A coincidence?
I don’t believe in such things.
My moth-eaten soul.


Planet Ezzie (4. La petite mort)


So much for my vow of celibacy.

We had a guest conductor in this week for a concert performance of Alban Berg’s Lulu. Sakari-pekka was blonde, young, and Finnish. He started feeling, touching …. chatting me up even before the first rehearsal. The succ, succu, … you know, she who “doesn’t” – you know what I mean – she tried a different tack with him. No spontaneous orgasms (and none since). He was perfect for her (and possibly me, too), but nothing. Still nothing, even as I fantasize about having sex with him. During the week, as he flirted with me, I was desperate for it. Finally, after a spectacle, spectacles, err, specialists, uh, species, … grr! … a spectacular concert, he made his move, and I couldn’t resist.

It was the most incredible sex I had ever had, but there was one problem. He reopened the bite marks on my soul. The ecstasy was trebled by the searing pain of her touch administered by his fingers. The sex was so good that he couldn’t leave fast enough.

I fear for his soul.

I am damaged beyond repair. My vow lasted only a week. She can’t control me physically, but she can toy with my desire.

2. Peace (inverted). Indecision, confusion, information overload, stalemate.

All of those, especially information overload. Rather than satisfaction, in the act of orgasm, she stokes my desire. I believe she took me to the brink of death and let me look at it full in the face. The French call it la petite mort, the little death, and she took me to death and back again. Did I die and return to life? No, but I embraced the grim reaper and lived to tell the tale. Surely, she wants me to tell it, too, as she hasn’t interrupted the flow of my typing since early in my story. I think she was just being impatient.

She gloats in her power. She is Beatrice.

It was only now, after so many months that she has revealed her name to me. Beatrice is the symbol of divine love in Dante, yet in me she is its opposite: damning lust.

She is Beatrice, and I am doomed.



Photo by Bruno Thethe from Pexels

Hold it!

I can’t.

No! Hold it!
They are coming for you.

I can’t.

You must.

Who is coming for me?
Maybe I should let them.
Nobody has come for me in a long time.

Not that kind. The drone. See it?

No. A worker bee?
I’d settle for anyone
who might come for me.

Not that kind!
You are in danger.

I’m ready.

You are on the precipice.
It’s a long fall,
and your rope won’t reach the bottom.

I don’t plan on making it there.

Then where?

A special place,
a place where only I belong,
and those I love.

How do you keep others out?

It is a place that no one else can find.
You can, but don’t look for it.
The door is open for you.
You will come for me.


After the drone has gone.

After the love has gone?
Isn’t that the right title?

After the drone has gone.
It’s a different song,
one that will lead you to that place.
I’ll give you some slack,
then you should follow.

But the danger!

Not in my place.
There is no danger there.
You must take the step as I do.
Let go, and I will catch you.

I’m afraid.

Have confidence, trust me.
Follow my lead.
I’m going now.
Come for me.

Wait! When?

I’ll be ready.
Beware the drone.
I will wait for you.

How long?



More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (25. Me, Myself, I)

Jem phoned me today. She said that she was happy to have me back to my old self.

But am I?

I’ve never been the happy-go-lucky sort, and I’ll probably hit bottom tomorrow, after Christa leaves, but I’m not myself. The are black spots … no, bite-marks on my soul where Ms Ball tried to smite me. Should I go to church and make a confession? I can just hear it now:

Me: Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been 35 years since my last conversation … um confession.

Fr Daniel: I’m glad to see you back. What may I do for you?

Me: I was possessed by an evil spirit and did lewd and lascivious things. I’ve been cured of that by my witch friends, but there is still a mark on my soul. Am I doomed? Oh, and while I was possessed I fornicated with loads of men and ate their souls … I think … I couldn’t remember any of it when it was all over. I would guess that I dreamt it, except for … well … I lost several days, and my friends refuse to tell me what happened. I was naked a lot. I’m sure of that.

At that point, I could imagine the bell … book … candle … err, cloth screen fluttering as he made a big sign-of-the-cross … err, sigh … well maybe both. Why the screen? I’m a little old-fashioned, and couldn’t stomach the pasta … um, prospect of seeing the look on his face. You should be impressed that I knew his game … name. (I didn’t just make it up.)

What would he say next? Would he send me away for consorting with witches? Should I have told him about my use of tarot?

Too many questions. If he didn’t send me away, I’m sure I would still be saying Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers until I dropped. Little good it would do. I’m lost.

Is that my hair … despair? Your faith will save you my dear.

Maybe that’s my problem. What is my faith? I believe in a God (Goddess, actually) that watches over us … well neither a God or Goddess, but a profound presence that may or may not judge us by our works … certainly not by our faith. Would a last second conversion save me? Depends on which passages of the bible you refer to. It isn’t really clear, by my interpretation. Yes, I’ve read it all (not just heard it read at Mass), and studied enough of it to know that it is contradictory. (I was a nun in a past life, too!) Okay, I do believe in reincarnation. (It’s has to do with the preservation of energy.)

Sorry, I didn’t mean to go all escapist … estrogen … err, eschatological on you there. I do that when I’m down and self-absorbed.

Yes, today was all about my “self.” I drew the PRINCESS of WANDS, the card (if you remember) Jem uses to refer to me. She can be superficial, false, shallow, cruel, or faithless, if ill-dignified. (I’m not very dignified.)

The best thing about today was that the Strauss was awesome!