Libra 28° (October 20)

So now I just have to write some shit. And that’s okay. We had an interesting day. It was a busy morning and I really needed to move around physically and take stock of where all my literal stuff is being, well, stuffed. We have a very clear idea now of our rights in light of the new offenses being lobbed our way and we can’t really put a price tag on the peace of mind good lawyership can bring. As usual, I have come up with two major points of my own (my mother always said I should have been a lawyer and in a way she is right but I’m not not one in the end as I have always directed any legal counsel I’ve had to have in place—happily it has been a rarity in my life. Weird synchronicities are happening. I was just typing about words entering the lexicon and specifically beta blockers when I see a Tweet come through from J.K. on what words entered the lexicon in the year of her birth and beta-blocker was on it. I don’t really understand this kind of phenomenon. But of course I love it. I’m going to do a week’s worth of Blague set up and then get back to my book (the one I’m writing not the one I’m reading).

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1016-1020. 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.

Gotham City Improv. It was formerly the Groundlings East based in NYC and then it became it’s own thing. The funny thing about studying there was the fact that Eric whom I met in Grenoble and with whom I shared a room and a bed in Paris, my first time ever there, and who is no longer with us, studied there and became part of the company.

I was really good but, you know, it’s me so: something had to go wrong. I wasn’t liked by the director who was friends with Eric and I suspect Eric threw me under the bus in that setting just as he did with all the kids on our study abroad. You see, Eric wanted to touch me there in that bed that first night in Paris and I said go for it. I didn’t touch him. I just let him do whatever. I don’t think it lasted more than a few minutes. I did. That is to say there was no release involved. Just a dry hand that wasn’t mine grabbing me off for a bit. But boy oh boy did it not end there.

Eric continued to be my new best friend for a couple more days and then, once we made our way to Grenoble, where the school and awaiting hosts family were; he ghosted me; and then I found out through this guy Phil, who had been my next door neighbor freshman year in the dorm, that Eric told him that I came on to him and basically molested him. Yeah. That was fun. I was a combination of not giving a fuck or caring what the other kids said because I was suffused with the notion that I was cooler than everyone anyway plus standing up for myself, vividly, if questioned. One particular questioning came from this guy called Alan, a strapping redhead who fancied himself Eric’s next best friend, mister straight guy, and he went after me for spreading rumors, get this, about Eric. It was in one of those sweeping stone spiral stairwells in a proper residential building in France, I’m guessing eighteenth century, this time on the Place Victor Hugo, in Grenoble where the directrice of our program lived and often hosted us in the first few months before she ghosted us all too.

Eric had had Hodgkins as a kid and he showed the visible signs of having glands removed from his neck which was very skinny. He was very sad and very nervous and very pompous and very funny; I really would have liked to have been friends, but I was a casualty of his own closetness. Any kind of sexual content between me and another guy has never been emotional; and this particular contact was so no big deal. It wasn’t hard for me to separate the funny kid I liked from the sleepy guy in my bed who reached inside my underwear. Big fucking deal. We were nineteen for fuck sake. Anyway…

We tried to be friends again when we collided in New York in the late eighties. It didn’t really happen. And another five or so years passed And then suddenly he went through this catharsis whereby he apologized for everything that had happened those years, a decade now, ago. The weird thing was he had moved to my home town of Wyckoff, New Jersey, living with his dad and his second family. He was jumping into the pool or something and his neck basically broke. His illness had returned. He died soon after that. I didn’t go to the funeral because I had just been through it with another friend who was very close to me and it was too soon and I was too selfish and guarded. Apparently they spoke about how much he cherished the year in Grenoble.

===================

I was watching a Tony Bourdain “Parts Unknown” on CNN. It was an episode about Southern Italy, the heel, and Asia Argento (his now girlfriend, which is great) and he explored the region. First off, of all the couples in the world I’d like to hang with, I put those two at the top of the list along with Charlotte Gainsbourg and her filmmaker husband, Yvan Attal. But I digress. It got me wondering again about my roots, something I do need to explore. In some ways I feel worse than an orphan. I haven’t a clue about a single ancester. None of my four grandparents, only two of whom I grew up with, ever uttered a word about the past. What was wrong with these people. And now, as a childless child, I feel rather disconnected leading in altnerate directions.

I’m guessing for the most part that where my Italian relatives derive from are not the nicest places on the boot. I don’t know that for a fact, but I just have the same icky feeling I had visiting my relatives in Lyndhurst, New Jersey, with their plastic covered furniture and carpets threaded with plastic runners in rooms we weren’t allowed to enter.

=================

Hello. T.K. Moore was kind enough to give me your email address. My wife Stella and I are known as Starsky + Cox and we are leading astrologers and authors of the book Sextrology (HarperCollins 2004). We run a private consultancy of international clients, the majority of whom hail from the arts, entertainment, fashion and design industries.

We have written columns and features for the world’s top publications and websites including Vogue, Glamour, Elle, Allure, Cosmopolitan and The Daily Beast; and we have ourselves been globally featured by publications like The New York Times, Vanity Fair, Time, InStyle, Vogue, Vogue Italia, The Boston Globe, British Vogue. Sextrology has been translated into sixteen foreign editions; and the book was followed by Cosmic Coupling (Crown, 2010) and our self-published yearly series of Haute Astrology ebooks.

We have appeared on numerous satellite and terrestrial radio and television news and entertainment programs and were recurring guests on “Chelsea Lately”. Chelsea Handler, Charlize Theron, Kelly Ripa, Kim Cattrall, Scarlett Johannson, Isaac Mizrahi, Mario Testino, Kate Moss, Sharon Stone, Karl Lagerfeld and Rufus Wainwright have all been outspoken fans. Starsky + Cox have collaborated on events with Marc Jacobs, Barneys New York, Colette Paris, Selfridges and Harvey Nichols in London, Edinburgh and Dublin, and have created content for MAC Cosmetics, Chandelier and Kylie Minogue.

Starsky + Cox have offered their Cosmic Clincs®—working with top PR and event planners—offering on-the-spot astrological readings at private and charitable events. We have also guest-lectured at company events with our “Unlocking the Zodiac Code”, a presentational talk and workshop on the power of the Zodiac, with its twelve signs and houses, as an ancient system for self-realization—”the original twelve-step program” as we say. On top of our private and charitable appearances and lectures, we perform a thought-provoking musical comedy show still on the astrological theme. In New York City we have appeared at Dixon Place, Ars Nova, The Zipper Factory and at Joe’s Pub at the Public Theater, where we perform regularly. As we live part-time in Massachusetts, we have also performed at the American Repertory Theater in Cambridge and at numerous venues, most frequently, in Provincetown.

Could the powers that be, mostly Russia, be so clever as to realize the greatest selling point about putting Trump in power is that he is the most polarizing character in our culture. Our hatred for the noxious oaf is matched by the sick love the near other species, his voters, have for him. It is the extreme degree of polarization possible with this gargoyle that has the greatest effect. Not just sowing division, but a surgical art of doing for which only this ogre can allow.

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.

Libra 27° (October 19)

Right so we are talking about yesterday and I don’t have the stomach for it but to say we watched the Producers. I am all over the kitchen bitchin’.  THE BewITCHIN’ KITCHEN. If you were to ask anyone who truly knows me well, what do you think is Quinn’s greatest talent, they would mostly say cooking. If you steal this idea I will rip your face off. I was thinking that one of the funniest things is when Mary Richards says she’ll rip someone’s (Ted’s) face off. They oly did one fantasy sequence the whole time on that show. I’m basically today getting mentally prepared for what is coming down the pike when in fact the answer isn’t what I think I think it is. It is nothing and it isn’t nothing. I just heard the weirdest sound coming up from downstairs. At least I think I did or I imagined it. Did I say all I wanted to say? Oh right the Producers. I so want Matthew Broderick to be great but, aside from his singing which is strangely good, his performance seemed to be canned, cut and pasted from his first ever night, or perhaps the last dress rehearsal of the Broadway show. He isn’t, as we real actors say, alive in the moment or living in the room; he is, as we also say, playing an idea of the character, an externalized caricature. And the idea, and the caricature thereof, is Gene Wilder. He has not made Leopold Bloom his own and he’s not having fun. It must have been difficult for Nathan Lane or anybody (other than Uma Thurman, who is arguably deader—or not—wood) to work against. He has nothing to give the other actor(s) so they have the added challenge of endowing his Leopold Bloom as something more alive and real than we experience as an audience. Yeah, that’s all I wanted to say.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1011-1015. 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.

Everyone complains about mold but we all know that mold, a fungus—like the spore that became fungus that killed bacteria and became penicillin—perhaps mold are in place to naturally fight our razor’s edge fight with bacteria. Perhaps physical bodies are the battleground between fungus and bacteria. Fungus does have a way of adhering, coexisting with and advancing life in a kingdoem all its own. Separate from flora and fauna, fungi is our friend while bacteria, in our own animal kingdown, wants to kill us like a man-eating tiger.

I think it would be funny to personify Fungus as a Scottish character. Fungus, Mingus, Angus, etc. Fungus MacDormant would make a funny name.

Anyway part of me has always wanted to be a mushroom farmer. I don’t know if that’s actually true or if I’m just typing to stuff this Blague full of bulk. But whenever one nears the larger topic of “chucking it all and doing something else” I always think of becoming a mushroom farmer. I really do need to grown things this year. I wonder if I shouldn’t invest in some herb boxes and do a little something of the sort this year. Now I’m off to Google making your own herb boxes so I’ll be right back

Metallurgy is a term I love. I think it would be as interesting to play with metals as with stones and to get into the alchemy perhaps we can include in our business plan. Mythology, mysticism, metaphysics meet metallurgy. I’m so into alchemy right now anyway int terms of what happens in my kitchen and in the combining of herbs and roots and other healing elements from the plant world, which is our apothecary. I want to get into that. And, in and of my ownself, I am open for some divine transmutation myself to match truest desire with purest destiny.

====================

I have decided to launch a new project which is two-fold. One, I will try to become what I’ve always wanted to be: an actor; testing the George Eliot quotation: “It is never to be to

what you might have been.” Now, as far as career choices go, mine is surely the most cliché. Yet it’s probably the most challenging—not like learning to become a brain surgeon challenging—though, at least when you learn to be a brain surgeon you can be one and get paid for it. This is not true of the actor, even among other artists. Easier if I had always wanted to be a painter and never did because I could just buy all the materials and start painting. But an actor can’t do the same and not be committed by their next of kin. So I think it will be an interesting project to document, write about, perhaps even film portions of, as I go. That could take some money. But wait just a cotton picking minute. If I were to add a conceit of sorts: That I am documenting the life of working actors who make their living on their craft, on their own, without the fame and fortune associated with the profession. What percentage of working actors, I wonder, make up the whole industry. Or rather what percentage do famous actors make up in the entire profession.

=================

I pulled the Queen of Wands today. What do I like about her? She assuages bruised egos. She is the spritual adviser and the calming influence in her otherwise fiery clan. But, even for her this came through age and maturity. Yesterday I pulled the Emporer. I seem to be on a responsible trip suddenly. She is the cool of kindness.

It’s all about temperance as a tool for spiritual growth. And I get that. It’s the card which says move on. You needn’t react in the ways you once did and you can let go situations that you perhaps didn’t handle in the most temperate of ways. You can’t look back and bemoan a relationship, say, that didn’t pan out because of another if your reaction if you left the relationship pointing a fiery finger. You can only have it one way.

I really feel as if I’m turning a major corner. I’m back to that complete feeling of being so happy that I’m me. I don’t have any mechanism for regret happening. I only want to move forward. I’m feeling especially appreciated by clients. Wow. It’s overwhelming how loved I feel from that quarter.

========

Speaking of time and space. How do people deal with death row. How can you be Henry VIII and why are zombies popular. I know life is just preparation for death. How do you live the month leading up to your execution. That’s the true punishment.

I could stop there.

But I am aware that this might be too short and too sweet. I’m going to go look at my finances for a second. And now I’m back. And things are looking rosy which is nice—touch wood. I am very much interested in keeping things to the bone and close to the vest, both together and separately.  But I must beware of isolating.

Soon I will create some Saturday Evening Roasts for the people and invite friends around to the Road House. I do need to reach out to Jim and tell him we’d love to get some herb boxes in and also that we can have the window boxes with geraniums back. I thought I took really good care of them. Who’s Jim, you ask? Oh, well I like to say he’s something between a cousin and an uncle and he officially owns the land on which we live. We live in the original house, the Road House, on the road, no surprise there, eh?

Ah, Canada. We will soon go to Montreal. I will be traveling all through New England once this grant kicks in and staking out all the locales. Ten thousand can secure a lot of developoment, especially when you use up a lot of it having fun in the process. Work and amusement going hand in hand.

====================

Beginning Febraury 19 apparently through March 20, the Blague will focus only on this sick piece I’m writing. The whole month must, in fact be, personal writing. Then from March 21 I’ll be doing a number of daily things. I’ll do my morning tweet and then I’ll revist the Sabian Symbol associated with that day and maybe write a few paragraphs of that but not for the Blague per se although a little something can’t be bad; as I’ll also be saying whatever. I will be working on a separate sex sign a fortnight. The Blague will be synonymos with Twitter and my personal FB I suppose.

Branding the Blague and me as the writer and speaker and S should likewise do her thing daily in the realm of Baronhood. I think we can both start writing vignettes, first taking stock of existing monologues. For me that would mean the Christmas story and the jumping over fence story. Also branding the Blague QC’s take is I can’t tell you why it is I can only tell you that it is. Put out Quotes and Aphorisms by day as QVC, which S can retweet and vice versa.

I have been thinking a lot, lately, about writing in the second person. And it would be really nice to get a dialogue going between the two of us.

Here also is a list of topics as suggestions as triggers for writing said Blague:

1. Dreams
2. Questionnaires
3. Memos (Cartoonlike)
4. Open Letters (With the above Memos comes from To-Do list)
5. Tell a Quick Story
6. Plan (A party)
7. A poem or song
8. Schemes. Talk me through it.
9. Dada (typing in exactly whatever you find on paper then throw that paper away)
10. In memory of….
11. A magic spell
12. Comment on a repost of past

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.

Libra 26° (October 18)

I really do think I haven’t been as kind as I could be to myself. But it’s an easy fix…oops it’s two days later, sorry (not sorry). I feel way better. Some good things happened. The second I type that I get a sharp pain in my sinus. The old family cucamunga. But I will have talked to my lawyer and I would have gotten a lot cleared out in the basement and I would have voted and talked to friends who have Covid. I can feel myself slimming down and I am working a very healthy menu here at home. If I truly pace myself now I can pull this off and move to the next project, swinging vine to vine, which would be divine. It’s not that hard if you do it first thing. That has got to be the plan. Coffee and work first thing. Mid morning exercise. Lunch and then the day’s your oyster. That’s all folks.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1006-1010. 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.

We do have our own language. For instance if one of us feels nauseus we might say “I’m Elizabeth” as in Hurley as in about to hurl. “I’m Kevin” means I’m spaced out. Richie is came out of merci which became Merce for Merce Cunningham, then simply Richie because of Happy Days. Toots is many things, but it’s mainly an affirmation. Poodle can refer to a dish of quinoa and brown rice with avocado, sometimes seasoned with seaweed, with crispy chickpeas done in a cast iron pan and sautéed kale, topped with Braggs amino acid sauce. Or Poodle can be a term of endearment, from Poodle Skirt.

Trumpworld

Reality Winner, Mueller it over, Sessions in Session, Spicer Spicing it all up. Bannon is all for Bannin’. The way of the con Kelly Conway. Kushy Jared Kushner. Malign-ya, Farron von Munchhuasen, something about can …can he use the Whithouses something

Moved to Wellfleet for the Jewish Eye Candy

Vacancy-No

The list of things (like oil pulling) that you’re supposed to do but if you did you wouldn’t have time to live

Cyclists versus Bikers. They’re different.

Yacht Rock. A song in which Michael MacDonald is featured in some capacity.

Olsen Tins

Bathrooms need to be cleaner for men because they see everything lifting the seat

Not understanding what certain commercials are about

Movie titles in the nineties

Knowing what a laniard is?

