Scorpio 8° (October 30)
Well one more day’s reprieve. And then that’s really it. I have to get on the horse and stay on the horse. That’s the long and short of it. I feel capable of doing so. And today starts this weird preparation diet so even if I wanted to have some fun wine-wise, I’m prevented from doing so, which is fine. It will make for a nice jumpstart. I’m thinking it will be good for me to be forced into a spate of sobriety in any case. It has been my only solace in these troubling times. I have certain goals lofty goals that now need to be achieved and singularity of mind is what will be required, pretty much, for the next eight months. It’s not too much to ask of myself. Also, in light of the emotional environment around here, given farmer fuckhead’s behavior, I need to be made of steel to thwart whatever might come our way. No sooner do I write all the following that someone says she wants to hit the wagon November 1. I’m such a pushover I’m like sure works for me. Friend wrote from Paris on the day that she is meant to be chatting with S. later, at 3:33 the number of the triple goddess in triplicate, the muses, pointing to the bifurcated personality of the Pisces, which she is. Any old wig, tomorrow really does begin the ultimate in sneaking in. It has to happen and happen it will. We had a client today and I was pretty psychically on fire I have to say. Names, dates, even types of fruit (pomegranate).
Oh my god I love Rosie Perez more than probably anybody. A slight case of psychedelia. Nothing to write home about. Had really delish salmon with roasted garlic mash and greenbeans was blandly but bloody good. Started watching The Queen’s Gambit and I cannot believe how old and terrible B.C. looks. I think he is younger than I am. I just checked and he has two different ages listed on Wikipedia. He left acting to become a cook and a mechanic in 2002 and then returned only to then get really great roles in things. Amazing what a Julliard degree will do even when you are a messed up ne’er do well, you can then return from self-imposed exile to Broadway and television. If I sound jealous I am. He was always good but I was always better. But it’s like he never really had to work. Just like his wife.
The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of Blagues, nos. 1066-1070. 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.
Feeling frustrated today on a few levels—not exactly sure why. Socially, nothing seems to change, there is no grand revelation, the criminals continue to get away with the proverbial It. Personally, and I’m sure it’s exacerbated by this weather, it feels like Groundhog Day, and that things show no sign of altering, but for the weather. Stella stresses the weather within a lot; and I’m all about it now. I can feel my body screaming for a change. For sunshine, for fish oil, for something, gods know what; and I wish they’d tell me.
My fingers have been hurting of late and I already have that weird pull thing in my palms along my ring finger line; I think I know what it’s called but I hate saying the words, but it ends in “contracture” and it’s a thing that people from North European descent often get, especially men. Also I had a terrible car accident fourteen years ago and gripped my steering wheel so tightly in the midst of it that I bent it down flat nearly. I would actually prefer it was that then the contracture thing that only gets worse. Every paragraph can end with the sentence. So I should go back to yoga.
I am determined to have my most successful “busy season” ever. And that entails in joying working more around the clock; spending time in my office in the evenings, writing and organizing and corresponding and all that. I’m having a late Lent so the boost in my healthful practices should have some kind of positive impact. I will likely cut my hair—I haven’t since October, if you can believe it. That’s six months ago nearly, holy merde. My 1985 Mercedes passed inspection this day without a glitch. Which made me feel hopeful. I thought if Old Yeller could do it so can I. Pass inspection that is.
Most often, I will share, it isn’t the what but the how. We trip ourselves up a lot on the what. But some days you just have to do what’s right in front of you. Or you get thrown a curve ball, money wrench, fireball to put out. So what if you looked at life as all of that. In other words what if there were no such things as distractions but just priorities and you fielded what was necessary in the order the Universe prescribed. The macro and micro cosmic universes that is, because most often, yes, the call is coming from within side the house. But there is this little invisible traffic cop at an intersection under construction and he can only let traffic go one way at a time. You have to say STOP to the inner mandates, often, to let the outer ones have right of way.
We walked out of Stop n Shop leaving a half full cart of food. It was ridiculous shopping at this local nightmare; they were making nonsensical phsical changes so everything wasn’t where it has been for a thousand years; but when asked a question, the staff was so surly, dismissive and generally unhelpful, we were like, you know what we outta here. So we drove another twenty minutes to Whole Foods, which, I’m sorry, is still shopping Nirvana. Everyone is so nice and friendly and everything is so fresh and organic (everything at the other placed looked green unless it was suppose to). We filled up for the week and then had a super early lunch at my favorite spot around Orleans, Sunbird. I always get a smoked mozzarella and kimchee sandwich on sour dough, with a hot turmeric, ginger, cinammon, honey and coconut milk. Again more Nirvana. Honoring thyself. Nothing bad ever came from that
I was thinking on the subject of performance yesterday: In a way we already have a great show in our bag in the “Christmas” show; in that we set it up that the “Christmas Story” follows the same pattern as the Zodiac, and vice a versa; but this becomes a stretch (but a forgiven one) in the Christmas show which is so “uplifting”. While the truth is the “Jesus Story” is what really follows the same pattern as the Zodiac, so we can easily remove anything Christmasy and go more for the parable aspect of being your own personal JC.Starsky + Cox • Cosmic Geezus is what I have in mind. This idea is COPYRIGHTED so don’t get any funny ideas.
