Leo 28° (August 17)

I could not get to sleep last night for the life of me. I felt very Sunday bluesy, which is only being compounded by this first day of a determined dry spell. I pulled a card for the first time in a year and of course it was The Devil, an accurate and fitting reveal given the turning point from fleshy pleasures to more long term eudemonic intent. The dearth of family and the facing of math and mortality amid this, the darkest time in history, with its omnipresent gaslighting, all at once hit me. So I did what I needed to do to survive: I watched seven episodes in a row of the Mary Tyler Moore show. I didn’t get to bed until nearly two and I awoke at six, so today will be focused on just one thing: Fully appreciating every nook and cranny of the sample material already written for this book as a framework for what I will do in each and every chapter. And that’s it. That’s all I need make happen today and it should not be too tall an order to accomplish.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 716-720. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  

It’s so important to get away with friends who remind you who you are. I don’t really have the benefit of being around folks who “knew me when”; most of the people who know me in my current life only do so superficially. Even (or especially) those I see most often these days. In the mirror of many people’s eyes we can’t help but become colored by what we feel is their perception aka misperception aka underestimation. We realize how we’ve allowed ourselves to be slowly whittled away. And then we reconnect with loved ones who see us as our best selves, not just our old selves, but also as people who are still realizing their full potential.

I once had a past-life regression session. It totally blew my mind. I flashed back to lives where I felt a sense of great status and authority. In my present life I was young and waiting tables. Having felt/remembered what it was like to feel a great sense of personal value, I quit my job waiting tables and started to expect more from my life, experience, and relationships.

I can’t say I outright envy people who are, and always have been, surrounded by large families or those who live in societies where they’ve had the same friends for long periods of time, but I do feel these characters are constantly reminded of their best selves, buoyed by loving expectation. In this sense, others support a strong sense of self when a rotating cast of characters can erode it.

I often feel like some deposed royal who had this formal life of grandeur, a fact that is lost on the characters peopling my new life where I don’t speak much to them of my past. And then, metaphorically speaking, there comes a time to pull the trunk out of the attic or haul it up from the basement, to start rummaging through the contents of ones previous existence, trying on garments of old glory, polishing the finery, outfitting oneself in ones true, original adornment.

It’s not healthy to feel unrecognized or undervalued; and its up to we, as individuals, to make sure said elements don’t ooze in. We must remember ourselves. And pinpoint where our giving has morphed into being taken advantage of and where allowed ourselves to depreciate. That is our fault. And we are reminded to outfit ourselves in our own true glittering glamour and to rise to our full height and not stand for others thoughts or behavior that don’t truly reflect our own true power and worth.

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I had a waffle today. And yet I feel less you-are-what-you-eat than I ever have. It is a total cosmic blague that I always seem to be at my chubbiest when I have to be wearing the least amout of clothing in front of the most amount of people. My weight has constantly fluctuated these last twenty-five years of my life but it really is true that, as you get older, you really have to limit your calorie intake. Especially when you’re five foot some-lie-of-inches. It’s easy to be confident when you’re in some kind of fit shape. That’s a cinch. What’s really a show of confidence is being on display when you’re more a blob. Now that takes strength of being and character.

Sean Bean was once nearly as fit as his name—that was my little bit of Gertrude Stein for you— and Thelma Ritter—she looks exactly like her name.

It seems that no matter how many days, weeks, I eat just soup for dinner I no longer lose the ten pounds standing between me and my ideal weight. Actually my ideal weight is ten pounds less than that but I’ve already jettisoned that lunacy capsule of hope to return to the poundage of my early twenties and am now settling for that of my early thirties.

So right now I’m on a boat off the coast of Belize and it is really hot and so I’m in my air conditioned cabin catching up on these poor belabored blagues, attempting to get through this particular one because I have two more already hand written waiting on deck. Not to belittle this one but it is something of filler I won’t lie. But I did figure I would just keep typing until something of seeming thematic importance were to arise from the black characters on white page.

Last night we had a Full Moon party on board and it was certainly was the most fun and weird and vivid of the nights. I didn’t wake up once and dreamed of ancient houses with cracked tile and giant wardrobes and vine covered walls. There were visitors all in red robes as if part of a commencement and we were having a bit of fun with them pretending the wardrobe was a secret elevator. None of this will make any sense to you.

Went to the Hemingway house in Key West on Sunday which it didn’t feel like. Failed to see much of the town but what I didn’t see I didn’t love. And forget it weather wise: I could never stand this level of humidity. I’m a dry heat queen for sure. Anyway, I can at least say I’ve been there. We are going to see some Mayan ruins and go swim with whale sharks. Yes sharks. But apparently they eat plankton (sp?) not people. I have to get my snorkel on. I dread trying to squeeze my pudge into a wet suit. Oh well.

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In astrology the first sign of Aries’ motto is “I am”. If I had any motivation to add to a sentence beginning “I am” the predicate would be “a poet.” Now that might sound hifalutin but I think you can be any kind of artist, creative, not only a writer, and be a poet. I happen to be a writer, for better or for worse, but even in that: my motivation to be poetic would be save space; that is to pack in as much information (if not meaning) in the use of as few words as possible. Poetry would be a shear expression of laziness for me.

I am trying to keep poetic economy in mind as I am currently writing a show. It’s a sort of warts-and-all affair. It’s the opposite of a Palimpsest the definition of which is: a manuscript or piece of writing material on which the original writing has been effaced to make room for later writing but of which traces remain; something reused or altered but still bearing visible traces of its earlier form. The main them of what I’m writing is hinges, instead, on the knowledge that what I’m putting down is actually wrong and left intact despite the fact.