Accessible Celebrities

==========================

I am the Warlock

People are Witches would make a good bumper sticker

But the point is we are, that’s our natural state.

We’ve been made, rendered, powerless. We have so

much more power than we think we do.

Our brand is our message

Astrology speaks truth to power, it’s proof of your individuality

We navigate by the stars.

I get visual feelings.

All is poetry.

I want to open the back of my mind to messaging from the great beyond, that Piscean portal to the All where one speaks the language of poetry only. Sometimes I hear it and catch it in those moments before falling asleep or waking. That is to say that the poetry exists; we can only hear it and capture bits, craftying them with our own language. I wonder if the greatest poets are not those who can siphon the purest sap.

As I write this I can the vision of He in the temple. He has been there, in my life, now, since, I want to say, 1986 or so. I see certain things clearly. I am looking into a courtyard of stone fitted with lean pillars, no roof of course, but all else unpourous, white stone aged black into tiny crooks and corners, the energy or this internal building directed upward. The light is cool and blue and as I am at the front right corner of the atrium he sits left of center, on the other side, a little ways away; he would be nearly diagonal from me if he slid over to his right along the stone bench that squares the entire inner sanctum, behind him first a banquette of stone rising to around the height of his head, and behind him, and indeed the entire square banquette all around, is a gallery, darker blue, still, whereabouts one would walk; I am sort of hiding behind the corner or the banquette on my side, peering in from the gallery and he sits, fairly motionless, wearing a bluish white jalaba, tunic, caftan type garment, sitting, straight backed, shoulders relaxes, hands resting in his lap; tall, ultra thin and muscular, with a shock of black hair shining blue sky reflection, Adam’s apple, jawline, smiling mouth and eyes.

He waits and I want to ask what does he wants, but he doesn’t want anything though his eyes as the question that is all questions combined, I don’t know what it is in my mind but I try to feel its fullness with my visceral intelligence lodged in the immaterial organ in the center of myself. What is it; that is no question. Time is not here and the cool, blue light makes me love but it is confused. I want to stay and yet I never quite approach only ever coming to the moment when we first lock eyes, neither of us caught unawares.

=========================

I had this notion for collecting all the random bi-polar ideas i have strewn on snippets of paper everywhere into a solidly ridiculous list

Go through and update the Starsky + Cox canon of songs

Create a Timeline of performances to date.

Check out Yoga Schedule

Research other venues, colleges, museums, theaters and so forth

(Look at other performers’ tour schedules)

Just start booking a few people than a few more)

Pud addresses into Mad Mimi data base and also an excel program

Go through black notebook to separate out various areas of interest

Circle back to Dixon place

Brian Doben photo shoot

Revisit the Gabriel Event Page

Work on the lecture/appearances idea, with a simple something. All the crunchy places.

Woodstock, Hudson, Northampton, Bennington, Cambridge et al

Press release on the e-books for next year

Decide on next years color avant-garde. Based on the game Probe

Lynne and Bill game night

Schedule in the new relationship book

Get in touch with Sirius Radio

Send a press release to Bostonia + Press

Troll list of PR Czars

Make a list of small press book publishers or buy a publishing house

Take over a bookfair (or at least get yourself a booth)

Launch a campaign for the hottest new book agent

Remind how to decoupage walls

Go down a list of Provincetown names and ask them the following questions: Do you know of a good house to rent, would you like to host an artist, Greg St. Jean, would you like to be a sponsor, sparkler—take note of boosting their biz, etc.

==========================

I had a dream last night wherein I was “assigned Jack Keroac, others weren’t assigned…

Potato chips on the floor, or rather, as the flooring, all patches into a molten landscape

Probably from almost dying pulling food out of the oven.

Oh how funny I just came upon a list of eight things on a sheet of paper headed Blague:

• The good die young
• That anyone else than dumbfuck could be president, like literally anyone else on the         planet would be better.
• that sycophants are rarely seen through
• that people often turn the tables and try to make the symptom the cause and they get away with it (see above president)
• that bisexuals are still seen as the problem despite the fact that everything else goes
• if you are a new singer and sound like Neil Young you’ll probably get away with having a career and not be called an imitator
• always being your heaviest as bathing-suit weather approaches.
• Thelma Ritter.
• Birds falling from the sky
• What happened to the female terrorist in the Charlie Hebdo attack
• Dealing with Friends
• Coping with modern alienation
• Mine some of my better blogs
• ===========================

Not to say all Aries are Buddhists, but their natural brand of spirituality is hinged on the upper-case Self as the highest form of power, while they tend to be pretty self-y in the bedroom as well. Taurus ache with a need for belonging, seeking and inviting rapture, both spiritual and sexual. Gemini desires communion and community, finding spirituality in the company of others, if not sleeping their way through the congregation. Cancer is all about being born again, real or metaphoric baptism being just another watersport, re-creation and recreation going hand in hand. Leo aspires to godhead—enough said. Virgo is all about the service, whether it be the ritual of a mass or sacred sexual rites, they are programmed to receive. Libra is a creature of divine order and beattitudes—if you don’t take their orders you can expect there will be attitude. Scorpio spirituality is profound and shrouded in mystery just as they are secretive and sphynxlike in sexual relationships. Sagittarius is shamanistic in their visions and expect extreme, exhaustive states of ecstacy in both their spiritual and sexual life. Capricorn takes the pulpit position, in full faith, delivering others from the depths to the heights, back and forth, back and forth. Aquarius is in an eternal state of revelation, forever having their minds blown and blowing others. And Pisces seeks dissolution, to become one with spirit and lose themselves in sexual experience.

The sexual and the spiritual are metaphors for each other.

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.

Libra 25° (October 17)

I spent much of this day writing things I cannot post here. I am attempting to exorcise some of the horrid feelings surrounding farmer fuckmunch. I am interested in making a solid choice and making a plan accordingly. I’m coming up on a fortnight until a certain procedure and I want to be in the right frame of mind for sure. I am on a mission from the gods at this point and I cannot let them down. I feel I know what I’d like to do in terms of the bigger move. We can get the fuck out of here with very little effort. I need a win here and I’m willing to do what it takes to bring it about. I’m fairly tired of the atmosphere here, the crowds and the pushiness and I love for something more secret and calm and beautiful, and still not very far from the things I love. It is time to make a change, this is something I now truly believe. 

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1000-1005. 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.

I don’t want to turn into the older man in the comfortable shoes, you know, the one for whom wearing Rockports is no longer ironic. And for those of us too short to age like Anthony Bourdain, blessed with those skinny legs and all, becoming a Breatharian often seems to be the only route to not being some stubby sextagenarian. I joke. But even in my youth I would live on Hemingway’s words: hunger is good discipline. I skipped meals sometimes, breakfast certainly, and lunch every once in a while. I had never been overweight then, I remember, particularly, living in Paris in 1985, 1986, ordering just a pot of tea I’d drink with lemon. Of course, that’s when I wasn’t drinking all the beer and wine; but that never registered physically then either, except in a vague, teen-age puffiness.

But it’s more than just the avoidance of certain footwear. It’s also the way ones jeans fit. I do declare I must avoid jeans altogether unless they are altogether flattering. The truth is I haven’t exercised other than walking in a long time. That said, I walk many miles on the beach which can often be tough going, not a stroll in the park. And the times I’ve been able to swim have been glorious. If I lived in London, I would surely join a swim club. Those days at the Aldwych, I can’t tell you: they pulled on my heartfelt being so much. It is my most favorite pool in all the world. If I had sick money I would get a 15K pound membership just to go there every day. Which is just over 4 pounds a day. Just under six bucks a day. Six bucks a day to swim in a pool isn’t a lot if you go every day. It’s the price of a coffee or near enough. I would give up coffee to swim in that pool. Just one thing: I don’t live in London. But you know what Diana Vreeland said: The best part about London is Paris. There is sense in what I say if you look for it.

So what to do. Well, being well hydrated and slightly underweight is my secret manorexic goal. But I am one of those people who eats so well already, and barely; I never snack or eat dessert except maybe sharing in a restaurant; and I generally avoid restaurants except when traveling, manning the kitchen, my favorite household milieu, will fairly militant precision. Seriously, I am anal when it comes to food, which isn’t a pretty sentence, nomatter how you slice it. So let’s put it this way: I’m ridiculously organized, an expert at gard manger, I never waste even the tiniest sprig of thyme. I shop for exact ingredients, I make menus, I schedule prep times for chopping for a few meals ahead, I do a little at a time, all the time throughout the day—there is always something cooking in the kitchen—such that, when meal times arrive, I need do little else but assemble. It’s one of my greatest, I won’t say only, joys.

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I’ve kind of freaked myself out these past few dates. I accidentally invented a new character called Socks. At least I think I did. I’m seriously hoping I didn’t conjure something already there, actually. Even writing this I can spook myself. Because I want to describe what he looks like (he has sewn-up mouth for instance which, come on, is pretty effing demonic) but I don’t want to say more in case it brings him further into being. Since I “presented” him in a joking attempt to scare the household lots of weird stuff has been happening. Small stuff but weird stuff, especially in the realm of mechanics. So before I give full birth to this deranged magickal childe I need to do something of a mini exorcism to rid the environment of any bizarro juju.

Good thing nobody reads this Blague, right, because you’d all think I was bonkers. Then again those who know me are certain that I am so I suppose we can view this as a step in the right direction: I’m letting more of the real me be seen. Ha. That is way easier said than done for me. People assume because I’m a quasi public figure who takes to stages and is out there championing arts causes and the like that I’m super outgoing. But the fact is I’m really rather shy, that is, at least, with no drinks in me. Double ha.

It was a full week of clients and, as is typical, I like to ask myself what I learned from them. Detachment is the first, and very Aquarian (this Blague being assigned to this date during the sign of Aquarius), thing that pops to mind. It is so important because, once we get to Pisces and its energy of dissolution, we will need to let go. But what are we detaching into, ah that is the rub. We are not just detaching from. Detachment is not losing. Detachment is releasing…into…trust?….truth? Both for starters. When we encounter a natural ending with work with a client, we take that exit and look forward to seeing what we’ll see off that ramp.

These past couple of weeks have been an incredible journey in confronting all the past accumulations, going through them and extracting from them what needs extracting, all the while knowing it is the only way to move forward because that will soon take every particle of energy I possess. For that one must love winter. The metaphor of hibernation isn’t about sleep, but about digging down into the ground(work) of what was already established and to live on that. But in living on it, to make work the metaphor most literally, means to live off the stored accumulation, the fat of our previous existance, but to burn it off before we emerge starving for new experience. I’m so close, now, to burning off a great deal of it.

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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.

Libra 24° (October 16)

Coming out of it even more today. I am going to use today’s new moon as major power. Sometimes perhaps it’s good to have a focus in the form of a target for evil to fight. I wrote this big long thing but I’m not going to share it today because frankly I don’t have to. I am going for a six page a day schedule now at this point with alternating yoga and taking things to the dump. That is how I am going to combat this crap. I’m going to put all the metal in one place and then slowly lose all the clothes and shoes that I no longer wear. There is no point in hanging onto anything anymore. If anything we will start the process of a great exodus over the coming months. That’s just the way this is going to go. I have played fast and loose in certain regards for far too long in any case and now I must use the next three and one half months to truly blow this out of the water in a way I have never done in the past. It is crucial that I give myself the gift of this. I need to build emotional muscle in the face of what is coming up and I know that if I am in my best head then I will meet the challenges in the correct way.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 996-1000. 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.

I’m thinking around this time that I want to start sliding into home. I know I’m working hard but am overwhelmed, as evidenced by a need to go the Cook Shop for some kind of adventure. If all I had to do all day was write it might be fun. I am actually longing for that kind of time ahead. I don’t mind it being another year away to be honest.

It’s been so good to feel that my pasts regret are buried deep in the cemetary of get over yourself. Life really is so much simpler than we make it. And it’s more beautiful. And we have to be flexible and spread things out for sure. I have make an effort to be more than abstemious when it comes to all forms of self indulgence.

At this point I’m still processing the trip which really just happened. I have to say I really loved Miami and would totally take myself there next time someone wants some time away from me. It could be quite the blast me thinks. But I generally want more of that. I need to begin to visualize it happening and to create my own little transporter room at the top of the stairs. I need to feel more relaxed (and get my bood pressure down) and to dream and scheme and roll around the attic of my brain. I need to be fearless.

I have been a so-called orphan now for over twelve years nearly and let’s face it, abandoned long ago on that score, most poignantly with the onset of mother’s memory loss. But the panic attacks are gone for the most part; they which once killed me beginning to decades ago. I can still go there but I am not gripped with fear and dread with a bright orange glare in the backs of my eyes. For one writing is a form of relasaction now as opposed to a process of endless siezing up.

And I’m coming up on having a lot to say. About a great many things. At the same time I am well aware of where I can sleep into the kind of mania that could turn my office into a bit of production design for A Beautiful Mind.

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All I keep telling myself is that this will soon be over. Burping smoke. And I will be aligned in my day with enough time and space to make the proper, designated posts and observations. My one goal now is, by January 2019, to have shifted the base of the international consultancy to Paris so to align with our fashion clients whom, we know, have to be in that great city at least twice a year. Otherwise it’s Cape Cod and Boston, and the occasional New York City and Los Angeles. Done. So easy. A nice two bedroom in Paris where we can meet our clients and host the odd guest. A place to gift to friends, especially those, who have likewise gifted us over the years. A little bit of Parisian heaven but a great big chunk of living. So easy to get to Edinburgh and London and Zurich and Geneva and Marseille to visit friends. A chance to explore all of that beautiful country which has always been a spiritual home. An announcement to the world: Starsky + Cox have set up shop in Paris and Provincetown, splitting their time. What a glorious gift to myself. I dare say I can afford it now, in some form, even on what little bit I have put away. I have never been a materialist, much to my own chagrin at times. I traded that for freedom. But what good is freedom unless you take it.

I was meditating on the six of wands in the Tarot which begs the question: Am I prepared for the responsibility this public success and exposure implies? I have to say I think I am. If not a bit over ready. In my mind I know I am, but, okay Tarot, I get it: am I ready in spirit. Am I equal to my dreams? Is that what you’re asking me? Fuck you. Who are you to ask me anything, Tarot? It is me that does the asking. You got that? But you’re right.

Feeling this distinct difference between my mind, which races ahead, creating a disconnect, and my spirit which instead begs for nurture and doesn’t want to go anywhere it till it gets it, I demur…demurr?…it’s not demure. Anyway, I beg off non-chalantly, embracing my confidence issues. But this is part of getting confidence back. This is part of the reclamation. I know there is no such thing as catching up in life, just like there is no such thing as getting behind; but I am apparently engaged in both dynamics simultaneously, such that it is enough to make any Mage’s head spin.

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.

Libra 23° (October 15)

Today felt quite dark and weird. I am making tiny bits of progress but nothing super fantastic to write home about. I have to get my brain in super resolve mode. I have questions for our lawyer which I have started writing out. I have a mock response (mainly for our own venting purposes) which will probably go on the same heap as the back-pocket bits we edited out of the last letter to him. I have to turn this into motivation. I know I can do it I just need to prime the pump a bit. It is all terribly doable. I have all the time I need to make this happen. But I cannot quite yet shake the sadness. I know none of this is my fault, that it is the result of some poor choices, and that I really must find a way to move through this time and let myself be guided. It is indeed a challenge as sometimes it feels like there is no place to go. I have to stop the weird and wild searching as it is getting me absolutely nowhere. I have one mission and that is to try and work out some kind of compromise. If I play my cards absolutely right I will be through the process in a fairly meaningful way by the ned of January and then I will need twelve weeks to really make the drafts sizzle. That means the end of April. It is in his best interest to make some kind of deal I think. Mediation is something we will surely look into. As well, we will look into selling things off in a meaningful way. I am going to try my damnest to make this a very good time.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 991-995. 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.

