Forever

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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.

When?

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?

Forever.

 

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Black light

therefore I write
reading my tea
leaves my soul
your possession
my obsession

take me to heights sublime
with nights inspired
talking to myself
pleasing melodies
sung in passing

wandering the moonlit lane
faeries for company
consoling my dreads
fearing my ease
of penning nonsense

no sense in quibbling
my dreams in the sky
or deep within
velvet darkness illuminated
by black light

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (29. Peculiar)

I hate the holidays. You play loads of concerts of crappy music. You hear lots of it, too, all joyous and cheerful, and what do you get for it? Yes, I get paid to play it, but I get no job satisfaction, nothing like the high of playing Strauss’ Alpensinfonie or the reconstruction of Bruckner’s 9th (to which I am listening while I write).

Nothing from Janice about missing dinner, nothing from Marcel … nothing from … anybody. I’m still banned from having fun … um, sex, but now I can’t even get anyone interested. All I’m good for at the moment is turning up the volume on my hi-fi. (At the moment it is very odd … err, UP.)

My card for today was fighting … fitting (as usual):

XX. The Aeon. (inverted) It’s a great card, meaning a definitive movement or decision in a peculiar … um, particular direction. It’s the end of a matter.

Yes, it was inverted, so strike all of that. No matter was decided today, no subject closed, nothing finished, except that I’ve gained all my weight back after my episode. I still have no other explanation for it other than obsession … err, possession, and I’m afraid to see a shrink … um, doctor about it. (Maybe a shrink would be better!) I’m healthy enough – I’ve even gained a few extra pounds for good measure – too many post-concert receptions and holiday dinners, none ending in “would you like to come back to mine?”

The urge to change something is there, but what? Maybe I should take a step and become initiated – as a witch. Jem says I already am one and don’t need (and probably don’t want) to formalize it. I’m different from the others anyway. I wouldn’t fit in an oven … a coven. (What do you think, Marcel?) I’d still have to reconcile it with my vacant … err, latent Catholicism.

That’s easy. I’m a sinner and going to hell. That’s what some of you think anyway. I have news for you.

I’m already in hell.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (27. Running on Empty)

I went out for fun … um, a run this morning. My email inbox has slowed to a crawl. It seems I have few friends left. Christa made it home safely. Jem’s dealing with a blizzard on the range, and Allen still isn’t talking to me. Nothing juicy to keep me in the house. Anyway, on my run I met someone who could keep up with me. I haven’t been out much, but I’ve always been pretty easy … err, fast (for my age). Her name is Janine, and she’s not from around here either, although not from as far away as I am. She’s from near Cleveland, my mum’s hometown. She’s a typical …

PRINCESS of CUPS. Gracious, sweet, voluptuous, dreamy, kind. Auburn hair, blue eyes, pale.

Maybe not so voluptuous, since she’s an avid runner. It has a habit of inhibiting the hormones. She turned a corner as I was passing out … just passing, and she stayed with me for about a half mile, so I had to break the ice. To form, I asked her something stupid, like, “Do you come easily?” I meant to ask, “Do you run here often?” I hadn’t seen her on my previous runs.

Before I could correct myself, she was on her back on some stranger’s footlong … um, front lawn, laughing until she cried, giving me a much needed kick in the arse … err, chance to catch my breath. Anyway, we chatted for the next half mile, until I stopped in front of my house, and invited her in. It was kind of embarrassing, as without Christa around, I had no reason to clean up that morning. At least, it was only a single day’s mess.

It transpired that she had just moved in on the next street over, and worked in arts management. Not with the Symphony, fortunately, but with the Ballet. She’d seen me play with the Symphony on a couple of occasions, and had played horn at Indiana University, before changing majors. She’d gone to the Strauss last Friday. She’s invited me over for dinner tomorrow night. That will be nice. I had an evening concert in the ‘burbs tonight, so we couldn’t do it then.

She seems to have great haste … taste and complete … complex … contemptible … ugh … compatible interests, so it should be a good whine … time.

I think I’m getting tired, as I didn’t spray … weep … slur … uh, whatever … last night. Must get ahead … wed … laid …

You know what I mean. Goodnight.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (22. Too Soon – swearing)

Oops. I kissed him. Marcel. And I touched him in an inappropriate place. I couldn’t help it.

I was due to have Christa feel me up … err, retouch my henna tattoos, and Marcel took me to see his henna-artist friend, so Christa could explain what everything was, what they meant, and the best way to apply them. Excuse me if I became just a little egotistical … um, excited. I was sitting there completely naked for the better part of two hours with Christa and Evangeline (the artist) poking, prodding and painting me, all in front of Marcel.

Of course, Marcel had seen me naked while he was under enchantment … that is what he believed to be me at the time. What he saw was much more voluptuous than I have ever been, although he admitted later that he preferred the real me. I was so flattered that I kissed him, and so turned on that I touched him right in front of Christa.

That means, I’m afraid, that I’m still not completely recovered from the enchantment. It was too soon to go to rehearsal today. Just seeing a cute guy like Gary Everett (an extra trumpeter for the Alpine Symphony), made me ornery … orgasm … err, a little too horny for my own good. I couldn’t wait to get home. He’s too young and I still lack control, as evidenced by my tête-à-tête with Marcel in the evening.

Christa was lovely … living … um, livid, and wouldn’t speak to me until we arrived home after midnight. I’m still not sure that we’ve properly put on my make up … kissed and made up.

All was explained when I drew today’s card.

EIGHT of WANDS (Swiftness). Speech, light, electricity, energy, velocity … too much force applied too suddenly.

OK, I skipped a few, but you get the meaning. I emerged from my house arrest too soon.

I also dyed my hair back to it’s “natural” color today, a deep red. No more blonde bombshell … or blonde bomb, whichever you choose. It inspired Christa to recolor my leopard spots more reddish. No, they aren’t actually leopard spots (not all of them, at least), like my unfortunate friend on the X-Factor, who restored hers far too late to redeem herself. They never really went with her platinum blonde hair. (What was Demi thinking?!) She’s back on the plane home to Decatur.

I’ve been to Decatur, you know. I have distant relatives there …

OUCH!

It’s very dry today, and I just got fucked … err, zapped by static electricity. (Must stop using rubber sheets!)

Anyway, my spots have resumed their awesomeness, so I’m reading … ready to take on the world tomorrow. Well, maybe not, if today is anything to go by. Maybe I’ll dream of Gary tonight … or concoct some elaborate fantasy about time … him. (He’s not much older than Christa!)

Must get to it. Goodnight lovelies!