Taurus 8° (corresponding to April 26, 2016)

(For last year’s meditation on the Sabian Symbol for this degree:  click here)

Sometimes you just have to do everything. That is to say, in a world where we pick and choose our priorities, there are moments in life when doing it all is the most relaxing choice. Yesterday (five minutes ago) we talked about standing back and assessing all the plans and projects in your life as beds in that fixed-earth Taurus garden; and yes that is exactly how it is that we must view not only what’s on our plate but the full scope of all we possess. We will be told what needs doing by meditating on this bed or that. It isn’t linear, you see. We don’t power completely through one project, always, creating perfection and then move onto the next bit of business—yes, there are exceptions if we have a deadline imposed by an outside source, entity or authority but, let’s face it, the expectations of others are far easier to fulfill than our own, especially, if we are perfectionists living in an otherwise second-rate state. But when it comes to our own self-started and -made projects and plans, what’s the rush? Why not prepare the soil, plant the seeds and then sit back and see what takes and what needs redirection, cultivating, editing, etc.

We must let time be on our side in this—it is, after all, one half of the unfolding. It facilitates our ability to bloom without struggle or slightest hesitation. Fear. That is the factor. Fear. Of not having enough. That is the consequence, if we heed the allegory of the garden, of giving into temptation. Temptation to eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. The tree that makes us second guess—are we good enough. Self-consciousness sets in near the end of the span of human life ruled by the sign of Taurus, 7-14. It is then we are suddenly aware of our nakedness. Adam and Eve in their blissed-out, insouciant Garden are undeniable metaphors for our human existence at that time in our life when we are budding toward sexual maturity, unaware, perhaps ourselves, but typically not unnoticed by certain snakes in the grace that might be egging us on to take a bite out of sexually mature life. In the Greek mythos, Taurus is represented by the nymphs and nubile flower gods who are likewise unawares of the attraction they invite until its thrust upon them. And typically it’s not a pretty ending to the story.

We said that the Taurus chapters are called The Idol (Man) and The Ideal (Woman) both terms being dependent on the attention, attraction and opinion of others. Taurus people will tend to give others what Taurus thinks they want from them. And they tend to be very good at that. Typically, they are imitators, not to take anything away from them on that score. Not that they live the adage that imitation is the highest form of flattery—they scarcely know they are imitating at all. Or if they are, they will convince themselves of the viability of doing so. For, woe it is to the cardinal signs of the Zodiac, the Initiators, who aren’t often widely credited for their accomplishments in pioneering until that precious commodity of Time rediscovers them in hindsight; while the Imitators, typically the fixed-signs of the Zodiac, take the seeds that are sown by cardinal signs and fertilize the fuck out of them, perfecting their efforts down to the last detail, through rigid repetition, though they would have you think they haven’t put in all that much effort at all.

Copyright 2016 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Taurus 7° (corresponding to April 26, 2016)

(For last year’s meditation on the Sabian Symbol for this degree:  click here)

T is for Time. It is a commodity that falls under the rule of that sign’s native second astrological house. We think of that house as consisting of that which we possess. Taurus, fixed-earth (a garden) pointing to our need to tend what we have—”I Have” being the Taurus motto. In the Garden of Eden, pre biting into that Gemini apple of duality, we weren’t aware of this or that, good or evil, clothed or naked, innocent or shame or now or then. We lived in an eternal dreamstate. (When I say we, you know what I mean.) Time, like Innocence, was a precious commodity, apparently, which we didn’t Value until it was lost. I try very hard to slow down Time. Meditation is the surest way to do so—to live inside moments instead of rushing ahead. We want to tick, tick, tick things off our list. Right now, it is not even 4 AM and I am writing this because, I think since I decided yesterday I had to write two Blagues a day through July 4 “to catch up” that I didn’t sleep well in anticipation of the fact that I have other major looming projects. But that’s not how Time works.