The sign of the Waterbearer has a number of classical, biblical and literary archetypes associated with it. On the female side, we see many an inspirational figure, from the cup-bearing goddess of youth, Hebe, to Rebecca at her well, to Galadriel from Tolkien’s Middle Earth—whether or not he consciously linked her, etymologically, to Galahad, of holy grail (water bearer) fame, is anyone’s guess. But let’s stick to the classic: Before being replaced by Zeus’ boy toy Ganymede, the job of dispensing the nectar of the gods belonged to Hebe. As goddess of youth, she is one and the same with the rejuvenating nectar she pours out. Hebe is the maiden-form of her “mother” Hera, who, along with her anagramm\atical mother Rhea-Cronos (crone aspect), forms a specific aggregate of triple goddess. Hera is the Sagittarius archetype, Rhea the Capricorn one, and now we follow those signs with Aquarius, which claims the recycled goddess Hebe as its own. She is married off to Heracles (meaning: beloved of Hera), a mortal made god by this love match. He married up. Hebe thus takes the form of a descending goddess, like Iris, Hera’s messenger, goddess of the rainbow who travels down her colorful path to bring the “good news” to mankind, another dispenser of divine joy. In the Tarot, the Star card depicts the Waterbearer. Makes sense: Aquarius and Leo are so-called astrological opposites, that is, higher setae of each other ad infinitum, spiraling upward through the zodiac. Leo is associated with our star, the Sun; while Aquarius portrays another Sun, far out. Stella (Star) in A Street Car Named Desire is this Aquarian archetype wedded to the palpably mortal, brutish, if not Herculean, Stanley with whom, in a nod to Iris’s rainbow, she would get those colored lights a-spinning. So we celebrate the far-out Aquarius woman, starlit from within, with her outsized ancient noggin plopped atop an ever youthful body, bringing inspiration to we mere mortals. She can indeed be a bobble-headed beauty, like Tweety Bird, eternally bright-sided, uplifting, and rather impervious to any catty detractors in her midst. Think of the universally outspoken, progressive and inspiring likes of Oprah Winfrey, Ellen Degeneres, Sara Gilbert, Yoko Ono, Alice Walker, Germaine Greer, Rosa Parks, Laura Ingalls, Carson McCullers, Elizabeth Bishop, Toni Morrison, Colette, Alice Walker, Mia Farrow, Vanessa Redgrave, Carol Channing, Amy Tan, Stella Adler and, on the shadow side—we all have one: Ayn Rand, Sarah Palin, Paris Hilton, Eva Braun.

When Mick Jagger sang, “she’s like a rainbow” he was likely referring to an Aquarian lass. Again Iris, goddess of the rainbow, is one of the classic descending goddesses that portrays the Aquarius woman archetype. She watered the clouds with her pitcher and brought divine inspiration to mortals from the gods. Also, just like the god Mercury, namesake for the planet, which is “exalted” in the sign of Aquarius, Iris carries a caduceus staff and bears wings. But we do see her shadow side in mythology in that she has a nemesis, an evil twin, called Arke, whose own wings are iridescent, who betrayed the Olympian gods, siding with their enemy Titans. Enter the biblical figure of Salome, female counterpart to the biblical water bearer, John the Baptist: Her dance of the seven veils—one for each color of the Roy G. Biv—is, like the rainbow itself, a beckoning beyond the veil of material illusion, terrestrial life, to experience reveal-ation, and communion with the divine. Whether through revelation or ascension or death this will be achieved. But, as that story suggests, the Aquarius woman can make others lose their head. The Zodiac’s elusive star can inspire us to heights to lofty too reach and from which we can easily fall from grace. Or is it that we project our greatest hopes and wishes on this gorgeous girl guru failing to realize that despite the natural upliftment she provides, she is flesh and blood and, given her soaring spirit, is that much more in need and in search of grounding. Here some more beautiful, humanitarian, bobble-heads: Laura Dern, Natalie Dormer, Jennifer Aniston, Elizabeth Banks, Christina Ricci, Heather Graham, Molly Ringwald, Ida Lupino, Tallulah Bankhead, Amy Tan, Laura Ingalls. And

Mena Suvari, Emma Bunton, Heather Graham, Mischa Barton, Charlotte Rampling, Sheryl Crow, Portia DeRossi, Isla Fisher, Emma Roberts, Rosamund Pike, Elizabeth Olsen, Kerry Washington, Tiffani Thiessen, Jane Seymour, Princess Caroline, Princess Stephanie, Brandy Norwood, Amber Valletta, Zhang Ziyi, Shakira, Diane Lane, Mia Kirshner, Minnie Driver, Christie Brinkley, Kelly Rowland and Farrah Fawcett.

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Just as the sign of Aquarius, the Waterbearer, ushers us into Pisces, so too does the Aquarian archetype of John the Baptist, the Waterbearer, prepare (ye) the way for Pisces archetype, Jesus, the quintessential Fish. Aquarius represents revelation, glimpses of the future, truth and potential joy—men of the sign being notoriously lost in their visions—whilst Pisces man, in perpetual Jesus mode, represents a sustained drifting, like one in a lucid dream, personifying the perennial state of Nirvana, the “true reality” lodged beyond the veil of illusion which characterizes our material life in the visible, tangible world. That old chestnut. In Sextrology, the Pisces Man chapter is indeed entitled The Drifter. More than any other individual, Pisces treats existence as one big womb of potentiality in which he floats toward desired goals without the efforting or struggle that most of us exhibit. His life is one long process of incubation whereby his goal is to remain peaceful, if not pacified by others, most notably, strong-willed partners or lovers, who help pilot his life while cleaving to him as some sort of life saver, spiritual or otherwise. The metaphor of Jesus walking on water illustrates Pisces’ ability to be buoyed by his belief that the universe provides the perfect unfolding of his destiny. There is thus no need to stress. Life goes on equally within and without you. At least that seems to be the message of flow personified by the vibrationally itinerant Pisces male. Here: a list of pretty, Jesus-y and, some, messiah-complexed drifters: Jack Kerouac, George Harrison, Jake Bugg, Peter Fonda, James Taylor, Kurt Cobain, Roger Daltry, Emile Hirsch, Peter Berg, Jon Bon Jovi, Victor Garber, Ricky Wilson, Common, Johnny Cash, Johnny Knoxville, James Blunt, Matthew Gray Gubler, Ja Rule, Micky Dolenz, Rudolf Nureyev, Vaslav Nijinsky, Lou Reed and, ugh, L. Ron Hubbard.

In truth, you Pisces men fall into two categories, George Harrisons or Rex Harrisons, though sometimes the twain shall meet in fastidious activists like Harry Belafonte or Ralph Nader. Pisces, the mutable-water sign (think fog and mists, elements of illusion and enchantment) is ruled by Neptune, the planet of fantasy, magic, imagination, delusion and dissolution. As such, Pisces men are endowed with the power to fully inhabit their fantasy selves, dissolving from their make-up any traits, or, from their story, any truths that run counter to their romanticized vision of self. The sign of Pisces thus boasts a host of Peter Perfects—in counterpart to Pisces women embodying Penelope Pitstop—fancy fussbudgets whose often rough and humble origins bely their aristocratic airs and high-brow raison d’êtres. The lock-jawed George Plimpton, David Niven, Tony Randall, Jim Backus, Rex Harrison, Peter Graves, Rob Lowe, Mitt Romney, Pierce Brosnan, Kyle Maclachlan, Kelsey Grammar, French Stewart, Ron Howard and others you would never label a bad boy: John Barrowman, James Van Der Beek, Bret Easton Ellis, Robert Sean Leonard, Tim Daly, Chris Martin, Freddie Prinze, Jr., Chris Klein, Barry Bostwick, Michael Bolton, Josh Groban, the Ken doll “Ken Carson”, Mr. (Fred) Rogers and Anthony Daniels, (Star Wars’ c3p0) all seem programmed for proper protocol, on screen and off. Ironically, Pisces little-Lord-Fauntleroys often go for ribald love objects with a blatant sexuality, while Pisces’ signature priggish airs can make their own seem indeterminate.

And here, a subject we touched upon in Sextrology: Although there is no “reason” we can cite that would make this theory true, the empirical evidence suggests that, over the last century especially, more African American Pisces men have “broken through” the racial barrier, even at times in our regretful history when doing so would seem impossible. Perhaps it has something to do with Pisces’ power of Belief; or it’s due the Neptunian cosmic energy of dissolution, liquefying said barriers, as befits this mutable-water sign; or it’s chalked up to the archetypal energy of men of the sign who embody a compassionate, pacifistic Christ-like nature and a super-natural nobility of spirit. (It would be all of the above) And, while there is no real way to know; we shall simply let the following list of Pisces men illustrate the point: Frederick Douglass, Garret Morgan, William H. Johnson, Harry Belafonte, Sidney Poitier, Nat King Cole, Ralph Elison, Fats Domino, Smokey Robinson, Quincy Jones, Charley Pride, Al Jarreau, Wilson Pickett, Marion Barry, Emmanuel Lewis, Spike Lee, Charles Barkley, Terence Trent D’Arby, D.L. Hughley, Seal, Shaquille O’Neal, Stedman Graham, Terrence Howard, Lester Holt, Common, John Boyega.

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Just as Pisces man draws on the fishy archetype of Jesus, Pisces woman is a big Mary. The sign is ruled by Neptune, whose symbol is a trident, originally that of the triple goddess, akin to the Celtic shamrock or the gnostic lily or fleur-de-lis. Biblically, there are three Marys—the mother Mary, the virgin (sacred harlot) Mary Magdalene and that elusive, etheric one who seems to pop in and out only at crucial moments, like the crucifixion and resurrection. Taken together, she is the great goddess in triplicate, akin to to the Great Goddess of the Sea, Aphrodite, curiously also called Mari. Mary’s della robbia blue gown fringed in white is the sea fringed with foam, that primordial mutable-water Piscean froth from whence Aphrodite emerged. Indeed the two Pisces “Fish” of the zodiac are the totems of Aphrodite and her son Eros. Eros is love, Jesus is love. And just as Pisces man’s sexuality can put the ishy in fishy, Pisces woman tends to take up with guys who are a bit light in their loaves and fishes, if not as lovers than as platonic soul mates. We often cite Tennessee William’s Blanche du Bois, an incarnation of the medieval Blanchefleur (who rocks that fleur-de-lis) as the modern emblem of the Pisces woman. She is forever remerging from her bath, creating Neptunian enchantment, reeling from her Belle Reve and looking to share a cherry pop with some pretty young thing barely out of short pants. Likewise, the personality of the female Pisces, the Everywoman of the zodiac, runs the gamut from fantastical diva to tragic dame-on-the-verge, from sacred lover to sacrificial killer. And for this, and so many other reasons, we are enraptured by the likes of Nina Simone, Elizabeth Taylor, Kathy Ireland, Sharon Stone, Tammy Faye Baker, Tamar Braxton, Glenn Close, , Christine Ebersole, Laura Pepon, Chelsea Handler, Patsy Kensit, Theresa Russell, Rue MacClanahan, Eryka Badu, Liza Minelli, Elis Regina, Nancy Wilson, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Anaïs Nin, Patty Hearst, Bernadette Peters, Tyne Daly, Lynn Redgrave, Anna Magnani, Rihanna, Ursula Andres, Queen Latifah, Irene Cara, Isabelle Huppert, Eva Mendes, Eva Longoria, Eva Herzigova, Meow Meow, Drew Barrymore, Dakota Fanning, Rashida Jones, Bernadette Peters, Connie Britton, Dana Delany, Vanessa Williams, Kristin Davis, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Julie Walters, Sandy Duncan, Juliette Binoche, Sharon Stone, Ellen Page, Emily Blunt, Veronica Webb and Sophie Turner.

In a cartoon echo of the seemingly perfect Pisces woman archetype, to which Blanche du Bois pretends in low light, smoke and mirrors, Penelope Pitstop might be considered a modern figurative incarnation of this most profound of water signs, another echoing of the eternally sought-after but insouciant goddess of love, Aphrodite. Both Blanche and Penelope would have you believe she is the ideal woman, pure in thought and deed—a proclivity that is also particular to the Pisces woman, who may be loath to admit she can be as much a pit stop as she is, at least, a pretense of a prude. But that’s the Pisces paradox. She’s at once rarified and raunchy. Think of that other, golden girl Blanche character that a Pisces actress embodied so brilliantly on TV. Blanche—white—pure as the driven snow. Or is that snow incessantly plowed? It’s this very combination of personality traits that makes Pisces woman the most dramatic of creatures and, if we may say so, a most beloved character by the queer if not general population. She is all about sexuality and spirituality, the gutter and the stars, those opposite facing Fish of her sign pointing upward toward heaven and downward into the very depths of earthly delight. In French the world for that pure white creamy sea foam is écume which one and the same for the word scum or, as the myth of her birth from the god Uranus suggests, the same word minus the s. So let’s hear it once again for the Pisces diva, as sometimes tragic and utterly triumphant as a lady can be!

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Why do I so often come up bits of writing that I remember getting down on paper with the intention of making it so clear to myself only to stare at the paper blankly usually totally unclear as to what it is I wanted to say to myself. Case in point I come up something that I think is championing the notion that we could both be “writer-speakers”, me on my Blague trip and she on her Baroness trip and quite easily do some storytelling.

The “branding of the Blague” if you will is predicated on the notion that things often do seem to sparkle with some kind of stardust that is sprinked on experience, if not punctuating it, and in the extreme causing some major synchronicities. Like the other night for the first time ever in my life I called Stella “Moose” as a pretend would-be nickname (just taking the piss and trying to tease and make her laugh). Then I turned on TCM which was showing “Pillow Talk” in hopes it would make us sleepy. We both closed our eyes while on low volume Rock Hudson was pretending to Tony Randall that the woman he was with was also some kind of beast (she wasn’t, she was Doris Day whom he fancied) and he called her a Moose. We were both like WHAT?

Anyway I was talking about taking stock of existing monologues and see if we couldn’t Sedaris this shit.

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I fell off the axis again, ever so slightly. Then again, grr, I never take a break. I’m so all or nothing as they say. And I was keeping up such a ridiculous schedule and so forth that I had to basically take to my bed for a week, just doing the minimum, to get through unavoidable commitments and deadlines. As I write this I realize that I’m even hard on myself when I’m pampering myself…no that’s not right, it wasn’t pampering…i mean to instead say: when indulging my exhaustion and not pushing myself…yes, that’s better.

If anything this tired old boy has got to figure out to not work so hard. Being, for the large part, in the helping-other people biz, I’m used to the giving nature of my enterprise which isn’t, purely “scaleable” as the more type-A kids say. And on top of that I do wear a great many hats. I look very much forward to the day when “all things come together” which I think might be the ongoing outcome of living that life of unfolding I’ve been talking about these last several years. I am sure I’m not the only one to come upon that visualization, but it is a good one. For me, abundance needs to be included in the blooming process. See what I did there?

Anyway today that is what I was visualizing as I pulled my daily Tarot card and of course I got the Ace of Cups, which, visually, take on an overflowing, spilling pattern which is exactly like that which I was tracing with my arms as I pulled the card. All aces are about new beginnings and this one especially points to a promising time. It’s about being filled with spirit and signals fortune which must be met with an attitude of gratitutde. I’ll take all of it!

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.

Libra 22° (October 14)

I am doing my best not to freak out. And I shall continue to do so. We will not only get through this but we shall also find a way to make this the best outcome that ever might have been. My computer had just froze up pretty badly and now my space bar is acting up. I have to be my most fearless now and my strongest self in the face of all this abuse because really it isn’t fair. We will not only survive but will thrive in the face of all this. I will make darn sure that we will move through this and that, when push comes to shove. I didn’t really keep it together but feel down a bit of a rabbit hole. I need to get it totes back together. I will make important changes.                      

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 986-990. 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.

