Planet Ezzie (2. The P-word)

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I’m not dis- dis- dis- … I can’t type it. I am not p-0-s-s-e-e-s-s-ed. Not by a succubus. Anything but. Definitely not. Not!

Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Underneath, undercover, underdressed, undressed, … understand?

She is like a light rain, literally in a certain way. She clings onto me, but can’t enter, due to the henna. She cannot force my actions, but she can prevent some. Sometimes, I can find a world, err, workaround. I have never been particularly sensitive to the spirit world, but I can sense her. She is a go- god- godd- … an annoyance. She does things to me that are out of my control. She surrounds me with a light rain of post-coital sweat, leaving me teetering on the edge of arousal. Wet on the surface, but not drenched. I orgas … wait … orgasm at the slightest provocation – just thinking about it, seeing something sensual, like a kiss, hand-holding, a love scene on the telly, being touched – not every touch, but when I least expect it. (Hold on … I’m OK now.)

4 of SWORDS. Truce.

Over the past several months, I have learned to live with the constant itch to have sex. I have decided on a strange form of celibacy, having orgasms several times a day, but no relationships. Someday it may happen, but I’ll put it off as long as I can. And I dream – wild dreams – wild sex dreams – naked wild sex dreams (she loves it when I say that).

She has particular tastes. She likes tall blond men, and I’ve noticed that my hair bleaches much more easily in the sun – almost immediately. I’m quite blond at the moment. Blondes proposition me on a frequent basis, and if I touch one, either intentionally, but especially by accident, it is a certain orgasm. She also likes to be discussed. Notice that my typing is fluent, as long as I’m not resisting her. It’s appeasement at the moment.

I’ve been appointed assistant personnel manager of the orchestra. That means more contact with my colleagues, physical as well as figurative. I’m spending more time with people, and accidental contact is more likely. People that don’t get me or understand me are attracted to me. They hate, yet they adore. They would elect me President if I spent too much time in public. This dis- dis-, you know what I’m referring to. It does that. I’ve been dispossessed, but not repossessed, she hangs around me, but I am definitely not, you know, the P-word.

Planet Ezzie (1. The Trouble with Ezzie)

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SEVEN of SWORDS. Futility. Betrayal, deceit. If I’m lucky, it could mean compromise or appeasement.

I’m solipsistic, sarcastic, seventeen, … err, solitary again. In retrograde, um, retrospect all of those my … might fit, except seventeen. The point is that I’ve left the coven, and have lost contact with everyone, except Evie who still comes whenever I need it, uh, when I need to be touched up … have my henna retouched.

Marcel and I had a connection, fortunately not one of those connections, but Elsa recognized that we were becoming increasingly morose … close, and that, in the context of the nudity of our rituals, became too much for her to eat … stomach. I didn’t want to be the cause of a raft, laugh, um … rift between them. I also refused to be part of the taking of hallucinogens, which they sometimes used for divine servitude … (where did that come from?!) … divination. I fear medications, recreational or otherwise. Anyway, I shut down, over and out, left. I never belonged anyway, and I certainly shouldn’t have been elected high priestess.

I’m spending too much time at home now, and that probably explains the increased frequency of my online trinkets, drinking, banking, … Tourette’s. Living with a power that is checked only by magical symbols henna-ed onto my skin, few of which I understand or reconnoiter … receive … recognize, is a strain.

I can’t move out. A few months ago, I tried to put my house up for sale, and I became physically unable to sign the contract to engage a realtor. It is clear that the power still has a modicum of cum, crumbs, drums, bumblebees … control over me. I tried a private sale, but the buyer had a fatal accident before we came to an agreement on price.

I’m damaged goods. Allen is out of the picture completely. I’ve heard that he is engaged to someone else. Christa, too. She found a man, and while she still occasionally sends me excrement, invitations, lies … emails, they have become less frequent. I’m not very popular in the orchestra these daze, glaze … craze … days, but I am unable to quit, for the same reason as not being able to sell the house. Lately, I’ve been unable to leave a 50 mile radius around St Louis, unless it is for an orchestra tour. My neighbor Janice has moved away, unexpectedly and unexplained.

Resistance is futile. That is what I have learnt, but I wonder, blunder, blanch, brand, … branch … …

I can’t say the rest. I will … not … stop … having the henna painted on my body. If anything, it means physical contact, which I’m not getting from anyone else. I have found it easier to wonder, wander the house mostly nude, since the cymbals, err, symbols are crashing … visible. This unidentified and unchecked power seems to allow it, but it just makes me want … it … more. That might be her intention.

I can’t say that I want to have sex. I can’t say that I want to have sex. I can’t … not say …

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Sorry, I had to type something else.

I think I’m in trouble.