Planet Ezzie (10. Moonshine)

XVIII. The Moon.

Illusion, fear, anxiety, subconscious, intuition

I’m afraid.

The Rite of Spring went extremely well – too well. It was savage and violent. I could feel Beatrice stirring as the Chosen One danced herself to death, and I confess that I was well lubricated by the end of all three performances, marinating in my own juices. Beatrice is the destroyer, and she is destroying me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so horny.

If it was just the urge, I could handle it, but the conductor for the concert was David Henshl, a young English conductor that I’ve fancied since he conducted us last year. He’s also conducting a Bruckner Symphony next weekend.

And thanks to Beatrice tinkering with my biological clock, he’s noticed me. I’m having dinner with him tomorrow night. I should have refused. Fuck! That’s exactly what Beatrice wants, and he won’t know what hit him.

Tonight’s dream was me, bathing (naked, as usual) in a pool filled with honey, with David conducting me from the diving board, bare-chested. I woke up around 1 am, and couldn’t fall back to sleep. And now Tommy is signalling me with his flashlight. Time to throw up … um, some clothes on.


Putting some clothes on just to go to the end of the garden to have sex … eek … converse with someone who sees right through them (and through me, I think) seems like an anathema, but what if his parents woke and came out to see what he was doing? The new symbols apparently make me even brighter and clearer to him, and they change color according to my mood. He sensed my fear.

He touched me.

He didn’t need to speak. As I rested my hands on the chain-link fence, placed his hand on mine. Could he see my tears?

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” I whispered.

“What are your options?” he asked.

“I can remove the henna, and submit to her,” I replied, “or I keep fighting until we find a solution to this problem.” Submitting, of course, had some advantages: regular sex, a long life as a twenty year old, a brood of children (all girls). “I feel like I am losing already.”

“You won’t win every battle,” he said, “but you can win the war. Always look for the big picture.”

He kissed my hand and went back inside. I slumped to the ground up against the fence, and cried for about an hour. I am a fifty-something disguised in a 20-year-old body. He is a wise ancient inhabiting a 13-year-old. I don’t understand.

It’s past 3 am now. His touch eased my fear, but what compromise is going to be required of me? I find that disturbing on one level, but I can feel myself … falling … asleep.


Planet Ezzie (8. The Redhead in this Picture is …)


Photo by Israel Gomes from Pexels

Today’s lesson with Tommy was unremarkable. He is very good for his age, better than most high schoolers. I don’t know if he wants to be a professional yet, but it is probably too early to say. He has had a good start. His mother was in the kitchen – there is no door in between the kitchen, dining, and living rooms, so it was all beeswax, um, business. He has a p- (no, I refuse to type that!), c- (that, too) … good instrument, although I would recommend that he buys a better one in high school, one that is p- … prohibited, err, professional-ready.

Beatrice is impatient tonight.

I’ve spent the past week doing a little family research. The su- suc- … Beatrice is supposed to be an ancestor of mine, Crystal Ball according to Marcel, but if you recall, she revealed herself as Beatrice to me a few weeks ago. I’ve been looking through some of the old family scrap and photo albums, which I’ve never before burnt, been, … seen. I was never really interested in my genealogy. My father’s family paid to have its history done by the Mormons, and, of course, they found Mormons in the Dryar line. (They always do.) My maternal line is more obscure, although my cousin Freda (we all have archaic names) has done some work of her own. It appears that Crystal Ball is my great-grandmother, and her mother … well, I just have to quote the parish record:

Mr R Ball wed Miss Globe Mason on 31 October in the year of our Lord 1823.

and later:

Crystal, daughter of Mr and Mrs R Ball, was baptized on November 13 in the year of our Lord 1824. (No middle name?)

Yes, my great-great-grandmother was named Globe Ball, and her maiden name was Mason (as in Mason and Ball jars).

Crystal Ball never married, but conceived 13 children out of wedlock, the last being Beatrice Elizabeth Ball on 13 November, 1904. It isn’t clear, but I believe there were 13 different fathers, when looking at the pictures.

Yes, you are reading that right. Not only is Beatrice my grandmother, but she was born when her mother was 80 years old. (I didn’t think that was possible!) There is a newspaper clipping, but Crystal looked no older than 40. Beatrice was murdered the year before I was born, and was known as Betty by my mother, which is why I didn’t recognize the name.

What was most revealing, however, were the photos. It seems that Crystal was camera-shy, but there are photos of her around the times of the births of her (Get this!) 13 daughters. She last appears in a 1918 propaganda photo that was recently colorized. I found it on the web. The black and white poster was in the scrapbook, with Crystal clearly marked. She looked 20. That’s right, she looked younger than in the 1904 newspaper photo. In the colorized version from 2018, she had flowing red hair, and aside from that, she looked exactly like me when I was 20, except she was a little more busty.

Like her mother, Beatrice was camera-shy, and always looked young for her age. That’s an understatement. She always looked 20, even in the last photo of her before her death around 1960. She looked exactly like her mother and consequently me, although I was born with dark brown hair, which has lightened over the years to auburn – not quite red, but certainly a very reddish brown, and not at all what it was like in my teens. Right now, it’s very light from bleaching in the sun, which might mask the appearance of gray, although I haven’t seen a single gray hair, since my p0ssse- … You know – that.