In a garden we can’t rush. We can only do what the garden asks of us on any given day. There is a weed that’s cropped up, let us remove it. The soil looks dry, let us water it. It might be depleted, let us feterlize it. This is growing to large, let us prune. This is going to seed, let us cultivate before it does. The garden tells us when it is Time to do what. Now, if we can look at all the stuff—this is a shadow-term for the Taurean materials and attributes we possess, and an apt one, as it blocks the energy of our “unfolding” like the flowers we all are—on our agenda, today, or this week, or this month or year, the projects we are cultivating: It is best to stand back and look at them all as separate beds in our garden; and to only do what is necessary on this day or that to bring them to full fostering.

We don’t rush in the garden. We survey and savor. We Appreciate above all. Ironically, I find that Taurus people are the most challenged when it comes to the appreciation factor. It is their particular plot of metaphorical land to tend. Especially since they naturally possess great talent as a rule, making it all the more ironic. But the Bull can be myopic. They might see, in their minds I, what it is they want to the exclusive, even of what they already possess. In Sextrology we call the Taurus man The Idol and the Taurus woman The Ideal as both share a tendency to be held up in high esteem. But it begs the question: If the Taurus flower isn’t being prized and worshipped for all the beauty it brings, does it nonetheless appreciate itself?

Copyright 2016 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Taurus 6° (corresponding to April 25, 2016)

(For last year’s meditation on the Sabian Symbol for this degree:  click here)

Life is hard. Make no mistake. But it is often easier than we make it. When you start to spin: stop, drop and roll with the punches. Do not think ahead. Do not think back. You know the drill about the future and the past. It’s not just woo-woo to stay in the present it’s the absolute answer to everything. It’s what keeps you still, fixed, which is one of the messages of the sign of Taurus whose metaphorical and metaphysical landscape is that of the eternal garden, Eden, which translates to delight, the verb tense of which can be very helpful to employ.

So much of our stress comes from that which isn’t working in our lives. Stop, drop and roll. Don’t try to make things happen, let them. It might not be the them you had in mind but so what. Often, that which we try to make happen involves the attention or participation of others, which, trust me, is never satisfying. It’s a labyrinth all its own, like that of the Minotaur, the embodiment of desire for others. If you love what you do you will do it with or without an audience. The shadow-id side of Taurus is front-loading how you’re seen by others, as opposed to naturally attracting others as a byproduct of cultivating yourself.

We live, in modern times with a sort of amplified soul-sickness, because through the manic manifestation of all media, we are party to everyone seeking, succeeding or failing, to attract attention from others. And it inspires this sort of weird world of comparison and competition. I look up on it as a universal trick being played on us by the mischievous god Mercury, namesake of that tiny planet with whom we’re all familiar due to its retrogrades to which we chalk up all our problems and snafus. Mercury is the god of our mentality, via the sign of Gemini and the third astrological house. And, indeed, he might be running amok in this epoc having his manipulative way with us.

But perhaps it’s all to teach us a lesson. Maybe we need to know how sick our minds and our culture can be in its desperate superficial longing for some semblance of spotlight. Playing tricks, as this trickster god is wont to do, upon our pure Taurean birthright to tend our own gardens of talents and abilities and values and qualities and assets and beauty as it is synonymous with our dignity. Taurus energy is centrifugal, focused inward toward ourselves, most healthfully, from our outer selves of consciousness toward our inner self of private needs, desire to increase intrinsic value, and fulfillment of our latent abilities. But when we extend the outer range of centrifugal force to make the starting point the perception of others, directed toward ourselves, it is a pollution of this Taurus power

So stop. Shut it down. Give others’ thoughts of you no heed and seek not to manipulate them. Yes, market yourself. But only when you feel you’ve something cultivated to put out there. Otherwise keep the focus on yourself. And when you do (Gemini) market whatever content you’ve created as a result of your cultivated talents (Taurus) to sit around waiting for, or judging, the results of your efforts. You have no control over outcomes; and they are never personal. You should scarcely notice, because you will have moved on to another area of your garden needing weeding and screaming for cultivation. That’s all I have to say about that.

