so, normally I’d think it interesting that my neighbor —who I join in the horse stable to brush down horses with —is also a writer (and screenplay editor)

And as we brush horses, we talk lightly. For I seem unable to access …. my ….self…. I feel mostly a zombie and so cold ….inside ….I am so cold inside 

But somehow, I do not know how, but between her and her husband, they convince me to do things before I realize what I say —because, later in the week, I find myself with her, walking through, again —the nearby historic town of Chestertown and ….finding myself actually charmed ….

is it that I find comfort in the evidence of historical past…. or is the comfort because it vaguely reminds me of Holland with its connection to an historical past, with its medieval buildings lining the streets …. and so, is it for the false comfort of that sense (illusion) of (false) stability ….or just my belief it is evidence of humanity?

Mary talks to me of her published book as we walk the ancient brick street that are awkward and uneven from hundreds of years of shifting…. 

and so it turns out she studied at the Lee Stasberg school in New York …. uncanny! …. I studied at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York and at HB Studio in New York…. We have both been moving around the country and while I spent years in Michigan, she was across the lake in Chicago ….and the oddest sense I feel like I know her husband from some foggy forgotten time 

So what am I writing about? As my mind flew out the window as she drove…. she kept trying to inspire me with ideas (like trying to revive a corpse I feel)

“you need to write and sell it—then you can get a lovely little place in Chestertown….”

I felt as if cotton wool was over my ears and emotions ….last year….? 

I’d have agreed with her ….

and yet I find I think of Jörn …. for the first time

….and later again and again ….like a sleeping dragon who dreams, 

and dreams it feels things ….and then dreams to hide ….and then things seem to ….begin to ….seep through a little 

you know….

since he left on the last mission —it feels like a lifetime ago

and now for the first time in weeks

 I let myself go to thoughts I’ve avoided and ….

I think of Jörn ….

 

with a kind of shock it occurs to me that, for now, it does seem the sun continues to conspire with the earth to keep us on track. so stunned am I to see the first withered leaf and the scent clung to the dampness of the air

the world continues to spin

but its warmth evades me ….oh for that vampire waltz embrace now, on the flight of his winged feet

 This is so hard. I am so sad. It feels surreal to think he is gone now. Nothing will ever be the same