Picking up from what I was saying in the previous blague I’ve come to a point in my life where I realize that most of the people who populate my experience have no idea who “I am” or whom I’ve been for that matter. And, for the record, I’ve done next to nothing to alter that fact.

I’m not terribly comfortable one-on-one with people—it makes me awfully self-conscious. I’m much better in a group (or on a stage or addressing an audience, like here, in writing). I’d venture to say that I’m ironically much more at ease being intimate in a forum of some kind. On stage, especially, is where I can reveal myself most intimately and thus provide a bunch of people truest insight into who “I am” all in one fell swoop. And have them pay me for it, which is a perk only in that I always donate all monies made by any theatrical venture back into my non-profit endeavors, which (as this sentence runs on) are designed primarily to help other artists find a stage, a live platform, from whence to create, perform, express themselves. So it pains me, I’d be a liar to say anything to the contrary, when people forget or don’t appreciate this fact.

But this is part and parcel of my current illumination on the subject of personal value: I have to up my worth game. But I digress.

I was talking about people not really knowing me or not stopping to wonder how I got here here. Who am I, anyway? Where did I come from? What were my past lives in this life, which have put me in this place where I help others so seemingly unassumingly?*

*In recent years when I’ve “acted out” or “up” it was typically because I felt overlooked, not recognized, such that causing scenes, playing scenarios, became the shadow side of taking stage, which I wasn’t doing enough.

But that’s my own fault. When we don’t take license we tend to “lose it.” But no regrets. Especially when it comes to people: I’ve never lost a true friend, though I have had a hand in pushing away people were placeholders thereof.

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So, okay, who am I…what are the selves I’ve kept cached…who have I been…where do I come from… Well, I shall tell you. Let me first say that it might be a Ligra male thing to seem “abstract” or “conceptual” to others—the Scales representing those forms in life, being the only inanimate symbol in the Zodiac—that is to say “unsubstantial”; but, all things being paradoxical, the opposite is also true: I for one have been so many selves, some by chance, some by accident, all as a necessary means of survival. I’ve inhabited so many characters in life it’s little wonder that, as an actor, I ended up playing relatively few roles.

It will take me days, weeks, months maybe to illustrate them all; but I think the doing of this might be the crux of this Cosmic Blague Mach III, as I am now in the third year of this venture (the second ending rather abruptly somewhere last June or November, can’t remember.)

The first character I played was indeed an abstract one, as if my earliest life were an allegorial play in which my character would surely have been called, quite simply, Light. This, too, befits the sign of Libra, the cardinal-air sign (translates to light) with its abstract archetypal god being Apollo, god of light and all symbolic abstractions thereof—goodness, reason, order, art, truth and prophesy, to name just several.

As Light my role was to personify goodness. And being strawberry blond with pale brown-yellow or golden eyes, I looked the part. I remember pre-language, knowing I was puregoodness—my favorite color was white like the apparel of angels, cherubs or classic infant immortals. I could have lived on all white food and often did: vanilla ice cream, shakes, malts, Maypo, white chocolate Easter bunnies, Jiffy Pop…Vichyssoise, Fettucine Alfredo…I was sent not to combat but to counteract and -balance the dark bitter chocolate forces of vice embodied most readily by my father (and his whole Italian family with their low thinking and their plastic slip covers, swarthy olive complexions, petty thievery, heavy thighs, excess body hair, bookie joints, poker chips, pungent antipasti, tripe and drama, deceit and constant deaths) and my wicked sister who blammed me for ruining our wall-to-wall carpet by letting the cap off a black magic marker, which seaped into a circular spread in all directions like her jealousy and her deception and her cruelty and her lies, knowing full well that I, pre language, didn’t yet have the words with which to defend or advocate for myself, and sickly relishing the fact that I, Light, would be abusefully punished, hit, an earth-struck angel in a pit of corporal punishment.

Light thus escaped out of his body, casting himself elsewhere, slipping out of this cruel worled ruled by sister darkness, through duvet covers and pillow cases and, yes, through wardrobes and sometimes walls, into timeless prismatic worlds of color for whole eternities, long enough, surely, to find respite and reappear with a plan to out-reason and out-fox and out-shine with whole inherent gleam, glamour, goodness, as a force thereof, biding terrestrial time until Light obtained the oracular power that was his birthright. Light’s terrible weaakness was his want to be loved by his tormentors, one of whom inhabited the twin bed on the other side of the room from his crib, the other pushed together with mother’s own twin bed in the next room. She, golden haired with alternately blue and green eyes, and fair, near blue with translucence, might have been Light’s only hope but she isn’t strong. She isn’t Light but Water, dissolution. She’ll stay, an almost willing captive, her phosphoresence but dim in the prevailing darkness so very like a jellyfish, and sometime medusa.