I slept very well last evening but I’m more useless today than usual. I’m going with it. Everything will get done in time. I just need more of it. Which means not being in a rush. I have been on such high alert in some ways now for years; it’s been nearly four years since I was dealt a pretty devestating blow in my personal life; and only about six months since being clobbered on the professional side of things in the most extaordinary and ironical of ironical of ways. I have never looked for help and had even backed off utterly in certain areas of my career, only to be offered, without asking, an incredible leg up, or so it seems, as it was all fairy favors going poof.
I remember the summer of 1998 we were putting finishing touches on a book deal and we had friends looking for a winter rental in Wainscott for us while we had set off to Ireland for a few weeks alone followed by a journey back through London to Paris where we got a car and drove to Umbria and then to countryside of the Charente. It was bliss feeling that everything was ahead; and yet, in hindsight, my thinking was flabby, and my spiritual core not so strong. I feel, now, in comparison that I am much better off on those scores. And I’m suprised to discover that feeling to be honest. Where I feel now that I’m lacking is in laughter. I haven’t laughed all that much of late. I know many of us haven’t. And as much as I want to resist laughing off anything serious going on, I wish there was a separate laughter that could happen. There has to be the kind of laughter that doesn’t just let the steam out of the valve so that we “get through” all this. There has to be the kind of laughter, like a Mel Brooks laughter, of laughing at those who think have so much import.
I would totally accept the criticism that this Blague is navel-gazing. However I think, in so doing, staring at the sucker, you can still find universals, even, perhaps, quite readily. So what else about that trip back in the gay nineties? I think I would tell myself not to be in such a hurry. I think I would tell myself to live frugally and bank more cash. I know I would say not to be too tunnel-visioned with things, but to continue to pursue a variety of interests and activities. I have no regrets because they are an illusion. I only have now; and I could easily thread through some of the things I started and stopped over the years (know what I mean? you have those?); but it means getting off the rollercoaster of merry-go-round or whatever metaphorical amusement park ride you now find yourself on. There is nothing like a late cold March to make you feel stretched so very thin, spiritually. I guess, in that regard, Easter comes at a great time for those who put all their spiritual eggs in that particular basket.
I am so ready for another journey like that one, back in 1998, before I knew so much. We did a show a few years back as the opening to the Afterglow Festival and we were speaking of the god Ganesh and how one sings the word Hu and how Dr. Seuss must have based his Horton Hears a Who, upon it. And so we ask ourselves, are we listening out for that, and are we also shouting, hoping someone will hear. I don’t have time to mine all the content I’ve created over the years especially as I spend most of my time creating anew. What to do. What to do.
You remember the Brady Bunch episode where Marcia helps out this nebbishy girl (she wears glasses and her hair up) helping to make her popular and then the girl gets all uppity hanging around with some in-crowd and starts treating Marcial like a pleb? Why this theme is recurrent in my own life I can’t tell you; but if I had a dime for every character who came into my life seeking help and a certain solace, if not asking for endless favors, only to leapfrog over me to target the more (fill in the blank) of my friends or associates, I’d be a rich bitch today. But Marcia and me, we’re better than that, so we don’t dignify such situations. I just put it into my Blague while she takes it out on Jan. Poor Jan. I always dug her side-part though. Weirdo that I am, my crush was always on her, not Marcia. “Sorry Marcia but I’m going to have to let you go. You’re a good worker, Marcia, but Jan here is just a little bit better.” Waaah-waaah. The upshot being, of course Jan was the better worker—she had to be.
Whereas this used to really get under my skin I now just kick into observer mode when it happens, realizing that a good part of this sort of thing is normal (although not for me); also, as I get older, sad but true, I tend to stick close to an intimate circle(s) of friends I’ve had for decades and really don’t make new ones. It might be a guy thing. Women seem much more capable of forging meaningful platonic bonds, regardless of their age; I on the other hand, quite simply, don’t. To be honest, I wouldn’t even know what the forging of a new friendship would look like; I think it’s different for people who work in a team or group setting; everything I do, but for consultancy with S., I do alone. The only reason this isn’t terribly scary is the sheer number of people I do interact with via the consultancy, keeps me from losing my faculties for language or social interaction. Still, I have always felt like that Reses monkey (spelling? I don’t have time to check—see below tag).
