And so it is that all consuming emptiness that hung there, now does take its hold. Tap tap tap upon my shoulder

words and the words to say what I feel would ….

I think—not be beneficial for anyone to read; do no harm 

 never compromise your standards 

what was I thinking all this time 

you say 

—nobody is worth it, sweetie

listen to me

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/jmmusechron;Purpose refrain

 

I have become so rather lost in thoughts. I have digressed so many times. 

as things keep interrupting my thoughts—yes, 

so I forget where threads got left hanging there

can you imagine a thought like that?yes, that is what this sort of open-knot-work has become

;some spider who gets interrupted 

and all the weave 

is fraying 

and the spider is left hanging 

I wonder if this is the lesson after all —the net cannot hold the trapeze artist. 

Only some of you will get that. 

Or caught in her own weave?

I don’t know…. 

so, it seems I get so rather lost in my thoughts on some dusty road whilst running away from constant surveillance;the suspicious eyes of a retired agent …. and only want to get

Lost ….

But actually do

and even my phone seems to be caught in Bermuda’s Triangle; a tiny wheel inside it mocks me as it spins for several long minutes where google maps is claiming to be   

so get out of the car and look around realizing there is nothing around.

but does it really matter.

I half think I purposely got myself lost here so as 

….I’d not have to go back.ever.but now it is quite terrifying to realize no one will look for me.or know I was here.or came here.or care.

Those moments when you evaluate your life. And yourself.sometimes I wonder how it felt for Moses coming down from the mountain 

There is a random old log sitting on the dusty dirt road and so I sit down on it and try and clear my thoughts. 

What have I gained from all this exploration ….have I learned?

Yes.actually. And documented it all here in code. 

And had I ever tried to go mainstream in the past it would have been a waste of time, and I always knew this but then —I guess I believe the world wasn’t ready for anything I had to say. But that was true for Socrates. But he was Socrates. But how would anyone have known of him had he never tried to argue? But he was Socrates. 

this is the debate team in my head.and so I do actually feel about to fall apart there right in the middle of that depressing dirt road when out of nowhere I hear the loudest helicopter overhead and ….speaking of spiders ….something drops down very much like one —with golden hair

“Duva—I know you said you want no part of our schemes—“ as if he was just returning from the shops, hardly taking a breath 

“I —never—actually ….said that….” I stare at him 

And then look up as I see the helicopter from the hover just suddenly takes off 

I look up at Jörn and then at the car,

“uhhh—I’m lost and I’m having car issues so….” I look back up at the now long gone helicopter 

this is a bridge

 to another dimension 

  and so, I find I think again about purpose.think and then ask myself about fulfilling commitments ….time and thoughts of getting old.the double edged sword and then recalling that solitary image of Garbo and —consider meaning.each year I approach the age my mother died I gauge it all. I’m a philosopher. how we look at life.my aunt lived to 98 and I saw her in Oregon in 2017.so it is not the number as much —I believe—as how much purpose you serve 

she is gathering her flying monkeys again; trouble is sure her intent 

I do not care

The Eliza compartment/parallel story continued

 

there is such emptiness, the fear is it will consume everything that matters

Eliza

The first year after went by in a rushed daze. No sooner had she escaped a stalker that she found herself having to jump and rush every time “the duke” bellowed. Or “dukie” as she silently preferred. 

Why was he called the duke? She did not know nor care because he exhausted her. At first she had taken great pity on him but he wore her thin fast. It was not just the sleep interruptions for all his demands that were in actuality far from emergency and by the way he yelled you would think that he was on fire but it was his constant heckling and suspicious temperament that kept her constantly on edge; one ear always tuned for his shout and —the fear of her safety

So that first year she did not sleep more than three hours together a night. 

While it did keep her from thinking of herself. And it kept her from going anywhere too. And maybe after the first six months she had recovered from the stalker but the anxiety attacks were constant.

Those hours he took his daily naps she would just sit and rock for hours. On the floor in a ball with her arms wrapped around her knees. She would rock. Just like that. For hours. It kept her body from trembling because it just never stopped. 

What happened to Eliza? How did she come to be there? What happened to that extinct family? Cast at sea she was

There had been a poison unleashed by a family member and blood feuds have a way of destroying your will to go on 

But after the first year, the thaw began.

 She started to remember herself 

and it started with anger 

not for herself. It was when the duke set up traps and trapped an animal and then he left it in agony for hours before he finally put it out of its misery 

That animal signified herself somehow, like dead roadkill 

and it made her really angry. Only then did she realize she was also trapped and wondered how long before he’d shoot her to put her out of her misery

And she became very ill. The nights without sleep having to jump at his call and all his demands of chores to satisfy his cares after experiencing the trauma of being a hostage to a so -called friend made her so ill. She looked like a scarecrow, she was so thin and her skin was like parchment and almost gray in color. She caught her own reflection. Mortified. Literally. And only by seeing this she said to her reflection, 

“What have they done to me?”

 but…. After a time in brooding thought ….. 

she decided she’d had enough of playing the pawn 

pawn; fawn….

and so it dawned.Because the best place to hide is in plain sight. And how can anyone reach her, if she was hidden in high ground?

as I reconsider the bland and rural flat farmland with roads called “Slaughter Road” and now with fresh eyes, I start to see it as the perfect model in which to get a glimpse of a Thomas Hardy, Jane Austen rural life

As Milan Kundera wrote in “unbearable lightness of being” “if I had two lives I could see which choice would be better.”