I had to wait, keep myself under a bushel, play dead, not shine yet…

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox

Leo 27° (August 16)

Woke up this morning…well, let me start again: I woke up first after just a few hours of sleeping and thought I cannot be up again from the middle of the night. I drank a full glass of water then finished the wine on my nightstand, endowing it as a sleeping drought, which worked. I had the most enchanted coda to my full night’s sleep. I dreamt of the color scheme we need, moving forward. It is now completely emblazoned in my mind what blue, yellow, pink and green need happen, like dull and dusty candy. Then a dream of S. coming through the outside and office door into the dining room just at the moment I saw a tiny blue bird alighting on a lamp in the corner of the kitchen. I held out my finger and it flew and perched, it’s long beak curved slightly downward, and I presented it to her. The tone of the day seemed set. I didn’t quite achieve what I thought I would or should, however it will be thirty days now, to the day, until I have to go under, and for that I need to be in as tip top shape as I possibly can be. I shall begin tomorrow, just one day “behind schedule”; and yet I have minimalized every bit and bob on my real and metaphoric desktop and feel unencumbered by what might have been too many moving parts.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 711-715. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  

From 2017:

It’s been awhile since I’ve had a full on panic attack; but this weekend just after falling asleep I was awakened with extreme existential angst. In attempt to unpack these feelings in the light of day I think these episodes have always derived from the same core reality: Each one of us is alone. Sometimes this notion hits my hard. Having neither parents or children; and only an evil sibling I’ve no intention of ever seeing again; and no contact, let alone relationships, with wider family at large I can find myself very much hoping that I die before Stella, who does have a loving immediate family.

Cheery subject I know but I find this very much to be in keeping with the sign of Aries which hits home the fact that, when it comes to it, we fly solo. What has made this realization more poignant in recent years was the necessary loss of certain bonds which didn’t serve me and the conscious decision, regarding other friendships, to stop doing all the work—always being the one to reach out—to see just who would or wouldn’t make the effort to nurture a relationship.  Sadly, more often than not, I heard crickets.

But don’t get me wrong—this is no pity party. Au contraire. It is very liberating to know where reciprocity exists and where it doesn’t. Quality bonds are priceless, while a quantity of them has never meaned much. I don’t have a work environment that includes any other person than the one I love and live with. I have never been part of a team. I don’t belong to any mafia. And though I do consider myself as belonging to a couple “communities”, creative ones especially, I have mainly witnesses a ramping up in narcissism in these realms. The so-called “downtown” artistic community, for instance, has only seemed to increasingly ape milieus we all used to pooh pooh. How it is that a large number of people I know live under the delusion that they are perpetually on some red carpet or behind some velvet rope is not only depressing it’s literally revolting.

And nobody needs me around feeling disgust. Admittedly, I’m a social cynic but it’s not because I’m a pessimist but because I’m an idealist with great expectations which, it goes with the territory of having them, are regularly dashed. Moreover I never expected to get to my advancing age and feel that my peers were all still playing out a high-school popularity game. Instead of locker lined hallways where the drama of heirarchy is played out, it now happens along the twisted corridors of social media. I seriously doubt that my “friends” who have really been swept up in this sort of reality-show living think I see through to how desperately sad and lonely and insecure they are. They likely don’t even realize themselves that their perpetual display of puffery is symptomatic of the emptiness they refuse to let themselves feel, let alone embrace.

I am so thankful for the panic attack of existential angst that awakes me. It is a reminder of the emptiness that underscores all reality. I find the emotional work that stems for this experience so important and necessary. It reminds me to look to my books, to read the great ancient works that have always guided and sustained me on the solo journey that is my life. I am so grateful to have grown up in the anonymous seventies and eighties where we didn’t have a mobile audience—says the Blaguer who will post this installment in a matter of minutes. Truly, I can’t imagine what it’s like for young people who have grown up with phones and laptops attached to their bodies. My idea of happiness is still getting lost in a city neighborhood, out of reach to anything but serendipity or walking an endless beach where I can’t get a signal.

I know people who can’t be alone. I’ve never been one of them. If anything I have to be careful not to isolate too much. Even in my youth I often felt like that Rhesus monkey then kept in a separate cage who freaked out when put in a cage with a bunch of others of its kind. I’m no stranger to social anxiety and yet, time and again, I am always suprised at how comfortable I actually am in the company of others. Why that is forever a shock I’ve no idea. I never need to bolt from a party or anything like that; but I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that I would always rather be alone than in company where I feel far more alone than when I actually am.

Emptiness is a contradiction in terms; because I believe that if you were to youremove everything you can see and touch that there would still be “something” there. Call it spirit or energy or a creative intelligence or what have you—when I’m alone I feel a natural communion with the All which isn’t nothing. It’s Everything.

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To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox

Leo 26° (August 15)

Having turned a corner I am now officially writing a new book and, in so doing, unless I have something really pertinent to say in the present, which today I do not, then I will refer you to the below:

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 706-710. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  

Two years ago, I began this Cosmic Blague project of writing here daily for an entire year, after which I began a second year, only to throw in the towel not quite halfway through another turn around the whell. The thrust of year one was to meditate and muse upon the Sabian Symbols which are images, divined by a blind seer, that illumine the cosmic energy of the day slash astrological degree of the Zodiac. I can’t do that again—and yet I probably won’t completely avoid doing so. As with the aborted seconed year of this project I provided a link to the corresponding day. Here is that original post entitled “I’m A Homo Sabian Too”  (there is an introductory one that precedes corresponding to the Equinox.)