The invitation to see Cursed Child on Broadway arrived today and I’m so psyched to see it with the original cast. As it turns out we are in NYC in any event meeting with clients old and new. Ah, April in New York City. I love the blossoms along the river on the walk to Battery Park, that stark pink against the periwinkle sky. Can’t wait. I want to take a long, long walk—not off a short pier. And I’m already tasting my dinner at Indochine. Sorry but these are the things that excite me about New York. I’m feeling generally excited anyway, though not too-too. It’s enough right now just to keep it real and hit some marks; but I’m trying to go on instinct these next several weeks and just know “generally” what needs to get done, whilst not being all schedulely. Things are often simpler than we make them. It is always about letting not making, anyway. The great unfolding (not to be confused with the dreaded unraveling).
Watched two things on the screen last evening. Part One of the Garry Shandling doc bu Judd Apatow and (no she didn’t) I did end up watching Roseann for sentimental reasons. It wasn’t good. I saw what they were trying to do—pitting the political debate between Roseann and Jackie but the “democratic” Jackie was the jester-buffoon in the pussy hat. Anyway, I did love the Garry Shandling and, as neurotic as he might have been, his journaling made me feel more normal. Although he was laser focussed in his notes-to-self on stand-up and making it, more, more, more…and I’ll write about pretty much anything, there was a similarity in the way that we outline what we need to do to achieve x, y or z. He really only talked to himself. I have you to talk to. But (who am I kidding?) I’m the only one both reading and writing this. Ha!
Postscript: Duh, I am writing comedy, here, thus the “Blague” double entendre. I literally forget. Literally literally. I’m a fourteen year old girl, but who isn’t nowadays?
A lot has happened since we were last here. I dreamed I had sex with a devil, that was fun. We never did quite have the sex I don’t think but still; and I remember I was prepared perhaps to pull out some kind of “the power of Christ compells” you incantation to ward off any juju; but I either woke up or the dream melted into another one. I Googled it of course and it’s about a bunch of things like being in conflict, characterized by a direction your taking leading you astray; or that you’re being seduced or tempted into doing something you don’t want to do. It can signal urges or emotions we are not in control of. So it’s the externalization in devilish personification of influences that are undoing us. I accept any and all of those interpretations.
Today feels like the time of year, each year, as a kid, you’d watch The Wizard of Oz; I don’t know how to explain it other than to say I think it was always on TV lat March, around Easter, when the clouds outside often looked like the clouds of the opening credits, creating a seemless transition, over the rainbow, from the reality of (typically Sunday night) suburbia to the Technicolor world of munchkins and monkeys. There was always a mystery, one felt, to be found in the shadows of the scenery or in the characterizations of the Witch’s army, much the way, as a child, you might get lost inside a duvet cover, finding a secret portal to the other side.
There really is no rush for anything. And, with Mercury retrograde, anyway, today, I planned to make black bean soup with the one single jalapeno I bought at WF this week, the one the check out lady even commented on, being this tiny object inside a flimsy green produce bag; but it must have been thrown away accidentally upon unpacking the groceries; so I got in the car to go get another one at the local market and the car (my old Mercedes) wouldn’t start; only slightly turning over. Ironically, taking it out on a rare drive to get an inspection this week, which it passed with flying colors, it must have lost battery from the driver door not quite closing, which it often doesn’t, leaving the inside light to wear its charge down to nothing. So that was a fun haiku of harumpf this morning.
But here I am. And I don’t mind working a bit late to explore all I must explore today. I enjoy few things more than writing, as it turns out; had you asked me that a year ago, I would have said the complete opposite—so this is new.
I remember when we first got the deal for Sextrology, I think I was telling you: We took a trip to Ireland which I’ll delve into sometime; then to Italy and France; and while we were away for a solid month, friends of ours found us a winter rental in Wainscott, for October 1, that we moved to, in a Jeep my father found for me (and I paid for)—now here’s how cynical I am: I will guarantee my father made some money off of me—and it was really rather sublime to be out in the Hamptons but we only made it to the New Year because I had the bright idea to buy a house on Cape Cod, which we did, it will be, twenty years ago, this autumn. The house was called Shine Cottage, as it belonged to Muriel Shine, a woman well into her eighties at the time. It was a tiny ranch, but could have been a dormered two stories; happily though it was exposed wood ceiling and rafters and beams all painted white. It was a five minute walk to the beach down the road; and it really was rather idyllic, except that it was filled with flies, situated near a horse farm. Driving to the house from the main road you passed pastures and pumpkin patches. It was quite near Georgica and very beautiful and now a dream. It wasn’t expensive. Just a thousand a month for a three bedroom can you imagine; nothing like that, not eve winter rentals, can be had for those who could be in the Hamptons in the winter; now everybody can.