I can’t find any record of Beatrice being married, yet my mother’s maiden name was MacKay. I know little about my grandfather. No pictures. I think he must have died around the birth of my mother. She also had only sisters, but she aged normally, as I do … or did, until recently. I probably look at least 10 years younger than I should. I assume Beatrice is the source of that.

She wants me to have a daughter … or six.

That is the logical conclusion that I just came to. That’s why she is tinkering with my appearance.

I’ve just drawn my card for today: V. The Hierophant

Wisdom, conformity, marriage, tradition.

Now, I didn’t expect that. No, I’m not going to see a priest about it. Maybe it’s the tradition – I’m to conform to the “tradition” of my ancestors. Puke!

Yes, Beatrice, I can tell that is what you want. Message received. Bugger off!

Planet Ezzie (5. Unicorn)


Photo by Israel Gomes from Pexels

I was touched up today, my hermes, hen-night, handles, uh … henna, that is. It’s fresh and brown, totally obscured by my clothing. I feel … feel … long, dong, throng … strong now. She has less control over me. I should feel good, right?

Wrong. I was in the drug store today, and in the line in front of me was a wombat, err, woman, albeit half my age, wearing a hangover … halter and short shorts. Her skin was absolutely perfect – even tanned tone, and not a mark on it, that is until I was virtually up against her. Then, I could see a pinprick sized mole on her right shoulder-blade, and one on her right bicep about the size of half a fire ant.

Unfortunately, that didn’t make me feel any less of a dunderhead … human … dingdong … err, less depressed. Until I can kick this dispossession (see how I slipped that in without her interpretation, interregnum, interaction, interval, interstition, [I’ll get there eventually] interferon … interference) (There, that will do!), I’ll be mostly covered. If I went out in public like her, I would elicit stares, perhaps even questions from noisy, nonsense … nosy passersby.

I had the day off from the symphony and sat on the back porch reading my book in my bikini, watched like a stalk, balk, hamburger (?) … hawk by Tommy for hours on end, sometimes playing in his back yard (for a short time with Jimmy his friend from down the road) who I think didn’t even notice me until their baseball flew over my fence. Jimmy ran away, but Tommy accosted me.

“Excuse me,” he called. I had already walked over to fetch his ball. “Are you a witch?” he asked. I had to admire his candor.

“No, not really,” I replied. I didn’t really want to explain.

“What’s that all over your body?”

“Henna,” I said, “It’s like a tattoo, but it isn’t permanent.”

“Why does it glow?” he asked.

“Don’t be silly, it doesn’t glow,” I replied, handing him his ball.

“I can see it at night, especially,” he said, “and I can see it through your clothes even now.” The scant few I had on.

I looked down at my bikini top. Nothing there, nor on the bottoms. “I don’t see anything.” I said.

“There is a unicorn right there,” he said, pointing at the inside of my right breast.

I resisted the urge to look undercover, undressed … underneath. I knew he was right. “You can see it?” I asked. “What else?” I shouldn’t have asked.

“What does that mean?” he asked, pointing at my right breast, just over my heart.

“It’s an ANKH,” I said, remembering what was there. “It means life.”

“What about that horseshoe, there?” he asked, pointing at my pelvis.

I flushed, “it means the pearly gate.”


I dared not go into it. He could clearly see every marking on me, whether or not it was covered. “Can you see everything when I’m fully dressed? I asked.

“Yes,” he nodded after a short hesitation. There was more that he didn’t want to tell me.

That explained why he was obsessed by me. There were many symbols that were sexual, or even phallic, so I needed to distract him. Not even I knew what they all meant. I needed to know more from Tommy, though. “You are the only person who can see them,” I said. “You’ve got to keep that secret.”

“I will,” he promised.

“Sometime I want to talk to you about it,” I said. “I need to figure out why you can see them and no one else. You had better go find your friend.”

He ran off, but came back alone to sit on his back porch to do some homework, and stare at me some more, until he was called in for dinner.

Knight of Swords

A man, intelligent, subtle and clever. His capacity for abstract thought will be well developed. He is also highly intuitive and perceptive. His nature will be elusive and ethereal, yet he has a strength and fascination that is hard to deny. He compels attention, except when he doesn’t want it, and at those times you will not even notice him pass by.

Is this Tommy? I can’t believe it to be so, but I can see that he is special. I have to be careful not to give him too much of my attention. The optics just wouldn’t be right.

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 (32. Dreaming)

TEN of WANDS. Oppression (inverted). Force detached from spiritual sources. Fire in its most destructive aspect. Inverted, it could me self-sacrifice or generosity.

That would be the dream I had after the dinner party. I gave away everything – even the clothes off my back. Nudity dreams are nothing nude … new to me. I’m told they happen when I feel exposed or at risk. Sometimes they are freedom dreams. This was probably a little of both.

You know me: an exhibitionist who keeps herself to herself. I guess that would be a “closet exhibitionist.” I long to have my clothes off, but worry if I show a little too much sin … sick … um, skin.