Yesterday morning we hit zero degrees of the Zodiac, the Spring Equinox, a time for new beginnings, but I wasn’t feeling very beginnerish. The first degree of the Zodiac’s Sabian symbol is “A Woman Just Risen from The Sea; A Seal is Embracing Her”. And, like Aphrodite/Venus, we all emerged fromt he Sea sign of Pisces into the birth sign of Aries—the Seal is a symobl and totem of dreams and imagination. We emerge from the misty dreams of Pisces with those reveries clinging to us still. Sometimes nightmares cling, too. Which is why I was rather reluctant to start this project once again: Because I haven’t been feeling all that optimistic as a result of universal external influences. But I’ve come to realize in the last twenty-four hours that this is all the more reason to commit again to this enterprise. We don’t always reenter into our experience suffused with dreamy inspiration—sometimes we have nightmares to shake and, yes, from which to learn.

I’m tempted to say that I won’t be mentioning certain people, or rather a specific person, in this Blague. He who must not be named indeed. But that would be unrealistic and counterproductive. We have to name the nightmare and that name is Trump. It’s a terrible name which is fitting. I think it’s important to name him because he is perhaps the last gasp of the patriarchy diminished to an orange mass of spoiled brattiness. He has done terrible things and we have only begun to learn the extent of them. But what struck me most sharply was his refusal to shake Angela Merkel’s hand. He will shake any man’s hand, even if he has made enemies with said man. But he won’t acknowledge a powerful woman. Trump, I’ve come to infer, has mother issues.

The woman rising from the Sea, each year, with the first tick of the Wheel, is a reminder that Nature, both Earthy and Cosmic, is Female. She is the source of life. She is the dream from which we all emerge. The dream that is existence. We are figments of her imagination. We are details of her reveries. And some of us are terrors—tangerine dreams—errant emanations who have turned their back on the dreamer, whistling in the fleeting graveyard of a lifetime, imposing futile will, investing in their eternal retirement in hell. Ultimately powerless, such terrors must be checked, our recurring nightmares cured once and for all. We don’t do this by any other means than by examinine and excavating our own psychology, the traumas that give rise to ingrained patterns, repeating and repeating. That is not renewal. That is self abuse, self inflicted.

How can Trump be president you ask? Because that nightmare—a haunting, of the our collective negative behaviors that now torment our conscience—this is the demon of our own cultural creation. This is what we get for not being unerringly kind and kindred. Every time we turned a blind eye to racism, to sexism, to oppression, to greed, we had a hand in creating this coral hobgoblin. This is the slimy seal with which we have emerged this time around the Wheel and its best not to ignore it but to shine the brightest light upon its salmon skin. In full glare of loving and compassionate activism It will dissolve like Capn Crunch in the milky environment of true Mother Love, the witholding thereof being the ultimate culprit for this sleazy condition in which we uneasily, temporarily find ourselves.

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My mother used to tell me how she had to fight and, I think, ultimately, drink to silence her “impressions”, empathetic Pisces that she was. Sometimes I would catch her unawares sitting in a kitchen chair staring unblinkingly, only her gaze seemed to direct inward not out. I didn’t experience what she experienced as a child.

I do remember moving objects when I was very small, something I never repeated, though I’ve tried. And surely I did enter the fairy world, for lack of a better term, through duvet covers and sometimes even the odd pillow case. But there was nothing in my youth or teens of the psychic about my experience except so far as my mother was concerned. I would get a flash that she was about to phone me and I would suprise and entertain friends and roommates by saying the phone is about to ring and it would be my mother which it was. I chalked that up to her not me.

In Rome in 1984 Stella and I met an old man who spoke in tongues whom we “understood” on a transmissionary level; in our Hoboken apartment in 1988 we saw plasmic scenes of partygoers from the 1920s superimposed upon the visual landscape of our interior. We had a ghost cat that visitors would also see and almost trip over. But it wasn’t until the early 1990s, living in New York’s West Village, where we did for a good long time, that my so-called gift emerge.

In clubs and in bars with a good buzz on was how it began. Inevitably the struck-up conversations with acquaintances or veritable strangers, I would start getting messages. People wouldn’t think I was crazy because I was eerily accurate in my verbalizations; in the moment I didn’t judge, while, next day, I chalked it up to quasi drunken stupidity. Now I know that drinks would relax the veil between me and it. I wasn’t a professional astrologer then, never mindsome form of metaphysician. These little episodes were foreshadowing. But, slowly, over time, I did begin to trust these impressions which  were being received increasingly in sober moments. I simply thought: cool, I have inherited something of my Celtic mother’s gift which might amount to a tiny party trick perhaps. No further expectation.

Year’s later as we began doing astrological readings for people, the sharp focus of doing so seemed to have the same effect as the fuzzying out that drinking enabled. Impressions were coming to me through the very opposite end of my mental spectrum—that of a concentrated openness to the symbolic patterning on a individual’s astrological chart. We were (and are) continually trained to read people’s charts, the result of which is already forever astonishing—the accuracy of a technical astrological reading will always remain inexplicable as to the why it works. But, more and more, there was something extra available to me. Training my mind technically, consciously, intellectually via the complexities and intricasies of one’s chart at hand seemed also to open a window somewhere in the back (or, to be accurate upper-left side) of said consciousness where these flashes, impressions, or rather, imperatives were asking to be articulated.

I pick a Tarot card every morning. Doing so is never the same twice. Our minds are never exactly in the same state when we do some ritual behavior—they state always varies at least by tiny degrees. This morning I was shuffling absent-mindingly to the point that I forgot what I was doing, lost in some early morning daydream, the to-dos of the day yet to creep their way in. Suddenly I “heard” a pick me from one of the cards I remembered I was fondling. I did. It was the Magician. And its appearance immediately inspired the theme of today’s installment. In a way my so-called psychic ability, as transient as it can be, is the Universe’s ultimate Blage on me.