I get a sinking feeling when I think of those days, in Wainscott. We made a friend called Tom whose brother Hamilton was friends with Caroline Bisset and rather known in and among the young, shiny faces of New York in the nineties. Tom worked at the wine shop attached to the Red Pony food shop. We became instant friends and he came over for dinner and so forth. We lost touch and then Facebook came around and I didn’t see him so I reached out to Hamilton who I didn’t know. Tom had died, I never found out how. He was a floppy haired Libra like myself, I dare say, still. Nostalgia is a killer and I’m on a heavy dose it seems today. Started yesterday, I was thinking about “tithing” as we typically choose some pointed way to give something to somebody each year; and then yesterday the young man from whom we leased a car, three years ago, came over (and again today with the car) to fill out paperwork; and he broke down in tears launching into the story of his life since we met him, admitting that he took the opportunity to come out to us because, he had sensed three years ago, that we were “different” and actually said “hello” and meant it, being present, I guess. His story is private and multi-layered and sad and, I will say, one feature of was the loss of his older brother. This was the major theme. too, of the Garry Shandling documentary I watched, in two parts, over the last two days.
Something powerfully emoting, emotive, emotional? in the air. And then that devil dream.
A new client today who brought out the psychic in me a number of times; that’s always fun. Spent the morning sprucing up the Blague site a bit. Turning a corner. I hope. The light at the end of the tunnel always looks different than you imagined. It’s a crunchy transition, but I know it will happen; I can see how the last two months’ worth of punching my way out of a paper bag yielded a plethora of glorious half-baked plots and quasidrafted memos and letters and directives. It’s kind of great. As if I tossed myself a bunch of heaps of half-shapen clay, into the future, for me to now pick up and finish off. Again, it’s kind of fun. I can’t tell whether of under or over achieving—neither I think. Productivity can go at a pacific pace; and I’m feeling confident about less being more.
I am keeping a vague eye on my tummy, which after a certain amout of time must be referred to as my gut or surely just my stomach. My father used to refer to his as what sounded like la banze; I believe this would have derived from la panchia or paunch. My father had more than a paunch, he had la banze, a big round mass worn rather high. I have the gene to some degree and can easily go there if I don’t watch it. So I watch it, ish.
We have a Full Blue Libra Moon tomorrow at 12:36 PM tomorrow. The Full Sap Moon (which is what we’re calling the second of March’s full moons). We won’t see another Blue Moon until Halloween 2020, and we won’t experience two blue moons in a year until 2037. I don’t know where I’ll be. The Libra Full Moon, Moon opposing Sun (and Mercury) in Aries, forms a T-square with Mars and Saturn in Capricorn. A certain personal mastery is required now to balance your will with your want; and the selfish aspects of self with those that require tandem effort. Other people write about astrology in this manner way better than I do. I’m better at the vibey not the nitty gritty stuff.
I will skip out on the Easter rituals this year looks like—to be honest it is the one holiday that I do skip out on most. I love the renewal energy of this time of year and I’m already feeling it for sure. I will take the Libra Full Moon to reflect on my ambition and personal development. Being a Libra, it impacts my own native Sun placement, my chart being somewhat nebulous as my parents didn’t recall my exact birth time; thanks. But if we say I was born around 6AM then Mercury would likely be on the ascendent from the twelfth house which makes sense given the psychic messages. This also puts Sun and Libra squrely conjunct in the first house where it makes me something of a aesthete, artist, effete perhaps, if not fey.
My Venus opposes Jupiter in the seventh, suggesting one-one-one relationships loom large just as an amplification in my own personal development might counter any soft, if not week, aspects associated with my sense of self. I do feel torn, perhaps, a little bit, this time, during this Libran Blue Moon, not spending it with my one true loved one; but I’ve been doing so much to’ing and fro’ing and I was just in Boston and I go again this week and the transience can negatively impact my mojo which is very again to motivation.
I can say this: that I’m happy to let certain chips fall where they may, while still fearful of what others may do so. I must learn to trust myself more to be self-caring and responsible. We are all like children asking for increased responsibility. Having felt abandoned one all too easily becomes ever more abandoned in their attitude and behavior. I wish to avoid any such lifestyle choices, because, at this point in my life, that’s what they would be. Comes a time when you can’t rationalize away behavior based on your conditioning. And people that continue to do so must also fall by the wayside.
Thus I feel that the Blue Moon in Libra, which some are calling the Full Sap Moon, is about rendering, coming to terms, deciding, even weighing out and valuing—all Libra actions. It’s not just about taking stock, it’s about paying up, thus karmic paybacks too. We are deciding who’s who and who does what and what worth things carry in our lives, whether they be interests, relationships, job, causes, art, pursuits, and so on. It is also time to put up or shut up, and to pick a dream and commit to realizing it, or let it go.
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.