Copyright 2016 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Taurus 5° (corresponding to April 24)

Apparently I already wrote a couple of days worth in my word document from whence I cut and then paste here; I remember, now, posting this directly on Facebook, on Mother’s Day, but this was meant to be a Blague as well. 

(For last year’s meditation on the Sabian Symbol for this degree:  click http://cosmicblague.com/all-things-must/)

Mothers, mothers, mothers. They seem to either be the best in the world or warrant breaking up with them, if you read the gospel truths of Facebook. Mine was a Pisces, which means she was the best and the worst. I grew up in a time when you’d send your 9 year old son to get your packs or cartons of cigarettes, especially if you were borderline agoraphobic, which also meant you had to hide if the doorbell rang at the wrong time even if it was the paperboy just trying to collect some money…again. You might also be alcoholic and pass out at friends’ houses, and when I say friends I mean mine since agoraphobic mothers seem to like to only make friends with the drinky parents of their kid’s friends, even if said actually stopped being friends with them. You might still have to skateboard over and pour your poor mother into her big black Buick and teach yourself how to drive (her) home by simply trying to remember how you’ve seen adults drive in the past—thank goodness for all those 1970s car chases on TV. And then you put her to bed. That was even more terrifying than the driving. Then again you might appreciate the fact that she was sensitive, smart, highly tuned, psychic, spiritual, deeply empathetic and powerful and fancied herself a silver screen starlet, morphing before your eyes in Bette Davis, Anne Baxter, Polly Bergen and Gena Rowlands in the course of a single sentence. Or that when asked “whom do you love most in the world?” she would reply “me” unironically. Or that she mainly watched PBS, but for Donahue and 60 Minutes or the occasional mini-series of the Thornbirds derivative. Or that, when I first went to France at nineteen, her bon voyage present to me was a hardcopy of James Joyce’s Ullysses which she inscribed, “From One Irishman to Another In France”. That she knew things. That her PIsces eyes pointed inward toward a soul and even when she was staring right at you, you got the feeling she was staring right at her. The true her. The one that didn’t smoke or drink or even go to AA meetings for twenty-five years or pretend to care about the banalties of life beyond her books and the ubiquitous Snickers bars on which she chewed, on one side of her mouth, the same side from whence she spoke, as Pisces often do, or laughed that huh-huh-huh laugh as if she were simultaneouly still exhaling one of her Salem 100s. The one that loved her familiar—her twenty-five lb. Persian Blue mix, Kerry, who followed her everywhere and mimicked her every move as it lay with her in bed, in the air-conditioning, summers, as she polished off yet another Maeve Binchy, her teeth Snicker sticking together. I would suspect that after herself and Kerry, I might have been a close third. (With father and barkeep: Peggy Leone née Margaret Anna Mary McDonough.

Copyright 2015 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Taurus 4°

(For last year’s meditation on the Sabian Symbol for this degree:  click here)

I have to start work on our Gemini themed show for this coming Sunday, which is actually a bit early—shows are typically the third Sunday of the month but as May started on a Sunday the third one is the fifteenth, when we are still in Taurus for another five or so days. That said, these shows really are hinged on the transition from one sign to another.

Aries was the premier masculine, objective, active sign, ruled by Mars, the planet named for the uber macho war god whose sigil, the spear and shield, also recalls the male genatalia, arrow emerging from circle. It’s motto is the self evident I am. Then we had Taurus, the premier feminine, subjective, passive sign ruled by Venus, the planet named for the uber femme goddess of love whose sigil, which can be red as a flower with petals or a hand mirror, also recalls the circular womb led to by a canal crossed with a hymen. The Taurus motto is the possessive “I have”. Aries, cardinal fire, is creation, the big bang the spark of life, Taurus is, fixed earth, the garden, Eden, which led to certain temptation.

Gemini, the third and a mutable sign, is a combination of these opposite signs that come before, the magical child, the literal offspring of male and female, the fertilized egg. Picking up from the Taurus flower, Gemini is the winged birds and bees, mutable air, buzzing about, picking up bits and pieces, cross-pollenating the planet with information. A combination of masculine and feminine forces, ruled by planet Mercury, named for the aptly winged god of communication, Greek Hermes from whom we derive the word Hermaphrodite, in that god’s coupling with the goddess of love. Mercury’s sigil, depicts winged capped head of Mercury on a cross, thoughts having wings, while it also recalls a an insect with antennaes attuned to both sending and receiving messages—active and passive; objective and subjective—at once. Gemini’s motto is I Think. Mercury is the mentally manipulative messenger god of communication and all such related words as community and committees, specifically the immediate sort. Immediacy being a commodity of both time and space—Mercury is, well, mercurial and can be nearly everywhere at once, in an instant—he is also the god of immediate surroundings, of brotherhoods, guilds, bands, the market place, the word merchant deriving from his name.

Robin Hood, named for a bird, flitting from tree to tree, and his merry men, is a legendary incarnation of Mercury; as is Robin Goodfellow, Shakespeare’s Puck, the messenger of King Oberon, as Mercury/Hermes is the messenger of Zeus/Jupiter. Peter Pan and his island of lost boys—boon companions. Jack Sparrow, Batman’s Robin, on and on we see this boyish character echoed through our consciousness.

In biblical terms, where as Aries is Genesis and Taurus is the garden of Eden, Gemini is the gift-curse of consciousness as resulted from biting into that forbidden fruit of the knowledge of good and evil—duality!—the twins of Gemini. Good bad, clothed naked, mortal immortal. In biting into that apple we at once were elevated to god consciousness and yet fell from grace being doomed to live a mortal existence. I say why put a tree of forbidden fruit in the first place unless you want we mere humans to trip, stumble and fall from this grace. I’m just saying. It’s like the most obvious foreshadowing.

The Gemini of which we speak of course are the classic Greek Twins Castor and Pollux, one mortal the other divine, of course, same themology as the Judeo-Christian story. And more bird imagery, flight being symbolic of the immortal aspect of our nature, our soul forever taking flight. For you see these so-called twins, who weren’t actually twins with each other at all, were born, hatched from two separate fertilized eggs their mother Leda laid, after she was laid by Zeus in the guise of a swan. They each had twin sisters that hatched along with them however, Clytemnestra and Helen, ultimately, of Troy fame.

Castor and Clytemnestra were mortal and Pollux and Helen were immortal, one egg being fertilized by Leda’s mortal husband, the other by divine Zeus. Okay pin in that.

Myth. Greek myth. Bible myth. It’s all allegory. It’s all archetype. The stories being told are being told right here within us. And the Zodiac brings those stories down to us. The Zodiac, with its myriad mythic associations per sign, point to realities that live within all of us.

It’s not foremost about what Sun sign you are—you’re a Pisces, I’m a Libra—that’s the nitty gritty that we can get into with you on a personal level, but first, there is something, more sweeping, but most essential, about which the Zodiac teaches us about everybody—the underlying truths of all human existence, collective and individual.

Aries and the first house teaches us all, and this is each of us speaking, that: I am a spiritual warrior (for what is up to you); Taurus teaches us that: I have a garden of delights—talents, abilities, innate qualities (which we all have to cultivate); and Gemini teaches us that: I think a full range of thoughts, from the divine to the earthly to, potentially, something lower still, and that my ability to think is my divine power and/or potentially my diabolical undoing. Mercury’s winged cap shows that my thoughts, as an expression of my soul, have wings; but that these can also be devilish horns that can lead to our downfall, if not our damnation.

Copyright 2016 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Taurus 3°

(For last year’s meditation on the Sabian Symbol for this degree:  click here)

Oh wait, my intention in the previous Blague was to talk a bit about Kiki & Herb, whom we saw perform at Joe’s Pub on Friday. Now, there is a sort of embargo on talking about the show in social media and so forth but since three people are reading this I think it’s safe to say: we’re fine. Meanwhile I don’t plan on giving much, if anything away; other than the fact that I was so happy this show was what it was. I was a bit concerned about nostalgia—not so much the performers as my own—for a time when Kiki & Herb first hit the scene in New York, in the 90s, Justin Bond and Kenny Mellman arriving from San Francisco nearly a decade after we hit New York, and their being so very much older than we are.

That was a joke. Kenny is younger than we are and Justin Vivian and we are born the same year (v is still older though). Point is there was no nostalgia but for little lacings, enough to inspire knowing glances regarding bygone times; but mainly the act moved forward despite their eight year hiatus, the instigation of which I remember clear as day. In this new incarnation of K&H we have performers who, Time being what it is, look closer to the age of the characters, so while the visual joke of drawn lines on faces and depression-era antics still read, the marching on of that T-word does make a poignant play across the mind of a die-hard K&H fan.

So much has happened in Justin Vivian’s life in the past eight years—I don’t know much about Kenny’s trajectory (mainly because there was a time when being friendly with the H would have, and did, inspire the casual threat of wrath from the K. And to be fair, Justin Vivian is one of my dearest friends on the planet whilst I never really knew Kenny all that well. I do think that is mainly my fault and, well, it’s not really a point I want to hit that hard. I love them both. And Justin Vivian is unparalleled as an artist as well as a person of character; the very human moments we’ve shared as friends, though often smacking of the relationship between Margo and Karen in all about Eve, nonetheless only endears me to JV all the more.

But I was talking about v’s life experience and wanted to point out how she has litereally characterizes changes in v’s only life into fictional personages you don’t see, of course, but hear tell of. Such that, through the lens of Kiki, the octagenarian showgirl, we see various aspects of self, personified, as historical figures, friends and lovers and even grandchildren. It’s pretty brilliant. And the satire has become even more loosely warped over the years. The entire first bit of the show is a kitchen sink account of where K&H have been over the last near-decade. That bit of the show is all over the map in the truest and most brilliant sense of the word.

Anyway, I would suggest your’e going to see it but you can’t it’s sold out.

Copyright 2016 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Taurus 2°

(For last year’s meditation on the Sabian Symbol for this degree:  click here)

So I’ve done the math and I have to write at least two Blagues a day for the next nine days in order to catch up. Fine. It’s my penance—for what I’m not sure—but being the middle class un-entitled under/over-achiever that I am, I simply assume punishment in any form.

I made a list of topics I could tackle but of course I’m not looking at them. Today is a beautiful Spring day and, not one to ever complain about the weather, I kind of like the fact we’ve had a chilly spring. The tulips and blossoms are still out and about in Boston, whereas in NYC they’ve been replaced by solid shades of green, for the most part. We were just in town to see Kiki & Herb. I saw town because I’m still a New Yorker in so many ways; and I’m so grateful I get to spend a good week a month there, for the most part. However I must say I’m also very pleased to make a, sometimes, hasty retreat, once the magic has worn off, back to our beloved Boston, which is very much its own city and yet a sort of bedroom community for us. After being in NYC, even for just a few days, returning to Boston seems like going to the country. I can stroll down the long avenues of the Back Bay for hours (or, if Stella is with me, she will tell me how many “steps” my stroll has translated to) without seeing or passing more than a relatively few other individuals, all of whom seem to have low blood pressure and a very open schedule.

New York on the other hand has become such a tourist city filled with people who walk out of buildings or stop in the middle of sidewalks or at street corners looking up, and not in an optimistic way because one suspects their posture is a recipe for getting hit by a bus. But New York has one thing over every other city and that is Synchronicity.

Things always “happen” to us there. We arrived at a hotel we found on hotels-tonight or whatever it’s called—I don’t arrange these things—not because I have a dutiful personal assistant mind you but because I have no technical acumen. I’m not even sure I have any apps on my phone. Anyway, we headed to the Dover Street Market named for the Dover Street Market in London which is actually on Dover Street. In NYC, it’s on 30th and Lex.

We entered and beelined to the Rose’s Bakery for coffee and polenta cake and our server, an adorable redhead with street-performing body language, came to take our order. There was a moment of recognition. “Are you Starsky + Cox?” You know the answer to that. And it turns out she’s this actress and aspiring astrologist who has been talking to our assistant expressing her want to meet us; meanwhile Stella has been watching her performance videos with interest and thinks she’s a great talent. Her name is Ruby. Which I thought funny because I was deep in thought and work, typing away as I am now, on the Limo Liner en route to NYC, and only really looked up once to see a sign and it said Ruby Road. Now I was listening to the Beatles and thought that was its own synchronicity, confusing in my pea brain lovely Rita with Ruby Tuesday. But never mind. Here was our first synch.

We strolled downtown. I had just shown Stella this picture I took in France of a grafitti which said L’Amour Est Un Art Martial” which means Love is a Martial Art, which I think is a great thought, and especially as a grafitti. As a resident of the planet that orbits between Venus and Mars, representing love and war respectively, I am, as should we all be, profoundly aware how one is a metaphor for the other and, I like the way this sentiment connected the two—martial art indeed. So, downtown, with ten minutes to kill before our dinner reservation, we popped into yet another new New York incarnation of a favorite shop found elsewhere, Resurrection, the vintage clothing store.

As you enter there is a large bookshelf with big art books. Within seconds a giant book jumped off the shelf and landed with a loud slap-thud. The freaked out sales girl was like this has never happened. The title of the book being some riff on Bowie’s Life On Mars. Fine. Book gets replaced. Half a minute later. It flies, not falls, off again. Whack-wham. And now other salespeople, who helped put the book up there, are all scratching their heads dumbfounded. Of course, we were a wee bit less surprised, explaining that we are familiar with planetary themes, and so forth, and stranger things have happened. But, as Cindy Adams says (once said…is she still alive?): “Only in New York Folks” does energy work in so specific, dramatic and synchronic a fashion. Then it turns on you quickly and you’ve got to get the fuck out of there.

Copyright 2016 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.

I stumbled upon this I wrote about the Cosmic Blague idea three years ago:

Taurus 1°

(For last year’s meditation on the Sabian Symbol for this degree:  click here)

Revelation tends to be funny. Our ah-ha moments are typically also ha-ha ones. What makes up our lives? Actions, sensation, situation, perception, feeling, intuition, wisdom, evolution, synchronicity, enlightenment, possible ascension? Have we missed anything?

Like you, we have been many things. This has resulted in clumps of accumulated story. Think of your funniest stories. Do they not also carry some revelation? Typically, so.

Then there’s new experience. Oy. That stuff keeps happening. You can’t get ahead of it. Being blessed (from the French blesser: to wound) with a sense of humor, we employ it in our experience, even our self-realization, such that our own enlightenment is, at the very least, amusing.

Our notion of Entertaining Enlightenment, a phrase from which you can infer more than double meaning has always extended to the perception of life as one big, long blague cosmique (cosmic joke). The All isn’t a jester but an expert comedic artist. Existence isn’t metaphysical mayhem, it’s a carefully crafted monologue, what we call life.

The trick is writing yourself into the story, riding it like a wave, surfing being a skill not unlike finding the humor in it All. And seeing that, it’s the funniest thing, what is is a seemingly ordered plan. We laugh even through tears.

So, above as below, all any of us can do is interpret that cosmic link. Starsky + Cox can’t help but; whether conducting clients to increase their own personal connection or through our witty-wise books or columns or lectures, or in live performance as cosmic comics, we see the humor in there being no real separation between you and the divine.

That we all tend to find the same things funny, universality being central to any joke—we share laughs, we relate to, or are let in on, them—this speaks to there also being no true separation between (the divinity within) you and (the divinity within) others. Thus, we glean cosmic truths, even, deconstructing the role and effect of humor itself in our lives.

Copyright 2016 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Aries 30/Taurus 0°

(For last year’s meditation on the Sabian Symbol for this degree:  click here)

I am playing major catch up again. I suppose I could just skip days but my OCD doesn’t quite allow for that sort of leeway. So here I am. I’ve made a list of subjects to tackle. First I’ll start with the cosmic joke of: starting something new because old ways seem not to be working only to start getting messaging that people miss the way you did things, which they didn’t much seem to appreciate when you were doing it. I suppose some people don’t miss stuff until it’s gone.

These past two months we have been “performing” The Zodiac Club at Sid Gold’s in NYC. I put that p-word in quotes because after the past twelve years of writing and rigorously rehearsing and preparing scripted shows, including many at Joe’s Pub in NYC, we have mindfully departed from that to eopen up and experiment with these more improvisational appearances at Sid’s where we barely prepar songs, and writue up some random ideas, inspired by the loose themes associated with the various signs–and that’s about it.

The goal has been, well, no goal; certainly not wanting to create a great show but to let emerge a new form, letting whatever that might be bubble up from the serendipitous slime of just showing up and doing whatever. The inspiration has been our work with clients. Every day, in our proviate consultancy, we, I, unrehearsedly draw down the cosmic wisdom and direction we see outline in an individual’s astrological chart and transits. All my years of study plus my knowledge of myth and archeytpe, not to mention my infamous flashes of psychic insight, are there to serve me in uplifting and guiding the client. This is something we’ve wanted to do before a live audience, not so much performing a show, but having an experience together, with the only theme being to explore the “cosmic energy” of the particular sign we are treating in a given month.

So we’ve tried to just show up and do whatever because, truth be told, we have never sold out Joe’s Pub, for example, with our meticulously crafted shows with songs and sections and skits and segues and arcs and all the dramaturlogical fixins’. So we are happily deconstructing. But, go figure, suddenly people who have never seen us are like, “I am determined to come to your next Joe’s show”, etc. Like not just one person but like many. And I’m like, in my mind, “dude(ette), not only have I been carefully effing crafting shows for a decade and rehearsing the ef out of them, I’ve been promoting ad nauseum and you never effing come.” Now a warning? I hear Meryl Streep say.

On top of that, the folks who are coming, those who maybe only saw us once or twice before, and even those with whom we’re performing are suggesting we do this [formal thing] or that [formal thing] i.e. the exact same things we’ve done before—wherever did they get those ideas—also missing the point. We don’t want to do a show up on a stage right now. We want to be ground level and relate to you and be imperfect. We don’t want to sing more than a few songs. We want to talk about the secret power of the zodiac. And I just want to have a ground level experience. There is no ticket price. Just a donation to the Afterglow Festival which is a very worthy cause. Anyway….I need to write a catch-all blurb for the Sid Gold’s website: I’m thinking something like this:

The Zodiac Club. Celebrity astrologists and performing artists, Stella Starsky and Quinn Cox, collectively known as Starsky + Cox, present a year-long event of twelve appearances in exploration and celebration of the dozen divine energies of the Zodiac signs, in turn, the third or fourth Sunday of each month at the endlessly chic caberet venue, Sid Gold’s Request Room in New York City. The couple named “Psychics to the Stars” by Vanity Fair, renowned for their international best-selling book Sextrology—Starsky + Cox will be joined each month by musical director Brian King (What Time Is It, Mr. Fox?) and special guests born under the star signs of the various months.

Part musical-comedy show, part consciousness-raising seminar, part social salon for the high-vibrational set, The Zodiac Club explores the metaphysical power of each of the twelve star signs. Starsky + Cox draw down the cosmic energy of the signs to illustrate their power and purpose in all our lives, providing extra starry sugar to those celebrating birthdays in the given month. Claiming the Zodiac to be “the original twelve-step program”™; Starsky + Cox have long wished to unlock its cosmic secrets for a groovy, aspirational audience, regaling gatherers with their signature wise wit and rousing song.

Copyright 2016 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.