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Aries is the sign of the Self. But this is not to be confused with selfishness. It’s more like putting the oxygen mask on first before you can help others. But help others you might.

As I watch the mostly older white men on the right shuffling in and out of meetings in D.C. all I can think is that they couldn’t be more divorced from the concept of helping or serving others. They don’t even pretend anymore like they might have done forty years ago. Reporters are seen as an annoyance. It’s like these lawmakers are part of some royal family. Meanwhile, the British royal family, for instance, is suffused with the understanding that they are born to serve the people, despite their trappings of wealth—and really they’re not ostentatious.

I was reading Edmund White’s  The Flaneur recently, one of a thousand books Stella has put in front of me knowing I half-jokingly admit “I don’t read.” But it was a thin book and it was about Paris and I could knock it off in a morning. There is a bit about a loyalist bar on the rue de Rivoli. And how the crowd there wants to bring back the French royal family, such as it is. The notion seems absurd at first. Until you realize that the royalists’ argument is that a royal family would do more for the people than those elected. It’s starting to make more sense to me.

Just because the people in power didn’t get there by divine right doesn’t mean they don’t act like it.  Perhaps its not a divine right endowed upon them by a god but rather a lobby but they still act like they are appointed as if on by high. And they tolerate the rest of us whom they seek to oppress. Noblesse oblige now seems more modern a concept than what is passing these days for democracy wherein those who have don’t feel obliged to provide to those less fortunate. No. Even the income-based Affordable Care Act (that’s the name of it) where the rich pay a little more to cover those who have not is too much to ask from these entitled assholes.

Not that Britain is any great shakes these days but, despite the fact they have a royal family, they are way more (social-)democratic than we are—their health care and education system is a testament to that. Remember the Age of Enlightenment? The Social Contract? Reason? (All Apollonian/Libran terms in my astrological view). How about the Declaration of Independence? The founding fathers took a page from the royalists’ book: They were going to play the role of father to the nation and thus take care of and provide for others as an outcropping of their own inalienable fullfillment of selfhood.

Now we have to look at Paul Ryan’s smug mug. Or that giant orange pig face which, I’m sorry, shows signs of constant drug abuse. We have to stomach the chinless droolings of Mitch McConnell, the ignoramity of Rick Perry, the impatient, “tolerating”, violent insouciance of pretty much the entire GOP. We’re sorry to bother you we’re just trying not to starve, be enslaved and die. Sorry. We know you’re busy being paid healthcare on our taxes and getting lobbyist kickbacks and book deals and industrial contracts. Our mistake. Sorry, sorry, sorry.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox

Leo 25° (August 14)

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 701-705. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  (For thirty days this paragraph will include this parentheses to say: I realized that in the summer of 2016 I actually didn’t post for some time, such that for the expanse of two months, I will continue to number the past Blagues, as above, five at a time, but there will be nothing to post from that period.)

This also from 2017 when we were setting off on holiday (for the first time?) on Calypso, Belize I believe. Bien possible:

It’s so important to get away with friends who remind you who you are. I don’t really have the benefit of being around folks who “knew me when”; most of the people who know me in my current life only do so superficially. Even (or especially) those I see most often these days. In the mirror of many people’s eyes we can’t help but become colored by what we feel is their perception aka misperception aka underestimation. We realize how we’ve allowed ourselves to be slowly whittled away. And then we reconnect with loved ones who see us as our best selves, not just our old selves, but also as people who are still realizing their full potential.

I once had a past-life regression session. It totally blew my mind. I flashed back to lives where I felt a sense of great status and authority. In my present life I was young and waiting tables. Having felt/remembered what it was like to feel a great sense of personal value, I quit my job waiting tables and started to expect more from my life, experience, and relationships.

I can’t say I outright envy people who are, and always have been, surrounded by large families or those who live in societies where they’ve had the same friends for long periods of time, but I do feel these characters are constantly reminded of their best selves, buoyed by loving expectation. In this sense, others support a strong sense of self when a rotating cast of characters can erode it.

I often feel like some deposed royal who had this formal life of grandeur, a fact that is lost on the characters peopling my new life where I don’t speak much to them of my past. And then, metaphorically speaking, there comes a time to pull the trunk out of the attic or haul it up from the basement, to start rummaging through the contents of ones previous existence, trying on garments of old glory, polishing the finery, outfitting oneself in ones true, original adornment.

It’s not healthy to feel unrecognized or undervalued; and its up to we, as individuals, to make sure said elements don’t ooze in. We must remember ourselves. And pinpoint where our giving has morphed into being taken advantage of and where allowed ourselves to depreciate. That is our fault. And we are reminded to outfit ourselves in our own true glittering glamour and to rise to our full height and not stand for others thoughts or behavior that don’t truly reflect our own true power and worth.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox

Leo 24° (August 13)

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 696-700. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  (For thirty days this paragraph will include this parentheses to say: I realized that in the summer of 2016 I actually didn’t post for some time, such that for the expanse of two months, I will continue to number the past Blagues, as above, five at a time, but there will be nothing to post from that period.)

Also from a trip down 2017’s memory lane:

From a classical standpoint the first-born children of the gods are the archetypes of the first sign of Aries—both war gods, Ares and Athena (Roman: Mars and Minerva), these front-liners are two sides of the offensive/defensive warrior coin. Life being foremost a battle for it, we send these toughies forth.