Sagittarius is the mutable-fire sign. Ruled by Jupiter, named for the chief lightning god (Greek: Zeus), the sign is associated with genius flashes of inspiration and the ninth astrological house of the higher mind. The Centaur is at once a high-minded seer and a savage beast, connecting an ordered conscious (Libra) with a carefully mined subconscious (Scorpio) into a stream-of-consciousness cum superconscious. Sagittarius men try to ride that point between—the mark ‘twain—Samuel Clemens of course, being of Sagittarian stock—questing after the extrinsic, expansive, exotic, exploratory and other exciting, not to mention ecstatic, experiences. In the process of growing third eyes, they may risk ultimate burnout. Jim Hendrix begged the question “Are you experienced?” His fellow psychedelic Sagittarians have nodded in agreement:—Nostradamus, Walt Disney, Charles M. Schulz, C.S. Lewis, Jean Genet, Andrew Carnegie, Beethoven, Winston Churchill, James Thurber, Little Richard, William Blake, John Milton, Gustave Flaubert, Andre Gide, Jim Morrison, Frank Zappa, Keith Richards, Ozzy Osbourne, Billy Idol, Uri Geller, John Malcovich, Brad Pitt, Jake Gyllenhaal And, hazy or no, purple is the color of Sagittarius, a royal hue, dating back to antiquity, associated specifically with the god of wine and supposed disorder Dionysus, the natural inheritor to father Zeus/Jupiter.

Dionysus was called the thigh-born because, when Hera-Juno in all her radiance (see Sagittarius woman above) revealed herself to Dionysus’ pregnant mother she burned; and Zeus grabbed the unborn child and sewed him up inside his thigh—the body part associated with Sagittarius—to complete the baby’s gestation. Thus we have a male born from a male, suggesting natural patrilineage; and indeed Sagittarian males are natural inheritors of their own fathers’ traits, characters and attributes, rarely at odds with father the way many males can be. Indeed Dionysus embodies Nature (typically feminized as) “herself” as a masculine force. And in combining the Apollonian (Libra) energy of ordered outward appearance—symbolized by column-straight oaks and laurels—and the Chtonian (Scorpio) energy of the unseen underworld—portrayed by random, chaotic, gnarly roots—the Dionysian (Sagittarius) experience is symbolized by the (god of the) vine which is just as random and gnarly as roots yet grows upward and outward along those ordered trees. Dionysus (Roman: Bacchus) might have created a disorder via his bacchanals, but he always remained a calm and knowing presence, couched on his dais, holding his staff topped with a pine cone, a nod to the conical pineal gland, the Cartesian “seat of the soul” and the expansive third eye which actually produces calming melatonin. Dionysus is all about expansion through pleasure, the mind and experience.

Akin to the wildly expansive vines associated with Sagittarius’ imagery are the wildly branching lightning flashes—Sagittarius is the sole mutable-fire sign. Planet Jupiter is named for the lightning wielding god. In our human experience, mind expansion is often experienced is through humor—laughter being the release of the shock of breaking through existing boundaries—something which opens us up, frees us from constraint, providing relief. The planet’s namesake chief god Jupiter loved to laugh; he is also called Jove, from whom we get the word jovial. What we as a culture find funny is something, typically absurd, yet right under our nose, that is pinpointed and uttered for the first time. It is that electric connection between the blatant truth of a matter and its fresh realization that inspires bolts of explosive laughter. It requires keen intelligence to observe (Sagittarius’ motto is: I see) then communicate existing elements in our experience that instigates such shocks we humans call humor, which at once open our minds and bring catharsis. Lest we forget that the mythic Centaurs were both sages (wise ones) and shamans (healers). Let’s hear it for the wise and witty wonders of the zodiac: Mark Twain (an invented name speaks to—the mark between— that point of connection!) James Thurber, Charles Schulz, Woody Allen, Billy Connolly, Richard Pryor, Jon Stewart, Ben Stiller, Judd Apatow, Jonah Hill, Rodney Dangerfield, Sam Kinison, Jamie Foxx, Ray Romano, Frank Zappa, Ted Knight, Red Foxx, Fred Armisen, Dick Van Dyke, Andy Dick, Gary Shandling and Bill Hicks.

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We often opine on of the extreme nature of Sagittarius. The sign rules all the exes: excitation, experience, exoticism, exposition, exhaustion of the senses, and so on. The extreme dynamic of the sign is archetypically linked, for women of the sign, to the supreme queen of the gods, Juno (Greek: Hera), who represents womanhood in both its mother aspect—she rules marriage and motherhood—and in it’s most potent aspect—she is also goddess of power and influence. (In her maiden form she is Hebe, and in her crone aspect, the anagrammatical Rhea.) She is a most emphatic deity, if not always an empathetic one, the exhibitionist peacock being her totem animal. Her symbol is an asterisk on crossed stick, denoting her signature radiance. The ride of Lady Godiva—goddess-diva—is a display of her über nature. As in this medieval tale where she puts out the eyes of “the peeping Tom”—Juno/Hera’s favorite form of retaliation was blinding, or fully burning, those who challenged her, the natural consequence of getting too good a glimpse of her sizzling supremacy. It’s a rather ironic nod to Sagittarius’s motto: I see. The image of a naked Lady atop a wild mare is indeed the very image of the female Centauress, proudly displaying herself in all her glory. Sagittarian woman are inheritors of Juno’s power. They often exhibit a glamazonial stature, or have a wide and brimming expression; they make scenes, take stands, whether in public or personal protest, or in celebration of self or something universal. (On the flipside of the theme, they can be just as skittish of attention, often audacious and wary, in turns.) As a rule, though, they will not be overlooked. If anything, they risk overexposure. Sadges designed to dazzle or otherwise cause a stir: Jane Fonda, Ellen Burstyn, Daryl Hannah, Kim Basinger, Judi Dench, Kaley Cuoco, Tyra Banks, Anna Faris, Susan Dey, Liv Ullman, Sarah Paulson, Agnes Moorehead, Billy Jean King, Sarah Silverman, Amanda Seyfried, AnnaSophia Robb, Katherine Heigl, Honor Blackman, Julianne Moore, Natascha McElhone, Ann Coulter, Katie Holmes, Milla Jovovich, Lucy Liu, Christina Applegate, , Bette Midler, Tina Turner, Mayim Bialik, Sinead O’Connor, Vanessa Paradis, Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus, Britney Spears, Nicki Minaj. Pow!

As Sagittarius is ruled by planet Jupiter, named for supreme ruler of the gods (Greek: Zeus), it follows that Sagittarius women draw on the Juno archetype, the aforementioned and undisputed queen of heaven and goddess of women and power—as ever the twain shall meet—akin, as it is, to knowledge, the major attribute of the higher minded ninth astrological house corresponding to the the ninth sign of Sagittarius. Don’t you just love the notion of power being personified in a female deity? Surely, it’s a power that has been a target of suppression. And yet, of all the female signs laboring under a patriarchal paradigm for centuries, Sagittarian women managed most to distinguish themselves, wielding force and influence on a global scale, in probably the only way historically afforded them: by way of publishing, another major attribute of the ninth astrological house—along with philosophy, belief systems, higher education and all means of mind expansion and genius. An otherwise isolated world of disenfranchised people, women especially, would never have experienced the brilliance—Juno’s blinding radiance—of Jane Austen, George Eliot, Emily Dickinson, Louisa May Alcott, Willa Cather and others whose inheritors include Madeline L’Engle, Dawn Powell, Joan Didion, Rita Mae Brown, Sarah Silverman and, by extension, artist Marina Abramovic. Fittingly, the powerful Sagittarius female writer has often penned work along themes of the the female estate, or the power of higher-mind consciousness, or both. Don’t get us started on Ellen Burstyn—have you read her autobiography Lessons In Becoming Myself? And let us not forget the authoress of I, Tina whose autobiography is hinged on her personal struggles against male oppression. Tina herself is a hinge pin of the Sagittarius archetype, being something of a showgirl and a showboat. For Sagittarius power isn’t just expressed in expository writing, its exhibited in an overt brand of talented expression that rarely shies away from over-exposure. And in that tradition we give you, along with Cyrus, Minaj, Swift, Spears, Aguilera, Turner and Midler: Betty Grable, Maria Callas, Nelly Furtado and, without so much as singing a note, Anna Nicole Smith.

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Just don’t call it a comeback: In many ways the trajectory of the Capricorn man can be a cautionary tale. Unlike his slow and steady sister, he tends to peak early then backslide, a literal dissident, falling from favor, only to climb his way back into public awareness or celebrity. The Capricorn totem is only half goat, remember. The Sea Goat boasts a fish tail which makes sustaining a climb rather tricky. Like the goat god, Pan, the original mood-swinger who would frolic wildly, then turn on a dime, running and wailing for cover and comfort, Capricorn man can get caught up in a frenzy of worldly status, delights, certain hedonism and over-exposure, resulting in an often visible personal fall. He’s complicated. The word tragedy actually means: goat song. Goat deities were culture gods who brought sophistication and certain decadence into the world—historically, we know these dynamics go hand in hand: Culture actually enriches during the downfall of a society. The Sea Goat is the very image of a being emerging from the primordial soup, like an actual culture growing from the germy world of a petri dish, even the most advanced forms of life having originated from the slime. And so you can never really keep a good Capricorn man down. He’s complex. He always seems to grow back even stronger and more enriched by his personal downfalls or minor tragedies into the most enduring and thoroughly more seasoned a character. Though we’ve yet to see the return of a Mel Gibson or, even, a Nicholas Cage, we would happily embrace and applaud the reconstituted, self-redemptive Capricorns likes of Jude Law, LL Cool Jay, Anthony Hopkins, Jared Leto, Bradley Cooper, Ralph Fiennes, Ricky Martin, Jason Bateman, Jon Voight, Patrick Dempsey, Rod Stewart, Ted Danson, James Earl Jones, Muhammad Ali (G.O.A.T. i.e. greatest of all time), Jared Leto, Danny McBride, Dax Shepard, Tommy Morrison, Robert Duvall, Frank Langella, Shawn Hatosy, David Caruso, Julian Sands, Oliver Platt, Desi Arnaz, Jr., Dave Grohl, Howard Stern. Apparently even J.D. Salinger is yet to have another peak in his career own posthumous career as his stash of unpublished rolls out into the public light this year.

The Capricorn male Goat is the male archetype of the winter season (surely, the new-born babe in Christian lore wasn’t a Capricorn but a Pisces as would befit a Jesus Fish): Capricorn is ruled by Saturn (Greek: Cronus), named for the old Titan king of the gods, since retired. He carries a sickle, prototype of Old Father Time, who, with and his sister-wife Rhea, ruled the Golden Age, when peace and harmony prevailed and nobody had to work to eat as the earth provided in abundance and when people lived to be hundreds of years old with a youthful countenance, dying peacefully in their sleep. Ah, the good old days. Saturn’s namesake Satyrs are, of course, goats, saturnine (gloomy) and saturnian (excessively lustful) which does speak volumes on the Capricorn man’s character. In the Canaanite mythos, Baal is the goat-god prototype of Moses, that mountain climbing geezer whom god commanded to build a tabernacle out of goat hair. Now there’s an idea. Capricorn: tenth sign. Moses: ten commandments—rules to live by—the Capri-corn is the goat horn of plenty signifying the cosmic energy of containment, preservation, resource, restriction, structure and stricture. Moses isn’t hippy dippy like Jesus. Moses has conditions. He is the grand-father authority. The original middleman. Church and religiosity as opposed to direct spiritual connection. Structure and discipline make Capricorn men sticklers for all things comme il faut. They feel a responsibility to hold the (goat-hair) fabric of life together. Tradition! And it explains the need to impose rules in a world where, one skeptically suspects, few folks are moral. Capricorn men do It right, which is adorable when applied to social etiquette—how to serve a cocktail, what weight cloth to wear in what season, or on which pinky to place a signet ring. They can be flawless in worldly doings. But, on the shadow side, practicing what they preach proves difficult; and just as their aesthetic includes a golden-age decay their desires can be likewise decadent. Only half cloven with a fish tail, the sea goat loses footing and backslides, dissident, toppling from Sinai or Olympus, allowing themselves to be scapegoated for a multitude of sins. In effect, Capricorn are at once the most exalted and most human of all beings. And while they may not be perfect, they can be the hottest, most interesting, grandest daddies of them all: Cary Grant, Danny Kaye, David Bowie, Bradley Cooper, Orlando Bloom, Denzel Washington, Ryan Seacrest, Kit Harrington, Michael Stipe, Steven Soderbergh and arguable fall guys Jim Carrey, Andy Kaufman, Elvis Presley, Richard Nixon, Tiger Woods, Phil Spector, Gerard Depardieu, Jim Bakker, J.D. Salinger, Rush Limbaugh, Mel Gibson, J. Edgar Hoover, Martin Luther King, Jr.

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As the sole cardinal-earth sign, symbolized by a mountain, Capricorn is as initiative, directive and pioneering as the other cardinal signs of Aries, Cancer and Libra. But, being in the element of earth, we aren’t subject to any fiery aggression of Aries or emotional urging of Cancer or ideological instigation of Libra. Rather, Capricorns scale, or move, mountains, slowly, quietly, over Time, with little regard for notice, let alone, notoriety. Capricorn woman is her own authority, looking to herself, and her own growth and achievement. On the shadow side, if she’s not tending to her own success and fulfillment, she will embody melancholy, elevating it to monumental status. A daughter of Saturn, old father Time, she isn’t lamenting but she does draw on the past, the golden days of yore, whether her personal own or universal ones. She thus projects a timeless, classic quality—not one prone to trends or obvious taste or behavior. She is an elegant creature disposed of an unapologetically self-contained character. You go to the mountain—she doesn’t come to you. Thus Capricorn has gained the reputation of being haughty, high and mighty; which is rarely the case. She merely personifies an ascended state of being that isn’t subject to scrutiny or censure, especially not by any patriarchy. She inhabits a private and rarified emotional retreat that serves her need for self-preservation; and while other signs might find her modus operandi too lonely-making to adopt themselves, she cultivates an enduring quality of self-reliance that trumps any need for outside validation or even support. Like a creature in hibernation, a nod to this winter sign, she conserves her energy for both the time and the travel ahead. She knows where she’s going, but is in no rush to get there. Her pace may be off-putting to others, but she is as sure-footed in her ascent as her symbol goat, a sea-goat actually, with a long fishy tail, symbolizing the store of emotional insight and intuition she carries with her and continually draws upon in her singular life journey, which she can be reluctant to share with, not to burden, others. Ah, those iconic Capricorns: Janis Joplin, Susan Sontag, Ruth Wilson, Diane Keaton, Dolly Parton, Kate Moss, Christy Turlington, Carla Bruni, Helena Christensen, Sade, Joanna Newsom, Marianne Faithfull, Mary J. Blige, Patti Smith, Pat Benatar, Annie Lennox, Marlene Dietrich, Stella Starsky (born the same day as Dietrich, no big stretch there), Ethel Merman, Imelda Staunton, Gypsy Rose Lee, Dame Maggie Smith, Dame Shirley Bassey, Nigella Lawson, Zooey Deschanel, Tippi Hendren, Dina Merrill, Holland Taylor, Sienna Miller, Mary Tyler Moore, Betty White, Maureen Dowd, Simone de Beauvoir, Ava Gardner, Sissy Spacek, Susan Lucci, Katey Segal, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Eartha Kitt, Tracy Ullman, Nichelle Nichols, Anna May Wong, Betsy Ross.

Nichelle Nichols.

It’s from the grand mother goddess Rhea Cronus that we derive the word crone, the wise woman, the goddess in her wizened third aspect. Rhea is the Titan mother of the Olympian gods who saved her son Zeus from being gobbled to death by her husband, Cronus (Saturn), taking goat form as Amalthea to feed him from her horns o’ plenty. She also bequeathed her estate of orgiastic rites, leopards and wild retinue to her grandson Dionysus, Zeus’s heir apparent. The noisy cymbals are named for her as she is also called Cybele. She is the archetype of preservation, the personification of Capricorn’s cardinal-earth energy, emblemized by the aforementioned mountain—indeed, Rhea is the mountain mother who made her home on Mt. Ida. Capricorn women—Parton, Spacek, Fanny Bullock Workman—do love their mountains. The zodiac’s Mrs. Beasley—gunnysacks and granny glasses not withstanding—the Goat woman rarely thinks of herself as The Second Sex, despite it being the ironic title of Capricorn Simone DeBeauvoir’s tract. She naturally wears what might be traditionally considered men’s clothing. Enter Annie Lennox, Marlene Dietrich, Paula Poundstone, Patti Smith, Diane Keaton, Susan Sontag and even Mary Tyler Moore who fought a network to be able to sport her aptly named Capri (Goat) pants.

