Planet Ezzie (1. The Trouble with Ezzie)


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.


More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (18. Seclusion?)

I drew THE HERMIT again. Will this never end?

It’s worse. You haven’t heard from me for another three days. Neither have I. They are completely blank. I fell asleep after my last posting, and woke up this afternoon. There was a care package from Marcel gorged on the kitchen table, and another sitting outside my front door. I think I’ve been outside, too, and I’ve had sex. That’s not good, since I think I’ve also skipped my period. Maybe she is making me eternally fragile … err, fertile, so that I bear a demon child. I’ve skipped periods before, especially as I approach “the change,” but this seems different. I don’t feel tender … juicy … um, good about it.

The house smells even more like heaven … uh, semen than before, but I don’t see any signs of sex here. The living room seems as messy as usual, just like the rest of the house. (I’m a snob, err, slob.) How do I know I’ve had sex? I feel stretched out, very stretched out.

Maybe it was Max. He hasn’t tried to contact me, since my last post. Maybe he came here, and Chastity devoured him. Maybe it was the policeman. There is an unmarked police car sitting out front of my house, parked on the wrong side of the feet, fleet … um, street. We have underwear … err, snow removal bans here. Even days, one side, odd days, the other. I checked the car out after midnight tonight. It’s unlocked, and the keys are in the ignition. If I could, I’d inform the police department. Marcel, if you wouldn’t mind, please … come over and I’ll give you a good time … check it out, discretely. It wouldn’t be a good idea for them to knock on my door.

I think that I might have also gone out in the cold without any clothing on. There aren’t any flirty … dirty ones lying around, and I don’t expect Ms. Ball to know how to use a modern washing machine. I haven’t worn anything in several days, except to go out to check out the car. I find clothing increasingly disgusting, as it bars the touch of another. I keep turning the heat up, especially as the temperature plummets outdoors. It’s below freezing out there right now.

I’m doomed. Doomed and maybe pregnant.

Ordinarily, that wouldn’t be likely for me, but who knows?

P.S. My Eirica story is progressing well. (The only thing in my life that is.) It’s about desire, so Chastity seems to allow me that luxury without stuttering. I’m nearly finished with it. It takes a while to format it, so I’ll post the chapters as I can. I hope to have chapter 5 by the weekend. Wouldn’t you know, it has a lucky 13 chapters. Just great! (Maybe I’ll combine some!)

come and let me make you a superman … you will be the great one … my beloved … my strength … she will do whatever you ask …

…and the wind whispers back

your name
softly whispered on the wind
green forever in all directions
meeting the sky
dark and brooding

I, your Goddess
naked in the grass
waiting for you
in a sultry drizzle
my storm is brewing

only I can take you there

echoing the distant thunder
my heart beats for you
I am hungry
the embodiment of desire
of passion

I summon you
my love slave
but to serve you
as you would me
my minions are well-treated

you are here

I’ve waited long for you
the rain quickens
pours between my breasts
they long for your touch
your taste

a shirt clings
to your chest
better off
I crave the smell of a man
drenched in a spring shower

I free you

don your shirt
your trousers, your essence
to be in you
as you will soon
be in me

lightning flashes
we change roles
your turn to undress me
thunder blasts
in your touch

I want you

push you to the grass
I rule you
and you crave my rule
my touch, my tongue
knees squeezing your hips

nature unleashes its fury
heaving with me in my lust
but to please you
I know your needs
as they mirror mine

I love you

all-consuming love
I give myself to you
your dreams, peaking
and in the height of my storm
I scream your name into the deluge

…and the wind whispers back

Full Frontal

in one of those moods, I can’t help it,
driving to distraction down a cul-de-sac
thinking too much, too focused

on him, holding me,
his warmth, his scent,
the sound of his breathing

mine quickens

in bed I lie awake
he is my fantasy
was my reality long ago

I’m warm, so is he
at home in his bed
heart in mine


I can hear it
speeding along with mine

his touch, remembered
there between my breasts
softly stroking, feels my throb

in the liquid darkness
a moan, a question
yes, my answer

always yes

it’s been so long
always yes, forever
I part

he fuels my storm
my swell
an earthquake

his gift accepted
the past
a present cherished


I’m a damp pool
my bed soaked
must wash the sheets tomorrow

I am weak
push relentlessly
he is constant

I wish

the glint of his eyes
just out of reach
he knows

I’m in one of those moods again,
and my desire consumes me
come to me in my dreams,

my love