Anyway, the dream. It started back at the party, and the showing of the henna. Instead of un-tucking my blouse or hiking up my skirt, I progressively removed each garment and gave it to a member of the coterie. (Elsa got my panties – strange.) Anyway, after I had taken it all off with a few members of the coterie remaining, we all went back to my house where I proceeded to continue giving things away … to anyone who came by at that point … until everything was gone except me and my house, which I duly gave to Evie.

Talk about a lucid dream … that was probably the most lucid dream I’ve ever had, except maybe the one about having silver skin, but that was a long time ago.

“Force detached from spiritual sources.” I think of that line and wonder, was the dream an attempt to reconnect with the spiritual? I had to purge myself of the wordy … err, worldly? It’s possibly, but at the end of the dream, I found myself giving my body to the men that were there, including Marcel. That may have been my consciousness trying to regain control, as the dream turned so suddenly. Before anything happened, I awoke – a sure sign of that being the case.

The dream was surely a message. Now I have to just interpret its meaning. Turn to the spiritual, yes, but how? What kind of spiritual? Would I have to choose between Wiccan and Catholicism? For me, that isn’t a choice. Part of me is each of those, and belief has little to do with it. I believe what I believe, and there isn’t a choice about it. I just have to do it in a more spiritual way.

Whatever that is.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (31. A Lick in the …)


I’m sorry it has been several days since my last pants … sex … err, post. Lot’s has happened. I discovered that Janice has been in the hospital for several days. She’d had a car accident – a bad one – and they were worried about her spleen, a collapsed lung, and a few other things. That was the day we were supposed to have dinner. She’d lost her guts … um, cellphone in the accident, and that’s where my phone number was.

The dinner party was tonight. I had a rare evening off from the symphony, and Evangeline had planned accordingly. Elsa, Marcel’s wife, was pleasant to me, if not a little stand-off-ish. She didn’t trust me. (I wouldn’t in her circumstances.) As I expected she wasn’t a woman … err, a Wiccan, but almost everyone else at the party was. Most, except Elsa, were interested in Evangeline’s artwork all over my boy … um, body. It was mostly Christa’s artwork, but Evie was much better with a brush, and enhanced it considerably. Where Christa’s work was functional, Evie’s was art. (Sorry Christa.) Anyway, I found myself stripping down to take … show it off. OK, taking off to show off.

Although most of the “art” is under my clothing, part of it must be visible to be effective, and usually it is what looks like an olive branch on the back of my right hand. Tonight, however, I wore a lower cut than usual – was that to attract Marcel? I don’t know. Maybe that was the reason for Elsa’s mistrust. The stars in my (almost non-existent) cleavage drew the eyes downward – within – and my three-quarter sleeves revealed the leopard spots on the left side and more of the olive branch on the right. They couldn’t help but ask about it.

That just fed my exhibitionist nature.

I now seem to be part of the coterie of about 15 of them. I felt comfortable with them, even Elsa at times, and I agreed to join them for their monthly orgies … err, full moon gatherings, when I wasn’t busy with a late concert. Like Marcel, many were interested in music, and were frequent visitors to the symphony. Most had seen me perform, so I was at a slight disadvantage. Marcel wasn’t really their leader. It was a loose democratic organization, and the High Priest or Priestess was a rotating position. Evie was at the end of her term, and nominated me to take over.

I was elected unanimously – even Elsa voted for me. Why? I don’t know what I’m doing in any formal way, but that was apparently my affliction … um, attraction. Maybe they were just nosy and wanted the next gathering at my house. It was a fairly even split of men and women, but Marcel and Elsa were the only couple.

Was Evie just setting me up? Only she would know.

That explained today’s card:

TWO of WANDS. Dominion. Fire in its highest form, energy initiating a current of force, harmony of rule and justice, influence over another, boldness, courage, fierceness.

As much as I like that, I know that it must only be a temporary state. Yes, I’m fire, but isn’t that only because of what I am, and what has happened to me? Of course, I’m the Princess of Wands, but I am no leader. In fact, I’m the one who prefers to stay on the margins: not quite a Catholic (not a good one, at least), not quite Wiccan. Now I’m thrust in a leadership mode.

How long is my sentence … um term? It is of indefinite length – one year minimum, and then until someone (including me) says it is time for someone else. Evie had been the High Priestess for three years, and had apparently planned the ambush … err, dinner party to elect someone new, namely me. How did she know everyone would agree? Did they agree because they knew that I wouldn’t want to do it?

Or is it to heal the bite-marks in my soul?

Oh, I almost forgot to explain the licking reference. Somebody, licked me in my “knee pit” (not my ear, which is where I might like to have been licked in other circumstances), and it wasn’t Evie’s dog, who was asleep in front of the fire at the time. I wasn’t in a position to react right away, but when I did, the perpetrator was gone. (It was while I was being “invested” in my new position.) Who would stick their head up my skirt and lick me behind the knee? It wasn’t Marcel or Evie.

Elsa? She definitely wasn’t in view. No, it couldn’t have been her. There were others who I also couldn’t see at the time.

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.