Capricorn woman makes no apologies for herself, neither explaining nor complaining. She is endurance incarnate who achieves over time. But she’s no mere climber—she personifies the astrological super power of ascension, for she is not a subscriber to struggle. She rises to the top of her achievements—the crème de la crème—via an outsized faith in her inner resource and the slow, steady outlasting of others who, by comparison, seem like flashes in the pan. They do, as the above list of Capricorn icons suggests, boast career longevity and often have their greatest successes later in life.

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Aquarius is Leo’s so-called opposite on the cosmic wheel. Leo is associated with our Sun, while Uranus-ruled Aquarius is likened to a distant Star, the Tarot card of the same name depicting the wondrous Waterbearer. Likewise, the legendary archetypes of the signs are related. For instance, whereas male Leo draws on the brazen Sun-king Arthur, Aquarius men expresses the visionary character of Merlin who, incidentally “lives backwards”, coming from the future, an attribute of the Aquarius-ruled eleventh house of the Zodiac. In simple terms: the Aquarian can seem alien, out there—in truth, he’s given glimpses of what is to be, to which the rest of us aren’t always as privy. In his best light, he is ahead of his time—a progressive, liberal, egalitarian with a scientist’s mind bent on freeing humanity from passé conventions that bind. This can see him being held up as some kind of guru, a power that can sometimes go to his egg head. He can be as emotionally distant as the future and as surprisingly unpredictable as a sudden mutation— he is a personification of that very quirk—which, if you know your biology, creates a new, evolutionary path that ensures the survival of the species. Think about it: Charles Darwin, Nicholas Copernicus, Wolfgang Mozart, Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Edison, Galileo, Abraham Lincoln, Lewis Carroll, Grigori Rasputin, William Burroughs, James Dean, Paul Newman, Charles Dickens, Peter Gabriel, Ashton Kutcher, D.W. Griffith, Langston Hughes, Bertolt Brecht, Anton Chekhov, Federico Fellini, Phillip Glass, Huey Newton, John Travolta. Oh, and did you ever notice how many of your Aquarian male friends have bat-like teeth? Hello: Michael C. Hall, Eddie Izzard, Robbie Williams, Christian Bale, Eddie Van Halen. No really, it’s a thing—check it out.

The classic Greek male Aquarian archetype is Ganymede, a beautiful shepherd boy whom Zeus, in eagle form, whisked up to Olympus and immortalized as his cup bearer. As a youth, the Aquarian male is likewise open to being taken under the wing of older and wiser mentors who promise a more exalted existence. But who’s zoomin’ who? Under this fixed-air sign ruled by Uranus—the Sky God of the Universe—Aquarian men do seek a more heavenly, other worldly rather than earthly, experience of life; whether that translates to living a utopian vision; a rarefied lifestyle; being held up as some sort of guru, demagogue, demigod; or getting lost in futuristic, scientific dreams and visions. The Aquarian is naturally detached—one might argue that they are thus the most healthy, emotionally, rarely falling prey to codependence; although they tend to breed it in others, and in spades. The Arthurian Ganymede would be Galahad, pure enough to reach the grail and receive the manna therein, which is really what is happening with Zeus elevating his beloved boy to Olympic heights. Grace and Truth are the provenance of the sign of Aquarius and men born under it are poised—free from excess restraint of human interaction—to be completely open to, er, receive, and be taken up, by these principle-energies. Eternally youthful Aquarian love objects with a strong calling, or those who play the part or simply look swell in a Speedo: Mark Spitz, Greg Louganis, Steve Reeves, Lorenzo Lamas, Dane DeHann, Freddie Highmore, Cristiano Rinaldo, Elijah Wood, Jeremy Sumpter, Harry Styles, Chord Overstreet, Joseph Gordon Levitt, Taylor Lautner, Justin Baldoni, Andrew Keegan, Nick Carter, James Dean, Justin Timberlake, Casey Spooner, Billie Joe Armstrong, Matt Dillon, Brandon Boyd, Ashton Kutcher, Neal Cassady, Burt Reynolds, Tom Selleck.

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.
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Libra 21° (October 13)

“If have lost confidence in myself I have the world against me,” is an apt Ralph Waldo Emerson for the day. Slept fairly well and hit the ground running readying for a meeting with the Mandabach crew which they cancelled last minute which is annoying but whatever. We have that much clearer an idea of our position on the subject and we will surely. Alan Poul’s people wrote today so I took the opportunity to reach out to him and say hi. His show is called The Eddy and Jack Thorne is involved as well. Needless to say the work at hand is the book and I really want to feel the magic on that score. I feel that I have the chance to make some magic starting today. I have the hearings of Amy Coney Barrett on I the background. Looking at her it truly is hard to imagine she is evil and yet she probably is, otherwise she would not be Drumpf’s nominee. With Kavanaugh, his debts were miraculously paid off. I wonder what they have on this nominee, it will be something, or else she wouldn’t be here. After lunch today I will have to write five pages. The house is already cold and I’m under covers writing this right now. The evil fuckface has written an abusive response, no surprise there. We have arranged to speak with our lawyer and we will have him run defense because I cannot be on the front lines with this anymore. And we will let him do the work for us. I would rather he have the extra money than this horrible farmer. I shouldn’t have to pay anything at all, but I will be going after the other case which was clearly a negligence case. I have the opportunity to let this experience motivate me forward and that is exactly what I need to do; and in the process but professionals in place to protect us. I will have to be very confident and let this motivate me in as positive a manner as possible.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 981-985. 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.

Virgo with a V: In our book Sextrology the she-Virgo chapter begins “And God created woman.” Drawing on her mutable-earthy Pandora archetype, Virgo woman seems designed to the specifications of someone seeking a lady stacked with feminine assets. In mythology, the cuckolded potter-god Hephaestus/Vulcan (married to Aphrodite/Venus who was getting busy with Ares/Mars while carrying a torch for Adonis) bakes up his own little sex-dolly out of clay, Pandora, with her infamous box. (It was actually a jar, a vessel). And we titled the Virgo woman chapter The Vessel because, like the sign’s Virgin holding that sheaf of grain, intent on separating the wheat (virtue) from chaff (vice), Pandora’s jar was filled with an equal mix of the same stuff. From a patriarchal standpoint, and a misogynist one, woman has been viewed as both a source of pleasure to be penetrated and one of the worlds ills. Mary Magdalene is sinner and saint. She too is the vessel. Especially if one thinks on her as the literal wife of Jesus and potential mother to his children. Blasphemy. She was a sacred harlot, like the Vestal virgins, sex and spirituality going hand in hand (or something in something) as it should. And so, without getting too into it, the Virgo woman personifies the feminine as such: An undulating object of lust who could be ones undoing. The Virgo motto is “I serve” which is misread as submissive or subservient (she can be if it serves her). But like any good master-slave inversion, one typically finds oneself so dependent on the Virgo woman, whether for her love, devotion or mad skills in the sack, that she typically ends up holding all the power. Makes you rethink the image of the Virgin clutching that phallic sheaf in her tight, tender grip. And, blow me down, just look at these brick houses. Claudia Schiffer, Raquel Welch, Naomie Harris, Jaqueline Bisset, Pink, Beyoncé Knowles, Sophia Loren, Salma Hayek, Whitney Cummings, Joey Heatherton, Jennifer Hudson, Ingrid Bergman, Lauren Bacall, Yvonne DeCarlo, Padma Lakshmi, Peggy Lipton, Rachel Ward, Jennifer Tilly, Foxy Brown, Rebecca DeMornay, Jennifer Coolidge, Tuesday Weld, Shannon Elizabeth, Lea Michele, Cameron Diaz, Barbara Bach, Cassandra Peterson, Valerie Perrine, Fay Wray, Frances Farmer, Alotta Fagina (We imagine).

The virgin of Virgo is Kore, the maiden form of Earth mother-goddess Demeter, from whose name the word core is derived, a nod to the planet’s molten, shifting center, its fiery furnace. While Virgo man draws on the archetype of Hephaestus, god of that sizzling forge, Virgo woman personifies, yes, his little dolly, Pandora, meaning “all given”, whom the god gave the best features of all the goddesses, baking her out of clay in his divine kiln—Virgo is the mutable-earth sign, highlighting tangible change. But Demeter herself was also called Pandora, here meaning “all giver.” Virgo woman acts as caretaker, little sister, especially to objects of her desire, playing den mother, a Wendy, to any number of lost, Peter Pan-complexed boys or domineering Peppermint Patties. She leans, learns and models herself on significant others, having her fun, and ultimately forging her own future. On the shadow side, she borrows too directly from others, appropriating their moves to the point of inappropriateness. She tends to secure a mature mate who’ll cherish her and to whose power and protection she is drawn, and from whom she pulls strength to grow and develop her own unique talents, skills and character, which she often then focuses on helping others in turn. Enter Peggy Guggenheim, Mary Shelley, Kitty Carlisle, Agatha Christie, Mother Theresa, Mother Seton, Cass Eliot, Margaret Sanger, Sylvia Fine, Geraldine Ferraro, Nan Goldin, Salma Hayek, Emmy Rossum, Melissa McCarthy, Amy Poehler, Blake Lively, Rosie Perez, Queen Noor, Queen Rania, Sonia Sanchez, Paula Jones, Ségolène Royal, Lea Michele, Joan Jett, Chrissie Hynde, Fionna Apple, Pink.

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If you’re a reader of our work, you’ve no doubt heard us make mention that Apollo, god of light, is the main male Libra archetype. The Scales is the only inanimate symbol in the zodiac and the sole cardinal-air sign, which translates to light. Apollo isn’t the warmest, fuzziest god—though he tries to be. The thing is, he rules the etheric realm, that of abstracts and intangibles—order, music, poetry, prophecy, oracles, oration, reason, truth, all things which characterize the uplifting of conscious minds and spirits. Gnostic Lucifer, meaning “light bringer”, often conflated with the devil, Satan, was cast out of heaven because he sought to bring said enlightenment to man. Just as Apollo, who tried to overthrow Zeus, was, for a time, cast from Olympus. Likewise, Luke Skywalker with his light saber is cast down by his father who is ultimately raised high by him. (Apollo has a twin sister, Artemis, so does Luke have Leia—Mark Hamill and Carrie Fisher are, incidentally, both Libras. Artemis, whom Homer calls “a lioness amongst women”, archetypally rules the female sign of Leo, not Libra—but that’s another story.) No lion of a god, Apollo’s prime animal totem is the wolf, related, no surprise, to his rule of light. A wolf sees in the dark, his vision actually illuminates. And there is an etymological link here: He is Apollo Lyceus and Apollo Lycegenes, respectively, from the Greek, Lukeios (light) and Lukegenes (wolf-born). Some wolfy looking Libra guys, often with signature Siberian husky eyes are Wolverines Hugh Jackman and Liev Shreiber, Matt Damon, Sting, Viggo Mortensen, Will Smith, Seann William Scott, Guy Pearce, Zac Efron, Josh Hutcherson, Matt Bomer, Ryan Reynolds, Christopher Waltz, Charlton Heston, Jean-Claude Van Damme, Jim Caviezel, Stephen Moyer, Ben Whishaw, Dan Stevens, Luke Perry, Steve Coogan, Tate Donovan, Eric Stoltz, Jeremy Davies and Peter Coyote, but of course.

The Scales, being the only inanimate sign, Libra men, personifying that abstract cosmic Libra energy, create characters for themselves, often changing their names: Sting, Meatloaf, Eminem, Usher, Le Corbusier, e.e. cummings, Flea et al. Another symptom of this inanimate assignation is: Libra man not seeming “real” to other people, which is compounded by the fact that Libra is a renaissance man, like his archetypal Apollo, who can read as a dilettante. Ruled by Venus on the astral plane (it rules Taurus on the earth plane), Libra experiences Venus’s pleasure principles of beauty, love and grace not as physical but as ideological attributes. It’s seventh-house mottos are: “I balance” and “We are”, which both point to that house’s rule of relationships, especially a karmic one, between individuals. Little wonder that the sign of the Scales—Justice for all—is one that espouses beautiful ideas of democracy, equality, as well as aesthetics and certain enlightenment. Old Father Saturn is exalted in Libra; and, indeed, over time, Libra man’s tendency to seem all over the place, with hands in many pots, coalesces into a number of solid talents, typically, in creative pursuits as well as socially active ones. And one added thing: The original meaning of the word oaf, deriving from pagan Nordic belief, is that of an imposter child put in the place of a real one stolen by elves, witches or fairies. And as any Libra man will tell you, he feels he must have been switched at birth, not belonging to his family of origin nor identifying with his birth-self (Aries’ first house) thus developing his character and personality (Libra’s seventh house) becoming the person he was born to be through careful cultivation. Some creative, socially active and rather oafish looking Libra men: Tim Robbins, Chris O’Dowd, John Lithgow, Michael McKean, Will Smith, Andrew Dice Clay, Zach Galifianakis, Sacha Baron Cohen, Simon Cowell, Clive Owen, Jon Favreau, David Morse, Michael Gambon, Chevy Chase, Roger Moore, Randy Quaid, Christopher Lloyd, Peter Boyle, Jeffery Jones, Walter Matthau, Bernie Mac, Phil Hartman, Kevin Sorbo, Jeff Goldblum.

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Off to St. Lucia! Once again!

Libra Woman

The female archetype of the Libran woman is no cinch to pin down. Not just because this is an etheric sign—the symbol Scales being the only inanimate one in the zodiac—there’s just something esoteric about Libra. The male archetype is embodied in the god Apollo, a famous deity but an abstract one. He rules an inanimate estate that includes light, order, reason, music, prophecy and other intangibles. The female archetype of Libra points to the paradox particular to this abstract sign, which is that of an unseen, intangible but nonetheless animating force. Let’s call it en-light-enment, for lack of a better term. For, we are not looking at the initial divine spark of life that animates the body, associated with Libra’s so-called opposite (cardinal-fire) sign of Aries and the advent of birth, but rather the cardinal-air force that animates the soul, quickening its karmic evolution. Esoteric, see. In Sextrology we speak of the Libra woman as being typified by the oracular High Priestess (counterpart to Apollo) and etheric goddesses like Sophia, emblemized by a dove, and other astral Venuses like Astraea or Psyche all of whom are seen as the holy-spirited feminine agent of the universe with whom one becomes suffused, characterizing their individual (re-)connection with the divine. Little wonder that Libran women seem to personify all goodness and light with high expectations that are not always so easy to meet. She is the white goddess of daylight, not a dark femme fatale. She seeks to elevate people, not drag them down. A bevy of Libran belles du jour includes: Catherine Deneuve, Kate Winslet, Julie Andrews, Olivia Newton John, Kelly Ripa, Angela Lansbury, Glynnis Johns, Susan Sarandon, Hillary Duff, Kelly Preston, Gwen Stefani, Naomi Watts, Avril Lavigne, Heather Locklear, Carol Lombard, Joan Fontaine, June Allyson, Deborah Kerr, Helen Hayes, Lilian Gish, Neve Campbell, Maria Osmond, Nancy Kerrigan, Pam Dawber, Gwyneth Paltrow. Goop indeed.

Whereas Libra man, regardless of sexual preference, tends to place women on pedestals, tending to play the role of Pip, in his heterosexual bonds, to any number of unattainable Estelles—the god Apollo chasing Daphne into a petrified personification of perfect laurels—the Libra woman can’t help plopping herself onto that pedestal, podium, pulpit or portable soap box, providing herself a platform, playing her own archetypal role of High Priestess, offering up her edicts, advice, decrees and, yes, judgments lest we forget she is the lady of The Scales, dame Justice incarnate. High and mighty, her principles will be known. Beyond being all goopy goodness and light, Libra women can righteously activist with decided ideas on how society, if only their intimate variety, should operate. (Tap, tap…) Is this thing on? Let’s hear it for the outspoken, decorous, exacting and emotionally judicious, if not detachedly judgy, democratically loving Libra woman: Eleanor Roosevelt, Mira Sorvino, Susan Sarandon, Janeane Garofalo, Nana Mouskouri, Ani DiFranco, PJ Harvey, Alicia Silverstone, Judge Judy, Kate Walsh, Barbara Walters, Linda McCartney, Dr. Joyce Brothers, Emily Post, Margaret Thatcher, Mata Amritanandamayi, Sharon Osborne, Toni Braxton, Cherie Blair, Michelle Bachelet, Joy Behar, Teresa Heinz Kerry, Catharine MacKinnon, Jody Williams.