The biblical archetypes are Adam and Lilith (the first wife of Adam) who was too like him—they battled for the top sexual position—and no compliant, though ultimately more dangerous, Eve. The symbol for Athena and Lilith is the same, a delta/triangle about a crossed staff. Athena despised her warlike brother Ares, familiarity in nature breed contempt, perhaps.

Anyway, all of these figures are alphas, as Aries people tend to be. Alphas being what they are, they tend to operate solo as a rule, not being the best team players on the planet. And like the first born gods they energetically draw upon, they approach life with a certain carte blanche. (White, along with red, is the Aries color. ) Full license, a blank slate. Think of Adam going around naming everything as if he was the only person on the planet. Ahem. Aries people (again, people of any sign are the most vivid example we have of that sign’s energy) tend to act this way. They don’t ask for permission, and rarely for forgiveness.

If you were the only person on the planet how would you act? Well I find that this time of year is a good time to contemplate that thought. Consider the indvidual shoots fighting their way through the soil, feeling the pain of being born—we are all of us, for the whole of our lives, like those bursts of life. Our attention needn’t be likewise undivided. We are the only ones. You are the only one. You are free of comparison. There is nobody with a better job, more famous friends, a more successful business, a more touted podcast, more hits on their websites, more likes on their posts. Life is hard enough to embody with singularity. And, as such, it can be the simplest of things.

Without compare, we can focus on what our singular purpose might be. Without consideration, we have license to “name” everything we see and encounter and experience. We can call a spade a spade. There is no competion. There is no contest. There is no race. (Insert double-ententre inference here). There is no rushing. There is no deadline to doing the one singular thing you were born to do: Become yourself. This is the true meaning of the sign of Aries’ rule over “birth” and “selfhood”. We must imagine what life would be like if we were the only one on the planet. What would we do then? Who would we be if there were no second opinions or outside influences? How would we dance if nobody were looking? Surely, we would embody our birthright. It would be second nature. There would be no clock ticking. We would simply be. The Aries motto is “I am”. We would go at our own pace. Again, life would be simple and though it mightn’t be always easy, there would be nobody stopping us from making it so, as best we might.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox

Leo 23° (August 12)

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 691-695. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  (For thirty days this paragraph will include this parentheses to say: I realized that in the summer of 2016 I actually didn’t post for some time, such that for the expanse of two months, I will continue to number the past Blagues, as above, five at a time, but there will be nothing to post from that period.)

Also from 2017:

The first sign of Aries is all about form (Taurus, which follows Aries, is about content). You can’t have the latter without the former. Form, former. Oh never mind.

So what is the formation of your day. Never mind what is the formation of yourself. We talked about Aries being the framework the other day, now we go a bit further. Take a look at your life. What form does your experience take. How is your experience constructed. Do you have room for what you want—literally and figuratively?

Every so often (and I know I’m not alone in this) I get the urge to create a curriculum for myself. As children we didn’t have much say in how our experience was structured. In grade school we were ushered through different subjects with no say; in high school we were herded from room to room with practically no say. After school sports or piano lessons we didn’t know we wanted or not, for the most part.

In college we had choice but learned that if we didn’t now self-impose these types of structuring we would likely fail. I pretty much got all straight As in college but my one year study abroad—a first year program that wasn’t set up properly coupled with the fact I never went to class but instead traveled around the whole time—I failed Cubism, okay?—completely tanked my four-year average to the point, now, that I feel applying to grad schools would be a rough road to hoe. All these years later!

Form. Structure. The simplest ones work best. First comes the hard wood of the tree then the blossoms then the fruits. I think of Aries as the hard wood. Also as the hardware on which all the other signs run as software. This is why the sign rules the physical body. Your body must be fit and healthy to be an instrument for all the other aspects of self that the ensuing signs express. So it’s the same with circumstance. The physical body of our experience must be fit, sound and simple. The form of our life must be akin to the well-toned body of a warrior. We can not lead a flabby l ife and expect to be happy.

Look at the Aries people around you. (People of a sign are the best “living” examples we have of any sign’s energy.) Those born under the sign of the Ram are ascetic by nature. They don’t have a lot of aptly named stuff. Even if they have every material want, they try to keep it real. Many an Aries person, especially those with a big bank roll, tend to espouse Eastern philosophies or disciplines that stress the fact that materiality is fleeting. Unlike other signs, Aries people tend to struggle with too much fat in their diet, metaphorically speaking of lifestyle.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox

Leo 22° (August 11)

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 691-695. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  (For thirty days this paragraph will include this parentheses to say: I realized that in the summer of 2016 I actually didn’t post for some time, such that for the expanse of two months, I will continue to number the past Blagues, as above, five at a time, but there will be nothing to post from that period.)

Something else I stumbled upon from 2017:
I’m a big believer in self-reliance. Believe me I have tried to not be but for some reason it doesn’t tend to work out all that great. Which is strange because people are constantly asking favors of me. When others do, I tend to comply, feeling it an opportunity to help pave the way or speed the trip of people in want. But I’ve got to say, I don’t typically get the same all-in reaction in return. Don’t get me wrong—it doesn’t make me bitter nor have a come to change my ways and withhold my help when asked. It’s just that, objectively speaking, I don’t meet many people like myself. That sounds egotistical in some twisted way but so be it.