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First full day on the boat. We headed from St. Lucia to St. Vincent which was a bit of a rocky trip but I didn’t bother taking any drugs. I spent the morning sunning (or would have if my no. 50 sunscreen hadn’t been so effectual. I did finally start reading Slouching Toward Bethlehem which (I get it) is quite well written. I do love the dry style. It reminds me a bit of Salinger and Hemingway but with a dryer, more journalistic albeit feminine feel. The style is unsentimental and yet one gets the feeling that the writer is purposely checking hers.

Scorpio Man 

In our book Sextrology, the Scorpio Man chapter is titled The Stranger. Like his archetypal god Pluto, namesake of the planet ruler of the sign, Scorpio men choose not to live on some bright, shining Olympus as part of any pantheon of other joiners, but rather inhabit their own dominion—Pluto’s underworld symbolizes ones inner life and the realm of the subconscious. Scorpio man finds fatuous the world of appearances—rose-colored glasses aren’t endemic to his fashion sense. He is a born outsider, an anti-hero, and he delves the depths of experience that are typically hidden from view, whether they be taboo aspects of life or the murmurings of our own repressed psychology. Scorpio is deep. And he can be dark if only to bring the unknown and unexplored to light—just as those alternatively attempting to keep things light tend to cast a long shadow of repression. Scorpio man can get under our skin in an attempt to root out our secrets; he acts on subconscious instinct to cure what ails us as, the saying goes, for individuals or society as a whole: We are only as sick as said secrets. So bid enter the brooding, seemingly pessimistic, subversive miner for meaning and hearts of gold: Albert Camus, Pablo Picasso, Neil Young, Johnny Carson, Dick Cavett, Charles Bronson, Robert Mapplethorpe, Seth MacFarlane, Roberto Benigni, Richard Burton, Christopher Columbus, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Joachim Phoenix, Auguste Rodin, Bram Stoker, Dylan Thomas, Kurt Vonnegut, Jonathan Winters, Leon Trotsky, Gordon Ramsay, Lyle Lovett, John Keats, Neil Gaiman, Matt Drudge, Rodney Dangerfield, Claude Rains, Voltaire.

As each sign is associated with a different set of body parts, Scorpio rules our tender bits and pieces. We’ve had a lot of fun writing about this and in our live shows too, when we’ve gone through the entire zodiac talking about the various personality types per sign vis à vis its anatomical rule. For Scorpio man is, by nature rather rigid—being a fixed sign—with a, shall we say, stiff countenance—he tends to turn his whole upper body, not just his head, to look this way or that. (Think of Johnny Carson.) The sign of Scorpio boasts multiple totems including the lizard, the snake, the serpent, the dragon, the phoenix and, you might say that the male of the sign is, on the whole, fairly reptilian looking. Okay fine—no beating around the bush (ha, ha) he can look like a penis: with his signature sinewy physique, veiny extremities, hooded hairline, if he has hair at all—Scorpio does bald quite readily—never mind his penchant for turtlenecks. And the metaphor extends to his personality which is best described as probing if not intrusive, insistent if not unrelenting and, yes, often, truly deep. Nobody invests more interest and concern in, or is it control over?, those he loves; and nobody can be a bigger prick when crossed. Take a look at this list of Scorpios and you tell us if it’s all phallus-y or not: Adam Driver, David Schwimmer, Damon Wayans, Seth MacFarlane, Owen Wilson, Matthew McConaughey, Dolph Lundgren, Ted Turner, Howard Dean, Dylan McDermott, Dermot Mulroney, Leonardo DiCaprio, Joachim Phoenix, Ryan Gosling, Sam Rockwell, Gerard Butler, Johnny Lee Miller, Ethan Hawke, Mads Mikkelson, Ben Foster, Chris Noth, F. Murray Abraham, Wallace Shawn, Sam Shepherd, Romany Malco, Bob Hoskins, Ed Asner and B.D. Wong.

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So here we are today floating in the harbor at Mustique, anticipating a big party on the island tonight. Should be a lot of fun. And not as crazy as last time we did this (two years ago) as we will have kids in tow this evening. The theme is Bacchanal and there were plenty of costumes to go around—the other folks on the boat brought extras which is great since S. and I prepared nothing.

Scorpio Woman

As we move from the world of appearances and Light and heights of the Conscious Mind of Libra to the hidden dark, underworld Subconscious Mind of Scorpio, we embrace the Chthonian (subterranean) archetypes (personified as Scorpio people). Ladies first: We explore the Queen of the Underworld, the original femme fatale, Persephone, who sat frozen, entranced on her throne, the proverbial maker whom you’d may be loath to meet. In mythology, Persephone is Kore (the Virgo Virgin) in her underground aspect. Kore turned to Persephone when she was raped/captured/dragged down to the underworld by its god, Pluto, namesake for Scorpio’s planetary ruler. And like Persephone, who is akin to Kali, Scorpio woman is a snapshot of the goddess in her destroyer aspect, which is worse than it sounds. First, as far as astrology goes, there is no death—only regeneration, something, which, along with all forms of deep transformation, is endemic to this sign. Scorpio has many totems, all of a piece—scorpion, spider, serpent, lizard, dragon, eagle, phoenix and so forth. Planet Pluto’s orbit, is elliptical, following a pattern like that of the phoenix rising and falling and rising again—regeneration, transformation, reincarnation, reinvention. Up from the ashes come the roses…Scorpio archetype Scarlett O’Hara will “never be hungry again”, she vows, chomping on a subterranean root vegetable excavated from the destruction of her former life (Tara: read terra, Earth, that former Kore-Virgo incarnation). No. She will spin a web and all will be caught in it. That is the way of the Scorpio woman. She chases nothing and nobody. The fixed-water sign (read: ice) lies in wait and entrances (read: paralyzes) others into doing her bidding. And we thank her for it, grateful to be tenderly trapped by her Spiderwoman’s kiss and to see her feast on what we bring to the table to please her. She is like some lady spy whom we know is only telling us half the story, hiding much behind her wry Mona Lisa smile—what does she know that we don’t know? For one thing: to make no apologies for herself and to live life on her own terms, which includes your happily playing the role she assigns you. Should you go against whatever fate the zodiac’s Persephone has in store for you, then, quicker than you can say Demi Moore, you will feel the full wrath of this dragon lady. Some fiery-icy Scorpio femme fatales who’ve made their way onto the silver screen are Vivian Leigh, Hedy Lamarr, Grace Kelly, Gene Tierney, Anne Hathaway, Veronica Lake, Dorothy Dandridge, Louise Brooks, Joanna Moore, Jean Seberg, Lauren Hutton, Tabu, Anna Wintour, Sally Field, Gabriel Union, Jodie Foster, Winona Ryder, Holly Hunter, Tilda Swinton, Demi Moore, Julia Roberts, Emma Stone, Ciara, Rachel McAdams, Sean Young, Björk, Goldie Hawn,

The sign of Scorpio rules the genitalia, something we’ve had fun exploring in view of people of the sign personifying its energy. Maybe because we have so long lived in a Lizard King patriarchy, it’s Scorpio lady’s unabashed embracing of her potent womanhood that’s spurred the notion that she’s the most infamous of females. Yes, she is the zodiac’s unapologetic Scarlett O’Hara who is also voted most likely to be slapped with a scarlet letter. Imagine Georgia O’Keeffe opening a gallery in 17th century Salem? Sex and death and regeneration are all associated with Scorpio’s astrological 8th house. The abyss inhabited by the sign’s planetary namesake god of the underworld, Pluto, and his female counterpart Persephone, symbolizes the subconscious, the subversive, all that is hidden, a mystery, as death (mort) and sex (petit mort) are; and if Scorpio man is, like his totem serpent/dragon/snake, a probing, investigative if not prickly character, then Scorpio woman personifies—Persephonizes—the dark interior itself. Earth’s crystalized cave interior matches Scorpio’s assignation as the fixed-water (ice, crystals) sign. Scorpio woman is the unseen, enigma incarnate. And, if Scorpio guy can be something of a dick, then we will let you finish this sentence yourself. The point is that Scorpio woman is well aware of the power she wields and how threatening, diminishing, if not castrating her vagina-dentata character might make her. She knows it automatically weeds out the faint of heart, the phonies, the wannabes and the sycophants, as she demands the company of strong figures and, when it comes to male lovers, those virile enough to match her concentrated, potent femininity. Otherwise she might flash that Mona Lisa smile or outright laugh in your face while pointing lower. Persephone, akin to Kali, is the goddess in her destroyer aspect and it is on this archetype that Scorpio woman draws. Persephone is the proverbial maker you meet upon entering her own dark, moist underworld where she decides your fate based on your earthly deeds. Go ask Alice or any of these Scorpio female inhabitants of W-underland what’s what: Grace Slick, Joni Mitchell, Helen Reddy, Mary Travers, Shere Hite, Roseanne, Kathy Griffin, Whoopi Goldberg, Hillary Clinton, Kate Clinton, Condoleezza Rice, Jenny McCarthy, Ann Sexton, George Elliot, Marie Curie, Sylvia Path, Ethel Waters, Marie Antoinette, Indira Ghandi, k.d. lang, Margaret Mitchell, Georgia O’Keeffe.

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.
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Libra 20° (October 12)

One more day of denial and sloth and then it all has to come together. I watched this incredible documentary on the wilderness of Romania and two terrible movies. I am teetering a bit on the edge of insufficiency and now I must pivot into total commitment. I suppose I’m playing chicken with myself a bit because I only want to work non-stop for the shortest amount of time. And so between now and February isn’t so long a stretch to get through round one. Speaking of chicken, yesterday the crap oven in this house couldn’t quite handle my recipe where I cook at high temperature. All the alarms went off and, who knew, the alarm includes a male voice telling us to evacuate. It was pretty intense. The chicken is for tomorrow as I made a kale and potato soup based on the Portuguese recipe. We managed to have one more semi-celebratory night and I went to bed feeling sated and physically very tired.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 976-980. 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.

The sign of Cancer is ruled by Mother Moon and it governs the fourth astrological house of, among other things, the female population. Cancer embraces a world view, that of existence, as female, a mother source needing our protection. It is distinguished as the cardinal (initiative) water sign of the zodiac—think of a literal bubbling spring or source of a river. Cancer women, by their nature, embody this energy, being fountains of feeling. Cancer men, meanwhile, tend to work on the emotions of others, especially women, to whom the male Moonchild appeals on the level of being the kind of guy a girl or fellow can take home to mother: A clean, well-scrubbed, if not eternally collegiate candidate for a reproductive and/or romantic partnership. Cancer Man doesn’t fancy himself the king that Leo does; he prefers to play a comfier, seemingly sidelong role akin to that of prince consort to some loving force-of-nature on whose emotional support he is kept aloft, swept-along, navigating his way toward a life of shared success. Cancerian Earnest Hemingway’s Jake Barnes is drawn in by the stronger female force of of Brett Ashley. It’s the same in same-sex relationships. Cancer man demurs in day-to-day decision making, only sweating the big stuff, letting a more domineering, but no less type-A, loved one feel s/he’s running the whole show, but it’s not always so. Faster than Kevin Bacon can drop his wife’s name into a sentence, Cancer guy will sidle in sideways, just like a crab, and assert his agenda, taking hold of situations with a vice-like tenacity you never saw coming. For your consideration: A list of uncalloused Cancer men who have mutually benefitted from having their oft sappy chick-flick selves appeal to a predominantly female, not to mention a more dominant-male, population: Tom Hanks, John Cusack, Harrison Ford, Tobey Maguire, Tom Cruise, Patrick Wilson, Daniel Radcliffe, Milo Ventimiglia, Benedict Cumberpatch, Topher Grace, Vin Diesel, David Hasselhoff, Robin Williams, Chris O’Donnell, Burt Ward, Chris Isaaks, Billy Crudup, Chace Crawford, Kevin Bacon, Josh Hartnett, George Michael, Justin Chambers, Michael Phelps, James Brolin, Jimmy Smits, Kris Kristofferson, Prince William.

Cancer men seem to foster support from the general populous, striking a chord and becoming synonymous with their field of interest. Orville Redenbocher. Richard Branson. Jesse Ventura. Michael Flatley. It’s amazing what some of these guys can be famous for. As, quicker than you can say David Hasselhoff, the sign of Cancer has a way of breeding those who capture public imagination and make bank on it Many a Cancerian man distinguishes himself as a single name who defines a whole area of expression—Hemingway, Rembrandt, Bullfinch. Forbes. And why? Because Cancerian men are narrowly focused on their field with a wide stance in their appeal. And as a bit of a side note: Whether or not you actually believe we went to the Moon, the fact remains that Cancer men often do end up looking a lot like the Man in it. You decide whether or not he might also be described as cheesy. Behold the bald and the beautiful Cancerian males who glow with a kindly condescension, a subtle superiority and a distant devotion. And beware the chrome-dome glare: Patrick Stewart, John Glenn, Yul Brynner, Jeffrey Tambor, Terrence Stamp, Larry David, Jesse Ventura, Montel Williams, Anthony Edwards, Donald Faison, Michael Jace, Vin Diesel, Gerald Ford, Kurtwood Smith, Forest Whitaker, Mel Brooks, Danny Glover, Mike Tyson, Zinedine Zidane, Dalai Lama, Anthony Edwards, Jackie Earle Haley, Dan Aykroyd, David Drake, Prince William and all the future folically challenged Canerian fellows.

Moonchild man lives in a private word, both real and imaginary, avoiding conflict or sometimes, even, anything more than vague interaction, at all costs. In the literal sense, he prefers solo work, which he can perform, set apart, ebbing and flowing to his own rhythm; and, figuratively, too, he must let his mind drift to imaginings of would-be scenarios he might ultimately realize. He appears the personification of hope and promise needing naught but cultivation to draw him out. Meanwhile, he accesses others sensitivity, appealing to their feelings as well as their funny bones, sensitivity and humor being hallmarks of his charm. One feels safe in the company of the Cancerian, that on this journey through life, he is happy to be a designated driver. He is so unassuming, or so it seems. The truth is he is one of the more deliberate and calculated characters on the astrological block, though rarely in an insidious sort of way. He simply believes in the fulfillment of his potential and he will get his hooks into situations, and people too, whom he considers to play a part in the unfolding of his destiny.

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Cancer woman’s life journey can be characterized as one long transition from the seeming chaos of her youth toward achievement of her own natural rhythm. Long before Linda Ronstadt marched to the beat of a different drum, Cancer girls have often felt emotionally abandoned at a tender age, echoed in some form of their own self-abandon. It takes time’s ticking tides to emotionally process Cancer woman’s way to a calmer shore—flood myths are endemic to the cosmic energy of the sign. Instinct defines the Cancerian realm, and the lady Moonchild, in particular, develops a gut variety by way of fully embracing any rocky circumstance of her youth; the inevitable embarkation therefrom; any subsequent feelings of being “at sea” along with strong senses of hope and promise; before she can ultimately experience deliverance. Cancer and the Moon rule the 4th astrological house of both the home one comes from and the home one creates for oneself. It is the house of re-creation, which is why one should never give up hope that a Cancer woman will land herself a happy, healthy and emotionally secure existence. In the meantime, it can be quite a shite show. When Neil Young warbled “she’s like a hurricane” one might place bets he had an emotionally loaded Cancerian woman in mind. Jennifer Saunders (Edina Monsoon!), Lindsay Lohan, Carly Simon, Pamela Anderson, Ludivine Sagnier, Courtney Love, Busy Phillips, Sue Lyon, Cyndi Lauper, Penny Arcade, Julianne Hough, Sofia Vergara, Phoebe Legere, Gisele Bündchen, Karen Black, Jerry Hall, Jessica Simpson, Kelly McGillis, Monica Lewinsky, Princess Diana, Imelda Marcos, Leona Helmsley, Lizzy Borden and Helen Keller are all Cancerians who, at some point or other, might have been a bit upset and needed to lie down.

Cry us a river: It can be near comical to peruse a photo collage of Cancer women, as, more often than not, their expression suggests they might be on the verge of tears. Cancer females embody the cardinal-water assignation of their sign. They are fountains of feeling ruled by Mother Moon which, we know, controls the tides. These daughters of Phoebe and Selene are indeed one with their feels, which can make them wildly chaotic or oh-so touchingly histrionic. Little wonder they make the most emotionally accessible actresses. We cite the character of Cinderella as one of the Cancer woman archetypes. Like Cindy, Cancer lady is equal parts lamenting and hopeful, mirroring the expressions of the waxing and waning Moon. Indeed, she employs the power of wish-craft, floating her hopes toward the deliverance of desired results. The Cinderella myth is filled with nocturnal imagery—moon-powered elements—from pumpkins, which grow by night, and mice and rats, which are nocturnal. The woeful beauty of the Cancer woman can be captivating, inviting salvation, if not some savior prince/ss to trot up on a white charger or in a convertible white Cooper Mini. A list of pouty Cancer princesses includes Liv Tyler, Eva Green, Juno Temple, Shelley Duvall, Deborah Harry, Frances McDormand, Linda Cardellini, Kristen Bell, Diane Kruger, Clair Forlani, Phoebe Cates, Isabelle Adjani, Elizabeth McGovern, Meryl Streep, Princess Diana, Sandra Oh, Judy Greer, Melissa Rauch, Edie Falco, Stephanie Seymour, Selena Gomez, Linda Ronstadt, Ginger Rogers, Eva Marie Saint, Diana Rigg, Janet Leigh, Olivia De Havilland. Boo hoo.

Cancer woman is the embodiment of longing, the true nature of which provides insight into her personality. Think of longing as emotional outreach, an active and useful mechanism for scanning and searching life, the universe, all experience, for that for which one has true feeling. In this way, Cancer woman perpetually takes emotional action. She invented the term: putting out feelers. And we feel her, don’t we. Cancer women on the whole are not subtle creatures who hide their needs, indeed, their demands.

Think of her symbol crab. She flows with the current, which is to say the present, which does sometimes require being what might appear to be clingy. The fact is she must establish fixed experience for herself to counterbalance what is otherwise a life of being swept up in the moment, allowing herself to be fully accessible, circumstantially and emotionally. Accessing feeling is a hallmark of the Cancerian female, most poignantly expressed by the brand of actresses born under the sign.

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In our book Sextrology, the Leo Man chapter is titled The Natural. So many tawny men of the sign are wont to go native, being astrologically designed, like their totem Lion, to easefully roam the great expanses of the planet. They are attracted to cultures and peoples with a primal throb. The lion is born free and stays that way. Like its ruler, the central Sun, the heart-center of the body is governed by the sign of Leo. The beating of the heart is the rhythm of life; and besides boasting many drummers among its number, the sign of Leo breeds men who live life at its own pace or, at least, they believe that they do. For, the zodiac’s king might naturally confuse his own will with that of the divine. He assumes he’s Right. The shadow side of the king, of course, is the tyrant and anyone acquainted with a Leo man has probably seen it creep in. The golden Leo nature boy abhors artifice and is near maniacal in his embracing of authenticity. He is, by nature, skeptical of phonies or over-sophisticates. Whether he possesses the rugged outdoorsyness of Davy Crockett, the pastoral, bare aesthetic of Thomas Eakins, the natural sweepingness of filmmaker John Huston, the arid no-nonsense of Sundance king Robert Redford, the hempish ways of Woody Harrelson, the prairie rattyness of Garrison Keillor, the vegan crunch of Casey Affleck or the going-nativeness of William Clark, Herman Melville, Cartier-Bresson, Lawrence of Arabia or even Ginger Baker, for that matter, Leo men celebrate the beating of creation’s heart and extol our earthly kingdom and mankind in its most noble natural, state. Some other Leo hunks include the “Conans” Jason Momoa and Arnold Schwarzenegger, “Thor” Chris Hemsworth, “Hulk” Eric Bana, and “Avatar” Sam Worthington.

Just the previous sign of Cancer is ruled by the mother-principled Moon, which portrays creation as a nurturing goddess-source from whom all matter springs (cardinal water), august Leo, ruled by the father-principled Sun, sees creation from the view of a distant, fiery sky god (fixed fire) to be revered, if not feared. Leo rules the 5th astrological house, that of co-creation with god, the mantle of which Leo man, the zodiac’s own lion king, willingly dons, embodying entitlement, if not divine right. Let’s just say he assumes authority easily, as author, akin to Arthur, boy-king, like David, taking the central role. The Sun symbol is a dot inside a circle—think Arthur seated center at table. The lion is king… of beasts; David slays Goliath, read: his own giant beastly nature, just as Arthur subdues and civilized the pagan wilds, inside himself. Leo man can be a hot head. There we said it. Little wonder that the shadow side of the sign has spawned those having such dictatorial sway: Napoleon, Mussolini, Castro. But seriously, think of the many tyrannical film directors and kings of that industry, those who will make or break others’ careers: Hitchcock (go ask Tippi), Demille, Kubrick (go ask Shelley), David O. Russell (go ask Lily). Huston, Redford, Cameron, Polanski, Penn, M. Night Shayamalan, Kevin Smith. And then there are Leo actors who play god-complexed egoists with a vengeance: Robert Deniro, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Matt LeBlanc, Andrew Garfield—probably also that ginger cat, Garfield—Kevin Spacey, Billy Bob Thornton, Wesley Snipes, David Duchovny, Adam Samberg, Laurence Fishburn, Sam Elliot, Jean Reno, Kevin McKidd, Jeremy Piven and Steve Martin.

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Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, whom Homer called a “lioness amongst women” is the premier archetype of the Leo woman, one that resonates through mythology, literature and in flesh- and-blood females of the sign. Artemis is goddess of wild creatures; and Leo women are, in some regard, feral females, on the loose, often latch-key children, if not parentless, at an early age. The aptly named Kit (Katharine) in Taming of the Shrew speaks to the heterosexual Leo woman, anyway, seeking to be trumped, domesticated, by the rare man that she doesn’t outshine—the Sun is her ruler. Cue Leo lady Annie Oakley’s refrain to her would-be love in Annie Get Your Gun: “Anything you can do I can do better.” Indeed, Leo women best the best men at their own games. They’re on the hunt for a man who’s tougher, more wild and passionate than they, playing cat and mouse with weaker male specimens. But let’s not bring J. Lo’s Marc Antony into this. Although Cleopatra, with her own Marc Antony, was a living Leo archetype—Cleo just so happens to be a cliché name for a cat. Catherine in Wuthering Heights is another emanation of the feral Leo, whose cosmic soul mate was the wild Heathcliff. No wonder Leo Kate Bush relates to and sings as that character, just as she appears as Artemis on the cover of her record, Hounds of Love. It’s a whisker’s breath from Kate to Tori Amos. And we can name queen Leo superstars all day long, from Lucille Ball (read: ball of light, like the Sun) to Madonna to Julia Child to J.K. Rowling to Coco Chanel to Martha Stewart to Amelia Earhart to Mae West to Jackie O, not to mention such luscious—and they look like lionesses!—Leo ladies like Charlize Theron, Iman, Jennifer Lawrence, Amy Adams, Honor Blackman, Natasha Hensridge, Vivica Fox and, of course, the classic catwomen Halle Berry and Julie Newmar.

Leo woman draws on a secondary, complementary archetype to Artemis (Roman: Diana), which is that of the Goddess of the Hearth, Hestia (Roman:Vesta). The sign of Leo rules the heart; and the Sun, the heart and hearth of the solar system, rules it. Though Leo women can be most predatory in channeling that huntress energy, particularly in public life, fairly stalking their successes;, in private, they take firm hold of the center around which others draw or revolve. What paradoxically connects the seemingly opposite Artemis and Hestia is that they are both protectors—of the wild and of domestic life, respectively. As that “lioness amongst women,” we see in the Leo lion a dual nature of ferocity and maternal affection. Indeed, real lions are matriarchal, females of the species being the prime movers of their prides. And it’s the same with the human variety: Leo men are typically laid back, lovers of lolling about, while Leo women are fiercely energetic self-starters with often gappy toothed, predators’ smiles. Some savage Leo sweethearts include: Anna Paquin, Elizabeth Moss, Madonna, Gillian Anderson, Rose Byrne, Vera Farmiga, Amy Adams, Mila Kunis, Jennifer Lawrence, Sandra Bullock, Kate Beckinsale, Kristin Wiig, Iman, Jaqueline Kennedy Onassis, Selena Gomez, Jennifer Lopez, Lynda Carter, Louise Fletcher, Helen Mirren, Elizabeth Berkley, Taylor Schilling, Yvonne Strahovski.

The sign of the Lioness boasts any number of disarmingly, flakey, kooky, wiggy, ditzy feline females who are really anything but. For Leo woman plays cat and mouse to outmaneuver the rest of us at every turn. The zodiac’s Queen of Hearts has all the right moves on this chessboard of life, and sometimes letting you think she’s a little out to lunch works something like an ambush. Leo ladies of the stage and screen are often typecast in this very role. Think of Gracie Allen, Lucille Ball, Lisa Kudrow, Victoria Jackson, Sally Struthers, Barbara Eden, Madonna, Mila Kunis, Loni Anderson, Melanie Griffith, Elizabeth Berkley, Christine Taylor, Kristin Chenoweth, Connie Stevens, Rosanna Arquette, Debra Messing, Shelly Winters, Jill St. John, Georgia Engel, Alice Ghostley.

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The move from Leo to Virgo is like a shift in historical consciousness from the divine right of kings to the empowerment of serfs. Virgo’s motto is I serve. In the annals, we saw the absolute power of (Leo) nobility give way to that of the indentured (Virgo), Pride being trumped by Humility—this is mirrored in the rise of allegorical pieces of literature like Everyman, which tackled the dichotomy of virtue and vice, and Dr. Faustus, caught in that same balance between good and evil. The temporal takeaway is that power shifts from crowns to individual human conscience. Take that monarchists. As personifications of these signs, Leo man embodies the golden-boy Sun-king archetype, while Virgo man is a walking-talking morality play, munching on experience and humble pie, embodying that human conscience, whose nature it is to grapple; but, in so doing, to eradicate pride along with every other human vice, digesting experience to extract its every virtue. You won’t see a Virgo man bound into a room unapologetically. He doesn’t have that golden glow of Leo. The sign color of Virgo is silvery grey (Gandalf grey) the result of negotiating a world that can be so black-and-white. He is thoughtful, to a fault, self-effacing, self-examining and often hyper critical. He negotiates his way in the world carefully, and yes, skeptically, but he thereby aims to leave it a better place than he found it. Virgo begins on August 23rd, the festival of Vulcanalia. Vulcan (Greek: Hephaestus, from whose name Faustus might derive) was a disenfranchised “lame” god who channeled the lemons he was given into making lemonade. A smith, a potter, a tinker, an inventor, artisan, artist and, like Faust, an alchemist in all respects. Hephaestus hid himself away, something of a hermit (with that Gandalf wardrobe). Virgo is traditionally ruled by planet Mercury (Greek: Hermes, from whence the term derives)—focus on the work and service at hand, typically making tools and weaponry that would empower the other gods. He forged Zeus’s lightning bolts, for instance, the true power behind the throne. Virgo man, the zodiac’s is likewise a lover of privacy, a symptom, first, of feeling dejected on some level, but ultimately the crucible via which he forges his own path toward success and fulfillment. He will wrestle with his conscience, the true philosopher’s stone, to alchemically transmute his disappointments into opportunities, his wounds into sources of healing and his accumulated woes, source- material, into masterful works of art. Behold the Virgo Everyman of conscience who has sought his separate peace and serenity in his solitude; or as an actor (our best living archetypes!) plays that part to the hilt: Bill Murray, Jimmy Fallon, Luke Wilson, Martin Freeman, Jack Black, Chris Pine, Rupert Grint, Colin Firth, Leonard Cohen, Josh Charles, Armie Hammer, Jason Sudeikis, Adam Sandler, Stephen Fry, Roald Dahl, Louis C.K., Idris Elba, Keanu Reeves, Warren Buffet, Aaron Paul, Alexander Skarsgärd, Richard Gere, Wes Bentley, Oliver Stone, Stephen King, David Copperfield, Moby, Johann Wolfgang Goethe, John Locke, John Cage.

Virgo’s planetary ruler is in dispute. It’s traditional planet is Mercury, which also governs the mutable-air sign of Gemini, the god Mercury (Greek: Hermes) being patron of all sorts of street folk from merchants to thieves, jugglers to magicians, which brings us to the mutable-earth (read: clay) sign of Virgo where it rules alchemists and all the “hermetic” and healing arts. Mercury’s staff, called the Caduceus, is the emblem of the medical profession to this day. Virgo and the 6th astrological house are associated with health, habits and hygiene. But there are those who don’t believe that Mercury actually rules Virgo. Some feel that rulership belongs to Chiron, a minor planet-ette orbiting the Sun between Saturn and Uranus. The notion is that Chiron, discovered in 1977, was once a major planet that got pummeled by asteroids. It thus draws on the archetype of the “wounded healer” in mythology. Chiron was a centaur who wasn’t savage like his fellows, but the opposite, a savior, and he is the father of doctors which were one and the same as magicians, under the grand heading of alchemists. Another theory is that Virgo is ruled by the as yet undiscovered planet Vulcan, which is debatably orbiting between Mercury and the Sun.. Virgo men are menschs but they do tinker—if not nipping and tucking themselves, they may Svengali others, women especially, whom they treat as Pandoras, the first sex doll molded by Hephaestus out of clay. Voila: Alchemical some more Virgo men-schs: Hugh Grant, Elvis Costello, Chris Tucker, Peter Sellers, Tommy Lee Jones, Paolo Coelho, Peter Falk, Bob Newhart, Ben Falcone, Daniel Stern, Adam Sandler, Sam Neill, David Arquette, Mark Harmon, and those who couldn’t leave themselves, let alone others, well, alone: Mickey Rourke, Michael Keaton, Barry Gibb, Billy Ray Cyrus, Eddie Fisher, Michael Jackson, Gene Simmons, Kenny Rogers, Steve Guttenberg, Harry Connick, Jr., Paul Reubens.

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.
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Libra 19° (October 11)

Binging on Emily in Paris, which is really just so so but has a certain something. And of course they are shooting it at all our favorite places, which is at once exciting but also sad because I feel they will become overrun the way places in the West Village did with Darren Starr’s other creation Sex and the City. I just lazed around which was really quite nice and we had another lovely meal of cassava pasta with pesto and sat outside even though it really was quite cold. Anyway I don’t have much to say today as not much is happening in my life and I’m not writing anything today so that’s that really.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 971-975. 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.

Drove in to NYC. No real traffic the whole way. Met a client at our hotel and had some psychic insight. We were talking about the Waldorf school with the client and Stella, minutes later, mentioned that shw was going to bring up the fact that the first person she knew who went to Waldorf schools was Juliana Margulies, but didn’t. When, only minutes later, after the client left, we gathered our things from the hotel restaurant and passed through the bar only to see Juliana seated on a stool. We knew her in the late eighties when we used to socialize and play charades with mutual friends—she was good at charades. So I said hi Juliana remember us. Of course she did and we had a quick kiss and hug. She introduced her friend Samantha (who I knew to be Samantha Mathis) about whom I hadn’t heard very much in a number of years. Anyway, a very quick slicke of synchronicity. We said we wanted to grab a quick bite. Juliana said we should go to Otto, which is where we were going to go in any case. “We just closed on an apartment around the corner said J.” In a world where one could so easily be envious, hearing of one closing on an apartment on lower Fifth could put a green lens on things. But I’m so used to being surrounded by rich people that it doesn’t much faze me like it once did.

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Had rehearsal in a part of Brooklyn to which I have never gone before and wouldn’t rush to go ahead I’m afraid. I’m always struck by how ugly certain areas of New York City can be. How grey and depressing and void of trees or any kind of charm. We did have a lovely rehearsal though and it was good to see the band. Stella and I returned to the hotle and had something snacky. She was going to meet an old friend for dinner and decided to have it in the hotel. I had a little wine and then headed over to see Amber Martin’s “Reba’s C*untry Christmas” show at the Stonewall, as Patrick was in it. This person called Xavier who once attacked me and Penny Arcade on social media was there; I tried to be the bigger person and introduced myself and extended my hand which he refused to shake. We the ones who aren’t the perps are often the ones to extend olive branches wrapped around peace pipes. I had already sent my so-called nemesis, who was also in the show, a quick text heads-up to let him know I’d be there. I know what it’s like to perform and to see someone in the audience you might be uncomfortable glaring back, but I didn’t hear back and he probably didn’t care or turned it around on me. It doesn’t much matter. I take responsibility for having rubbed people the wrong way. But we Libras tend to do that because we can be brutally honest and we do tend to have great expectations of (read: become heavily disappointed by) others. Ghandi is a Libra. And he surely rubbed people the wrong way. Nothing wrong with that kind of friction. Anyway saw some people I liked but realized some other in the performance community were also snubbing me and I thought, ah-ha, the poison had really set in. I don’t mind. I needed to make some more room for new friends on FB, for instance, so I returned home to happily block a few of the obvious haters. After having reconnected with Stella and her friend and a client who were all gathered together in the hotel bar having a night cap. Made it an early one since we had to perform the next day.

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The fixed-earth sign of Taurus is vividly portrayed by a garden, Eden. And Taurus people draw on archetypes the of nymphs and flower gods, who personify innocence and invitation—Taurus is ruled by Venus, the planetary principle of attraction. The sign’s signature color is green, signifying both innocence and envy. Taurus girl is the eternal goddess in maiden form. We know what temptation Eve invited. Likewise, the tale of Snow White is a retelling of the myth of Io, a nymph punished by queen Hera for giving into her hubby Zeus’s seduction—Hera turned Io into a snow-white heifer. Silly cow. Hera is famed for taking the form of a crone who hands out poison apples just like Snow White’s wicked queen, who is vainly obsessed with youth and beauty. Venus’ symbol—a circle atop a crossed staff—is called the mirror of Aphrodite; and the planet’s rule, here, on the earth plane of Taurus, makes physical beauty, and green-eyed envy, a preoccupation. Io and Hera are two sides of the same coin, the former representing the naiveté of the latter’s mature womanhood. Really, Hera tries to teach Io a lesson about female power, which Hera deifies. And many a Taurus woman will tell you that this is a central theme for them. Taurus tends to make an impact in her early life, being prized for latent talents and inherent charms. Adult life can be an ongoing catch-up lesson in taking her own assets by the horns, something at which she may ultimately overachieve. Indeed, her biggest challenge is in not being objectified, resisting the urge to let domineering figures steer her stars in exchange for creature Taurean comforts, ease and luxury. Passivity can be her pitfall, as can becoming somebody’s cash cow. Here some earthy Taurus nymphets who peaked young and piqued interest with early promise of potential: Ellie Kemper, Megan Fox, Kristen Dunst, Sandra Dee, Kelly Clarkson, Sofia Coppola, Jessica Alba, Lily Allen, Lily Cole, Jessica Stam, Ann-Margret, Yvonne Craig, Uma Thurman, Janet Jackson, Adele, Barbra Streisand, Shirley Temple, Valerie Bertinelli, Harper Lee and Charlotte Bronte whose heroine Jane Eyre is a namesake of Hera or Eire (Ireland) the emerald green isle where the goddess grew dem apples.

Venus governs Taurus on the earth plane (and Libra on the astral one). The Venus symbol is emblematic of the Feminine Principle. The planet’s namesake goddess of grace and beauty works her charms through Taurus, and on its people, in a physical, tangible, often monetary way. Indeed, Taurus woman is the original material girl. Though she may learn early in life that an urgent, myopic focus on possessions can blind her to more eternal bounty. Still, it’s no bull that Taureans tend to be attractive in a fresh and earthy, if not oomphy, way. The women are natural beauties, barefoot contessas and, sometimes self-professed geishas who fetishize their burgeoning femininity. Consider the luscious delights of Bianca Jagger, Penelope Cruz, Rosario Dawson, Jessica Alba, Bettie Page, Laetitia Casta, Megan Fox, James King, Diana Agron, Christina Hendricks, Audrey Hepburn, Margot Fonteyne and Nancy Kwan. Oh, yes, Taurus enjoys being a girl; and when she inevitably loses her innocent bloom and no longer likes what the two-faced mirror-mirror reflects, she is most prone to see this as a red flag to charge into some cosmetic surgeon’s office. Case in point: Renee Zellwegger, Cher, Kimora Lee Simmons, Tori Spelling, Christine Baranski, Janet Jackson, Donatella Versace, Carol Burnett, Barbra Streisand, Pia Zadora, Michele Pfeifer, Shirley MacLaine, Melissa Gilbert and Bea Arthur, who televised her face lift in on “Maude”. There is also Eva Perone and the aptly named Blossom Dearie.

Taurus women come with a checklist of things they need to achieve and aquire, and they work it till they’ve ticked off each and every item and then some. This modus operandi provides them security, or at least the sense that they I securing it for themselves. They are sensual creatures with a natural innocence, even when batting their cow eyes at you. Think of them like shutters of a camera, taking in and recording, from every angle, what the abundant world of possibility, or you yourself, might have to offer them. They are efficiency experts, loath to waste precious time—to them a true commodity—on people, places and things not worth their salt. They embody the notion that life should be carefree, doing all in their power cultivate a safe enclosure for themselves against the savagery of society. They see people, places and things in terms of value, investing interest, even the loving kind, only when confident of a solid return; the face varieety of value being deceiving, they can be duped by appearances and overemphasis external trappings, which ultimately leave them wanting. Happy is the Taurus who

She is born under the archetype of the naive earth nymphs such as Io, who took the form of a snow-white heifer—fairy tales’ Snow White is innocence incarnate. Their myths center on resiliance, the unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt typecast with a Taurus actress.

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In our book Sextrology, Gemini man’s chapter is called The Goodfellow. Gemini and its third astrological house focus on immediate experience. Immediacy being what both closely surrounds us, spatially, and instantaneously, time-wise. The sign is ruled by Mercury, named for the god who can travel hither and thither in a flash, like his Shakespearean prototype Puck, who is messenger to Oberon the way Mercury (Greek: Hermes) is to Jupiter (Zeus). The third house also rules the teenage slice of life, age 14-21, defined as it is by our immediate family and close cronies, siblings and sibling-like relationships, which are the kind we have at that age, and rarely after—Gemini making an exception to that rule. He personifies that experience always, being eternally youthful like Puck (Robin Goodfellow) or Hermes or his fairytale incarnation, Peter Pan—wrestling with one’s shadow portrays eternal struggle with duality that the sign of the Twins expresses. In legend, we have Robin Hood, in comic books, Robin, the boy wonder. Gemini guys retain their teenage rat-pack mentality, “boon companions” coming under third-house rule. Robin of Sherwood was the first hood in his hood, if you will, doing his bit to balance the rich/poor duality—in essence, the world’s first Goodfella. In modern culture we see many Gemini entering the zeitgeist at a tender age, playing at being adults while forever remaining something of a juvenile in his antics. Bring on the boy wonders: Michael Cera, Paul Dano, Neil Patrick Harris, Jamie Oliver, Macklemore, Boy George, Rafael Nadal, Jake Short, Dominic Cooper, Justin Long, Kanye West, Cameron Boyce, Troye Sivan, Mark Walhberg, Dave Franco, Shia LeBeouf, Hugh Dancy, T.J. Miller, Michael J. Fox, Mike Meyers, Noah Wylie, Irving Thalberg, Tupak Shakur, Gene Wilder, Gary Burghoff, Johnny Depp, Allen Ginsberg, Lenny Kravitz, John F. Kennedy.

Gemini is ruled by Mercury, named for the scrappy god of the crossroads. Literally, or just in their hearts, Gemini guys are street-wise garçcons de la rue: poets, troubadours, urchins, scamps, tricksters and jugglers, if just of the truth, dual by nature, dualistic by design. They are artful dodgers, fast-talking champions of the common man. There is a bit of Robin Hood in every Gemini hood in the hood, just as there is that of Robin Goodfellow, Shakespeare’s Puck, and Peter Pan, all fairy versions of winged Mercury, the magician and messenger god who, like Peter and Puck, never ages past adolescence. Duality in all its forms, but knowledge, especially, of mortality and immortality, is the theme of the Gemini male psyche. The tale of the male “twins” of Gemini, Castor and Pollux (actually quadruplets who hatched from separate eggs with twin sisters, fathered by Zeus in the guise of a Swan) is hinged on their mortal/deific dialectic. Birds and wings symbolize the divine side of the human condition, which we all possess. Gemini man tends to express his own via flights of fancy and the proliferation of ideas, poetry, music, writing, or whatever magical or Machiavellian maneuvers with which he seeks to make an lasting mark on the world. He tends to pack a wallop with his words, Mercury (Logos) being god of communication. And many a Gemini actor has played into his airy, pirate archetype. Think Johnny Depp’s Jack Sparrow, Errol Flynn’s Robin Hood or Captain Blood, Douglas Fairbank’s Robin Hood or Thief of Bagdad, James Purfoy’s Blackbeard, Jason Isaac’s Captain Hook, Geoffrey Rush’s Captain Barbossa. And then there are just the roguish, anti-hero stylings of Colin Farrell, Tupac Shakur, Stellan Skarsgard, Dominic Cooper, Paul Bettany, Peter Dinklage, Hugh Laurie, Malcolm McDowell, Joseph Fiennes, Russell Brand, Rupert Everett, Morrissey, Bob Dylan, Liam Neeson and Ice Cube

Gemini is always striking some kind of bargain, internal negotiating opposing forces, and outwardly exacting the next deal to further his direction. In a way his is a tricky head to be in; and yet there is very little the Gemini doesn’t do mindfully, being less prone than most to unconscious motivations, compulsions, and the like. He’s self-aware, to a fault, putting on dazzle and otherwise aimed at keeping spirits bright—even if knowingly faking it. He is, however, no means instrospective by nature, and must work harder than most in the understanding of an inner life. Instead he keeps himself occupied with to-dos and shiny objects, cutting a path through life like an arful dodger snaking his way through a crowded avenue, reveling in covert action and lendergemain. He is nervy and (he mightn’t admit it) rather fearful of the answers to life’s big questions. Gemini loves the world of the living, gravitating toward social hubs of activities, where a vibrant demonstration of life can distract him from an signature underlying loneliness. He doesn’t like to feel things because he does so too deeply for his delicate nerves.

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Gossip, girl: The Gemini gamine can gab if not babble like a bird on a wire. The mutable air sign of Gemini is concerned with pure, buzzy, etheric, information: what’s in the air. The sign’s ruler Mercury is named for the winged capped and footed god, its symbol recalling a pesky antennae’d insect, pulling info from the ether. Or perhaps they’re not antennae but the wing-tips of an angel, an agent of soaring divinity, such as Mercury, the messenger, is to his chief god, Zeus. So, if Gemini man, like Mercury, is a messenger, then Gemini woman is the message itself; and a mixed one at that. She often is the gossip, controversial, whether innocently or purposefully. Female counterpart to the god Mercury is winged Eris, goddess of discord. Arguably, she is a deity of information, the embodiment of the collective buzz, which is, by its very nature, discordant. Discord supposes, indeed incites duality, the principle energy of Gemini. Eris doesn’t just throw information out there, she plants ideas in others’ heads. So when she tossed an apple scrawled with the words “for the fairest of them all” into a chic party she caused a fracture and factions to form. Gemini can be a scandal; and a scream, a party girl, albeit a light-weight one—like tiny Tinker Bell getting blotto on a thimble of hooch. She’s sensitive, you see. Eris tossed the apple because she wasn’t invited to that party. Slighted, she caused outright Trojan War, the central figure being another prime Gemini archetype, Helen, the actual twin of Pollux, the divine so-called twin to mortal brother Castor—the two boys form the constellation of Gemini. Helen and Pollux hatched from a divine egg. Castor and Clytemnestra from a mortal egg. Their mother Leda must have lain with her husband before Zeus, as swan, had a go. So. Helen and Clytemnestra personify female Geminian duality. One passive, one not so much. Helen? A scandal! She was given to Paris by Aphrodite for choosing her most fair in his judgment—he was bribed—deal-making being endemic to this sign,. It is fromMercury that we get the word merchant. In our book, Sextrology, the Gemini women chapter is called The Gift. Of the gab, yes; but more than that: Gemini women always seem to possess such qualities, attributes or talents that could only be explained by way of divine endowment. They are exciting and challenging, enlivening and provocative, both, always equal parts a mixed bag of Mercury’s tricks; more perhaps, than one bargained for, something of a commotion, possessing a certain talent for winning every argument, sometimes by way of seeming insouciance. The likes of Joan Collins, Wallis Simpson, Angelina Jolie, Lauryn Hill, Kathleen Turner, Anne Heche, Michelle Phillips, Stevie Nicks, Melanie Brown, Joan Rivers, Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland, Naomi Campbell, Heidi Klum, Anna Kournikova. Helena Bonham Carter, Zoe Saldana, Alanis Morissette, Pam Grier, Juliette Lewis, Gina Gershon, Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen are no strangers to controversy.

Gemini is ruled by winged Mercury, god of the crossroads. Being at a crossroads spells a difficult decision. After winged Eris lobs that apple into the divine party someone must decide who is the fairest. The Judgment of Paris sees that poor boy choosing Aphrodite who promised him Helen for the honor. Helen hooked up with Paris who was from the wrong side of the tracks. Fast forward to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet whose suitor, pre-Romeo, is likewise called Paris. The name Juliet translates to both “child of Jove”, a name for Jupiter, Greek: Zeus, and “downy” another nod to birds. Star-crossed and prone to love at first sight with someone from the wrong side of the crossroads, Juliet is a prime literary archetype of the Gemini woman in keeping with the sign’s rule of the human age of 14-21, a time when one first bites into the apple of temptation. Helen and Paris; Romeo and Juliet are forbidden fruit. This matches the biblical view of the zodiac as well. The first fiery sign Aries is akin to big-bang creation; Taurus to the lush green Eden and temptation; and Gemini, the twins, the Fall, duality, is the consequence of eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Helen and Juliet are echoes of the prurient Eve; as is Nabokov’s Lolita who tempts duality incarnate in Humbert Humbert. And you thought it was just all an accident that Gemini women seem a ripe combination of guilelessness and game. This gamine of the Zodiac does tend to be gorgeous enough to launch a thousand cosmetic campaigns. And there is always some personal-fall sprinkled into her mix, often linked to her falling rather suddenly in love. Those Gemini birds just seem to be set on a quicker speed. Innocent as a rose—mind the thorns: Kate Upton, Amy Schumer, Adriana Lima, Isabella Rossellini, Bar Refaeli, Elizabeth Hurley, Brooke Shields, Angelina Jolie, Laverne Cox, Nicole Kidman, Rosalind Russell, Riley Keough, Lana Del Rey, Leah Remini, Molly Sims, Julianna Marguilies, Ginnifer Goodwin, Octavia Spencer, Courteney Cox, Helen Hunt, Jeanne Tripplehorn, Annette Bening, Kristin Scott Thomas, Laurie Metcalf, Lea Delaria, Autumn and Willow Shields, and that two-faced swan herself, Natalie Portman.

Often given a dubious wrap for being flighty, dificult or divisive, the opposite is (also?) true: Gemini woman is the one person in the Zodiac you’d want to have your back. She’s a tough and protective Tinker Bell, a fixer of ailing or broken utility, aimed at mending flailing situations and relationships and problem-solving in general. She is the proverbial mother hen on whom others come to rely and behind whom we must all fall in line. She is the best of the astrolgoical bunch in covering the basics, and all the bases there in, making sure the mechanics of her daily life function smoothly, if not too repetitively. In the end, most of us will admit, it is a most admirable quality. That said, she easily gets lost in causes which, when pressed, even she’d admit she cares little about. Getting stuck on autopilot as ringleader will occupy her with busy work, if not mountainous molehills, while she strives to focus on more long-term achievement.

Having her ducks in a row. And also wanting others to keep in line behind her. They like to organize in the strict sense of putting things together, but they delegate any upkeep. They like a good system.

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.
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