Anywig, I tend not to ask for help (which can be it’s own “issue). And I will admit that I have waxed martyry in my day, but mostly not. I just find it so much easier to d.i.y.. Also desired positive results tend to taste all the sweeter. The man who wrote philosophically on this subject, most notably, is a Gemini not an Aries (I’ll let you guess who that is). But energetically speaking the notion is Arien. Self-reliance is most selfless. Just imagine if we embodied this principle. Nobody would have to pick up after your tweets.

If you want something done right…I’m tempted to finish that sentence with….hire a millenial. They seem to know how to do things quickly and easily, and now they do it with stickers, but I’m not sure they do it right. Am I self-reliant or am I a control freak. Am I hardworking or am I carrying some cross around. Uh-oh. I do know I tend to take on more than my fair share. Back in the days I waited tables I used to hope no other servers would show up so I could work the whole restaurant myself. I had recurring dreams of waiting tables as many servers do. But for me they were good dreams. How many Quinn Cox’s does it take to screw in a light bulb? One. No joke there.

Being self-reliant is a nightmare under this particular government administration. People with whom I have zero in common elected this baboon-bafoon to disempower the individual and create oppression on a scale we haven’t ever seen in this country. The marches and protests seem to have died down. Everyone is back to their distractions? Every day I spin the globe in my mind to alight on some place in the world I can feel as free as possible. I don’t think it’s here anymore. At least not for awhile. And I am self-reliant enough that I haven’t worked for anybody else for the last few decades unless it was as a freelancer who could walk at will.

So what is self-reliance at this particular instant in history? It’s hard to say. I suppose it’s not letting the government oppress you or the news of the oppression of the government depress you. But self-reliance isn’t escapism either (not even the good Pisces brand of seeking soul-asylum). Self-reliance is being a warrior in keeping with Aries’ martial archetypes. Self-reliance is health and fitness and personal well-being. Self-reliance is taking just what you need and no more as to create a deficit for others. Self-reliance is, in fact, taking a stand for those who can’t do so for themselves. Never do we have so strong a sense of self as when we are warriors for the freedom and happiness of all sentient beings.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox

Leo 21° (August 10)

I’m on the Cape alone for the next few days and beside myself with work and keeping things together so I”m going to cue the following message:

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 686-690. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  (For thirty days this paragraph will include this parentheses to say: I realized that in the summer of 2016 I actually didn’t post for some time, such that for the expanse of two months, I will continue to number the past Blagues, as above, five at a time, but there will be nothing to post from that period.)

This was something that appeared in 2017. It’s not earth-shattering but it has something too it; and besides I need some copy to add in here. Not everything need be genius by the way.

As the daffodils and crocuses try to push through the early Spring landscape, we see the Aries energy of new life fighting to be birthed. It’s a good time to start new projects or to do things you already do in a new fashion.

I’m in the planning stages of the Afterglow Festival that I put on every September in Provincetown. This year we will be staging the festival and a new venue for us.

I am also starting a spanking new Glow Festival for Cambridge, Massachusetts, for July of this year. So I embrace the spearheading energy of Aries and am going to do as much as I can in the initiation of this new project while still in the sign that will comsically assist best in this!

Come to think of it I have at least half a dozen new projects, or renewed ones, like this Blage. Aries, like all the cardinal signs, is great with initiation, ignition; but it’s not the best energy when it comes to follow-through. But there’s a way to work it. It isn’t productive to try and make an energy something it’s not. It’s best to take your cues from the energy and act accordingly.

Maybe you too have a bunch of new things you’re putting into works. Great. Don’t think about completion only focus on the start. Aries loves the beginning of things. This is your time to frame and outline all the myriad things you’d like to do, rather than to go to deep into any one thing. Surely there are existing projects you’re already deep into. But don’t try to rush the works on something newly started.

As I write this I’ve taken a quick break from sorting through all the myriad to-do lists on paper and saved on my computer, pasting what I can onto my four walls like a detective piecing together envidence on how to solve a crime. It’s kind of fun to move slightly beyond the process of those myraid to-dos, but not quite yet into the doing. It creates a multiplicity of bite size tasks that an overactive mind like myself can be overwhelmed by when the flood  my mind en masse. When that happens I typically take my drug of choice—Netflix—and try to clear my crowded noggin.

I find printing out all the electronic lists, making them physical, is in keeping with Aries love of the actual. Those daffodils outside aren’t rushing through their process of blooming. Typically waiting for Taurus, the estate of the nymphs and flower gods, to enjoy that full expression. We’re not at that stage. It’s no easy task for any shoot to work it’s way through frozen soil and stones to pop out head first. Success of this sort (is there any other?) is achieved by degrees. And we’re only seven degrees into the first sign of Aries. So slow it down! Being throrough is the accumlation of baby steps.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox

Leo 20° (August 9)

From 2017. You may actually have read this before I can’t remember if I’ve published this on the Blague before. Actually I probably have. Well that’s okay you’ll live with this, right?

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 686-690. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  (For thirty days this paragraph will include this parentheses to say: I realized that in the summer of 2016 I actually didn’t post for some time, such that for the expanse of two months, I will continue to number the past Blagues, as above, five at a time, but there will be nothing to post from that period.)

Aries, You are the Warrior of Love
Objectifying with Life-giving Lust
Jabbing Us with Burning Spear orCooly Pitting Us in Battle Over Rich Delta—Ever Leading the Charge, You Are most Enviable, Primal Self Love

Taurus, You are the Guardian of Love
Drawing Us To Your Green Garden of Delight To Sniff and Pluck—You Will be Appreciated and Cultivated; Belong and be Worshipped as We All Should The Flower God’s Green Earth

Gemini, You’re the Booker of Love, Buzzing with Sweet Provocation and Confusion—or what Confucious said? You’re the Apple tossed, the question mark—the Divining Mind of Duality The Love of Community all Cunning

Cancer, You are the Mystic of Love Waxing and Waning Pure Intuition Your Prince or Princess Will Come As You Prepare The Way to Recover What Is Lost and Let What Should Be Yours a Love Raining on You and Me

Leo, You are the Magesty of Love Building Castles and Moats to Passion Locking Heaviest Doors of Loyalty Creating Children, Real and Brain You Endure Eternal Ecstacy and Pain
Endowed with Loving good Authority

Virgo, You’re the Conscience of Love Healing Humbly, Critiquing Sharply Oft Deffering, Demurring, Digesting You, the Catalyst of Loving Change, Make Lemons out of Lemonade, the Love in Service to those Most in Need

Libra, You are the Equalizer of LoveSpreading Yourself Thick and Even
An abstract Artist of Aesthetic Beauty You Seek Harmony in Composition Blending Voices So We’re All Heard
Figuratively speaking: Fairest of them

Scorpio, You are the Miner for Love
The Buried Treasure of Deep Desire
Stinging Us with our Own Truth and, Meaning Not That Much Harm, You Unearth, Excavate, Out Damn Spots! Cleanse as you Slither into our Hearts.

Sagittarius, You are the Joker of Love Jovial Wild Card, We Risk On You Striking Anywhere, Rarely Twice You Ignite Multiple Fires of Love and Understanding. What’s So Funny? Oh, How You Burn and Blind Third Eyes!

Capricorn, You’re Container of Love. A mountain of Faith, all limit to Fear.
Bathing our brow from placid resevoir You lay down strict Laws of Devotion Using All in Your Power to Love; and Urging Us To the Highest Peaks of It

Aquarius, you are the Beacon of Love Iluminating its renewable resource, all diversely, indiscriminately dispensing Plenty to go round. A trip to bountiful Tie-dyed, rainbow suspender Unicorn Love Universal, dirty stars atwinkling

Pisces, you are the Essence of Love
Dissolved in fog, foaming longing. Behind veiled curtain you call, Siren Breaking us on tender infinite shore, Home to total Love, spirit awash in unerring nutritive detritus of dreams

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox

Leo 19° (August 8)

Going to keep things easy today. Have a simple dinner. And be greatful for the head

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 681-685. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  (For thirty days this paragraph will include this parentheses to say: I realized that in the summer of 2016 I actually didn’t post for some time, such that for the expanse of two months, I will continue to number the past Blagues, as above, five at a time, but there will be nothing to post from that period.)

From a March Blague 2017:

I love being in the sign of Aries. All new beginnings. Two days ago, the Spring Equinox, was International Astrology Day, the start of another trip around the Wheel. Whereas the previous sign of Pisces is the watery womb-tomb, Aries is bloody, bleating birth. It’s unapologetic in terms of existence. Here I am, world, ready or not (the world or the speaker). Aries is a fire sign (symobolizing spirit) but it rules the physical body—fusion of the two being our natural state. And it rules the head. Not the brain mind you. Just the head.

I imagine myself being suffused with Mars-ruled Aries energy. Fierce warriors Ares and Athena (all Greek to me) are they archetypes to embrace. And so I find this the perfect time to focus on fitness and to embrace a certain ascetism, a warrior spirit, a vigilant knighthood, in a quest for as much physical integrity, as the embodiment of true spirit, as I can muster. For me that is a/k/a being able to see my toes, not to mention, other bits of my anatomy, when I look down. I exaggerate; or do I?

I do love Aries people. I was going to say I do love my Aries friends but I don’t have any. Okay that’s not true but I find I have very “important” Aries relationships but I can’t say I have contant Aries companions. I have dear, close Aries friends. Aries people occupy key spots in my heart. I just don’t hang around with Aries people much or rather they don’t hang around with me. All my Aries bonds have been fast and furious for the most part. That is to say that they were established quickly, in a few days and, though I might consider a great many Aries folk loving fixtures in my life, I mainly experience them from afar. Proximity seems to be counterproductive to our getting along. I seem to be very quickly turned into audience and I’m not all that good at nodding or screwing up my face into a scrunch of affectionate validation.

Seriously, I suggest to anyone reading this to use this next month ahead to align with the energetic estate of the sign of the Ram. The Golden Fleece was stolen by Jason from a grove sacred to the god Ares (Mars). The whole metaphor of that quest is one of self-propulsion (if not fulfillment). Aries energy is headstrong, initiatory, ignitive, adrenal, muscular. It isn’t necessarily about follow-through. It’s about intention, which should be pure. Who are you? What is your purpose? For what should you quest? These are Aries questions. If the answers are dunno, dunno and bagel with a schmear, you have some work to do. The work mightn’t be easy but it is basic. That is to say, you just have to get your head screwed on properly and try not to deviate from what you see as your prime objective.

Aries people are the best at this. Which is why they don’t seem to much take into account what you’re doing. They approach life (and love, too) like a battering Ram. But I love that about them, the little lambs. Mary had a little one. You do realize that nursery rhyme is all about Jesus right? The lamb.  Easter. It falls into the sign of Aries. Pass the mint jelly.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox