Month: March 2021 (page 2 of 4)

Ess

Pisces 30°-Aries 0° (March 20)

It turns Spring at 5:37 this morning. And not a moment too soon. I need the optimism of knowing that the next nine months aren’t the coldest. This weekend will be not that great, but it will have its moments. I’m going to do the best I can but I will leave it there.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1761-1780. 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 messed up a bit on the counting so there are twenty below now….


Paris, Day Thirty Eight of Sixty. And Day Ten of Bikram. Rabbit Rabbit. I had some white wine and then some red from Nicholas and back to dinner at La Fronde. Another steak tartare. Shh. Don’t tell anybody. Though I made a soup. The house is pretty clean which is good. It is going to be a bery bery big week and there is so much to do. I’m feeling a bit concerned about the boufer. I don’t have a lot to say. I need to put a schedule together in regard to the work still on the table because I blew my original dealine. I need to speak with April. Right now it’s Penny, Dito, Joseph, Tammy Faye, Isaac Oliver, Jeremy Goldsmith, April Ekfield. That’s already seven folks so I just need to come up with another three which is good. I will start the whole ball rolling again on the fundraising. Here is what I worked with last year.



Paris, Day Thirty Nine of Sixty. And Day Eleven of Bikram. I left my phone at La Fronde and was so happy it was there. S. wants to go to a late yoga so I will tool around and get some water in the house. I am getting a bit lax and I have to be careful. I almost passed out yesterday on the street walking to yoga. I might be over doing it. Then I will nap when she comes back and we’ll have a great class with Martine. And then we will go to Pink Flamingo for pizza which is super bon. We bought some roses on the way home which was really nice. I feel bad we got into a snit. Johanna wrote a thank you note. We will have to write her back. I feel a bit off my axis and had a good talking with myself in the mirror. I am so extreme with the exercise on one hand and then not taking care of my well being as best as I should be. The soup tastes great but I don’t think I’m having any. The virus thing is really amping up and I’m in health scare mode and feeling familiarly unsettled. I suppose I shouldn’t worry to much as I’m being fairly self protective. I don’t know (if anything) what to do about Alex not getting back to me. I suppose I really should just let it go. I am going to let Penny sell and do some promotion but I’m not going to super push it. I rejigged my schedule and I think I can hit all my marks these next couple of weeks and still get to enjoy the sights which I really haven’t been able to do. I gave myself an obstacle to get over and I am acclimating to this Bikram thing. I am pushing myself too much and after A. leaves on Thursday I am going to go into a two plus weeks of giving myself a major break. I really don’t want to drink that much wine as I do my second half of my thirty day challenge. I don’t think it’s a great idea at all. I contacted and confirmed our hotel rezzie.

That week is amping up. It looks like we will be very busy in London. I am going to sort of give up on the consultancy work for now because there is no reason to over do it. We have to talk about if we are going to pay ourselves this year or continue to keep that rolling over. And we are schedule a time to tackle the Astro-Scapes question as well. That’s really going to be it for today. I am coming up on finishing out my fifth year of doing this and I really must decide what the next year might look like—in terms of what themes this Blague should consist of. I’m hoping we hear back from the agent too. If there is going to be another book than that will certainly be the the Blague. My putting together little starter kits for the next tome like I did for the sample chapter. I know I have it in me but it would have to be for a lot a lot of money; otherwise there is really no point in putting all this effort in. It is exciting to thin that a TV deal might happen this week and to be working with a new management company, potentially, on a podcast. I am shocked that I haven’t heard back from the French agent since I asked a question that was pretty time sensitive, which came and went. We have been cautioned a bit about her and I’m on high alert and also feeling somewhat relieved to know that other people have had weird experiences with her in the past.



Paris, Day Forty of Sixty. And Day Twelve of Bikram. Though I woke up feeling that perhaps I won’t be able to go. That might change though. I am a bit weezy today and I’m having a mini health scare given the current events. We are putting final wheels in motion on the Mandabach deal which will hopefully be lots of fun. We booked our Eurostar and I confirmed the hotel. Now I need to figure out the Cricket situation. I’m not that good on the money front I don’t feel but I imagine that I will just ask for what I need and hopefully get it. We are meeting J. on Friday in any case. I have no idea what I’ll wear. I’m feeling a bit down still but hopefully coming out of it. We ended up having a little soup and then both went to yoga. It was Michael in French. Then we dropped things off and scared the crap out of Timmie. Then ended up at the Voltigeur for quiches. It was so crowded and we were on top of people and there was a couple with newborn and I was wondering if I would ever bring a new born to a crowded restaurant during fashion week with buyers and others from Asia during this coronavirus scare. I could barely relax myself. I felt super bloated from the gluten and we had Susie coming over for a little session. It is her birthday. We got her some candles. When she left we got directly into a car and went to Dom and Nan’s and had dinner with them and Esther and Theo. Stan said hello and then disappeared and didn’t join us. Theo is really funny. Esther is wonderful as usual S. brought her a bunch of clothes and she seemed really happy. We never not have fun with that family and though we thought we’d leave by eleven it was after midnight before we did.

We laughed pretty hard, especially over:  As S. mentioned, I used to do this thing to her where I would just whistle words at her as if she should know what I’m saying. So I did it to Nan basically which made her laugh pretty hard. There were other funny moments. And as usual we ended up singing. And we had some serious conversation too. For instance I don’t really think they ever knew about my family situation. The next few days will be interesting. We have so much on our plates. I’m imagining that by Thursday we should heal about the deal we are making with a television production company. The people that are representing us in this deal are really going to be helping us as well to get a podcast in the works, so that should be exciting. There are also two different publishers now interested in speaking with us so that should be cool. And the branding project is also out there spinning. So all said, we will return to the states not having really lost any money on this trip. If anything the coffers might be a bit fuller for it. And we will be having a good time, hopefully, working on new and interesting projects. I surely do not need to reinvent any wheels. And we should have a settlement too by summer. So that is the hope, in any case.

I really have to get a handle on my writing schedule because I have been delayed. I want to make sure that I hit all the marks in writing the next round of books and also I have to start working on the written elements of the collection. The good thing is that I’ll be in branding mode, hopefully, if this fashion project comes to pass. I also need to step up my own profile with this very Blague. I do believe it is time to make a go of that. Not having to reinvent the wheel but to certainly represent to the people what this day might be about for the next several weeks and really get a starter kit going based simply on that very thing. Why do any more than muse for a couple of days on what we have said and then spend ten days writing new thoughts as they arise. The process will need to be underway, soon, in any case, and this could be a healthy way to get the ball really moving. That is one idea anyway. I do believe there might be some great benefit in this process. I never ever want to feel that I am behind and so I will try to speed the plow as best I can toward some sense of accomplishment in this. I don’t ever want to get caught off guard. The starter kits alone provide a great amount of information. I will put on my list to review the process I already began on that score and we will work very hard to make that kind of thing happen. I don’t see why I can’t spend an hour a day on this process. In fact I know that I really should. It will also help me in the long run when I sit down to come through everything I have. That is the true purpose of the process. I mustn’t forget anything I’m saying. I think if I just stick with this program everything will go according to plan.



Paris, Day Forty One of Sixty. And Day Thirteen of Bikram. I went by myself and had Queta as a teacher. Cool name. Class was very good not as hard as Martine’s whose I will take with S. and A. tomorrow (ouch). I came back and got a little bit of writing done. S. had done all the shopping, really. And then A. arrived and we all had a little coffee then walked to lunch at the Little Café. Cote d’agneau. S. had cod. A. a steak and salad. They shared a soupe au marrons. But I just felt weirded out at the idea of three people sharing the steak. Yesterday’s Super Tuesday results plus Chris Matthews resigning, plus the political nightmares plus the virus concerns: it just feels so depressing and dystopian and nearly apocalyptic. And I can tell S. is even more disturbed than I am. We strolled and bought some water and wine then we came back and worked for hours and hours and really made major headway and had certain ideas sorted out, or at least addressed, and we will soon have everything pretty well mapped out I would imagine. Very productive. And then we headed, taking a long wet walk, to the 6eme to some fragrance shop on the rue Bonaparte, then to one of our old 1980s watering holes La Palette for Aperol spritzes. Things got very cranky because the Uber wasn’t showing to pick us up; and we had to walk in the rain; and S. was being a bit urgh. We found a cab but she didn’t like the driver but we had to take it anyway and he was all bent out of shape. I just asked for him to end any conversation which he did. Then we got back to the appt. and I started to make dinner and otherwise put all the hors d’oeuvres and other goodies on the table. Griet showed up slightly early and she and A. got along like a house on fire. I wish I understood that expression. We had lovely radishes and hummus. Then salade with dill and salmon and sautéed tomatoes, followed by a bunch of cheese and chocolate. We started with some champers A. sprung for then moved through many bottles of red wine. G. was so very funny, retelling stories from her early modeling days and we laughed like crazy. After she left, S. went to bed soon after and A. and I stayed up for a bit talking about her private life.

I remember thinking I’m just one of the girls in a way. Sometimes I don’t even know if there are such things as genders. It is way harder to make connections with other men. There is always so much posturing that occurs. Gay men can be different. Straight men have to have a something to bond over. We are both into this sport. We are both like this kind of music. We do this activity. Or some such. It’s quite odd. Otherwise they themselves are folded into what is essentially a matriarchy anyway. Anyway I have some odd musing to do. And none of this will make sense to you but you’re not really here anyway. Estate 7. Libra. Cardinal Air. Light. Scales. Balance. Music. Apollo. Astraea. Evening. Venus. Pink TK. Swans. Laurel. Lyre. White Poplar. Prophesy. High Priestess. Daphne. Order. Peace. I haven’t had a stroke. I’m working through some ideas. And I have come to the conclusion that the original way I perceived this won’t really work. We should tell the story of each estate and then underneath list all the associated items to date. Even those we have yet to do.Perhaps. O. ElementalsSignature Chain :  [description]Suit(e) Chain : Staves (fire), Coins (earth), Swords (air), Cups (water)Stellium KeeperAster : the twelve-pointed star.Orb: crystal elipsed by gold band studded with (begs a question) Precious Stones by Estate. Botanical Wand Charms by Estate. Sign Charms by EstatePlanet Charms by Estate


Paris, Day Forty Two of Sixty. And Day Fourteen of Bikram. I woke up at the crack after really only three hours of sleep but I felt energized so I quietly cleaned the kitchen and packed my yoga bag. S. got up. Actually she wasn’t sleeping apparently but when she saw me writing agent back she came through where A. was sleeping in the second salon. A. can apparently sleep through anything. We had some coffee and set off for yoga, where Martine was the teacher. Martine is the hardest teacher but I think I also like her the best. It was surely difficult and I am struggling as I edge up to the halfway point in my thirty classes in thirty days challenge. But you just have to cycle through it. I am pretty much doing all the postures now. I am only backing off on standing head to knee because it could be a trigger for injury. When I go tomorrow I will tell the teacher I’m just about at my limit which I am. We now have three publishers interested. I heard back from the branding project and I think I budgeted too much. So we will just dial it all back and see what’s what. I had a feeling that I might have been asking for too much but S. thinks it’s best that I have set that precedent but we shall see. After class I did some writing. It is now clear to me that my neck, ear, throat issues are all the same thing and that the yoga is really bringing it all out. This is a good thing. I really have to sit down and figure out when I’m going to be able to do what. I’m going to have to move up the branding work and take something off the schedule. I would also like a weekend to go through all my receipts and see what’s what. Also I think I need a couple weeks off, now, to be honest. I’m going to redo my calendar and work on other stuff. I think we are having second thoughts about being in London give the virus scare. It really is quite a huge thing. S. is having dinner in the hood with Griet; I did some water and wine shopping and I’m just sitting here wondering what to do with my time. I will go around the corner then have dinner by myself at La Fronde because I haven’t eaten enough raw meat apparently. I really need to rethink what I’m doing with all of this but it’s okay. I will sit down and look at the calendar.

It’s stupid to sit here in any case and struggle to think of things to say. I’m much better off getting on with things another way. I brought these French books here but haven’t read them. I think I will try and stash them somewhere in the house. Otherwise I’ll just pack them up and bring them back. I do think I will have more stuff now going home. And I would like to do a little shopping. We shall see. I’m so sad to leave and yet at the same time I’m worried about getting stuck here. I’m looking at my school note book and on the first day of class I wrote: “Maybe you can start a totally new course and have your fee go to that,” in reaction to S. thinking she was too advanced for the class which it ended up she wasn’t. Une grotte is a cave in nature. Une cave es ten dessous de la maison. Rencontrer is the first time you. LLL is writing me. I think Se voir apres the premiere recontre. Words with tion endings are always feminine and words with ment endings are always masculine. I was reading this today:



Paris, Day Forty Three of Sixty. And Day Fifteen of Bikram. I went alone today and had Jeanne as teacher. S. went off to meet Dr. Kimberly who is here from Milan express to discuss all social media concerns. When I got back from class I was pretty wiped. I had a bit of spicy soup and then we went food shopping which is one of the funnest things to do in France; I mean that sincerely. Especially when it involves cheese. I still have a lot on my mind and I’m feeling kind of unsettled. Apporter and amener are about “venir” or bringing, people and things respectively. Emporter and emener are all about “aller” and thus taking people and things, respectively. A bouquin is something one reads for pleasure and is something informal. A livre is more formal. The verbs are lire and bouqiner. Anyway, we then went for a café at Terre and got a text that G. was at La Fronde. We headed over and I got a weird vibe from the staff which is typically much more friendly; and all I could think was woops did I get weird there last night. I hope not. I had dinner alone and drank a bottle of wine myself. I was so exhausted I didn’t even remember ordering dessert until a copy of my receipt jogged my memory and then of course I did. I came upstairs and crashed out completely I didn’t even hear S. come back from dinner with G. who was supposed to be too busy to hang out today. It was her last day of work but they sort of kicked her out of the showroom as everyone but the press office people who live in Paris had gone back to Antwerp and the ones based here wanted to close up shop for the weekend. So G. came upstairs and wrote her sales orders by hand; and I unpacked all the groceries and cleaned the kitchen and did a little bit of work.

We headed out around seven thirty taking Etienne Marcel all the way through the Place des Victoires and down Richelieu and Moliere to Cibus where Cricket was taking us for dinner. I love places like this when someone else is footing the bill. It reminds me of Dave back in the day except for the fact that Dave had disgusting food and this place was really quite yummy. But it’s all smoke and mirrors nonetheless. The Napolitano chef Elio is quite a character who comes around and basically tells you what you’re going to eat. Or rather what he has on hand for you. The appetizers are all easily assembled trattoria style stuff, and really quite good. I had a sea urchin pasta which was exactly that: a plate of plain pasta with one tiny sea urchin on a shell. It didn’t quite mix in and though the pasta was perfectly cooked store bought variety, it had zero zing to it. The place was filled with weird fancy folks, strange sort of mafia feeling couples speaking Italian and young, loud fashion types—bearded straight guys I’d say although who can tell in France. It was definitely a scene, at least in the minds of the other patrons. It was really fun and we played along. But again, if I were just out for the night with S. on a date I wouldn’t be able to work so hard to stroke the ego of the owner who never shows a menu but certainly shows up with a bill. In short it is the kind of place that could only exist in the 1ere arrondissement of Paris and nowhere else. Even though the place would have opened in 2002, there was something completely 1992 about it. We sort of got to talking about business but then again not really. I’m going to have to be really blunt and say something like this, oh dear:

Thanks again for a fantastic evening—it was so much fun. So to confirm what all we discussed: I have managed to switch things around and I can focus these next two weeks on getting the words moving for the branding and press. I’m envisioning a number of blocks of text on the themes I originally outlined and will be using a guide. Of course there will be a singular bio. There will be text that speaks to your/company’s philosophy and then there will be text focused on the actual product itself which would be pretty much informed by whatever imagery you simultaneously come up with for the brand packet. We will also address the store and the curation angle.

I think it all needs to be beefy enough to start and, depending on how you see this—as a folding item or as a loose-leaf package of pages that can be clipped or fastened or even tied with a ribbon—that is for you to decide. We had talked about your collecting any collateral from other designers and such that you thought might be inspiriting. If you have things like that you want to scan and send me it will give me an idea of what your planning for the overall package and how words are incorporated into the overall design. And again, when it comes to the nutsy boltsy bits focused on the clothes I will write more mood and descriptions with those images in front of me so that the words and images connect. I will also draft a first press release on the store. So gather your thoughts and any collateral you have to send and let me know your budget for this so I can plan the work (and work the plan!) with that clearly in mind.



Paris, Day Forty Four of Sixty. And Day Sixteen of Bikram. So I have reached the summit of my thirty day challenge. So the trick is to not die or injure myself during the next fifteen days and to make this part of my lifestyle. I didn’t get enough sleep last night so I’m a little wonky. Got up at dawn and cleaned up and made some soup and got some necessary wording drafted and so forth. We have another publisher interested (which isn’t really that interesting to us) and I know it is making us feel like why so much interest in this go round while we didn’t have any to speak of in the last. It’s always the more meh places that are the most high maintenance I feel. And we still will get to the bottom of the Harper fiasco, that is a promise I have made to myself. I wrote this last night in response to an editor asking what we’ve been doing since we last published a book.

Since the publication of our last book, we have focused on our private international clientele. Due to the economic downturn a decade ago and the general purging of horoscope columns from magazines, we decided to focus on  areas of our business where decision making about us was 100% determined by us. We would appear on TV and radio (most notably as recurring guests on Chelsea Handler’s show) and we wrote and performed our own shows at Joe’s Pub at The Public Theater, at A.R.T. in Cambridge and other places. Stella got a Masters in Psychology, Quinn started a non-profit performance festival. We began publishing our own yearly horoscope guides and otherwise focused on our work, theories and study. We wanted a new book idea to bubble up organically from our work with clients, and thus bridge into personal development. We have seen our private consultancy thrive and are now based in Paris as well as the U.S.. We are also in the process of fully launching a fine jewelry collection (which originated as a capsule creative concept a decade ago). We decided to publish our Haute Astrology ebooks under our own steam while we have seen the sales of our first two books grow in the recent past (as astrology has become more popular in the zeitgeist and a younger generation of writers/astrologers credit Starsky + Cox for having ushered in this new “mysticore” and “now age” movement. We have been credited with inspiring Eleanor Catton, specifically, in writing her Booker Prize winning novel, The Luminaries and there is another work in the pipeline from a major author who will also be crediting us. Recently, Starsky + Cox have been approached to consult a major TV production company in the creation of a new scripted show, their second book Cosmic Coupling being optioned in the process.

Mostly, I’m going to super back off today. I will do my yoga, have a caviar omelet (annoyingly the guys at the produce stand failed to put chives we bought into our bag and I really wanted that flavor in my omelet). We will have a salad in any case. And then we are going to put on sneakers and head out for a long, long walk to the 7eme where we can end up having a little something at the Cafe du Marche, if they are open today that is…..I’m picking up the thread! I found some chives on the way home from yoga. I think the word is ciboulette, so that will be the word of the day. I am not going to give up the momentum of being here on this side of the pond. We came back and had those omelets with a salad and then got ready to head out. The trick is always avoiding some of the larger, more crowded parts of town, like rue du Rivoli and also anywhere around Notre Dame or Saint Michel. So we are going to go east to go west and cross the Ile St. Louis near Pont Louis Phillipe and come out at Maubert and take St. Germain to rue Bonaparte and then rue de L’U. all the way to Palais Bourbon and then get onto St. Dominique. As we enter the old hood I get such a Proustian wave it is incredible. It has of course often happened when I’ve revisited this primal place in Paris for me. I immediately taste Dunhill cigarettes inside my head. Our gorgeous old hotel is no longer itself—it was the Hotel St. Domenico and now it is the Saint Dominque and has no flavor. The same with our once favorite of all restaurants Thoumieux which has been redecorated and has a Michelin star and looks just awful. They had these super seventies rooms in the hotel upstairs—the bar as you entered the restaurant doubled as the place to leave and get your keys, typically from the matronly hostess (who was probably the mother of) or the owner M. Bausselert, forever wearing his leather waistcoat. Anyway the rooms were probably the equivalent of eighty euro and now they are five hundred a night. That is almost what one would pay at the Meurice or something. Ridiculous. Otherwise the quartier has changed very little. We head direct to one of our favorite places, the Café du Marche on the rue Clerc. The food is good but mainly it is just the most weekend-people-watching place you can imagine. Meanwhile, starting on the Boulevard St. Germaine I said to S. that I feel like everyone looks like a Diane Arbus. And once I said it we both kept noticing how this perspective was unfolding, taking hold. It culminated, once we crossed passed Invalides, at a corner café-tabac where there were two big elderly ladies with bright red hair, twins no doubt, dressed in brightly colored multilayered outfits, with hats, they’ve certainly have had since the late seventies or eary eighties. Walking down our old rue, just passed our old hotel and fave Thoumieux, a vintage red sportscar pulled out onto Saint Dominique and it was the same one we spotted, and which I photographed, back home here in the Marais two weekends ago (or was it last week) with the same young driver tearing along. At that moment, my iphone sort of vibrated in my hand for no apparent reason and it was exactly 3:33, which is our familiar and constant magic time and number. Not sure what message we were being sent, exactly, but the number represents the muses who number nine—it is also the triple goddess in triplicate—all of them being female archetypes of the current sign of Pisces, ruled by Neptune with its trident.

I suppose I can finish this blow by blow tomorrow…..



Paris, Day Forty Five of Sixty. And Day Seventeen of Bikram. Time is really flying. Anyway I’ll get more into my feelings in just a bit. But let me finish telling you what I was telling you where I left off yesterday…

So here we were yesterday at the Café du Marche and the parade of Arbus characters never stopped. I had long ago articulated my feelings on her work and how she managed to capture something so extraordinary, which was the ordinary becoming the grotesque. Her work happened at a time when you would walk around and on the streets you would encounter mostly older people still hanging onto an outmoded way of dress and overall self-presentation. Her subjects so often were like moldering dolls or marionettes forgotten and found in a truck in the attic. The world was in transition and the relics were still about, walking around, zombie like, unaware that time was almost finished leaving them behind. Well I think what I learned on our walk from the fourth to the fifth to the sixth to the seventh whereupon we installed ourselves in our favorite market café was that: we are in a point in our history where this is all happening again. It makes me want to grab my camera and return on this walk at the exact time next week and see what images I might capture. That part of the seventh is filled with aging folks (makes one think there might be some available apartments coming up—I’m just kidding—not really). I didn’t take any pictures yesterday, though, weirdly. I guess I wasn’t in the head. I mentioned passing these two red-headed older twin ladies dressed in an eccentric style, part Colette, part Vivienne Westwood. I did ask S. if she thought it was polite to go back and ask to take their photo—she said I could make it a flattering gesture—I don’t think I had it in me to be nuanced and not invasive so I chickened. Out. I like the word gesture suddenly. I used to like reading Gertrude Stein. Her words made me happy in their spare absurdity.

Invading thoughts: It might be a good idea to go back to the very beginning of my Blagues and this might be something of a brilliant idea: actually let me put this into words others might quite understand. Hello All. I don’t know if you know this but: I have been writing a daily blog for the past five years. It is called the Cosmic Blague (blaguemeans joke in French) and it was originally intended as a catalyst for drawing out stories from my life, which has been filled with extraordinary synchronicities, so-called coincidences, indisputable divine interventions and, yes, moments when I seem to have been the butt of the Universe’s joke, all such experience which  Kate Bush tunefully called the “strange phenomenon.” I began writing my Blague with the start of thenew astrological year, on the Spring Equinox, 2015, a time when I was feeling more than a bit kicked to the curb by the Cosmos. I wanted a daily ritual of accomplishment and I wanted to tap my well of storytelling but I had a hard time starting. So I gave myself some specific inspiration. In astrology, each of the twelve signs encompasses thirty degrees of the Zodiac adding up to 360 degrees of this cosmic circle, corresponding (close enough) to the 356/6 days of the year. Some time ago, an astrologer and a seer channeled what are called the Sabian Symbols to express the individual nature of each of the Zodiac’s 360 degrees. So, year one, I mused on these symbols, to inspire thoughts I could type down, not only on the symbols themselves but also as a trigger for the personal stories from my experience that I wanted to relate. That was year one. In the years between then and now the Blague took on many forms and expressed a number of purposes. Sometimes it inspired incredible creative flow. Other times it made me feel super locked up and I would find other ways to keep going, including using it as a personal journal, a platform for other writing I had to do—shows, book proposals, articles, branding concepts—or as a way to vent and even gossip about people, places and things, though disguised for the most part—sometimes I would accidentally name folks (woops, that wasn’t good, especially when I got called out). There were spates when it just got really deconstructed and a bit Dada, but I kept going. So here, as I start the sixth year of daily writing I have decided on another way to trick myself into being prolific enough: I’m going to start reading my Blague entries (which I’ve never done) five a day—If I read that many I will have read them all by the end of this next year—and I’m going to cut and paste the best bits for each day’s entry, while writing new thoughts that stem from doing just that. Let’s call it taking inventory of my thoughts to date and “development” of any work that might warrant it. I have a great deal of other writing on my plate this year and won’t have a lot of free time for my Blague (sometimes I would spend hours a day on this); and so if I get really in the weeds with other work, these simple cut and pastes can function as re-runs with a little introduction by yours truly. This has been a really worthwhile process for me and, in typical woo-woo fashion, I will say: I think that by keeping on writing as I have done, mainly, for myself, even though other writing gigs or deals mightn’t have been forthcoming, that I created a magnetic force field to attract other opportunities to me. Because, as I say, it is going to be a busy year. That said I have not promoted this Blague at all, hardly. At first I was posting my postings to a Facebook page, but I stopped doing that. I may again; who knows. Anyway, just letting you know what’s what and hopefully, as I distill the Blague this year to highlight what I perceive to be the “best of” what I’ve done in the past, it might warrant other readers beside myself!

That was a long invading thought…so I think I will stretch the original story about our walk on Saturday into tomorrow’s Blague entry as well. Such a Saturday it was….



Paris, Day Forty Six of Sixty. And Day Eighteen of Bikram. Nearly two thirds the way through! Anyway I wanted to get right back to where I was on Saturday, sitting with Stella, at the Café du Marche, which has these red tables. We shared some red wine and sparkling water, in a red bottle, and she was wearing a poppy red shirt. I was seeing red in the best way. No Saturday has been this pure a Saturday in distant memory. Remember Saturdays? I don’t think I’ve felt like this since the early 1990s and I’m not so sure I didn’t have preoccupations then that would have prevented the purity of emotion on this day. We had done our exercise, we had eaten caviar omelets, we had walked three or four miles through Paris and now we were seated, in the late afternoon sipping wine and water and ordering some soup and frites and fried nuggets of fresh cod. As mentioned, the people watching was epic. Everybody was an Arbus who lived in the neighborhood, wearing clothes from forty years ago, and walking their dogs, grabbing last minute alimentaries from the market, some in slippers. We had p’tit cafés and set back out and strolled to Avenue Bosquet and down toward the river. There was this sort of designer hock shop with an Hermes section. We didn’t go in but it was duly noted. It felt a bit warmer out. We turned right onto rue de L’U and strolled the greige world of old and new buildings that characterizes this bit of the quartier. There is the Erik Satie center and some consulat that are modern and respectively (and sometimes at once) very cool and an eye sore. We zigged to the quai and zagged past the American Church and strolled across the pont des Invalides, noticing how flooded the Seine was—two boys were trying to ride their bikes through it—later on the TV news we would see an emission about it warning people about getting washed away by the current—hope they were ok—I suppose we might have heard if not (then again we don’t really watch or read the news).

It was more than just warmer we decided. It was suddenly the return of the chaleur of Spring, for real. There was no more chill in the air. As we crossed the river coming upon the Petit and Grand Palais, and through gardens that were connecting this last bit of the Champs Élyssées to the Tuilleries, it suddenly dawned on us, in a field of flowers and blossoming trees, that we had indeed turned that corner. We crossed the Place de la Concorde and diagnaled toward the carousel in the twightlight to take some pictures and out of the garden, crossed Rivoli, up Castiglioni, making a right onto St. Honore. It had been apparent how empty everywhere is. It was Saturday night and there were hardly any people or cars and even strolling on this narrow, usually crowded rue, it was sparse of humans and the prevailing sound was that conversational birds who seemed to be saying good night and celebrating this sense of returning Spring all at once. We had an easy time slipping through the gallery at Palais Royale and through Place des Victoires down Etienne Marcel. We thought maybe we’d go up toe Bretagne and Barav, so we did another diagonal northeast along Tiquetonne, but it actually parallels Etienne Marcel and empties out on Turbigo just where it meets Sebastapol. Here though, between that large road and rue Beaubourg, we did a little exploring—rue du Bourg Abbé, across Saint-Martin, then Montmorency over to Temple and down to get some wine and water and crackers at the fromage lady. And so we had a picnic: celery and radish and taziki and cheeses and fruit, a delicious organic Sancerre and a usual red. It was pretty heavenly. We fell asleep watching Grace and Frankie which is the worst TV show but the best sleep aid. And after being awakened by outside noise and upstairs creaking, I fell into bed and slept until seven thirty, enough time to slowly get ready for a nine o’clock Bikram with Martine, the smiling torturer, in a very difficult class. After that we grabbed some fish and a few veggies and came home and had (second day in a row) caviar omelets with chive and crème fraiche and a green salad, and I continue to get my soup moving. I wrote through a great many thoughts here while making a fresh spinach soup. And by that time I was ready for a nice little stroll. To be clear Martine’s yoga class was yesterday. Not to be confused with the one taught today by Marine.

I woke up today feeling as if all this exercise is working on me deeply, not just physically but emotionally as well. Last night ended on a tetchy note with a day-long conversation about the failing internet being too much for me to continue. I made a lovely salmon with avocado and roasted tomato and salad, a spinach soup that we will eat today, and a pear compote that I put on yoghurt this morning. We did a bunch of shopping for supplies, water mainly, which we are drinking by the gallons as the hot yoga continues. I keep saying to myself that I will take it easy in class but I never do. I had this urge to look up Gertrude Stein and found that the Salon is on rue de Fleurus. We will have to have a Gertrude Stein day. Tonight we have a rezzie at Le Mazemay on rue de Montmorency, after a California client and chat with potential publisher Hachette. I still cannot believe that Anna has not been in touch with us. Or Jackie for that matter. Something is truly amiss here. Anyway not my problem. I’m going to be doing a great bit of self promo as time unfolds and I’m going to let all the answers come in today. I’ve initiated a plan to go by Merci as I have yet to go there. We will do so after a lunch of soup. Which we did. We didn’t buy anything but we had a citron tart and some coffee and then went to Maison Plisson for some vinegar, oat milk and wine. You know, the three major food groups. It is the Supermoon today and things feel very odd outside. I’m going to stop here and tell you more tomorrow.



Paris, Day Forty Seven of Sixty. And Day Nineteen of Bikram. So picking up from where we were yesterday, we strolled back from the Boul. de Beaumarchais and worked until we met with an L.A. client by Skype. This client is someone who has been struggling so she has been our tithing client this year, which always feels nice to do. Then we had a talk with an editor from Hachette which we felt went really well—fingers crossed. We then set out to this restaurant which didn’t look that great. We hovered outside debating before finally going in. They asked us if we wanted an English menu. The place was empty ‘cept for two American couples, one of which didn’t know how to order wine. We were sure we weren’t going to stay but asked if there was a bio wine in any case. This threw the waitress for a loop. I don’t know, she said, I don’t drink. Great. We got out of there. She was really weird. We ended up at a waaaay overpriced but delicious Lebanese place. It was the Virgo “Worm” Supermoon and I forgot to look up. The prosepect of writing a book, while fantastic (if paid well) is also really daunting given our present projects. But it isn’t impossible. I just need to speed some things up and slow others down. That is also okay. I’m not sure we should be launching anything risky until the world stabilizes a bit in any case. We were laughing really hard. There was a skinny couple in the corner exhibiting their love for each other. It was fairly revolting. I have to calm myself down even further. Don’t even remember my head hitting the pillow last night. It was “annoying French person day” yesterday. Also a result of the Supermoon, je quois. People at class and on the streets wouldn’t fucking move out of the way. It was like, hello, other people. I feel really alienated from folks back home, something else I will need to work on. There is so much on the plate right now it’s crazy. I want this TV thing to happen quicker than it is. Calm, patience. It’s not easy.

I must remember to look at the moon tonight if they skies are clear. We are definitely going to stay in. Woke up today with a frog in my throat. And with an increasing need to get back out to the stores and get in some supplies. Maison Plisson has those ready to eat weird jars of very French, mostly Southern, food like Cassolet. I asked S. how Dr. Kimberly got back to Milan. She didn’t. She and her boyfriend went to the Canary Islands instead for two weeks. Italy is on total lockdown. I do feel like we are living in some sort of movie version of life. We are going to Monop’ before yoga class to get in some supplies. I have a haircut appointment today. That will feel good. We will do a big shop on Rambuteau. I still feel terrible about losing the Burberry plaid shopping bag. I need also to look at the schedule and decide on doing more with Tim. There was an email this morning from Hachette saying we are the real deal and wishing we could write the book faster. Give me a book deal first before you start asking these kinds of questions please. We could be leaving Europe with a book and TV deal. That is if they let us leave Europe. If we can’t “get out” for some reason I will just go to the south of France until it blows over. We could then take the train from Marseille to London just in time for a flight. Anyway we are here for another two weeks so I’m going to try and enjoy it and make a menu of things we might need. We might think about freezing some meat or fish if there are any more threats of things closing. I think that would be quite wise.

Michael taught yoga today and it was the hottest class yet. For the first time, I found myself hiding in postures. For some reason Susan Goldberg telling me how R.L. used to purposefully have unsafe sex with young guys with the aim of infecting them came up in my savasana. What a horrible thought and what a horrible being. Every artist I’ve brought to Provincetown, it seems, has been appropriated by either his low-life band of miscreants or by the likes of J.D. (West), including those I once labelled best friends. It is also those so-called best friends “fault” if that’s the word you wish to use. It matters so little now. First I do think karma is a bitch and those who have cancel-cultured me will feel the burn at some point; and anyway they have freed me from having to even be remotely emotionally responsible to them. Anyway this has all become so increasingly irrelevant it isn’t even real. After yogues, we came back and ate some delicious soup. Usually the cleaner comes today but she’s sick (uh-oh) and Alex from the agency had said he was going to drop by while she was here for “two minutes” to do something for a client (which was vague). We were here when he arrived with two other people!!! He was showing the apartment. It was very odd and were weren’t super happy about that, but we didn’t show it. Still, it won’t happen again. I then went for a hair cut which was also super odd. When I say that I was in and out in fifteen minutes including getting my hair shampooed and blow-dried I kid you not. S. didn’t even have time to go and get a coffee. We then went to BHV in search of aprons we never found, but we did get jelly insoles for our shoes. We headed to Terre and had a coffee and then to the produce guys for fruits and veggies, the butchers for a roast chicken, Bacchus for wine and to Mme. Fromage for everything else. There wasn’t much time between unpacking all that and our call with yet another interested publisher. We have now had two conversations. The Hay people buggered off which is fine. I hope someone out there can afford us. The Cricket thing got sorted. We are still waiting on the TV stuff. All in all it is a creepy day. We are increasingly, day by day, being spooked by the virus thing. I don’t know what to do or think about it any more to be honest.



Paris, Day Forty Nine of Sixty. And Day Twenty-One of Bikram. Woke up on the sofa thirsty as hell and guzzled some water and fell back in an actual bed. Woke up around eight o’clock, Stella already made coffee, and the first thing she tells me is about the menace’s speech and his new travel ban. What the actual. Having him as president is like growing up with my sister. They share the same birthday. As does Boy George and the accountant we just fired a couple of days ago. Anyway, this will be the topic of conversation all day to the exclusion of pretty much anything else: Should we try to leave early. Should we try to stay in Paris longer. Should we go to London as planned. All of it. I hate this president more than any other person, living or dead, I have ever known. It is not spiritual to wish ill on anyone so I will stop short of that but I have to say that I do not see a very rosy future for this subhuman menace who found his way into the ultimate spotlight. Imagine being that famous, having that much attention, and only ever, increasingly, day after day, being famous for being more and more hated. He is a drug addict. He is the most dangerous of sorts because he hates himself so much and is so bankrupt and desperate a person that he will think nothing of taking all of the rest of us with him. I search my feelings on all of this and I just think I don’t care. I am not afraid to stay in Paris. I’m not even afraid of getting the virus. I just want to stay strong and healthy and keep my face (and throat and chest) in the sunlight. This is probably the weirdest day yet of the trip because you get the sense that everyone on the planet, practically, is thinking about the same thing as you. I do think it is the beginning of the end but not for us; for this president and for all the criminals with whom he keeps company, starting with his sick family. We are not going to stand for this sort of handling of a dire situation. Anyway it is one of the most surreal days of my over half a century.

Went to yoga as planned. Kirsten taught the class. She is really old-school and smooth and never leaves the podium and I truly love her class (maybe more than anybody elses?) it’s possible. We came home after and had a mache salad and some chicken lefties. I am in social media battles with the Bernie or Bust people. And the poison is being leached. This one guy from Provincetown whom I run from if I see him coming lest I get hijacked for hours listening to his monotonous monologues that always hinge on poverty consciousness—you know how some really boring people have this knack for not letting you get a word in edgewise and manage to keep you captive for upwards of an hour? Well that would be this guy, who spokes way too much pot and doesn’t know his own uninterestingness. Well this douchebag went for me on social media today accusing me of being obliterating toward Bernie bros when all I said was that, unlike every other Democratic contingent, the Bernie-or-Bust crowd never gets over their bratty loses to the point of refusing to vote for other candidates when you don’t see this from any other Democratic group whose candidate loses or pulls out. I had this one guy, Martin Belk, who fancies himself a playwright, already go for me, gushing obscenities onto my page. I invited him to instead unfriend and block me which he did. These Bernie brats are effing ridiculous. Bernie isn’t even a Democrat. And he has the worst voting record in the Senate. Anyway, I’m stepping away from all that. Macron delivered a speech last night and basically Paris is closing up shop and we have to figure out what it is we are going to do. I suppose I’ll look on the Americans in Paris FB page and see what’s what. I am guessing we won’t be having that dinner party next week. Or will we? Everything is so up in the air. I think we will find out which stores are or are not closing. I might take a walk around the neighborhood. I’m glad we got out and went to museums and dinner the other day. We have to keep pounding liquid and try to get some work done. Everything will be delayed. We are so fortunate that we have a little resource right now. We have to be a source of strength for other people.

We watched a bit of news last night and none of it is really all that good. We will have to decide whether or not we go to London as planned a week from Monday, for a week, or if we should stay here for at least that long. I am going to suggest that we try to go week to week and not rebook the Eurostar until such time as we know what’s happening here. It is so easy to imagine one is ill at times like this. I have a dull headache and my digestion is a bit flukey, which are symptoms mostly of everything else besides this virus, but there you have it. I redid my schedule yet one more time but I’m not sure if I will even be able to stick to that. We are in such a state of flux it’s difficult to know exactly what to do. Anyway it looks likely we will stay put for the next two weeks and just power through and get things done. If we happen to get ill in that short amount of time we will try to stay healthy enough so that we don’t take anything too hard. I am sure that Pesky and Edie will not come to visit. I wonder if even Yvan will come to dinner. We did manage to have a fun time tonight in spite of it all and I suppose I’m grateful for the solidarity we are experiencing. I am super done with certain people places and things in my life and that’s not a lie. I must remain strong in my resolve to hit all my marks. My hope is that we will have some word back from someone about something this week. Meanwhile nobody is working in their office and everything will be pushed back. So long as we live this will work fine for us.



Paris, Day Fifty of Sixty…(or Sixty Seven). And Day Twenty-Two of Bikram. I have been having the weirdest anxiety dreams. Last night I awoke to our slipping into a beautiful warm and tropical sea only to realize the current was so strong it was zooming us out to sea. Bing. Awake. My heart pounding. I was aware of a vague sinus headache on left side of my face, over my eye, which I still have some ten hours later while writing this. S. didn’t sleep well either. Had we only known we would have just stayed up and talked instead of taking to the separate corners of our abode. We are really trying to figure out the itinerary in light of all things closing in Paris and whether or not, if even, Bikram is a good idea. But we go anyway and Rachel is teaching and she is tough. After yoga we decide to go to Miznam for lunch but it looks a bit dirty to be honest so we head to the Little Café but aren’t feeling that, really, either. So we take the long stroll to our sure fire spot, the Café de la Nouvelle Mairie where things never go wrong. It is a beautiful day and we get there in twenty minutes flat which is some kind of record. It is sunny and airy and we need this. We past two young blond identical twin girls sitting at a café on the Ile Saint Louis and then as we cross the second bridge into the 5eme a musician on electric piano is playing le Chanson des Jumelles. But of course. We climb Mont St. Genevieive and settle into a banquette. I’m having velouté of celery and saucisse avec pois blancs. S. has radicchio with anchovy followed by morue. We share some cheese and a Gaillac and gazeuze. We are trying to forget what is going on around us. We are trying not to be totally freaked out by life. It is Friday the 13thand we are already a bit spooked.

I woke up this morning to someone telling me, in answer to my questioning what he would do if I posted the obscentities on his wall that he posted on mine. And he said he would decapitate me. Isn’t that nice? It’s very quiet on social media just as it is on the street. I am making a fresh chicken stock and otherwise trying to keep the mood light and lively. It’s good that we don’t have to do very much tonight. We won’t even have to do any more food shopping until tomorrow. By Monday it will be a different world here and we will just go from there. The big question is should we try to get out now or should we stay and wait it out. I for one think we should stay put. Even if we don’t go back until May I’d be fine with that. By then it will be warm and the worst will probably be over. I don’t know this for a fact but it is my feeling. There are now many options on the table. Anyway we did end up going out for little bits of stuff like some frisee and blue cheese and caviar and  and crackers soaps and stuff to fill in. Dinner was basically cheese and chocolate. I thought I bought crème de marron awhile back but it turned out to be puree de marron which I can use in a soup. We watched the news which is all bad and then some Friends reruns again just to keep our spirits light and lively. None of the deals finalized by this Friday 13thand gosh oh golly but things are looking bleak. We are getting pressured by family and friends now to leave Paris. Just as everyone said just a day ago we were probably better off staying. I don’t know what to believe anymore. All I know is that I am truly, truly sad to leave Paris.

Trying to take stock of where I am, cut losses and look on the bright side. More Bernie brats coming for me. But so many more people agreeing with me. It doesn’t matter. People are going to be dying from this virus while everyone bemoans the fact that their individual performances are being cancelled. All I want is for people to be safe and to understand how to get through these sorts of things: Together. That is the only way. Young people will feel immune to this and make very few changes, not caring all that much about who they might be affecting/infecting. I’m so glad we packed in as much as we did so far this trip, because it will not be ending on that high a note. Pesky and Edie will not be coming. There is no social gathering of S., J., S, J. for tattooing (which is a small grace). I guess they will still go on their holiday. Would be great to say hey we can go but probably not the best idea. What will we do on the Cape, I wonder. I am so over being there on a social level, though I still find it dreamy when it comes to natural environment. All will be one big long taking stock over the next couple of days as info trickles in.



Paris, Day Fifty One of Sixty…(or Sixty Seven). And Day Twenty-Three of Bikram. Today was another challenging day. Neither of us know what to do. No work is being done because all our energy is going into figuring out what to do (which we never manage to do). We just go moment to moment. I made two soups in the morning then we headed off to Bikram class, which was harder and hotter than typical. There was this weird guy in class who went around telling people not to talk to each other. It was very strange. After class I made some caviar and chive omelets with a radicchio salad. And then we went for a stroll up to Barav to buy some organic wines. The news keeps changing. There was this announcement that the orange menace was adding UK and Ireland to the banned list. I don’t know what we are going to do in regard to travel. We have a flight scheduled in two weeks from Heathrow to Boston. It seems we can’t just extend our stay. We’d have to commit to being away another month, which means another five weeks. I’m actually fine with that I think. Anyway we had some snacks, crackers and Hercule, and a beautiful honey-flavored white, watching our favorite show, with a lovely salad of frisée with an anhovy dressing and this amazing blue cheese. Then we heard that all shops were being closed as of tomorrow but for food shops. So we went back out and got even more vino de vino as we only want to drink the unfiltered, bio kind and we are not sure how long Barav will be closed. We came home and ate some chocolate mousse with crème fraiche. That’s what happened. Meanwhile there is this backdrop of the unknown and uneasy. As if I’m not creeped out enough.

Saw this video of Billy who is still wearing clothes I gave him, which is also super creepy. I don’t know how or why it is people are so damned sketchy, they just are. V. has been writing to S. about the whole virus and where to be thing. I am going to keep a very low profile after once again being burned by a member of the local gentry. I just came upon a photo of myself from 2013 and was I ever thinner. Wow. I had no idea. Definitely going to pin that photo up somewhere as a reminder of how I really used to look. For inspiration not to beat myself up. I’m really saying any old shit today because all feels like whistling in the graveyard to be honest. I am trying my damnest to not only survive but to thrive through all this uncertainty. It aint easy I’ll tell you. We will hear from J. that if worse comes to worse we can stay in her London house which truly comes as a comfort. Nobody wants to get this thing. One thinks she might have it? I sincerely hope not. I do think there is a mass hysteria in the U.S. unlike here where everyone is being remarkably calm. It’s fine. I just want to ride through and if I do get sick just get mildly so. There is no reason to freak out. All one has to do is take some paracetamol and drink plenty of liquids. If I have to drink hot water and vinegar I will do that. We are laying very low and getting lots of rest. That is the trick to this thing. Otherwise there is no real point in anything. What started off as such an active and rosey time really has dissolved into nothingness. I spooked yself out for the first time going back to our stay in Shoreditch two months ago, when I lost that plaid bag I had brought with me from home. Something about that incident started this snowballing spookiness. And then we went to Italy where we were surrounded by Chinese people and already on hight alert. That was over six weeks ago but not soon after Italy was hit truly hard and I feel we dodged that particular bullet just in time. And then when we got here there was a certain abandon that has long since, now, been abandoned.

I feel the need to express myself and talk myself through all of this. I feel altered but I don’t think it is because I am infected. I think it is because my nerves are so on edge and I’ve done twenty-three days of Bikram yoga and, at this point, as they announce all these closures, I am guessing that the studio won’t be open tomorrow. I think that this can signal a turning point on any number of levels. Amid all this chaos and ignorance people are still fighting and name-calling and all that sort of thing. True colors really do come out. Anyway it does weird me out that people don’t have a clue about kindness and what it means.



Paris, Day Fifty Two of Sixty…(or Ninety Five). And Day Twenty-Four of Bikram. It’s my mother’s birthday. It’s the Ides of March. We have decisions to make about staying or leaving. I am up too early and I don’t know if there is yoga today. S. hears me stirring and calls to me and she is upset and homesick and we decide to stay awake and figure this out. I know a great part of her wants to pack and go to the airport. I am not of that mind at all. We have some coffee and talk it through and decide that we are probably going to stay in Paris.  Outside the flat we see Jose Antonio coming out of a voting center so we ask if Bikram is shut down and it is. Waaah. Today is meant to be day twenty four. He suggests I do it at home in any case. And I think I will definitely do that. Well, my mom did give a little sign already today and I don’t want to lose the momentum so I will make time before dinner today to do my own session and ring the bell that way. We get to the pharmacy just as it opens and I have a way of getting my medication sent here. I will write my doctor Monday morning I also need a way to cancel a hospital appointment. Maybe I will write a letter. I tried the email route let’s see if that yields. So we then grabbed a shopping bag and set off to buy some fish and chicken and veggies and so forth—the butcher lady speaks to us at length about making sure to get all the provisions we need. People are walking around with tons and tons of toilet paper. It isn’t quite yet the panic we are seeing in pictures coming from the states. And the weather will be warming up here a bit. I just feel that there are ways to avoid this and stay ahead. If I were to get it I would probably already have it from going to Bikram for twenty-three days straight. Then again maybe that’s what’s been keeping the virus at bay. Nan writes to say that only supermarkets are going to be open moving forward. She didn’t mean that. But it sends us back out into the streets. We buy more fish to freeze and go to Picard for some frozen burgers and shrimps and vegetables. I now have a pretty solid list of food in the house that will last us, I’m guessing, about twenty days. I’m going to write out a menu of what is currently here in house.

Sunday 3/15 Lunch: Chestnut Soup. Dinner: Salmon w/capers, mashed potatoes, frisée/radicchio salad.

Monday 3/16 Lunch: Caviar and Chive Omelet. Dinner: Poulet Roti, potatoes, peas + onions

Tuesday 3/17 Lunch: Celeriac Soup. Dinner: Ratatouille w/ rice.

Wednesday 3/18 Lunch: Salad and cheese. Dinner: Chicken and lentils

Thursday 3/19 Lunch: Celeriac Soup. Dinner: Risotto (mushroom? shrimp? pumpkin?)

Friday 3/20 Lunch: Salad. Dinner: Fish and vegetables

Saturday 3/21 Lunch: Caviar and Chive Omelet. Pasta (vongole or red sauce or Carbonara)

Sunday 3/22 Lunch: Soup. Dinner: Chicken

We would still have frozen cod, burgers, veggies and frites which would add up to three or so meals.

Anyway, my focus is on spiritual concerns today. I may address that more tomorrow. Here are some posts I put up in the last little while. They should work here in this context.

I see so many artists going through such pains with the cancellations of their shows and all the collateral damage this sort of thing entails. Remember this next time you back out of a contract last minute for no good reason, especially leaving a non-profit entity in the lurch and holding the bag for all they invested in you (knowing full well nobody has the time or resources to recoup losses from you). If we can learn anything from this experience, we can learn compassion, dignity, follow-through and common courtesy for our fellows in the artistic community who all work hard, in various capcities, to further the efforts of artists who are emerging, exploring and evolving. Feel this moment and let it make you a better, kinder, fairer, humbler and a more upstanding member of our community.

I don’t have any pictures of my mother (or my father for that matter or even of my younger self)—it’s a long story—but a few moons ago my spiritual sister Bonnie Lauton sent me a couple of snaps from the 1960s. My mother was and is a pretty powerful Pisces and I’m invoking her guidance today as we find ourselves abroad at this scary and confusing time. I know if I ask her for a sign she will send one! Happy Birthday in Heaven.

An etymological note on the word Kindness. It’s more than being nice. It’s understanding how we are Kindred, what Likeness we all share, and (the proverbial) Doing Unto Others…I have been shocked these past days by others’ rude and crude and cruel behavior. Those who consciously add to others’ unhappiness, especially in times when focus should be on coming together and compassion, just seem to be the most evil of beings.

Paris When It Sniffles: With all the travel bans in place and what I suspect will be a privitization/monetizing of people’s misery in the form of for-profit quarantine facilities, contracts for which to be given to the usual greedy, sociopathic monsters as are running the concentration camps at the southern border where children are still in cages, we think it best to stay put, here, in a place that prioritizes civic wellfare over profiteering in the face of a pandemic.



Paris, Day Fifty Three of Sixty…or Ninety Five. And Day Twenty-Five (minus One) of Bikram. So needless to say I didn’t do Bikram yesterday and I’m hoping to set up for it this morning in the next twenty minutes, meaning I’m going to write now for fifteen. We cannot get through to Airlines to change our flights which is absolutely ridiculous. I do think things will slow down with the airlines but for the time being they will not return texts or messages which is adding to the daily frustration. I’m having weird pains in my hoo hoo area which I’m sure are pulls from Bikram. I have to do two in one day this week which is fine. I spent a lot of time with my mother in my dream last night and awoke to a picture of her plopped on my FB page by a family friend whose mother was very close with mine and who lived in the same town as we did. We used to go to their home every New Year’s Eve and they would make whisky sours for the kids. Why? I don’t know but they did. I am going to make the most of all of this and get all the provisions we need in house on a daily basis for as long as I am able to do so. I am only going to write for another ten minutes. There is so much sadness that is beginning to surface as a result of all of this and I am feeling at a loss but the trick is not to feel personally persecuted. We must be a source of strength for folks. We might even do a few days online of quick and dirty readings but I know that won’t go over well. I have to call my Dr. in Boston and make sure they contact me. I also need to reinstate my My Account. I suppose I could have someone else do it but it doesn’t cost all that much to phone from here even though I don’t have a plan. At least I got online to pay my Verizon bill. Today I will get caught up on all my finances and receipts. This is all a great investment and so much is already coming from the work we are doing. I will also move into plotting the planets for 2021 and smooth out the opening narrative of the Aries chapter. Why not! I put out the following on social media:

Hello from Paris. It is becoming quite the ghost town here, which is a good thing. We need to get it into the heads of younger people, especially, that their congregating is a selfish act and that the entire population isn’t as strong as they are in the face of this crisis. But it is starting to happen and we suspect there will be more rules and regulations and curfews imposed here. Paris is a Virgo and therefore both a germ phobe and highly organized and functional when facing an emergency. Of course there are challenges being in lockdown no matter where we are, but I plan to make lemonade from the situation as best as I/we can. We have to stay connected—how fortunate we are to live in a time when we can be in touch with so many, electronically—and we must encourage one another, especially those of us for whom isolation can trigger depression, fear and deep loneliness. What we cannot afford is the luxury of negative expressions of social experience—the trolling, the gaslighting, the cancel culture or any such crap designed to make others feel bad or less than on any level. Now is a time to be an uplifter of the first order and to show and give Love at every turn. Besides staying healthy and safe and sane, we can use this time to be creative and to ask for help and to take it. I for one am here for anyone who might be having a rough time with all of this. Reach out and message me if you need any emotional support at all. I will be checking my social media accounts constantly and I do have a couple of decades under my belt as a consultant of the cosmic kind. It benefits me as much as it does others to see through to the silver linings which are always there! Be calm, be creative and be in touch!

Anyway it is a start. I do want to be part of the solution. If we pull together we can sail through this mess rather unscathed. Let us call for the return of light and strong sunshine to disinfect this planet of ours. I dare say I think she is trying to tell us something. She needs to rid herself, perhaps of the burdens we have caused her. Then again I don’t know Gaia to be a cruel goddess who would attack the sick and elderly. We have more likely done this to ourselves. How quickly ones experience of a place can change. But this is unprecedented and we are experiencing a new aspect of the human condition than we ever have before. We are truly vulnerable but truly resilient. I want to help myself and others in the process. I want to make sure that they get the support they require and deserve. As I said I got to meet my mother in my dreams and I hope that this continues. I know that she is sending me strength during all of this. I just saw that Pornhub is giving Italians in lockdown free service. That is one of the funniest, most amazing things…wait, things are getting really fucked up again:

We went out to do more food shopping—probably have spent at least $500 over the last several days. And I have enough in house, now, for about twenty-five meals. I was just getting ready, setting up to do my yoga, when S. had a text from Alice whose assistant is French. Macron is planning a speech for eight o’clock tonight; we are sure it’s going to be about stricter measures. But what we didn’t expect was this call from Alice saying that her assistant’s sister is a Nurse in Lille and her friend works for the government and that it is going to be a two month shutdown. And so S. is already changing our Eurostar to tomorrow and we are finding ourselves packing up all our belongings. I have to call Dom and Nan and Dom is going to come and pick up my twenty-five meals worth of groceries in the pantry, fridge and freezer. This is a nightmare. I was all poised and ready to stay and now we are scrambling to get back to London, which is not comping well with this crisis at all. It costs nearly six hundred dollars to rebook our train for tomorrow afternoon. So as I’m packing I feel I’m doing the wrong thing and S. disagrees but I’m not arguing with her. We open wine to pack with and I put all the food into bags as well. Dom comes over and we drink wine and eat cheese and then help him into a car with the six huge bags and we come back upstairs and eat roasted chicken. I have a soup I made for tomorrow. Then we watch Macron and he announces that everyone must stay in their houses for at least two weeks. And he keeps saying we are at war, over and over again. And there will likely be tanks in the streets enforcing the command that everyone must stay in their house except to go food shopping or to the pharmacy or bank or newsstand, but they have to stay in a five hundred meter radius. And everyone we spoke to is saying that Macron’s words “at least two weeks” actually will mean longer. And the travel ban goes into effect noon tomorrow—noon!— so S. gets back online and changes the Eurostar again and they charge us another seventy euros, and we are drinking another bottle of wine, and we have to fall asleep soon and get up early enough to get out of here and make an eleven a.m. train. Argggggggh.



Paris, Day Fifty Four of, well, Fifty Four. I cannot tell you how bummed I am. And how tired. We woke and spoke around four fifteen and then I probably fell back around five-thirty for just half an hour. I have to dump out my entire pot of celeriac soup, along with the roasted chicken, potatoes and brussel sprouts I made last night for supper. I am packing as much as I can of the rest of the provisions but we have two heavy suitcases and a giant carry bag each that weigh tons. We both take baths to calm down. My body is in revolt and I can’t tell if I’m dealing with a pull or if I’m having a panic attack or worse. We have to get a car and we have to get to the train. We put the biggest cranky pack we can into play. What I didn’t mention yesterday was that amid all the chaos and the packing S. had contacted our friend Jo who had offered her house in London so S. texted her and said, well I think we need to take you up on this. The house is sitting empty but we will meet the housekeeper who apparently is going to get some food in as well. We turn off France Musique, which has been on constantly these past fifty-four days, and say goodbye to the flat and send our bags down the tiny lift, three trips in all. Uber said it will take about eighteen minutes to get a car and though we ask for a van they keep sending cars. And we call the driver and he says no his car is too small and we keep trying meanwhile I get the number for Dom’s taxi from Nan and we call them too. There is nobody on the street but for the rare passer by on a bike, wearing a mask. Finally an Uber big enough shows up and we cancel the taxi and head to Gare du Nord. On the way we see queues of spaced apart people lining down whole blocks to get into a local Monoprix. Maybe we are doing the right thing after all. How would we ever be able to function here? I wonder. We get dropped a the station and go through the ticket and baggage and passport check. I don’t want to say anything but I feel really odd—hoping it’s just nerves and fatigue. There are no concessions open, let alone the first class lounge. We just sit and squirt gel into our hands. And it’s time to board and there are a lot of people here but much to our surprise our car only has two other guys in it. One of them wants to chat but we are shutting that down, the other is an older English fellow trying to get back to Norway where he lives with his wife but that country has closed up shop, too, apparently. I’m haunted by the images driving to the station actually, it was amongst the most grimmest images I’ve ever laid eyeballs on. S just read that you have to have a sort of written declaration on your person if you’re outside anywhere.

I forgot to say that yesterday after shopping we saw the doors to La Fronde were open and Yuan and Vanessa and some other folk were in there cleaning out. I suppose that was why the trash area this morning was so disgusting smelling of fish. Anyway we told them that we were staying another month so I will have to find them and write them. Not that they care, exactly. Also tonight was the night that we were meant to have Yvan (not to be confused with Yuan) for diner. I was so looking forward to that, but it obviously wasn’t meant to be at this juncture. Amid all of this our book is being optioned and we are now contracted as consultants on TV show based upon it. That’s pretty exciting, no? Especially, since it’s the book we call the “other sister”. Anyway, we got to St. Pancras and there was no queue for taxis and the young driver was cool and smart and engaging and it was an easy ride to Kensington where our friends, who aren’t here, have a house and have so generously offered it to us until we figure out next steps. I feel a bit iffy but why wouldn’t I after all this travel in any case. And last night was just awful. Anyway when we get to the address, the housekeeper is here and she gives us instructions on what’s what and where. There is a swimming pool in the basement or rather the basement is a swimming pool. I’m blown away not by the luxury because it is an understated, though perfectly appointed place—I’m blown away by the kindness and the gratitude I feel for my friends. Words cannot express. We venture out in hopes of finding food and first come across a Waitrose which we enter and exit in easy measure. There was zero on the shelves. We see people carrying Whole Foods bags so we keep walking in that direction and find the place at Barclay Circle (or something like that) it is filled with shoppers buying multiples of everything and is pretty picked over but we manage to get some salad fixins and some pasta and sauce for tonight. People are all in masks and here we go again. After Italy and France now we are doing this a third time. We are in touch with our friends by text and let them know we are just going to make some food and crash tonight. I feel truly blessed.

And we did just that: Took a little swim. Bath time. Then put on jammies and slippers and made some nice spaghetti with sauce right of the jar. This is not a time for me to be an authentic Italian. Watching the news—Boris is doing updates at five o’clock each day apparently. They are not mandating business shutter their doors. And why not? Because then these businesses would be eligible for insurance money. Instead they are recommending to consumers not to go to places of businesses, which will cause shops and restaurants and hotels and such to close, but these places wouldn’t get any insurance money because it would have been there decision to close. So sleazy and so obvious it makes me sick: Boris et al protecting the insurers over the public and their welfare. Makes me want to throw things. And yet Boris is at least intelligent enough to pretend he cares unlike the mandarin blob in the White House. Good golly what a world. We need some intervention action and we do not it pretty damn quick. Never have we lived through such a scary time, all wrapped up in an already scary time these past three and a half years. I need some good news and I need some fast. So much for it being St. Patrick’s Day. I used to love this day growing up. My mother and grandmother would make Irish Soda Bread. We always had home made corned beef and cabbage. It was actually a thing. When I was old enough to play hookie I would go to New York City for the day and drink green beer. I don’t know how it is my parents let me do that. And so weird that bars would serve a fifteen or sixteen year old. Oh, I dunno folks. I know it was un-PC to have the opposite of helicopter parents. But it sure was fun and formative, having to fend for yourself. The way people raise their kids now—please don’t get me started. It is weird that they haven’t closed schools here. There is some scuttlebutt about kinds not getting sick from this. Not that they don’t get it I guess, they just remain basically asymptomatic. At least that is the spin. It is possible this thing mutates, gets stronger and kills us all.



Talk about anti-climactic. I don’t know fellas but I am feeling put through the ringer. I don’t remember falling asleep as I did in the TV room last night and it was probably like three or something when I dragged myself upstairs. It took forever to fall back but I finally did, unto six-thirty. Got up and organized all my belongings. The reality is hitting. Now that we are in England we have no idea when it is we’ll be able to get back to the States, or even if that should be a goal. I’m hoping it’s psychosomatic but I am feeling a bit more dodgy today. My gut is it’s more my gut than anything else. I have my right-thinking cap on. I really want to be rested now more than any thing else. Chances are we are most of us going to come in contact with this virus; and the trick is to be in a state of good health when that happens. We had a little breakfast and watched the news, which is much more informative here than it is at home. And Emily came around nine-thirty and we headed out to see what we could find. After a little online research we decided to head through Holland Park—well, the footpath alongside it—and up to Holland Park Avenue, our old stomping ground, where there is a very famous butcher. Turns out it’s a ridiculously pricey butcher as well. Never mind. We got a few steaks which I will prepare with an arugula salad. Also some chicken breasts and chicken sausages to keep us going for the next day or two. We are going to contact our hosting friends’ travel agent to see if they can get through to Virgin because we cannot.

They have shut down all communication and say they will be in touch by text but never are. What a racket. As it is the greedy fuckers at the Eurostar charged us like $500 for making changes, which we needed to do twice. You would think in times of crisis that these sorts of fees would be waived but there is always profit to be made off of other people’s misery I suppose. We cancelled clients this week because we are scrambling to figure out where we are, never mind where we are going. After the butchers we found a little specialty shop, got some little cheeses and juice and stuff, and then retraced our steps back to Kensington. We did a little work and had a little lunch of salad and hard boiled eggs with pickle and some leftover smoked salmon and continued on working. And here I am right now, really. This is an interesting year astrologically in that the Astrological New Year begins tomorrow (late night in the US) but really early morning Greenwich Meantime on the twentieth.

Things patched up with Ian which is nice. Nobody needs the bad blood these days. Heard from the TV folks and super happy that’s moving forward. I am still, now, a number of days behind. Why wouldn’t I be. I still can’t believe I only got to day 23 of my 30 day Bikram challenge. Well at least I got that far. We are weighing all our options right now and will figure out just what will make the most sense for us. What a mystery that will be. Things are changing every minute here. I probably went too far in putting this out of my mind today (in other words I raided my host’s bar for a stiff whiskey at the end of the day while I was cooking the evening meal of sirloin and arugula, which was quite an easy task. We had taken a late afternoon swim which was rather therapeutic and I don’t think I was aware of how anxious and dread filled I’ve been. It was quite a trauma leaving Paris. I feel as if my life has been ripped away. I don’t suppose the other deals that we’ve had in works will come to pass. I am truly shocked by…I have no idea what I was going to say there. I got distracted by some social media posts. Lots of people I know are doing live stream performance. I see that JVB is doing one for free which is exactly right. I can’t figure out how to stream it however. I suppose it will be just a live Facebook thing. Hey, every little bit of cheer helps. I am in the process of figuring out what to do for the first day of Spring, which is the start of year six of this Blague if you can believe it. Well that’s what I’ll do starting tomorrow!


Hello All. It will turn Spring in the UK at 3:49 tomorrow morning, that’s 11:49 EST in the U.S. I don’t know if you know this but: I have been writing a daily blog for the past five years. It is called the Cosmic Blague (blague means joke in French) and it was originally intended as a catalyst for drawing out stories from my life, filled as it is with extraordinary synchronicities, so-called coincidences, indisputable divine intervention—and, yes, moments when I seem to have been the butt of the Universe’s joke—all such experience which  Kate Bush tunefully called the “strange phenomenon.” I began writing my Blague with the start of the new astrological year, on the Spring Equinox, 2015, a time when I was feeling more than a bit kicked to the curb by the Cosmos. I wanted a daily ritual of accomplishment and I wanted to tap my well of story-telling but I had a hard time starting. So I gave myself some specific inspiration:

In astrology, each of the twelve signs encompasses thirty degrees of the Zodiac adding up to 360 degrees of this cosmic circle, corresponding (close enough) to the 356/6 days of the year. Some time ago, an astrologer and a seer channeled what are called the Sabian Symbols to express the individual nature of each of the Zodiac’s 360 degrees. So, year one, I mused on these symbols, to inspire thoughts I could type down, not only on the symbols themselves but also as a trigger for the personal stories from my experience that I wanted to relate. That was year one. In the years between then and now the Blague took on many forms and expressed a number of purposes. Sometimes it inspired incredible creative flow. Other times it made me feel super locked up and I would find other ways to keep going, including using it as a personal journal, a platform for other writing I had to do—shows, book proposals, articles, branding concepts—or as a way to vent and even gossip about people, places and things, though disguised for the most part—sometimes I would accidentally name folks (woops, that wasn’t good, especially when I got called out). There were spates when it just got really deconstructed and a bit Dada, but I kept going. So here, nigh on the sixth year of daily writing—starting tomorrow—I have come up with another way to trick myself into being prolific enough: I’m going to start reading my Blague entries (which I’ve never done) five a day—If I read that many I will have read them all by the end of this next astrological year—and I’m going to cut and paste the best bits for each day’s entry, while writing new thoughts that stem from doing just that. Let’s call it taking inventory of my thoughts to date and “development” of any work that might warrant it.

I have a great deal of other writing on my plate this year and won’t have a lot of free time for my Blague (sometimes I would spend hours a day on this); and so if I get really in the weeds with other work, these simple cut and pastes can function as “re-runs” with a little introduction by yours truly. This has been a really worthwhile process for me and, in typical woo-woo fashion, I will say: I think that by keeping on writing as I have done, mainly, for myself, even though other writing gigs or deals mightn’t have been forthcoming, that I created a magnetic force field to attract other opportunities to me. Because, as I say, it is going to be a busy year. That said I have not promoted this Blague at all, hardly. At first I was posting my postings to a Facebook page, but I stopped doing that. I may again; who knows. Anyway, just letting you know what’s what and hopefully, as I distill the Blague this year to highlight what I perceive to be the “best of” what I’ve done in the past, it might warrant other readers beside myself!

Actually this was my first ever entry in 2015: And I think it might be of some interest:

The beginning is as good a place to start as anywhere. Better, I suppose. Like any first attempt at something there are bound to be mistakes and I will look back on this initial go at some point and cringe. But in just a few hours we will enter the sign of Aries, it being March 20, 2015. And my plan for this “astrological new year” is to explore the cosmic energy of each unfolding day from all different angles. I don’t know what those angles are exactly yet, but I have gut inklings and they’re fun to follow. I have a few notions in mind, as well, for ancillary stories and such that I will spew here. In fact it’s those notions that inspired the title COSMIC BLAGUE which, I needn’t tell you, is a play on words; as blague means joke in French and is also pronounced blog, so, well, you get it. I’m especially out to explore the notion of synchronicity this year, too, as it relates, for better or for worse, to the universe “acting funny”. When we feel we are the butt of some cosmic joke, or when we miraculously experience synchronicity, in both cases the Universe seems to have an intelligence and a desire, even, to communicate with us. And I’ve found the more you get into that concept, the more it does try to tell you something, one way or another. So I thought I’d share some of my experiences with what I’ve come to perceive as a droll if not an hysterical cosmos. The “Strange Phenomenon” that Leo goddess Kate Bush sings about, no mere coincidence; there’s that. And then we’ve those times when we feel we’ve actually conjured things into being, which isn’t so much synchronicity, but rather, perhaps, the working of magic along these same channels or celestial avenues that sometimes “coincidentally” lead to our door. So I’ll get into all that happenstance, but I’ll stay on track, mainly, by delving into the energy of each day of the year slash degree of the celestial circle as we journey, once again, through the zodiac.


Happy Spring! Pisces 30° (that link takes you to the last Sabian Symbol post from the first year of this Blague) is one and the same as Aries 0°. Now, the Sabian Symbol corresponds to the day leading up to the degree. This is why that, at the bottom of this (and every day’s) post there will be a link from the first year I wrote the Blague that corresponds to the next degree than what is listed above with the date. We are talking about the same spate of time. Again, it’s just that 1° of the Sabian Symbol means from 0° to 1°. If you don’t understand what I’m saying I’m sorry. I’ve done the best I can. To reiterate what I said yesterday, I am reading five days worth of the first year of this Blague every day for the next year. I have already written five years of this daily Blague, so reading five entries a day means I’ll be all caught up to myself by the time we get to Spring Equinox 2021. I have never read any of my Blagues to date and so this is a way for me to review what I’ve done and maybe pull some things out that might make good content for future live shows or books or for personal use. As I stumble upon some good stuff I’m going to cut and paste it here and maybe write into it or add to it. What I will likely do is not cut and paste anything specific about the Sabian Symbols themselves (metaphysical expressions of each degree of the 360° circle of the Zodiac) because there will be a link to those entries at the bottom of each of these daily posts, taking you to year one of my Blague writing where I daily addressed the Sabian symbols. You might click back and read yesterday’s post if this is making no sense at all to you. I was pretty smooth in my expression about it in a way I feel I’m failing to be now. Clicking the link below to the 2015 Blague entry will give you specific information about the Sabian Symbols themselves. This has become bi- or even tri-directional. And I promise you it will be a lot more fun than the present tone would suggest!

So an update on what is actually happening on this day. S. and I got up at the crack and packed. We heard yesterday that our angel friend is going to fly us back home on a charter jet. We couldn’t be more grateful or more blessed. Just got to Stanstead and we are awaiting to board the Global 5000 airplane. I will tell you more about it tomorrow!

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. The very first Blague ever is here:

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go! Copyright 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

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Pisces 29° (March 19)

It is the last full day of winter! Bad night of sleep. My e key is still sticking I will use my old guitar pick trick. Spent the morning learning about some Irish roots. I am seriously rethinking the entire process of what we are up to here. I’m going to get my brain around continuing to save for a house abroad that we can afford in cash and in the meantime just figure out getting ourselves into a healthy storage situation and established somewhere here, business-wise especially.

            That which Cancer man wants to instill in those in whom he invests his time and attention is a total sense of security. And few of us will disallow him from playing the metaphorical role of designated driver, if not trust being in his hands even over one’s own. Cancer is always appealing to someone, in one sense of the term or other. In our first book Sextrology his chapter is titled The Player, and he is indeed a natural actor, a coolly emotive and romantic figure who is rarely so macho a man as to read in the least bit threatening, any form of misogyny being largely absent in the Moonchild population. But as the title also suggests, Cancer is determined to be an A-player in business, that is to say one who is seen as adding great value to a company, institution or industry. As far as being a player in relationships goes, defined as someone who plays on a lover or mate’s emotions and then either ghosts or cheats on them or both: We say yes to the emotions bit, but generally no to the blackguard behavior. Possibly no other man wants to secure and sustain a steady relationship more than this one. He is, in all things tenacious, so much so we have likened him to gum on your shoe—in live performance, in an adult cabaret setting, one of us would deliver the line: Crabs are so hard to get rid of. It’s true! Guys of the sign are naturally insinuating, though perhaps not so much to be insidious. Cancer simply subscribes to the notion that the fulfillment of his potential requires getting his hooks into certain people and situations that provide patronage and a secure environment where what he perceivs to be his destined success can unfold in the fullness of time. In the meantime, Cancer man keeps it simple and his head down, quietly powering through. He is entirely pleasant, as a rule, across the board, to friends and acquaintances alike. In fact, there often seems little difference between the amount of interest or affection he appears to invest in any case. He isn’t very present minded, something you can work on Cancer—which may be product of being cosmically engineered to continually look, with hope, toward the future. This may result in anxiety; and he must work to find comfort in uncertainty. He is surely one of the existentialists of the zodiac, not given to the proverbial opiates of religion or set belief systems. He might intellectually perceive an ordered universe, but his gut tells him that the bulk of existence is random, and thus up to him to make the necessary inroads.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1756-1760. 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.


Paris, Day Thirty Three of Sixty. And Day Five of Bikram. Had Michael as teacher and Marine was there. I did both triangles which is kind of a big deal. Came back and Timmie was already in the flat with her crap everywhere talking on speaker phone and eating. Ca va pas. It was really creepy trying to get ready and use the loo with this weirdo cleaner here. The agency is going to get a mouthful. We walked to Place Vendom to Carier and passed that evil Jose along the way. I don’t know what the universe is telling me, having me bump into that scary, rude, superior-acting creature. But it figures that he was you know whose boyfriend for years. They are both soulless posers with nothing but snark and narcissism running through their icy veins. Me no like. I think that might be the Cosmic Blague of the situation. Reminding me of the fact that I have often made very bad choices when it comes to friends. Cartier was kind of fun. And then it was a straight shot down Castiglione to Solferino to Raspail. It began to pour and we ducked into a café just at the start of rue Saint Dominique. Le Drop I think it was called. We shared a jambon emmenthal sandwich and had americanos. Then we headed to class where we studied the imperfect plus the conditionel as compared with the present and future simple. Then to Café de la Nouvelle Mairie where we were to meet/not meet/ok yes meet Nan. Two Gaillac, an endives pear and Roquefort salad and Saucisse with white peas. Then off to Cine Club of which it was both the anniversary of the thing and the birthday of the founder. They showed clips from a Woody Allen I had never seen plus one of Christopher Walken, one of Joaquim Phoenix, one from some Italian film where Bruce Springsteen stings and then The Last Picture Show which was incredible since it is the one film we always ironically brag about not having seen. There was this little party reception afterward which was so so French. And then we got a car home. I have to continue with posting some of the intros I’m working on.

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 makerwhom 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.

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.



Paris, Day Thirty Four of Sixty. And Day Six of Bikram. So I will be on my own for much of the day. I will do my yoga but of course. Michael will be the teacher again maybe? I actually forget who teaches today. Then I will take myself to lunch at Fronde and have a bavette and frites and do a whole bunch of writing. As a matter of fact I can probably pull some things directly from that notebook at this point. Then S. will meet me and we will come up and do some work for class and then get into terrible row about this same old problem explaining how the hoops and bracelet should be. I have explained this one hundred times and yet it seems to be me who is to blame for causing confusion. Whatever. I end up having to go to BHV to get some plaster of Paris to patch up a hole. I stop along the way. I am talking to the guys downstairs because I had given them my card and they have apparently googled us. It turns out the servers are straight as I suspected and one of them lives in the building and is apparently the one that smokes all the weed. I forget everybody’s name the moment which is annoying. I know that the blondy one has a pretty teubish name. Then we had a client from California. I thought I would be tough loving today with this person, but it didn’t seem to go over all that well. I think I let my frustration show a bit and didn’t quite hit the mark I was aiming for. Oh well it is like this sometimes. I skipped dinner and just basically passed out from fatigue, having stayed out so late last night, and doing this daily yoga. It is more draining than energizing at this point. There is this Valentin in class who is superhuman in every seeming regard. I will mean to tell S. all about it.

SAGITTARIUS Woman

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 andpower—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, Tinawhose 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 thattradition 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.

SAGITTARIUS Man

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” asa 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.


Paris, Day Thirty Five of Sixty. And Day Seven of Bikram. It seems someone from Hachette might be interested in the book and I passed my signature along to Laurence who is hopefully settingling this long suffering suit; and we gave our two cents on the TV negotiations. Yoga class today in French was fine. S. went to get some lunchy things—ham sandwiches and quiche and salad—and then we had a meeting with Cricket who then set off for Dries. We need to fix a budget for that work, which I have tried to assert but to no great avail. We will walk quite quickly to our last class at the Alliance Francaise which is a bit sad really. Some of the students seemed a bit broken up about it. After we walk to Café de la Nouvelle Mairie. We both have the endive, pear and Roquefort salad and I have Coq and Stella has Lieu. And then we share un far de pruneaux for dessert. We are not walking home that is for sure. So we order another car. She is going to Switzerland in the morning and I’m a bit edgy as a result.

CAPRICORN Woman

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 TheSecond 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.

CAPRICORN Man

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 Itright, 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.



Paris, Day Thirty Six of Sixty. And Day Eight of Bikram. I leave for the studio and S. leaves for Switzerland.  I stop by the wine shop and get some goodies, but I don’t actually end up drinking wine after all. Crashed out after yoga. And then went to the Pot Vernissage and heard from Stefan. Had dinner at La Fronde by my lonesome. Steak tartare. Watched more Sabrina. Pretty uneventful really.

AQUARIUS Woman

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 heranagramm\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 Desireis 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.

AQUARIUS Man

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.



Paris, Day Thirty Seven of Sixty. And Day Nine of Bikram. After yoga took a bath and got some Jenlain and had a fun day. There are fashion people everywhere. And people have funny hair and beards walking around. I went for a beer at La Fronde. Tried watching Locke and Key. It doesn’t make much sense. Heard people talking about Hermes show and how weird this fashion week is.

PISCES Woman

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 arethe 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 écumewhich 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!

PISCES  Man

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 flowpersonified 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.

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 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Thee

Pisces 28° (March 18)

Going to stick to the plan next two months and not say anything more than that. Right to work today after big clean up and prepping some egg drop soup for lunch and turkeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee (my e is still sticking) for dinner. Cancer man lives in his own world, both real and imaginary, avoiding conflict or often anything more than vague interaction unless he sees promise in it. He prefers solo work, which he can hopefully perform, set apart, ebbing and flowing to his own rhythm. He also takes other alone time, if only in stolen moments, to let his mind drift to imaginings of would-be scenarios he might ultimately realize. He will of course allow others to form a team to back his efforts, especially a mate who might pick up extra slack on the home and family front. The sign of Cancer is associated with hope, and the Moonchild is the personification thereof, drawing others to pin theirs on him. Perennially showing promise, he is forever inviting emotional investment. Never presenting as needy, however, in contrast to his female Cancer counterpart, it is ease in expertise that he exhibits, meanwhile he may be far more pouting and, even, self-pitying, in the strict privacy of his relationship with a partner or his semi-weekly shrink. We can’t overstate the fact that, the better the Cancer man is at pretending that all is right with his world, the more hurt he might be carting around. The more nonchalant the more he may feel crushed by such antonyms to hope as dread and despair. We don’t wish to get too dark too soon, but some of the more infamous final bows from this world have been taken by Cancer men—Ernest Hemingway, Robin Williams, Freddie Prinze, Ian Curtis, Anthony Bourdain, Chris Cornell, Hunter S. Thompson, George Eastman, Tony Scott, too many others. On a far cheerier note, the intense level of sensitivity with which Cancer is endowed can make him the most sympathetic of individuals. It also necessitates his being the most trusting, using his signature superpower of outsized intuition to associate himself with in right people, places and things. Ruled by the Moon, considered a planet, and representing the mother principle, in astrology, Cancer has a highly attuned gut, the seat of their emotions and intuitions, and one of the body parts ruled by the sign; the other being the breasts, a symbol of both nurture and expression, for all the Moonchildren. Cancer is the sole cardinal-water sign in the zodiac, cardinal meaning initiatory, leading, directive, and so Cancer man leads with his emotions and intuition, symbolized by water. Thus, he comes at the rest of us from this level, impacting our own feelings. He might be a selective people pleaser, but, when he decides to get his Crab claws into someone, he will play mister feel good any which way, drawing out an individual, asking all the right questions, being the perfect listener, offering sage advice, sharing what may be personal stories and confidences, thereby building others’ confidence in him.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1751-1755. 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.

Paris, Day Twenty Eight of Sixty. Today was meant to be my new starting date for Bikram, but happily it has been postponed until tomorrow when I will take the 11am morning class. This is a good thing actually because hopefully I will have less pain than what I’ve been experiencing. I’m going to ignore it even though it isn’t what one does. Still, we are in the sign of Pisces and I feel that I am better equipped to manipulate and affect outcomes during this time of year. I do need to bring up my own chart at some point. I wanted to get some things on paper. Some goals that have to do with publishing specifically. The first goal is obviously to sell this second book. The second goal is to heal the relationship with Harper and have a conversation to that end with whomever was responsible for thwarting the deal there. I also want to update Sextrology. Third I would like to have a chat with Sandy focused solely on the foreign landscape. Also I’d like to know who is in charge of Cosmic Coupling at Crown. I had some very odd dreams, none of which I can really remember at this point, although I know they were the source or the manifestation maybe of anxiety, as I awoke from them rather shaken. We have school today and I’m going to propose we take a long walk beforehand. I have to drink lots of water and work on making my body more alkaline and less acidic. I can literally feel the need for that I kid you not. I will spend the morning doing more nitty gritty work on the essay and send it to the instructor; likewise I will get more detailed on planet moves document and get three months under my belt. I will rejig the schedule to accommodate the fact that this process really can be time consuming. But I think I left more room than I need and I need to go slow. It’s best I haven’t started yoga until now because there is no way I could have juggled everything. I ended up working pretty much all day and then we talked with Alice and we were going to walk to class the long way but in the end we were running late, so we made a plan direct. Now I have no things to write: some kind of speak for the factory in Italy. It’s fine I will work on it Sunday afternoon. First I need to clear the decks of all other responsibilities.

We won’t see the visitors at all today. They will probably spend their time shopping. Certainly everything will be will be dictated by his moods, I’m sure. We had a client recently who was describing how her sister0in-law was nasty and withholding to her family but then really phoney/friendly to the parents of her own, the client’s, in-laws. Treating the practical strangers more kindly then she does the immediate family. I was like she must be a Gemini which she was. I know this trait by way of my own evil sister and to a much lesser degree to Çoise. Really it is such a Gemini woman trait and not a great one. Anyway I digress. We got to class and it was an exercise in subjonctif and we also split up into groups playing tourists and travel agents. As fun as the class can be I’m also getting a bit sick of it; and as sad as I’ll be not to have it any more, it will be quite nice to have a solid three weeks in Paris without this responsibility. It is sucking up a lot of time. I’m happy for the chance to get some of the more chunky bits of language under my belt, but I know, once I start yoga tomorrow, especially that it might feel like something of a life suck to have all that to do. I really haven’t done any sight seeing in Paris.

We got to the Café d.l. Nouvelle Mairie about fifteen minutes in advance of Anna who arrived with a tiny longhaired dachsand named for the fifteenth century scientist who placed the Sun at the center of our universe. His birthday was yesterday. Anyway we learned so much about her and her history, coming to Paris, and were reminded of the fact she has three daughters, one of whom would only have been seven years old when we first bet back in the day. This one is a horse artist and a dancer and is part of a class equestrian circus; her middle daughter works for the EU in Brussels; and her eldest runs the Warsaw office of her agency. It’s incredible, really. Anyway we have such fun and I had poireux and veal and the ladies each had two appetizers. We had a lovely Gaillac. Nobody wanted dessert. On the business end of things we discovered that we really do all want to work together. And this would provide us a direct foothold in Europe where we will be, increasingly. The foreign agent that is in place in New York has really expressed very little interest in our existing titles; and in this day and age we feel that we can really make some serious inroads selling the book to other foreign publishers, as our star continues to rise and the appeal of the subject continues to spread. There is also the notion of doing things more media centric in any case. As with most things that have been happening here, all signs are leading to a more permanent presence in gay Paris.


Paris, Day Twenty Nine of Sixty. Started Bikram today after breakfast with the Dobens. There are thinking of staying but they won’t in the end. They want to do two photo shoots and have S. call one of them to arrange in French. Bikram class wasn’t as terribly frightening as I imagined it might be. I did all the postures but only did one of the triangle and camel each. I didn’t die…yet I had a note from a client and I thought: Wow that was a lot of internal experience surfacing from that one event. It all makes sense. As we are now in Pisces time, it’s good to embrace the fog (mutable water) and the mists of imagination and not judge between what is real and mere mirage because right now there need not be any difference. Sometime this month maybe, those earthworms will appear on the sidewalk and the crocuses will pop up there heads and we can focus on what specific new realities we want to enact. But for now let us stay in the vapor and let all the tension dissolve and allow it to leave a “solution”. Come Aries time we can put on our warrior garb and spearhead what needs to happen.Today will be a slow day due to the fog I will be in myself. We spent way too much time trying to find flip-flops and still we have come up short. I think we need to go to a large Monoprix. I’m going to try and figure that all out in the next coming days. We have D + N coming for dinner tonight. They had written yesterday to ask if we were still on and to say that E. was free and should we move the whole thing to their place. No. We have a client tonight until eight o’clock and we will spend the day getting some stuff done. We come back after yoga and have a little soup and then go back out on our failed flip flop mission and then at least get some wine and water, which I will drop upstairs, and then back out to do the major food shop on Rambuteau. I will make salmon and we’ll have a salad but the rest of the meal will consist of goodies from the Greeks and some bakery and cheese items. We are getting to be so Fwench. Çoise writes to say that they did in the end do two photoshoots and weren’t getting on the road for Amsterdam until four o’clock. That is late. We have our appointment and D + N are on time which is rather unusual; it seemed slightly weird in the first moments but then totally like our old selves again and we had plenty of wine with which to ply ourselves and dinner was long and delicious and drawn out. And we even had to go back down to get more wine. And we stayed up until at least three o’clock and I’m wondering what is going to happen to me day two of yoga. Here is some Virgo stuff I’m working on.

VIRGO Woman

Virgo with a V: In our book Sextrologythe 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 Vesselbecause, 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 ifit 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 themutable-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.

VIRGO Man

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.



Paris, Day Thirty of Sixty. And Day Two of Bikram. This is not going to be easy. I am on just a few hours of sleep and I might still be drunk from the seven bottles of champagne and wine we drank between the four of us. Oh gods. Stella is not going to yoga. I cannot let myself down just day two into the process. So off I go. I get on the nerves of one of the Bikram people because I’ve put my towel down before they can pretend to clean the room. One single mop is not going to clean the whole entire room. That’s fine. I go to the front this time. Yesterday I was in the back behind the most annoying person I’ve ever encountered in a Bikram class—blague on me—who is big (that’s ok) but doesn’t do the postures when everyone else does and falls out ever single time and is really fucking distracting I will be avoiding her like the plague from this moment forward. Anyway today I go to the front and that has it’s own worries. The teacher comes in and actually says—I know she’s directing this at me—if anybody is a beginner in the front row please leave. There are only one other type of male body type in the room, now, two days running other than my own: perfect. My stomach is huger than it has ever been in my life and it is hanging over my shorts. Ugh. Not my shiningest moment but that’s okay because I am dedicating this thirty day stint to the losing of this stomach. I do all the postures but skip triangle. I know my pacing this is right on point. People are perfect in the locker room I am hiding myself as best I can. I took my time in savasana and I’m home by one. We decide as it is nearly sixty degrees out to go for a nice walk in the Marais which really is too crowded. But we stuple on Cire Trudon and decide to buy ourselves and others prezzies. I thought we were buying things for the colors of the packaging but I will learn that is not the case. Whatever. We have a tiny bit of leftovers—some baba and some stuffed pepper remnants and some cheese—for lunch; and then I try to take a nap. Maybe I fell asleep for five minutes while watching Sabrina but maybe not. I suggest we take ourselves to a café and work by hand for a couple of hours so we head to Barav our favorite place in the third across rue Bretagne. We pass that expo space and realize that is where they are having the Vintage show. There is a huge line and all the cafes in the area are packed as is Barav and say they don’t have a table but they do. There is one ratty looking barman there I do not like but all the rest of the staff are wonderful. S. has crudites and dried carpaccio (the fresh sort is out) and I get a planchet of meat and chesses. We share a white Beaujolais that has the consistency of a light syrup; and then a Peyriac that wracks our world. Now this:

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 animatingforce. 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 Sextrologywe 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 jourincludes: 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.

LIBRA Man

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-airsign, 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) becomingthe 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.



Paris, Day Thirty One of Sixty. And Day Three of Bikram. I have to say it is taking it’s toll already. I’ve been home from yoga for two hours and I haven’t been able to get any real work accomplished. I hoping I will snap out of it in the next several hours. I have so much work to do I can’t allow myself to be derailed by a new hot yoga ritual. That would be really stupid. But I’m not giving up. I wrote again to Joe’s and also to JCM in hopes of putting together some kind of variety show in the spirit of how we used to do things. I have to push forward. So much to do and so little time to do it in. Today I managed to do all the postures—only did one of triangle though because I have to continue to pace myself. My mantra with all this is to go slower and want to have more hours in the room. The corona virus is ramping up in Italy and there are two cancelled fashion shows. It’s quite alarming. Then all the fashion folks come here tomorrow. Yay. Oh well, what can you do but try to stay healthy and keep washing your hands. S. had bought some chicken already for tomorrow’s dinner with Griet from Dries. I had her get some caviar as well and we had caviar omelets for lunch today. I really have to get my brain in gear here. I will now do that by saying that I have to write the following so I’m going to just make this a little draft and I’m going to write it by four o’clock because that’s what needs to happen:

Astercast is a fine jewelry company created by Stella Starsky and Quinn Cox, “the favored astrologers of fashion insiders” (Elle), and “the duo behind Sextrology, a wildly popular astrology tome whose straight-forward attitude has been embraced by the chic set” (Vogue). The Astercast collection features 18 carat gold pendants, chains and customizable “Stellium” necklaces, with a variety of meaningful symbolic, celestial and organic charms and precious stones, allowing the wearer to “cast” her own powerful and personal arrangement to suit her mood, intention, aesthetic and whim. Astercast will be marketed through its own online retail presence, which be specialized to guide customers through their purchases,  and carefully placed and sold at select retailers in the U.S. and abroad, where Starsky + Cox will conduct in-store trunk show events where the customer’s astrological information will be consulted in their personalized purchases.

Originally launched in 2006 as a limited-edition capsule collection with a New York based jewelry manufacturer, Astercast instantly, and rather unexpectedly, captured the attention of dozens of high-end retailers in the United States, garnering glowing press coverage, including a full-page feature in Vogue, a two-page spread in InStyle,and the cover of The New York Times “T” Magazine, worn by Robin Wright. Scarlett Johannson, J.K. Rowling, Kate Capshaw, Conseulo Catiglioni and Ashley and Mary-Kate Olsen were among the many fashion and entertainment figures who purchased pieces from the original Astercast capsule collection.

Starsky + Cox (the author/astrologer names of real-life married couple Lynne Corbett and William Leone) decided to fully launch their Astercast collection over a year ago, securing requisite capital and engaging the celebrated London-based jewelry maker Alice Cicolini as the company’s Design Director. Lynne Corbett is a veteran of the fashion industry, having been a buyer at Bergdorf Goodman before launching her own sportswear collection in the early 1990s. She went on to work/consult for other companies including Manolo, Kashiyama, Artsuro Tayama, Lanvin and, most notably, for years, for Dries Van Noten. William Leone worked as a fashion and entertainment journalist for The New York Times, The Boston Globe, The South China Morning Post, Detour, Paper, Instyle and as a producer for City TV in Toronto (Fashion Television). Together Corbett and Leone were Executive Editors of Wallpaper* magazine in London and they have together contributed to many publications including Vogue Paris, Elle, Marie Claire and Allure.

Since 2005, the couple have been professionally known, exclusively, as Starsky + Cox and have ran a private consultancy, the majority of their international clients hailing from fashion and design. They have written two best-selling books, Sextrology(Harper Collins) and Cosmic Coupling (Crown/Random House), and several book series. Sextrologyalone has been published in a dozen countries, and they have sold upwards of a half a million books world-wide.. Starsky + Cox have been featured in innumerable publications including Time, Vanity FairThe New York Times, The Times (London0, and on radio and television in the U.S., France and U.K. Starsky + Cox have partnered on projects and events with fashion stores such as Harvey Nichols, Selfridges, Barneys New York, Colette, Marc Jacobs and other entities including Sephora, MAC Cosmetics, Chandelier and Kylie Minogue.

Starsky + Cox are 100% owners of Astercast with their own line of credit and have no other partners. The brand has been deliberately conceived as a timeless collection, not one that is trend driven, and so adhering to its own schedule and agenda. The business is being built organically, methodically, consciously and with care. When the collection launches this year, it will be extensive enough to be promoted as a complete collection of classic styles, to which we will add new elements as we feel ready to do so. So the initial work that Astercast undertakes with a manufacturer will be work that produces forever product designed to last for the longterm, not for a season or a year, but for the life of the brand. New elements—charms, chains and other styles—will be added slowly over time, as demand for new collectible pieces and elements grows.



Paris, Day Thirty Two of Sixty. And Day Four of Bikram. I’m feeling a bit squidgy today. We went to Goguette last night where we had a great meal a few weeks ago and it was completely disgusting—to the point that I had to tell the owners it was one of the worst meals of my life. I ordered lamb and there was literally no meat on it, just fat. Horrid. Anyway I’m up and trying to get some work done before going back to the gas chamber. I’m feeling a little worried about my ability to perform in class today but I will just hydrate for the next couple of hours and push through. Today is focused on school work and if I just make that the goal I should be in good shape. I still can’t believe I’m in school but whatever—I’m doing what I can! Marine was our teacher today and I did as much as I could, really. S. bought me some yoga wear which I will never (wear that is). So that will go back tomorrow. We were going to do a full sweep up to the third and get some organic wine at Barav, but it is proving to be a bit short on time. So after a lunch of gravlax and mache we just do a little tour of Rambuteau. There is a new sommelier at the local wine shop and we did fine just sticking close. We bought some lovely baguette and then some incredible tarts from Pain e Sucre. It is an amazing neighborhood in which to live, but apparently we wouldn’t want to be on Archives in the summer because it is really out of control. I bought a scarf and a belt yesterday. I hope to buy more things once this tummy comes off. We have a long chat with A today and I met Marianna. We are chewing on a bunch of things.

Griet showed up for dinner wearing a mask and carrying hand sanitizer and wipes. Apparently anyone who was working in Milan for Dries now has to wear a mask for the entire time they are here. I would quit. It seems to me that, in case any customers get ill, they can always say well it wasn’t from our showroom. Still it just seems so extreme. There are cases of this virus in Italy I realize and in Milan specifically and I suppose there should be measures taken but they should just send everyone to a doctor to get them checked out. Their job is hard enough without having to walk around in apocalyptic garb. Anyway we told her to take her mask off that we weren’t concnered. And she did. So if she has it we have it. We had a very late night and easily blew through all the wine. She brought us a block of parmesan. We sang songs, we reminisced. She looked at our new logo and said the two things I said about it. It’s very 1920s and old Hollywood. I have to write an essay today which I will so first in English and then in French. Ready?

I ran into Johanna at the pool and she mentioned that you were going to Ireland this month. I told her that you and I planned to go together and she intimated that you decided you didn’t want to travel with me. Johanna thinks that I should try to convince you to let me join you, but that is not my goal and I absolutely refuse to beg you. However my goal is to understand why it is you have decided to cut me out of the plan. My aim is to get to the truth of the situation and that is all. Obviously there is some kind of misunderstanding here, or I’ve done something to hurt or annoy you which would never be my intention. The goal in writing you is to give you the opportunity to speak your mind freely. And my goal is also to have the opportunity to respond and hopefully clear the air. I cannot for the life of me think what I could have done to offend you. Please write me back and let’s set up a time to talk.

Je suis tombé sur Johanna à la piscine et elle m’a dit que tu iras en Irlande ce mois-ci. Je lui ai dit que toi et moi avions prévu d’aller ensemble; et elle a laissé entendre que tu as décidé que tu ne voulais pas voyager avec moi. Johanna pense qu’il faut que j’essaie (j’essaye) de te convaincre de me laisser te rejoindre, mais ce n’est pas mon objectif et je refuse absolument de te supplier. Cependent, j’ai pour but de comprendre pourquoi to m’as coupé du plan. Je me donne pour but de décourvrir la verité de la situation et c’est tout. Évidemment, il y a une sort de malentendu ici, ou j’ai fait quelque chose pour te blesser ou t’ennuyer. Cela ne serait jamais mon intention. Je t’ecrit afin que tu aies le possibilité de t’exprimer librement et, également, pour avoir la possibilité de réagir, moi-même. Je te propose une rencontre pour discuter de tout ça afin de mettre les choses bien au clair. Je ne peux pas penser à ce que j’aurais pu faire pour t’offenser. Veuilles m’ecrire de nouveau et fixons un moment pour parler.

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 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Double You

Pisces 27° (March 17)

No sleep last night. Riddled with anxiety again. Everything seems so heightened my e key keeps sticking. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Apparently theseeeeeeeeeeeee laptops have a probleeeeem with sticking keys. Anyway it isn’t th end of th world. But it is annoying when writing on deadline. Here are some thoughts: The Moonchild is the most self-protective of men. He needs to keep his emotional defenses strong because he is highly sensitive, and so he chooses his company carefully, just as he secures professional positions for himself where he will largely be left to his own devices. As guarded as he may be, he is, as a rule, exceedingly ambitious; he thus tends to oh, so subtly, target individuals he feels can speed his trip toward success, often becoming a darling to influential people who will take up his cause. He is very good at playing the proverbial game in his career, even when just starting out, especially charming those of an older generation to whom he shows such promise. Although he will present as cool as a cucumber, himself, by astrological design, Cancer man elicits emotional responses from others. When young, he specifically works on the feelings of nostalgia that older men have for their own lives when they were his age, while women of all ages are simply charmed by his signature gentlemanly demeanor and behavior, which isn’t in the least disingenuous. Regardless of their gender or sexual orientation, Cancer men love women, and they typically make up the bulk of his friendships and associations. One feels safe in the Moonchild’s presence, and he prides himself on being polite, courteous, even, chivalrous. He is not one to act out or up, a master at quelling and disguising anger, upset or sorrow. He is quick to laughter, however, which he isn’t above feigning if he finds it might be purposefully endearing, just as he will hang on every word spoken by someone he wants in his corner. He wouldn’t consider himself calculating—he assumes everyone is as deliberately charming as himself. Pouring it on, as he does, comes naturally to this premier water sign, just one of the many ironies endemic to the Cancer male experience—he just has zero of it about himself. His infamous façade is one and the same as the protective Crab shell, any phoniness is thus a byproduct of shielding his vulnerable feelings. Only those who know him well will recognize this and forgive him for it, for they understand how tender this guy can be. Besides, there is a certain comfort and joy in gaining close access to the Cancer man when knowing how measured, mannered and decorous he remains with most people he will court. He is the consummate host and one feels safe and cared for in his company. A master of small talk, he has an arsenal of stories and anecdotes with which to entertain, but he is generally not comfortable going to deep in conversation, especially if it involves discussing his private or inner life.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1746-1750. 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.


Paris, Day Twenty Three of Sixty. They are all going to the flea market this morning and I’m going to stay in and work. I am so full of everything I just can’t eat. I do need to go out and do a little bit of shopping. I notice there is someone moving either in or out of the building. I am writing to the guy at the festival in London. Paul who is very skinny looking. I take myself out for a lovely beer at a place near their hotel. That’s where I take the video of the floor opening up. And then we go to St. Gervais and I am early and they are there basically just in time for the mass. They stay only twenty minutes and I do the whole thing. I am feeling very at sea and the singing mass makes me cry uncontrollably. I don’t know why it is happening but I know it has something to do with the departed. They set off for Baffo and I follow and get there basically just in time but the fact I’ve had beers and nothing to eat all day is suddenly catching up with me and I am really exhausted and in need of crashing very soon. I barely get through the meal and am so happy that I just have to go around the corner to my little pink bedroom. I will work on the Taurus intros today and get those totally underway.

TAURUS Woman

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 Man

In counterpoint to its preceding sign of objective, directive, “masculine” Mars-ruled Aries (and the forthright people born under that sign), “feminine” Venus-ruled Taurus is subjective, intriguing, inviting and alluring. Taurus people can be, if only naively, vague, suggestive, or downright elusive. They are all pull, and no push. Taurus can in fact be navel gazers, endlessly self-reflective, and they thus invitethe interest, worship and also the scrutiny from others. As artists and intellects, they obscure and refine, turning obvious forms of expression on their ear while they up the creative ante, achieving unique, even absurdist, and elegant results. They don’t effort by nature. As the premier earth sign, these pastoral archetypal flower-children—think reflective Narcissus, Adonis and Hyacinth—embody natural ease. They toil nor do they spin. Full expression is their birthright. Taurus rules the throat and voice, symbolizing a natural proclivity for these bovine characters to utter. Venus works her grace and charm physically in this sign and on its men who are suppleness personified. Consider the gravity-defying moves of Fred Astaire and David Beckham; the oblique musical stylings of Duke Ellington, Burt Bacharach, Bing Crosby, Bono Vox (good voice), Pete Townsend, David Byrne or Brian Eno; the skewed comedic genius of George Carlin and Stephen Colbert; the elegant up-ending of Salvatore Dali and Jasper Johns, the out-of-left-field acting styles of Dennis Hopper, Jack Nicholson and Harvey Keitel, the ironic soft-spoken-ness of Malcolm X, the obscured invention of Mark Zuckerberg, the self-reverential élan of filmmaker Wes Anderson. All such expression being one big, slow side-long glance of the Taurus Bull. Can they be in love with themselves? That’s a question for the likes of Al Pacino, Chris Brown, George Clooney, Channing Tatum, Enrique Iglesias, Daniel Day Lewis, Jay Leno, Will Arnett, Robert Pattinson, James McAvoy, Jerry Seinfeld, Orson Wells or Rudolph Valentino.

Representing the Feminine Principle, planet Venus’ influence on the Taurus male manifests physically, as befits this corporeal earth sign. At her core a fertility goddess, Venus developed into a deity of grace, love and beauty. Taurus is a feminine sign, which is ironically symbolized by a virile Bull. Besides itself being an emblem of male fertility, the Bull represents latent power—the animal is incitedto attack. Taurus men are more poised and graceful, if not reticent, rather than being forthright or obviously rough-and-tumble. They have an oblique, if not myopic, view of the world. Just as Taurus girls draw on the archetype of nature nymphs, Taurus man embodies the tempting spirit of such self-reflective flower gods as Hyacinth, Narcissus and Adonis, who even turned the tables on the passive, attractive Venus-Aphrodite, making her chase him down. Taurus man is the zodiac’s premier pretty boy. He is a soft-spoken slice of beefcake, often a just a sliver, exuding elegance and debonair flair. He has been known to fetishize and refashion female trappings and attire; from pink sox to sultry peignoirs: Jamie Dornan, Henry Cavill, Hunter Parrish, Jack Gleeson, Thomas Welling, Pierce Brosnan, Djimon Hounsou, George Clooney, Tony Goldwyn, Dennis Rodman, Jean-Paul Gaultier, Donavan, Peter Frampton, Astaire, Crosby, Ellington, Rudolph Valentino, Liberace, James Mason, Richard Avedon.



Paris, Day Twenty Four of Sixty. I am not popular today but that’s fine. All will dissolve and resolve. S. does the Sunday chicken shopping and goes out for a walk. Nancy is meant to have a massage today but gets ill on the street so S. will take the appointment. She had brought me back a falafel because they overordered. There is no so much food in the house. I will go and grab some water and wine. And I will walk S. to her appointment. We have a lot of time so we stroll the rue Charlot which is quite nice. I get those needles put into my legs and leave her to it. I stroll a bit more and decide to find some place to sit where I haven’t been before. I ask to see if she’ll meet me at La Fronde for a drink outside which we do. Then we come up and I go out and get another bottle of the same just in case we get there. We put out all the food and N. + G. come for a bite. People are a bit out of sorts I feel. There is just too much focus on food it’s freaking me out. I am not someone who likes to eat so much and when I’m not eating be talking about food. Some folks are eating profiterolles at every meal which is pretty funny actually. I can understand how something like this could send a person into a sort of manorexia. I will do some Gemini intro work today. Fitting as that is the sign of Nançoise.

GEMINI Woman

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 isthe 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.

GEMINI Man

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



Paris, Day Twenty Five of Sixty. After the girls left last night we took drugs in the form of watching Friends episodes on Netflix. Then I slept pretty well. Up early and did a whole bunch of homework which I have to finish tomorrow. Then I went to meet the three at Benoit and had cassoulet and no starter. There were more of that same dessert—people are obsessed. We then walked from there to the Tuilleries where G. got to go on the carousel and spend some time in the playground. It is some kind of bank holiday. The usual entrance to the Palais Royale was closed. We had stopped for too long a time at Ladurée. We did get into the galleries of the Palais and it was something of a hit. We Ubered back to the hotel where I left them all to have tea and I came home to clean up. Then I took myself downstairs for a beer and met S. coming back from the Pompidou. We put out all the food in the process of gard manger. I thought I should freeze the soup. A whole bunch of it went all over the floor when I tried to pour it into a freezer bag. Apparently I fell asleep and woke up over an hour later and didn’t know I had been asleep and was cranky. Oh well it happens. I do remember sort of shutting myself away in the front bedroom. The night was terrible. There was so much noise and my nerves seem to be very much on edge. I will focus on the Cancerian intros today.

CANCER Woman

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 fromand 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 Man

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,asfemale, a mother sourceneeding 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 offeeling. Cancer men, meanwhile, tend to work onthe 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 feels/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.



Paris, Day Twenty Six of Sixty. Feeling okay and getting caught up on the work for sure. I will spend the morning getting more homework accomplished. Then I will walk up Saint Denis toward where we stayed that time and realize I should just meet the gals at lunch at La Laiterie. Salad of brussel sprouts and red apple and mackerel and onglet with (maybe sweet?) potatotes. Then a quick pass through Bon Marché and onto school where we talk about voyages écosolidaires. I apparently did too much homework, but it is happening. I’m trying not to be afraid of wanting what I want to want. I know there is a formula in all of this for greatest success. Once I get through to the last month of the Blague year, I will definitely spend the time beginning to sort out what needs writing. I am going to go through all my notes and review tomorrow, which will be my major catch up day. We walk back from school and head directly to La Fronde for a pint and a homey meal. I had some risotto with crevettes and some lovely wine. The apartment has been cleaned. We have three nights back to back of more dinners out this week and I definitely start Bikram, now, on Thursday, which I’m readying myself to do. We tried to watch a very bad film called Otherhood but only lasted seven minutes before putting on I Feel Pretty for the hundredth time. I fell asleep in the salon secondaire and was coughing before moving myself into the front bedroom. I really didn’t sleep all that well, mainly because I have so much to-do list items floating around my brain. I needed to look up three things: Deneuve, Chatelet and one other which I can’t remember. I will consult I’m hoping S. will recall what these things might be. I was definitely thinking during the night that it is strange we haven’t seen how it is that Meg is packaging these pitches. I will also consult S. on that. Still plenty of time here. Although it is half over. I will not want to leave when the time comes I don’t think. That said I want to get this ball moving, fill these coffers and otherwise rock the house. It would be wonderful to get the business plan reworked so that we can optimize. I’m not really sure how muc I love or don’t love some or all of the pieces, but I do think we have the opportunity to make everything quite strong. I also think we have the potential, given our connections, to blow the ef out of it all. There might have to be a secondary line of Chinese product but I am hoping not actually. We must go super high end. We must be older. All these things that came out in all our chats with all our friends. What I cannot afford is failure of any kind at this juncture.

LEO Woman

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 Shrewspeaks 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 Heightsis 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 andhearth 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.

LEO Man

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.



Paris, Day Twenty Seven of Sixty. Had weird dream that included both John and Stefan, with both of whom I had found repair. I also had a dream where I kissed S.C. on the lips and one where I was chasing after this kind of young deity and I couldn’t catch up. I think the setting was the metro at Les Halles of all places. I will write to Cricket today. I will finish the last two packages for the 2021 books. And I will begin to map the planets as Thursday begins the process plugging in all the information which is absolutely fine. It shouldn’t take me more than three hours a day. And then I have yoga which is two and lunch which is one. So right there I have a six hour day and this should all happen in the morning because we are not going out for big dinners beginning after this coming weekend. My energy is bound to be in short supply, so getting everything in place as best I can before April begins is the main plan. I am where I am! For the first time in weeks I am finally caught up on this and—as the gods are my witness—I shall never get behind again. There really is no reason to.  I have this to write quickly: Eros is a classic archetype of the mutable-water sign of Pisces, along with his mother, Aphrodite, who was born of the foam of the sea. The sign’s symbol fish, linked by a single line, depict the totem fish or dolphin forms that mother and son would take when fleeing danger, remaining connected by an umbilical like cord. Eros is among the primordial, oldest gods (his mother is also his descendent); and yet he is depicted as an eternal babe. Sound familiar? He is the cognate of (the) Jesus (fish) whose mother Mary—a name that means the sea (Aphrodite is also called Mari)—wore a della robbia blue gown, fringed in white, the sea fringed in foam.I forgot to add a thing about being gods of Love. Anyway I cleaned I bathed I sorted out the refridgerator. S. went to the Eiffel Tower with her sister and niece and was meant to come home for lunch but stayed out. I had some leftovers and got very sleepy and made coffee and pushed through and she came home and we worked in separate rooms.

I wrote my entire essay before we got dressed and strolled all five of us to Dyptique and Chez Rene. I had harengs then lamb and spinach. The vibe was weird. Back to that subtle accusatory thing where “there isn’t really anything on the menu for G.” which is total bullshit because there are a thousand things on the menu. There is this acting job that goes on when B. hits the scene. N. was on her phone working for at least half the meal and distracted. And then the order of (two this time) profiterolles and a basically joyless end to the evening. They took a car and we walked. I brought this up to S. who said that no indeed N. texted to say it was the best night ever. Really? Whatever. Maybe she just gets more tense when he’s around? Hard to say. But all very interesting for human nature. S. didn’t mention the fact that we had an offer on optioning Cosmic Coupling. The focus is always on what they (or rather he) is doing and all the drama and every minute detail about his sleeping patterns. I like him but I always feel like I’m on their vacation, even when we are sitting at home. And S. is so naturally attentive to G. that it takes on a theater of the absurd as her parents sit their scrolling through their phones. I was fine. I had a coup de champagne and ordered two bottles of wine for three people. Here is the essay I wrote:

Je n’ai pas vraiment de meilleure ou de pire histoire de vacances à raconter, mais voici ce qui me vient à l’esprit: Comme j’ai dit, pendant ma troisième année à l’université, j’étais sur un programme d’études à l’étranger à Grenoble. Il y avait dix-sept étudiants en tout. La directrice s’appelait professeur Eileen Julien, qui était son nom de jeune fille—elle était mariée avec un autre professeur appelé Mead Over, alors son nom de mariée était Eileen Over, ca veut dire, en anglais « je me penche ». (Mais je m’égare.) Eileen a organisé une excursion pour les étudiants, et deux autres professeurs Grenoblois de la faculté, aux vignobles de Bourgognes et pour visiter les musées et sites archéologiques et tout ça de la région. À la fin de la journée nous nous sommes retrouvés dans un hôtel à Macon qui avait un restaurant basique mais pas mal de tout. Après le dîner, le propriétaire a annoncé que l’hôtel serait fermé à clef pour reste de la soirée et que personne ne pourrait sortir. Cela a posé un défi !

Je partageais une chambre avec deux autres mecs : Philipe, un gars timide avec qui je vivais en dortoir deux ans avant, et Jean, un autre gars que j’avais rencontré récemment et qui était aussi espiègle que moi. In n’était que 21h! Et nous n’étions qu’au premier étage ! Alors, nous avons attaché ensemble nos draps de lit et les avons ancrés autour de la jambe d’un meuble solide, avons demandé à Philipe de prendre fermement. Ainsi, nous nous sommes échappés et sommes allés à la seule discothèque de Macon et sommes revenus vers 4h du matin. Nous avons jetés des cailloux à la fenêtre, et un Philipe endormis nous a jetés les draps. Nous sommes remontés nous sommes endormis instantanément. Le petit déjeuner a été manqué, et nous nous avons réveillés quelques minutes avant la départ du bus. Pas de problème : nous n’avons pas à refaire nos bagages car nous resterions une autre nuit. Mais oui, problème : nous nous pouvions pas délier les draps.

Alors quand nous sommes montés dans le bus, j’ai dit à Eileen, tout rapidement, « nous sommes sortis hier soir, nous avons attachés les draps ensembles et nous n’avons pas pu les délier. Elle a juste cligné des yeux et m’a regardé—elle ne m’aimait pas beaucoup comme c’était. Un autre jour rempli de ruines et d’églises et des ponts et des musées (et des gueles de bois), puis retour à l’hôtel. Eh bien, ce n’était pas bon. Le personnel de l’hôtel avait fait tous nos bagages et ils attendaient dans le hall d’accueil. Nous étions expulsés. Et comme nous partagions des chambres, tout le monde était mélangé avec tout le monde. C’était un cauchemar. Eileen était furieuse. J’ai dit « je te l’ai dit ». Elle a dit qu’elle pensait que je plaisantais. Enfin elle et les autres professeurs ont convaincu les propriétaires de nous laisser rester. John et moi n’étions pas très populaires au dîner ce soir-là et à peu près tout le monde mangeait en silence. 

Rappelez-moi de vous parler du prochain voyage (à Rome) que les étudiants ont organisé sans les professeurs comme chaperons !


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 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Tea

Pisces 26° (March 16)

Today will get away from me a bit but that’s okay. I’m making an Irish soda bread and also this sort of tofu corned beef for tomorrow’s dinner we shall see how it goes. I am pretty exhausted as it is so not sure how far I’ll get. I was talking to my cousin and she asked a question so I answered: I get it. I just didn’t want you to think I was pushing you. You were first of the cousins I met in 1972 when you came over with Derek, the twins and Anne Marie. We moved to Wyckoff that same year in September. Lisa moved earlier and stayed with friends we had there as she was starting high school where Doreen was at Ramapo. I started fourth grade. My sister always hated me. In Jersey City when she was supposed to be walking with me to school she would make me wait until she was a full block ahead of me. We had to share a room in our apt which sucked for her but didn’t quite explain hatred. She later admitted she just wanted to be an only child and I ruined her life when I was born. Nice. My father who was very much a rage addict was gone in the morning before I woke up and I was asleep before he came home. I only saw him weekends when he would make up for lost time by hitting with a belt. My mother was still drinking (she got sober in 1981 I think) and she was super benevolent but passive with my father who was a tyrrant. I think because I wasn’t born in the shape of a football he didn’t hide the fact that he wasn’t a fan of mine either which may have fueled Lisa’s ability to treat me as she did. In Wyckoff my mother would feed us separately because Lisa couldn’t stand being at a dinner table with me apparently. Peg would just cook and drink and never sat down to eat. She would wait for my father. He was probably messing around who knows. Going to Belmar in summer he only visited on weekends and stayed in Wyckoff alone which I’m sure was convenient. So three months out of the year . So summers I had no parental supervision at all and I started making meals for myself probably around seventh grade. I used to stay home from school just so I could clean out the kitchen drawers (every drawer became a junk drawer in very little time). Lisa was a slob and her room looked like a bomb swent off and I was super OCD. She went to Centenary and took classes like skiing and photography still she skipped all classes and i’m assuming did drugs instead. She got pulled out after one semester and then she was back home which was horrible in different ways. She soon made me her pot smoking friend but it was erratic. She never worked a job for more than a few days. She only had friends that were never seen, never came over, all was secrecy in her world. At the end of one summer I remember that our house was broken into and she somehow knew it was Tommy which turned out to be the case. I don’t think I ever officially met Tommy. He was there that first time I went over and left with my mother’s deconstructed suits from the early 1950s. Lisa just created tension at every moment. She lived at home in Belmar with my parents (but also lived with her boyfriend or husband who was black. They were together apparently 16 years I never met him then he died. My father called to say “your sister’s friend died” I was like what friend? and said you know “the mully.” One Christmas I went home and typical me trying to make things work made an entire 7 fishes dinner for Xmas eve (and I brought all the food to make for Xmas day too. We were sitting down for dinner and no Lisa…she was upstairs…parents kept calling up to her…this was not atypical. I went upstairs and found her on my parents bedroom phone and I said we are waiting and she started beating me with the phone receiver screaming “never again” as if I had been some kind of attacker she had a history with. My father than ran up stairs and tackled me. Only my mother knew it was her and not me. But overnight my father threw away all the Xmas food I brought and my mother, who I realized was advancing rapidly with memory loss “forgot” she had sided with us. We called a car service and went back to NYC Xmas morning. Oh then there was my wedding. Lisa missed her flight and showed up at the end on heroin. That was fun. After that birthday party where I saw you last Lisa threw full bottles of Pellegrino at my head. Then when my father was dying she pretended to me that he was fine and recovering. As she was the only lucid contact she plotted this out. I got a call from my Italian-side cousin Donna yelling at me how could I not be at my father’s bedside where apparently her whole side of the family had been for days and days. This was only after I called the hospital that morning and they told me my father wasn’t there but in hospice. I called my sister and she lied and said “No, daddy wanted a private room and that was the only building that had one.” She actually kept me from knowing and getting to NJ. Lynne and I left the Cape at around 4am in the middle of a Nor’Easter and somewhere around New Bedford the phone rang and it was Lisa saying he died so not to bother coming but she’d let me know when the funeral was. I went to funeral and she was in full performance mode. There was never a will. But suddenly she bought a car and had a nurse for my mom but every time I would call some new nurse would answer and say my sister was in Atlantic City or some such. I did not go to my mom’s funeral because there was no longer a buffer and I think my sister capable of anything. So about 17 years since I’ve had any contact.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1741-1745. 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.


Paris, Day Nineteen of Sixty.Up at nine, did some work, food shopped and had lunch of arugula plam hearts and tomato and parmesan. This is really strange because I know I already wrote the Blague for today. And now it has all but disappeared. This keeps happening and I have to figure out why. Okay so Timmy the cleaner came over and said there is someone called Miles Godwin that also lives on rue des Archives. I looked him up on social media but found nothing. I might leave a note just to say hi. It was pouring rain but someone didn’t take an umbrella and instead bought one. I totally already wrote all this I can’t imagine where it went. How can things disappear like that it is beyond my comprehension. We bought a chicken for lunch we are meant to eat but it will sit there. Class was quite fun on this day I can’t exactly remember why but I know that it turned out to be something clever. I think what might have happened is we were broken up into groups and we are both pretty much the alphas. I’m getting to know the other kids and they sound really fun. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I’m still in this weird place with Stefan which is beginning to take a bit of a toll. We walk to the Café de la Nouvelle Mairie for dinner and it’s a bit dark and spooky out. I am glad that we are getting a few gigs because we are not printing money in the basement. I must have cut instead of copied today’s entry and then failed to paste it in which just makes no sense. I had a tartare of salmon and avocado followed by a pot au feu and S. had a broccoli soup. I remember typing the word broccoli and dorade I think no cabillaud. I have never heard back from Alex which is a shame. I did book Penny which is great. I have seven more folks to book. I’m still wondering if I should do my own piece. I’m thinking I just might. I’ll have to go down the list. But that’s March. I still have to finish all my book work. I hope to get to that today. There are only so many days in a month and the work is piling up.

Anyway I have this to write today as well. Chez les jeunes, on est tout overt, une page vierge sur laquelle la vie peut ecrire. Dans notre jeunesse, nous sommes les plus impressionables—nos cerveaux se forme encore. Le voyage stimule plus que notre intellect; il engage tous nos sens. Cela ouvre notre esprit et nous permet d’embrasser la diversité. Le voyage élargit nos horizons and nous aide de savoir ce qui est possible dans la vie. Ma troisième année à l’université, j’ai fait mes études en France et j’ai pris des nombreux voyages secondaires dans ce pays et celui-la. Et cela a completement changé le cours de mon existence. Je peux retracer toutes les bonnes chose qui me sont arrivés depuis cette année. Donc, dans la vieillesse, les voyages comprennent plus que les étoffe de la mémoire. Ils sont les auteurs de nos histoires, les architects do nos succès et même de nos échecs, les peintres de nos images imaginaires que nous appelons les memoires. Alors nous sommes nos voyages.

I am feeling a bit weird these days. Somewhat strung out and alone. I made the mistake of looking back and it turned me into a pillar of salt. I’m not being as careful as I should be maybe. I need to give more focus to my health. Blah blah. To be honest I don’t have a best or worst vacation story to relate. But I find most things in life to be paradoxical. Case in point I remember this one trip I took by myself: I had just arrived in Grenoble and decided to take a trip to Florence on my own before classes started. That’s probably not the best story. Maybe I can relate this story instead: J’etais sur un programme d’études à l’étranger. Il y avait dix-sept étudiants en tout. La directrice s’appelait professeur Eileen Julien, qui était son nom de jeune fille—elle était mariée avec un authre professeur appelé Mead Over, alors son nom de mariée était Eileen Over, ce qui, en anglaise, ca veut dire “je me penche.” Anyway that is a start. I just want to lay down some tracks here. It is all going so quickly and I’m very much interested in making the most, not making any more messes. When I get down I tend to retraumatize myself by going over things in the past that I have done wrong or which have brought me strife. It’s terrible. And I get some help from my former friends. I don’t think I have a target on my back or anything but I do feel that I can make it easy for people to pile on because I’m already there. So what needs to happen now is to take back some power and some status and make sure all goes according to plan. We are seeing people this week and I need to be my best self. Many marks to hit and I want the joy of hitting them. Synchronicity only goes so far.



Paris, Day Twenty of Sixty. None of what I hoped will happen today will happen today. We have a chat with Meg today after my massage. And I will spend the morning working on this box; S. has yoga and I will put out some chicken and green beans for lunch. I have to write about the transition from Aquarius to Pisces because the one I did the other day was too wound up. The metaphysical transition from Aquarius to Pisces is that of a revelation opening onto a transcendent state. Not to say that Aquarius people are in a constant state of revelation (they are) or that Pisces people tend to inhabit another reality entirely (they do); but the fixed-air sign of Aquarius, symbolized by a star or a galaxy of infinite points of light, is all about truth and conviction, the sign’s motto is “I know”, while the mutable-water sign of Pisces, symbolized by mists, fog, seafoam and all forms of vapor, is about the power of the etymologically linked imagination, imagery and magic. Its motto is “I believe” which points to the as yet unknowable. Aquarius is the glaring white-light of often shocking realization of the undeniable, while Pisces is being lost in a pliable state of reverie where all is possible and can be dreamed into being. I had to skip an entire degree point. Not that it matters or that you even know what that means. It’s just that there are more days in a year than degrees on a circle—not by much but still. It is my grandmother’s birthday but I won’t remember that. My dreams are crazy this week. I had these dreams of all these famous women—SJP, Jennifer Aniston, Chelsea Handler, Charlize—with all of whom I was hanging out in the city. I was trying to think of the name of the restaurant in Soho back in the day owned by that former model guy who is friends with Derian. Kelly something maybe. I still don’t know how that all came tumbling down and why it is he has the nerve to be all kissy kissy with S. Makes my blood boil, but time is a great equalizer; and the truth is he was always super uncool and hung out with the wrong people. That Kun character? Kin Khoa I think the restaurant was called. Those were the days. I don’t need anything to make sense today I really don’t. I’m going to go back out and have some more fun today after the calls with Meg and so forth. Looks like the ball is rolling and I will stop the hemmoraging at a later date.

So I’m going to take my notebook and head out to the Clip Clops or whatever it’s actually called. N & G arrive tonight probably around midnight. Again I had written all this down already. It is a shame that I keep losing precious words. Anyway it what it is. Today is actually five days later than this post but there is truly nothing I can do about that. There isn’t a whole hell of a lot to say at this very juncture. I’m pretty much caught up on my school work and have just a bit more of the book prep to do; but I could use some serious momentum when it comes to getting things checked off the list. We have a pretty social week this week. And it can get kind of boring in the process. The massage was fine but weird. She is a young woman and it was a mixed bag of reflexology and acupressure and so forth. I actually fell asleep twice even though it was also pretty painful. She wanted to put needles in me but I declined. I probably should have let her do it. We had a call with Cricket who is interested in moving forward which is great. I just need to get an idea of what she wants and what the budget will be. It’s all good as they say in the business. What business? We have a bunch of clients at the end of next week as well and I have to be up to date by then. This weekend will prove to be kind of fun but also kind of weird. I stayed out too late. We just ended up finishing the cheese I brought home from the Nouvelle Mairie last night.


Paris, Day Twenty One of Sixty. Nancy and Genevieve will come over today. I am making myself a little stew. I will add it to next week’s stock because I will never get through it. I think we are being a bit gluttonous these days, but there is nothing that can be done. Tuesday, going to class, was super rainy and we had to duck in a few places. We had a lovely time at Calvert. Again I wrote all about this but everything I’ve put into words here seems to have disappeared. I can’t understand how that is possible but it’s happened before and I’m going to keep my eye on it. I did my homework and had a lot of fun with it. Class will be enjoyable. We will do speed dating for the best kind of partner for going on vacation. It is now clear to us that the entire gist of the course is hinged on travel and nothing else but. I need to start cracking my own books. I need to make this stay here work for me. I’m looking forward to getting some facts and figures. I truly want to make this an experience that I can remember for a life time. We took a nice long stroll to class today and got there basically just in time. I’m a bit dressed up because we are going out to Voltaire. I will end up footing the bill which is fine, but probably not totally necessary. I don’t know, we shall see. The girls spent the morning at Merci and had lunch there. I am really trying not to overdo any of this. It won’t be easier. The next couple of days will see me getting a bit lost on my own. But before long I will reel it all in. I have plenty of work to do that is for sure and much to accomplish on this trip and I really do want to feel my best. It is up to me. I can do this. Voltaire was a total trip:



Paris, Day Twenty Two of Sixty. I don’t where they went this morning I really do forget. Oh I know, S. simply went to yoga. I had to do a little bit of shopping but not much and I will make some soup today but I don’t think I’ll ever eat any. Spoke to the chef guy Yannick (sp?) who says he is a personal chef for a number of clients including folks in the south of France. Sounds quite interesting actually. S and I end up eating downstairs at la Fronde again though I’m not totally clear as to why since there is food in the house. Or maybe there isn’t, I can’t remember. I manage to sneak out to get some Valentine’s flowers. And at the end of the day we will meet Richard Godwin for some wine at Barav which will be fun and S. will go off to meet G. and N. early at the creperie and I will be late for dinner and that won’t go over terribly well but well enough. And then we will go for some gelato and I will get to see their room. The hotel doesn’t quite send me but it’s fine. That part of the Marais is so terribly noisy. I will add in more here about what needs doing or my ideas for the book intros. That is probably the best tack to take.

ARIES Woman

Aries, the first sign of the Zodiac is ruled by planet Mars, named for the god of war and representing the masculine principle in the cosmos; Aries woman archetypally draws on the decidedly un-femmy, though fiercely feminist, armor-clad Athena, goddess of prudent war, strategy and, of course, wisdom. Also called Pallus (read: phallus), you might say this steely goddess was the original chick with a metaphoric dick. She is the “first born” of Zeus, and is thus the primordial daughter, likened to Lilith, the biblical Adam’s “first wife” who was much too much a top for his taste. Indeed, Aries women do wear the pants, particularly in partnerships. And they surely don’t subscribe to the notion of being the second sex. They are not subject to men, but can be rather objectifying of them, if anything. Like Hemingway heroines, they are living-breathing animus with a primal, nearly primitive brand of beauty—typically athletic, with strong jaws, and often cute cave-woman underbites, owlish eyes and heavy brows, a nod to Athena’s godhead of wisdom, for which the eyebrow is a symbol. While the Aries male is objective in the sense of being directive, assertive even aggressive, Aries female is objective in the sense of being impersonal, detached, keenly strategic if not defensive in nature. In a nod to her sheepish Ram symbol, there is no pulling the wool over Aries’ signature bushy brows.

If you know your mythology, you’re aware that the male gods were no match for iron-clad Athena. And in Aries women, her signature upstanding stature as a righteous female, with a principled if not political agenda, is personified. Athena (Roman:Minerva) is the original feminist, going toe to toe with male gods in competitions while punishing mortal women for a surplus of feminine frivolity, vanity and passivity. In her famous feud with her uncle, the sea god Poseidon, over the patronage of what became her namesake Athens, she offered the native people the olive, which became both food and fuel, two elements to ensure their survival and literal enlightenment. Human empowerment! And, of course, the olive branch is a symbol of peace, that which Athena and Aries women seek to preserve, particularly that of their own minds. Artistically depicted and described as strong featured and steely eyed, Athena at once portrays the physical prototype of the Aries woman as well as her directive nature and steadfast resolve.

Think of the handsome, angular beauty, not to mention the heavy jaw and bushy brows—tweezers not included—of Paulina Porizkova, Patricia Arquette, Keira Knightly, Elle McPherson, Jennifer Garner, Robin Wright, Kristen Stewart, Leslie Mann, Reese Witherspoon, Lady Gaga, Maisie Williams, Victoria Beckham, Fergie, Mariah Carey, Catherine Keener, Michelle Monaghan, Lucy Lawless, Rooney Mara, Sara Jessica Parker, Diana Ross, Amy Sedaris, Tatjana Patitz, Jane Adams, Joss Stone, Norah Jones, Claire Danes, Emma Watson, Jessica Chastain, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Natascha McElhone, Claire Danes, Robin Wright, Emma Thompson, Celine Dion, Elle Fanning, Jessica Lange, Maria Sharapova, Saoirse Ronan, Julie Christie, Dusty Springfield, Emmy Lou Harris, Claudia Cardinale, Julia Stiles, Keri Russell, not to mention such beauties with blatantly uplifting, individualist agendas, like Jane Goodall, Isak Dinesen, Vivienne Westwood, Linda Goodman, Gloria Steinham, Erica Jong, Maya Angelou, Brooke Astor, Marguerite Duras, Doris Day, Betty Ford and Sandra Day O’Connor.

ARIES Man

The Mars-ruled sign of Aries is all about not ignoring the obvious. It is primal, impulsive energy. Objective, yang, “masculine”, the sign’s celestial symbol “spear and shield of Ares” (the Greek name of Mars) is a unsubtle representation of the male genitalia that is ubiquitously plastered on men’s room doors around the globe. There is little irony being a man born under this sign. Aries views his raw animal appeal as both a blessing and a curse. He should ultimately learn to embrace and embody his outsized drives, harnessing and honing their power. He may even attempt to transcend his true nature—part rutting animal, part Superman—by way of channeling his native aggression into some Zen, Spartan or his planet’s namesake martial-arts devotion. The beautiful irony being that spiritual warriorship helps him to more fully accept his irrepressible Self, the premier principle of the astrological 1st house that is Aries man’s birthright to personify. Here is a list of objectifying Aries hunks of burning love, some of whom, drawing on their war-god archetype, can be downright belligerent: Ryan O’Neal, Russell Crow, Alec Baldwin, Piers Morgan, Hugh Heffner, Gary Oldman, Vincent Gallo, Angus Young, Serge Gainsbourg, Herb Alpert, Jean-Paul Belmondo, Quentin Tarantino, Vince Vaugn, Adrien Brody, Sean Bean, Jackie Chan, Steven Segal, Russ Meyer, Roger Corman, Steve McQueen, David Lean, Omar Shariff, James Garner, William Shatner, Ram Dass, Elton John, Eddie Murphy, Eric Roberts, Scott Eastwood, Luke Evans, Sung Kang, Marlon Brando, James Woods, Marvin Gaye, James Caan, William Holden, Crispin Glover, Tommy Hilfiger and, on the cusp with Taurus, Adolf Hitler.

Being associated, and indeed personifying, this first-house attribute of Self, , people born under the sign, males especially, tend to be very comfortable in their skin. Ruled by the red planet Mars, Aries in turn governs the muscles and blood—pure red is the sign’s color—and the sign also rules the element of iron, which is a life-giving element in our blood, as it provides the protein hemoglobin, binding to oxygen, carrying it through our tissues and muscles. (Is it more than mere coincidence that the red of planet Mars was only relatively recently found to be red due to a surplus of the iron element? It’s surely fascinating how these sign-assignations to body parts and elements pre-date modern biology or chemistry, all such information being already encoded into the ancient Zodiac, as if it were a metaphysical time capsule designed to transcend chronological Time). Anyway, Aries men are especially corporeal, if not rough and tumble, tending to boast rather un-ironic butch physiques. They often use their bodies in extraordinary ways, too, not just as athletes or in their proclivity for martial arts, or even as the proverbial action man— as actors, for instance, they generally possess what is known as “a great physical life” on stage or in films. Of all the male signs in the zodiac, Aries have a way of using their physiques in ways that seem to defy physics, their bantam bodies being the tangible stuff via which they achieve certain transcendence. Just look at this list: Martin Short, Andy Serkis, Harry Houdini, Harold Lloyd, Charlie Chaplin, Robert Downey Jr., Marcel Marceau, Jim Parsons, Bill Irwin, M. Emmet Walsh, Jackie Chan, Steven Seagal, Frank Gorshin, David Blaine, Eric Idle, Martin Lawrence, Eric McCormack, Peyton Manning, Merce Cunningham, Matthew Broderick, Christophe Lambert, David Hyde Pierce, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Leonardo Da Vinci.


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 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Em

Pisces 25° (March 15)

My mother’s birthday. She would have been ninety today. I am going to avoid talking about it on social media. Though I wonder if we shouldn’t dedicate new book? C’est possible. She was alive for the last one but already so debilitated by her disease that she wouldn’t have known what was going on. Such is the way of things I suppose. I’m tempted to make Irish soda bread. I wrote the last sentence two hours go and ended up going to the store for ingredients for the bread and also to make a veg “corned beef” out of tofu. And I’ve done some housework and changed the sheets and comforter cover over; S. made tahini oatcakes with scallion I cut and we topped with apple sauce and Braggs amino acid (we eat this at least once a week). Like this Blague, my menu runs like clockwork. We do manage to have a lovely time. Roasted chicken, suede and boy choy. You’re welcome. I’m unraveling a bit. Big Sisyphus.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1736-1740. 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.


Paris, Day Fourteen of Sixty: So I think I slept okay, it’s hard to tell. I did wake to a dream about Gwyneth Paltrow who was coming for dinner which I was making at a friends’ place, presumably, in Paris. The friends had a family with one annoying little chunky boy in a striped shirt like Pugsly or Danny Partridge—you know, big rib cage. I had made this sautéed zucchini which I knew was Gwynnie’s favorite (she was our friend in the dream); and she came over and she was weird and narcissistic and faux self-deprecating (you know, like most actresses you meet) and it suddenly came to light that the boy had eaten all the zucchini I made and she was evidently pissed off, despite her attempts to brush it off. One got the feeling she was slumming it because she was that over the moon for my zucchini (interpret that anyway you like). The dream went on. We bonded over our choice in neighborhood to live. I do think this dream is about success and wanting that kind of goopy version of it on some level which is all fine and good. Now that we are settled back in Paris for the next six weeks, though happy for this amazing trip to Venice, which gave me so, so much on so, so many levels (surtout friendship with the wonderful LLBs), I’m really ready to for a major re-start and looking forward to getting much of the busy work (2021 books in February, all of the festival stuff in March) completely out of the way. April will be focused on Spring cleaning and the selling of household objects, with all the proceeds going to the festival. People can park across at Dunkin Donuts and carefully cross the highway. Starsky + Cox operation will be at this address. We might get a Wellfleet box for the jewels. I am getting all my personal belongings down to a nub. We will see if Tim wants to buy all our books. We will put objects out for free. This is what April will be all about. We will get a ride back to the Cape from the driver. I will get the car inspected and then fixed. I am off on a tangent about things on my mind but that is not a bad thing. It is because I am ready now to shift the energy. We will take a drive to the Hovey in May and visit the people in Portland and so forth. We will stay in Wellfleet as long as we can because we shall continue to make Paris the city. Soon I will not be writing these things but reworking the Sabian symbols each day into my “blue project” which will be gratifying indeed.

Okay so after this trip I am getting a very slow start and yet I am managing to sit here and write this Blague without really being behind. I got a big chunk of work done on the ten-hour train ride that’s for sure. And I will be able to finish up all the prep work on the weekend, no doubt. There is no need for breakfast after last evening’s burger, and we will have some arugula with palm hearts and parmesan for lunch with Badoit. I get a jump start on the Kareem show at Oberon which is happening in a fortnight—and I feel a bit more depressed than I had felt about my series there ending, but I will do what I do and turn it all around. I am nothing if not resilient and I am experiencing so many synchronicities as it is, t’would be impossible to deny them their ability to provide faith in the unfolding. I am allowing for repair foremost; meanwhile I am taking no prisoners in the process. I am mindful of the rush of experience that we have endured and embodied these past several weeks; and am thus so grateful for this time to land in a place that I know it is destined I am to truly call home. I don’t know how it will happen, but I know it will happen; and that there are signs everywhere. So right. After lunch we sat down to try to make sense of our lesson plan for classes at the Alliance Française. Seemed difficult but straightforward enough and we set off for the fifty minute walk to school. En route we passed the bookstalls on the quai and one of them in particular had some wonderful astrology books so we will be checking them out next Tuesday, leaving some time to make some purchases. We got to Raspail with some time to spare and found our classroom where a smiley young blond teacher was waiting with just a few students already seated. One of the students is this terribly annoying woman who will sit herself down right next to S. and keep poking her and asking her questions to which S. has no answers. I can see her skin crawling.

At first it was tough. We missed the first class. We are sharing a book, which is fine, but I can’t actually see very well with my lame readers so I need to get some stronger glasses. S. whispered she thought the class would be too easy for her as the other students weren’t really speaking all that well. To our right, here is a girl from Italy, one from Pakistan, a Russian girl and a guy who is either Irlandais (Irish) or Hollandais (Dutch) but I couldn’t tell which he said. The lady to Stella’s left was asked where she was from but she didn’t answer the question. In fact whenever the teacher asks a question she is the first to chime in but with something that in no way resembles an answer to the question being asked, which is making the teacher make that sort of dubious lip pucker and emittance of air that French people do when they are like “no” but they are trying to be nice and find a way to understand the mental connection you are making. She is failing miserably. Then there is a guy from Egypt and a girl from Spain. That is our class. We are very old. But I’m doing better than I thought, despite the fact I am concerened with S.’s annoyance at the lady and her misplacement in the class as a whole. Things are starting to gel though. And the last exercise of the day is breaking up into groups to create travel-agency brochures for various places. We are assigned/choose Hawaiia. Ours is less a brochure than it is a television ad, but it doesn’t start of well. La Capricorne, who is way more proficient than I am, is being super type A and my simple suggestions aren’t landing. Also, she is stuck on the fact that the teacher said that we can use our phones to get an idea of the types of things French travel brouchures actually contain. S. thinks we are meant to overthink this and do something more difficult and specific than simply make this fun, easy and engaging. I finally will out and we write some snappy copy and I draw a poster of a lady in a beret and grass skirt doing the hula. We name our brochure (or rather our ad campaign) “Dites Aloha!” and invite imaginary French people to Venez and Voyez and Visitez and Surfez and Plongez and it is very funny and we name our agency 11 Bis Paris. We get applause.

Take a very small advance for Sextrologiejust to get it out there. Have someone clean up the translation and update the celebrity sidebars and find someone to publish it who will do right by the project and not hold their nose while they speak to us. That was what I couldn’t abide last time out. That and the fact that nobody listened to me when I said there were glaring issues about the translation. For instance the English title of the Virgo chapter is The Vessel, which was translated to Verseau which is the French word for Aquarius so the Virgo chapter title ended up being The Aquarius. That type of thing. Some nuance was lost for sure. All of this will be put into a strategy plan in the coming days in any case.



Paris, Day Fifteen of Sixty.I wish I could remember. And I wish I could say why or how it is I came to be where I am. I am totally disgruntled. And I learn over these last few days that it isn’t me. I awoke to a dream of destruction. I was at some sort of party-reunion of people from Wyckoff and Franklin Lakes. Lisa Dibsie was the defacto host and she was, for the most part, as far as I could tell, happy to see me. Then she introduced me to her family, which was made up of a bunch of male thugs. I was shaking their hands and then it became increasingly hostile and they began to call me names and now they were outright harassing me. And I tried to get away and they were chasing me. We were along a river like the Hudson and I started shouting for the police and a police barge then came down the river and they started firing bombs and I was wondering who they knew who their target was. It became clear they weren’t firing at us safely and so I was dodging the bombs along with everybody else and trying to avoid the enemy of thugs. Anyway it was all incredibly apocalyptic. I woke up late as I have been doing and I sent into the living room for coffee and LLB had written S. with some tarot cards he spied on the interweb. They looked familiar and in an instant I realized he had copied in samples from the tarot deck by Nick Khan with whom I grew up and went to school. The deck is called The End of the World Tarot which, hello, was fitting considering the dream from which I had just awoken.

We did some shopping and had some fennel-tomato soup I had made and did some laundry and all that sort of thing. And then we had a new client which was a breath of fresh air, actually. I had a rendezvous with my earliest childhood friend Bonnie Sip. Indeed Bonnie is probably the first friend I ever had. We went to nursery school together and my memories of her, taking the short bus to the Jewish Community Center in Jersey City, are my earliest beside those involving my immediate family. We had a wonderful time. She was in town with her step daughter, scattering the ashes of her second husband who died two years ago. It was all so happy-sad, which apparently is a term he used all the time. I never met him. She wrote to say meeting made her heart happy and I couldn’t agree more. We had shopped earlier for salmon and avocado and salad and cheese and wine and good thing because our plans didn’t include dinner just hors d’oeuvres. Anyway we had a late meal and some lovely organic red from the cheese lady and we watched the unwatchable Grace and Frankie. Sorry Jane and Lily but I am not going to make it through this season. It’s fine when you’re on screen but the other actors are just awful, especially those playing the daughters, and I cannot stomach Martin Sheen and anyway the writing is just terrible anyway. Speaking of television we did receive word that the office in London wants to option our second book and we will see them again when we are back in town, which is now turning out to be highly necessary.

I need to write to Jackie. Bonjour Roger! Sorry it has taken me so long to put down in words how much we loved seeing you and how grateful we are for taking time out of your busy lives to meet and show us your Venice. It feels as if I dreamed it. But the mime in me says that it was real and no illusion. I tell you what: I cannot remember when I’ve had more fun and laughed so much. It is very rare to be able to consistently enjoy the company of even the closest of friends and to be on the same page with likes and dislikes of activities and such; but I could have easily spent a lot more time together exploring and otherwise tearing up the town. It was very inspiring as well and I came away feeling quite different about our business and the roles we play in our career. And thank you for urging us to take the taxi on the way back to the train station because it was in itself a highlight of the trip. Unfortunately, our train did not originate from Santa Lucia but from Mestre but it wasn’t a hassle to get there. And the train took a different route than the one going to Venice, taking us passed Lake Garda which was really nice. I managed to get a a lot of work done on the train, and not drink as much red wine, as I did on the journey to Venice. Just writing the word transports me there. I feel such a strong pull to go back, which isn’t reality I realize. I do so hope I get to go every year—the gods willing.

I am returning to Bikram yoga (where I hope I won’t drop dead and thus never see Venice again) despite your warnings of it loosening my ear crystals. I’m determined to get some of my weight off in the next couple months; and also, it can be too, too easy to just keep eating and drinking my way through the rest of our stay in Paris. We started our French classes which are really fun. And after our first class we went to our favorite Café/Wine Bar which is near Pantheon and our French agent, whom we haven’t seen in fourteen years, popped in for a solo meal. Which was very cool. Did we tell you too that we saw Yvan Attal (director husband to Charlotte Gainsbourg) at our hotel restaurant in New York City in November and, S. being a huge fan, I went up and introduced ourselves. I went on to tell him that he (and Charlotte, but I didn’t mention her) are on our fantasy-dinner-party invite list. And he said well we should have dinner then. We said we would be in Paris and he gave us his email. S. wrote him yesterday and he wrote right back so we are having dinner with him (and who knows if he’ll bring Charlotte)! It’s funny because in our original Starsky + Cox live show party of Stella’s story is that she was the au pair for Charlotte and had a fling with Serge and Jane held back Stella’s pay for “safe keeping” and was supposed to give her it all at the end—but then refused to pay her in the end. To which Stella says: “It’s okay. I found a way to compensate myself. Let’s just say that I have the original Birkin bag.” So yeah that’s happening. Weird right? We also heard back from the TV folks and they want to option our Cosmic Coupling book in the process of working together, so I am giving our agent a chance to get a copy of our contract from our publisher and first crack at brokering it. But if she declines or drags her feet I’m going to find someone else. Which reminds me: If you think (I forget her name) at Fresh would want to chat again, we are in London March 24-30. That week is already getting super packed schedule-wise so maybe sound her out sooner than later. Only if you want to. Honestly there is no pressure about this.


Paris, Day Sixteen of Sixty. There is so much going on we are very busy. S. is going out on an appointment and I will sortir with her and get some food in. We are going to have caviar and crème fraiche omelettes for lunch with a delicious mache salad. And I will make a spinach soup for dinner. I will take a walk into the first and have a little bit of fun and then come back and make lunch and we will go to the museum of the chasse and find it closed and then I will end up sleeping for three hours. What is that about? I have been sleeping so much in Paris it is ridiculous. We had a really fun night. We had that spinach soup and watched Wanda Sykes who really is a master—I learn so much watching her. I miss performing. Still no word from the friends I wrote to regarding French contacts—it’s all information. We then watched a terrible film starring Jennifer Aniston: Dumplin. Which should be renamed el stinko. Anyway I have a list a mile long of stuff that needs doing. And first on it today is putting some thoughts together for J.C.. So here goes nothing on that score.

You are TK and TK is you. The story of JTK is your story. The company and collection are the culmination of all you’ve done and all you’ve been. The collection is the manifestation of your expertiseand experience, personal and professional, as ever the ‘twain have met over the years. We will discuss what elements—web content, mailer (real or virtual), promotional material, press release, brand book, etc—you want to have written; but your biography should be an important part of the whole of the content and not necessarily a separate piece of writing. There may be specific bullet points that can remain separate, otherwise your story should drive the narrative. The company and the collection are the result of your continued success in the business which combines your purely creative side with your keen business acumen and your understanding of brands and the building thereof. T. You also have this rarified position as fashion director of PKS which is a kind of appointment (if not an anointment) of note in the international fashion and retail landscape. JL, and TK, by extension, is thus greater than the sum of the parts you play in the business.

I know you know this: that the words accompanying the imagery you sent are nowhere near where the narrative needs to be. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. The words must always be as good if not better than the images, which are invaluable to illustrating the brand. Good wording can go unnoticed while bad wording never does. A great narrative that is honed to a sparkle and is more powerful, still, than pictures. This was always the work involved in writing for (Neiman Marcus) The Book, especially. The writing has to rise to the level of the subject and beyond. It has to dazzle and inspire as much as it informs. And there should never be a vague or unnecessary or frivolous word or phrase in the copy. The words should be set like precious stones into a clear, concise and creative composition; because, when it comes to fashion, art or any form of design, the words don’t just describe the subject, they reflect it. And they must portray intelligence, confidence and certain artistry, sprinkled with some levity and humility, too.

Besides experience and expertise, among other attributes, JL and TK stand for stand for knowledge, ease in elegance, expansiveness, personal expression, efficiency and freedom. As the designer and fashion business veteran, you uniquely know what women want and what sells. The collection is hinged on quality and value; and you are both creator of the collection and curator of the collective of other items and objects and accessories that are presented in the store. Everything in the collection and in the shop is integral and there are no spare parts or throwaways. Care has been put into every decision. You’ve created a world where you’ve done all the thinking for your customer. Each piece in the collection is carefully conceived and fulfills a sartorial need that women have. It is the same with work from other creatives—they are like artists in your gallery—which fit the clear and directional criteria that you set forth. And so we get to one of the most important elements to communicate in words: That of your vision. The two mottos of Sagittarius, remember are “I see” and “I understand.” And so you are the visionary who saw this entire enterprise into being; at the same time you are the seasoned expert creative who understands what women want and need and you’re simply now giving it to them, letting them in on the secrets you’ve discovered over the years. And here is another keystone of TK that we will put forth into the narrative: The company, collection and curation (store) is the expression of Jimin Lee’s philosophy of fashion and what it means and how it applies to women in their lives. You are expediting other women’s own understanding and liberating them through your philosophy as represented by your clothing and accessories (and objects and decorative items and textiles and wherever you allow your beautiful philosophy to take you!).

What strikes me most about the TK collection itself is the emerging philosophy. The pieces have a strong point of view and are clearly designed (and engineered!) to empower and to free/liberate the wearer and send them places, really and figuratively. It is a blend of sheer beauty and clear purpose that makes the collection unique. More than a blending of hard and soft elements, or a fluid, feminine aesthetic with a sense utility and function, the collection seeks to outfit women for the adventure of life that includes travel, versatility in moving between worlds of career and social experience, and providing the wearer a sense of expedition, in every sense of the word. This is a collection for women citizens of the world who want to look amazing but aren’t living in ivory towers or existing in bubbles. This is an engaging and energetic collection that prepares women for any number of inevitabilities and synchronicities, providing them comfort and beauty and security in meeting the challenges and demands and whimsies of life. The customer is readied for anything in owning numerous pieces in this collection; and they get to express their own creativity in the way they pair and otherwise put the pieces together. There is a practicality but it is never prosaic—au contraire, there is a poetry and a romance to the collection that contributes to a celebration of self through color and movement. One can be as subtle or bold as they care to be wearing TK and it thus fits a woman’s many mindsets. There is room for her to be many versions of herself and yet there is a consistency in the styling which makes the collection easily recognizable. I can hear others readily asking the wearer: is that TK, being pleased with themselves for guessing—yes!—correctly.



Paris, Day Seventeen of Sixty. For the most part today I am staying put and setting things to right. I will get a handle on where I am in my book planning process for 2021. Meanwhile there are forty-seven weeks of 2020 left. That’s 21¢ per week. I will ask if we are doing some kind of major promotion for Sextrology, which it seems we are. I’m feeling a bit dodgy and dehydrated and I’m going to pretty much fast today and drink Badoit and otherwise get my brain in a good place. I will go out and (try to) get a chicken from the butchers, only to realize they chose at one o’clock on Sundays. I had a feeling. I did get some needed things from the produce shop and wine from our back-up caviste which carries a delicious light wine we often order at Uni in Boston. We are not not foodies and winos these days which has been super great but, to everything, there is a season, and it is indeed time to turn, turn, turn. I decide to go for a walk with my notebook as sitting in the same position typing onto my laptop has really begun to take its toll. I draft many notes in tiny boxxes in my notebook and that is as it should be. Not much happens to give me pause. I am supposedly somewhere in the eleventh but not even sure I’ve left the third. By the time it’s time to stroll home I realize I’m super hungry and the notion of eating a little gravlax isn’t as appealing as downing a huge meal of take-away items from the Greek trattoria which, miraculously, is open. I will reopen that dialogue with SP who never wrote me back after I went the extra mile to transcend whatever kind of bullshit his tweaked mind is cooking up and dishing out. What a shame that people lose their noodles, and so young to. Oh well, I have to realize it is not my problem. I cannot be co-dependent about this. It will serve nobody. I have reached out to our agent to see if they can scare up our contract as there is interested in optioning the other sister book. She will write back that only the agent who brokered the book originally can do that. And so I will put word out tomorrow and see what comes back (in fact they come right back with the contract electronically which is fantastic!). I love efficiency. It is in fact one of my favorite things. No word back yet from Y. which is good. I feel I need a little me-time this week and don’t want to jump directly into a new bond; but it will happen. S. has also scheduled me a massage for this coming week which is great. The gods know I need it.

I am going to muse for the next ten minutes on the transition from Aquarius to Pisces. (As I set my mind to do this I feel an incredible fatigue in my body that I don’t quite understand giving the fact I have been sleep many more hours per night than I ever have in my life. I might have to have a coffee this afternoon to push through this feeling. I think that if I focus my energy this week on total recuperation, which will mean not overdoing work and making myself sick on that score, I might be able to start the work of true healing. So the transition: The move from Aquarius to Pisces is a journey beyond the veil. The former sign of the Waterbearer is represented by the biblcial archetypes of John the Baptist, and by extension, Salome, whose dance of the seven veils, one for each color of the rainbow, marries to the sign’s classical figures such as Iris, goddess of the rainbow, who, like John, was there to deliver the “good news” to humanity. As we move to Pisces, we travel somewhere over the rainbow, to a transcendence beyond time and space, a Nirvana (Kurt Cobain was a Pisces), of dream space. But the parodox of those opposite facing fish tell us that reality is illusion and vice versa. The fixed-air sign of Aquarius, ruled by Uranus, god of the Universe, the motto of which is “I know” is represented by a star (or an infinite cosmos made up of innumerable ones). It is about utter conviction and revelation. This revelation gives way to another dimension, another universe, the mutable-water sign of Pisces, ruled by Neptune, god of the sea or primordial ooze (the non-material essential from which everything emanates and to which all returns, the proverbial womb-tomb). Uranus, the energy of revolution and revelation, representing Aquarian conviction and full-knowingness gives way to Neptune, whose energy is that of dissolution, that disintegrates and washes away all that can be known, and bring us into the oneness state with the all that is the sign of Pisces, the motto of which is “I believe.” Belief is the magical power with which we can create future realities—our imagination, which shares an etymology with magic, is the primordial soup of all being from which all knowable realities ultimately emerge. John the Baptist, lost in Aquarius revelation, presages the coming of Christ, the premier archetype of Pisces—the Jesus fish?. The embodiment of Pisces energy, he is of course a miracle worker, an agent of the power of belief.



Paris, Day Eighteen of Sixty. I will start my essay today which is strange to think about. The theme is “Les voyages sont l’education de la jeunesse et l’expérience de la vieillesse” (Francis Bacon). Some ideas that pop to mind: Comme jeuner, one is open, a blank page on which influences are written. We are at our most impressionable and what Francis Bacon wouldn’t have known: science has proved that our brains are still in a state of development up until 18 years old or thereabouts and so, literally, neurologically, we are deigned to receive and absorb information in our youth and this is tantamount to the process of wiring our brains. The next part of the quote from Bacon speaks of language in particular and the concept of schooling. Perhaps in the end there is a teriary connection between the two in the Derrida, Deconstructionist view. Like a “happy trauma” . Experience is that which cultivates wisdom, but it is also the mechanism for creating memory. Bacon’s quote continues: He that travelleth into a country before he hath some entrance into the language, goeth to school, and not to travel.” I will have to think more about this. Anyway this will be a start but it will in no way end up the final product, not even close. S. will start Bikram today after all even though we decided to wait a few days. As it turns out there is no special deal anyway to it will be fine for me to wait. I won’t be losing any time and I will actually only end up going for a month. I am going to try to go every day even if I just stand there. While she is out I’ll do a little stroll near Pompidou before meeting her on Rambuteau. Everything is closed. So we will end up going to La Fronde where S. has an omelette and I have the bavette.

We have A. and Dr. Kimberly in the afternoon. And then we will go out for dinner as well. There has been a lot of that—it’s becoming somewhat worrying. Then again I’m not going to let it get me down. I need to be all forward movement and can’t stop now to think about nickels and dimes, that’s for sure. The restaurant is really fun. I have this sort of pork belly and mussel thing to start, followed by a ducking on a kind of sweet potato mash and S. had katsu of celery whatever that is and som pumpkin dish. The wine is delicious and the vibe is really fun. But there are already fashion people here in town and we are still two weeks out. I have a back and forth going with SP who is now better known as the devil. I don’t know why this is snowballing so out of control but it is. Will write this at some point: I have witnessed cancel culture first hand. It is a dirty snowball. Anyone who isn’t a sheep and speaks their mind as an individual in this day and age (where tribalism is just as rampant within our small so-called artistic communities as it is on a greater social scale) is putting their head on a chopping block of sorts. As a non-profit producer I have had artists cancel on me last minute and have seen the poisonous effects my taking action to recover losses of time and money have taken: the bad-mouthing, the icing out, the rumour mill, the shade. I have seen folks I’ve once called my closest friends close ranks around the most rancid characters simply because they feed their fragile ego and kiss their narcissistic asses. I have never been a sheep and I will continue to speak my mind and take my stands for truth and fairness. Our communities have become like bullying middle-schools and I didn’t want to conform then and I don’t want to conform now. I ask myself and bid you do likewise: Are the opinions you hold about others your own, or are they drawn from the entropic telephone game continually being played out in every sense of the term. As I write this I think of all the people I know who have ended their lives because they felt unloved, attacked, shamed. I also think of those who have taken all those slanderous slings and arrows and turned it into art. Of the sleazy weasels who feed the slanderous fire, I don’t think of you at all.

But that won’t nearly cover it. I have lots more to say on the subject and will eventually get it all down. I am powering through as best I can. I will learn that I am not so far into the weeds as I think I am. The final product of my French “essay” will be this: Chez les jeunes, on est tout overt, une page vierge sur laquelle la vie peut ecrire. Dans notre jeunesse, nous sommes les plus impressionables—nos cerveaux se forme encore. Le voyage stimule plus que notre intellect; il engage tous nos sens. Cela ouvre notre esprit et nous permet d’embrasser la diversité. Le voyage élargit nos horizons and nous aide de savoir ce qui est possible dans la vie. Ma troisième année à l’université, j’ai fait mes études en France et j’ai pris des nombreux voyages secondaires dans ce pays et celui-la. Et cela a completement changé le cours de mon existence. Je peux retracer toutes les bonnes chose qui me sont arrivés depuis cette année. Donc, dans la vieillesse, les voyages comprennent plus que les étoffe de la mémoire. Ils sont les auteurs de nos histoires, les architects do nos succès et même de nos échecs, les peintres de nos images imaginaires que nous appelons les memoires. Alors nous sommes nos voyages.


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 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

To All That

Pisces 24° (March 14)

I’m a bit side effected. But I don’t think too too bad. It will take another day for my body to adjust to the vaccine as well as the time change. I will crash by eight and then be up by midnight and lull myself to sleep once again.  Lunch will be lovely flounder leftovers; and for dinner I will make salmon, turnip and kale (and finish the ginger and green tea ice creams), I put on Romeo and Juliet last night to fall asleep to, which was wonderful. I will watch the second half today and all of Funny Girl, only to check out Facebook and be met with first post by Buddy Walder whose understudy I was in that play. The most amazing occurrence of the day will be the fact that David wants us to be his godparents. So nigh on his eighteenth birthday we are going to fulfill these roles. It really effected me emotionally I must say, and somehow inspired me as well. I have to reach out to Dr. Burke tomorrow and also to S+S. Today is day one of sorts and so here I am at one seventy nine which is shocking. This is the first day of the long light and yet it squalled like a mo fo. The poor chicken that the sadist farmer has left out in the cold I fear will be a goner in the morning. We shall see. Woody Allen is definitely a criminal and Diane Keaton is for sure on the wrong side of that equation. Mama Mia meanwhile is emerging as something of a saint. You wouldn’t see vain Keaton in Darfur or Chad or anywhere getting her hands dirty. She is too busy making the next worst film imaginable. I fear I am no longer a fan—never really was. And Annie Hall is overrated. I much prefer Hannah and Her Sisters. If I had to choose, which I do not. I am done with Woody. The way he said “and I’m going to make them stick,” when Mia says “you are making allegations that I’m an unfit mother.” What a sick, sadistic man that is. I hate cance culture but cancel Woody forever please.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1731-1735. 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.


Paris, Day Nine of Sixty. 
Didn’t hear my alarm go off. Luckily S. had hers on. We had just about half an hour to throw some kiwis down with a cup of coffee. I took a quick bath and don’t even remember now if I emptied the tub. Uber took no time to Gare de Lyon and we didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes before we could board the train, which is where I am right now, for the next ten hours, heading to Venice. As I type I see the Rhone and Lyon rising from the fog. I need to write a couple of completed text boxes So here they go:

Mother Myself: The Sixth Astrological House of Virgo is associated with our habits and behaviors, health and healing, how we “work”, that is to say how we operate and function, and the ways in which we best “serve” ourselves, and by extension, our environment and humanity as a whole. This goes a long way toward explaining why it is that, of all the signs, Virgo woman, especially, is the most interested, if not obsessed, with Self Help on every level—by contrast, Virgo man tends to be downright hypochondriacal. The sign’s symbol Virgin, holding that spicaof grain, may well be considering its gluten content and what effect it might have on her. It is a snapshot of the many ways in which Virgo overthinks, analyzes and navel gazes. As a native of this sign, you have read more than enough personal-development books, attended more than your fair share of workshops and seminars, and visited enough healing practitioners, psychics and sages, to last you a lifetime. So, we are shutting you down. You must take at least three months off from any form of self-help other than this book, your regular exercise, and maintaining a balanced diet. And with all that time and energy this will save you, we prescribe an actionable challenge: You are going to take all your self-help experience to date and create your own mini (or maxi) self-help treatise, weaving together all the myriad modes you have explored over the years, either through study or practice. We don’t want you to cut and paste your influences but to synthesize all you’ve gleaned over the years into a clear and concise composition of your own making. In the process you will foster self-reliance and keep in-check any surplus outsourcing of authority.

Solo SiloGray is the color attributed to the sign of Virgo, a nod to the sign’s mutable-earth assignation, which translates to clay. This is in keeping with the archetypes of the sign who include the potter god, Hephaestus, and the idealized Pandora (with her own ceramic jar or box) whom he sculpted from that gray matter. As a Virgo woman, you embody the potential to patiently mold yourself into the best version of yourself. However, on the flipside, another interpretation of your sign’s signature color speaks to your propensity to get stuck in neutral, lost in the gray area of inertia. This is less an issue of indecision than it is of reluctance, if not fear of making the wrong move—dread at being hurt, rejected or disappointed. So you will deliberate, and not bedeliberate, considering every angle and possible outcome. And you do go on: sounding others out, sometimes ad nauseum, in the process; just as, if you do meet with disappointment, you will beat that dead horse, complaining and lamenting, feeling perpetually, and near pathologically, wronged by people. But you can turn this trademark Virgo pitfall into empowerment: We propose you make an inventory of all your litanies, arguments, complaints, grouses and grudges—write them down on separate bits of paper and then put them into a (preferably ceramic) jar or box, and then bury them somewhere. This ritualizes letting go, getting heavy weights off your mind, and out of your emotional body; and whenever old, stuck feelings arise, you can visualize them in their darkened container, lodged in the earth. Knowing you, you might need a number of jars and boxes.


Europe, Day Ten of Sixty:I woke up way to early and was still wearing some of my clothes. I sent S. an email to say I’m awake and that I needed the charger as my phone is dead. She popped by on her way downstairs and I followed suit and we had a coffee together and chatted before she decided to head upstairs to do some work. I went up tool, after a few bites of egg and sausage, and went for a walk to the piazza San Marco where I thought maybe I could find something fun. Took some pictures of the Café Florian and otherwise bopped around, came back, showered and worked for another hour, sending all I needed to send to our agent before we all headed out for the day. We went for a stroll across the grand canal, stopping at a few paper and glass stores, and we had an Aperol spritz at some hotel bar (I will write it in here once the LLB’s tell me where, S. thinks maybe it was called the Sina Hotel); then we headed to the contemporary art museum, which was closed, and ended up at the Peggy Guggenheim, which was simply amazing—what a great body of work. After that we had a very interesting pizza lunch. I have never not finished a pizza in my life. I think it was called Pizzoke or something, on the other side of the other Island. What was incredible was the theme of the thing. Two things came to light, the first being that we really are going to make this collaboration with Eve work. For sure. The other thing that came up was the commitment to the characters and the brand. I definitely want to make that the main thrust of things in the coming days. As the brand grows these sorts of collaborations can be really great. We then went at four-thirty to Ca’ Rezzonico which was only opened for another half hour but we got to breeze through none the less. We then headed off to the Gritti for a pricey couple of rounds of drinks. I’m now sitting back in the lobby of the Flora and catching up a bit. We will head to the St. Regis in a bit for more cocktails then onto some weird restaurant where I will have liver and polenta. I was seriously concerned that this would come back to bite me, but so far so good.

I have a grand todo list on my mind. I have to painstakingly go through all the process of the jewel-making. I have to slow things down a bit. I have to find a way to fill the coffers and need to touch base on the cricket stuff. I want to go through every person I know and let them know what’s happening. I should do a little news letter perhaps on that score, which would include the consultancy (card). I should probably go through my entire list of contacts. And now begins the real process of putting together press release, all the “speak” for all the pendants, what everything means. I also need to follow up on seeing Fresh and write down the minutes from our meetings in Paddington and Venice on that score. I also told Tim that I would be sending him a note and that is somewhere in here. I sent a draft to S. of that so that is underway. I will make a list of press people coming through Paris and contact them about the jewelry, consult and also let them know about their book (or offer to send them one). I also want to put it out there on the Czars page that we are looking for someone great who does jewelry PR. I also need to get this Sabian Symbol thing going and make a list of all our book ideas that we could next put out there. Also we need to get the massage therapist information from Jimin. And I need a way to find out my Seaman’s balance online. Or maybe I can do that from an ATM. I’ll try that first. I will put together a list of viable acts for festival. I will write Jesse with a color story. I will check in on the budget for doing this sort of thing. I will find out from April E. what her show might be about. I will take inventory of who I am as a writer. I will reach out to Peter Davis. I will find a way to contact Tim Blanks. I will put that consultancy card on Instagram. I have such a list. I need to schedule a time to put the document together for Marilyn. The list keeps growing and growing.



Europe, Day Eleven of Sixty:Went to breakfast and then I changed rooms and fully unpacked S. and I went for a nice long walk this morning into the area near San Marco. The we came back and headed to the Accademia with LLB. It was fascinating. He’s like Sister Wendy on speed. I keep making fun of the fact that he walks really fast ahead of us giving us art-historic information we can never hear. We then met in the Campo Stefano (ironic given the character that has been annoying me lately) it was barely noon but someone was already ordering Aperol spritzes. I had another coffee and went back to fetch my sunglasses as it was getting really glare-y. We did some shopping. S. bought a nice orange leather bag. We then went to the Rialto bridge but didn’t cross it, after trying to make contact with jewelry artist who works with beads whose shop looked like she was just there a minute ago. Being foodies, which the LLBs admittedly are not, we were a little bummed at first at our choice of lunch space which felt like the tourist equivalent of a rest-stop cafeteria. It wasn’t great but it was clean and it didn’t much matter in the end. I had pasta fagioli and a ham and cheese sandwich—the former was egg noodles floating in a sort of gravy, the latter was exactly as it sounds on white bread. After lunch we went to the department store, which was called something Tedeschi, and then we took a gondola which was really fun and funny. When we were dropped off the gondola there was a lady in her window whom we waved at—she then opened the window ant talked to us and asked about where we lived in America. We went back to the jewelry lady and en route S. bought some shirts at a gorgeous shop. (Even though this was only yesterday I might have the sequence of all these events completely out of whack). They were inside the shop of jewelry lady, who mainly works in beads, so I went for a short walk in the area and it was incredibly sympa with artists studios and workshops. They were headed to the American Bar, said the text S. sent me, when they couldn’t find me. But there I was and as we headed back we decided not to go to the American Bar but to the Café Florian instead.

The Café Florian was actually a bit bizarre. First of all the girls had to pee and when we got there we were ushered to a table in a far room, and it was crowded, the wait staff all in formal attire; but S. and J. tried to go to the ladies’ room and there was a crazy line. We were seated next to the corona virus set and quickly moved to the window once a table freed up. S. tried again but no dice, this time alerting the maître d’ to what might be a problem with the ladies. I had a Spritz Florian (a more bitter version of the Spritzes I’m already o.d. on) and the LLBs had Gin Fizzes and Stella had some Barolo. There was a couple nearby and the man, who was much older than his partner, came over with an apologetic air and asked if S. was an actress. She said, no but I wanted to be one. Because, he said, my wife is convinced that you are an actress, so please, “are you Nicole Kidman.” So funny. Because, although Stella does look beautiful and famous she doesn’t really look anything like Nicole Kidman. After Florian we went for a little stroll and happened upon a couple of restaurants, Osteria San Marco, one of which looked quite trendy with sort of Saarinen table which a giant dome light. J and L. told me today they thought it was just okay. I thought it was amazing. I had this truffle carbonara and pork cheeks which was divine. I don’t even know what L. ordered for wine but it was delicious. We had three bottles I know that much. And then we went back to the hotel lounge and had another one. The LLBs went up to bed and S. soon followed suit. So I took the opportunity to take another stroll out of doors and soak up some local color.

I heard this singing once I crossed over the tiny bridge en route to San Marco. It was an amazing female voice so I followed it into the hotel bar lounge which was like a tiny Joe’s Pub and this young woman really was singing like a bird. I was fairly in my cups at this point but got the feeling that the tiny bit of house she had was comprised of close friends who were there to cheer her on, including this young male couple. I spoke with her and talked about how interesting it would be if she could add some story to her show and maybe use the space. Because she really lacked any kind of sparkle other than what came out in song. I gurued her a bit more than I probably would have had the night not been so preloaded but I do think I might have made a tiny difference in her thinking about what she’s doing. And I did give her my email address and invite her to be in touch with me. You never know. She was South American and didn’t speak much English and barely spoke Italian, but she sang perfectly in English so there was that. When I got back to the hotel there was a locked metal gate in front of the door and for a moment there I was like uh-oh. But an older man I haven’t seen before was the front desk man, which is a funny thing to be at such an old age.



Europe, Day Twelve of Sixty: This was probably my favorite day in Venice thus far. Jax actually joined us for breakfast the first time, though barely, and at the very tale end. And only after Lars had brought her up a coffee. It seemed potentially a bit colder out today so I wore my large Commes jacket under my coat and we set off for San Marco and, though I realized you’re not supposed to take photos a bit late in the game—two guard-attendants got onto me—I did take a lot of snaps of the floor especially. When you look closely at the structure it really is a bit weird and wacky and wonderful and it has many Arabic traits, the more whimsical of which are these kind of flourishes, like little twirly bits, on top of the roof and spires. Lars says all the columns are different from each other as the whole structure was basically salvaged. San Marco’s relics, which, legend has it, were stolen (back) from the Egyptians, are lodged here. And inside the church you see signs for these “treasures,” which we didn’t pay to see. We did pay to go behind the alther and witness this sort of gold wall depicting saintly figures punctuated with giant precious stones of all sorts which was pretty mind blowing.

I am feeling so full. My Commes coat used to hang on me but not it is tight to button. Another uh-oh. When I get back to Parigi I have to immediately start making changes. After the church we head back through the neighborhood S. and I enjoyed strolling through yesterday morning. It is very stop start. The girls (and Lars) are stopping to buy things—gloves, hats, glasses—but eventually we make it up and over the Rialto bridge. I am thinking that it is going to be super touristy, this bit; but once on the other side it seems more authentic. I know Lars is jonesing because it is six minutes after noon, and we come to this little square where there is this place called Bar Al Marca’, this little wine bar where locals are  drinking their “ombra” (so named for when Venetians pop out for a quick glass of wine in hottest summer, in the shade). This place is heaven: a cross between a biologique wine bar and a kind of ballsy place catering to a macho mix of marketeers, gondaliers and other workers. They look to have the best chiacetti here as well. We order four Aperol spritzes and this time I don’t believe they put any prosecco in it at all, just soda water (unless the gun the water comes out with is mixed with prosecco but I’m going to say no). Next door was the best cheese shop in the world. We press on and S. and I take detours to look at the fish market and the spice shop and taking atmospheric photos. We are are world away from our hotel neighborhood with it’s Chanel, Prada and Gucci. And soon we are at J. and L.’s favorite lunch spot.

Just when I thought they were diehard unfoodies (admittedly, on their part) they surprise us with this spot that disproves this theory about themselves. We started with baccala and another Aperol. I then had spaghettini with a spider crab sauce and the grilled fish, which was seabass. S. had a crab salad and john dory. I don’t recall if we had dessert. Lars over ate. From there we walked to the Danielli for, you guessed it, more drinks and then on to Harry’s for, yep, even more. I was now alternating Aperol spritzes with Negronis–honestly this has got to stop. I suddenly get the idea to open my own bar called Il Betty Ford. We are doing a great deal of laughing now that I recall. We take naps (not me) and then meet back in the Flora bar for even more drinks and then off we go to a church, of all places, to see a concert of Vivaldi which was stupendous. Although there was this young couple—the girl was the instigator—who were really distracting because they were talking and laughing through it. At half time I gave them what for and the managed to behave. We went back to Vino Vino where we went the first night and I had a bowl of pasta with muscles and clams and a curry sauce. Why? And I think I had some kind of cake. And more red wine. Oh god, what must I weigh. Jax and I are soul siblings for sure. We have all the same ailments, even, it’s crazy. I really have to get these appetites in check. We go back to the hotel and Lars orders another bottle to take up to the room, although he promptly falls asleep, and the three of us try to sing harmonies.


Paris, Day Thirteen of Sixty. The day started off a bit tense. S. noticed that our train tickets back don’t go from Santa Lucia. I am summoned downstairs and she’s obviously upset and trying to communicate with the desk clerk who is, on the other extreme, making everything seem like not at all a big deal. He said Mama Mia several times in a condescending way while not understanding S.’s questions about whether the train actually originates at Santa Lucia and at what time. He and thus she decides that it does looking at the train schedule I am not convinced. We finish packing and have breakfast with Lars and Jax and she isn’t at all well. Apparently we poisoned her and it had nothing to do with all the gins they drank and the fact he took a bottle of wine up to the room and promptly fell asleep—ha! Anyway I feel bad she feels bad. We have a lovely last few moments with them and it was so nice of them to get up and dressed and everything (when I know they are going back to bed). We decided to splurge on a Riva taxi and we get picked up at the hotel and led down a small alley to wear the boat awaits, passing the most perfect pink house. The ride is exceptional and it only takes ten minutes as opposed to the water bus which takes a half hour. We get there and of course our train does not originate at this station. S. is incredulous. I am aware that this train listed going to Milan and the one going from the Mestre station are just one digit off being the same number train. So she and the clerk thought it was the same train. No harm no foul we will buy cheapo tickets for a euro and a half each to get to Mestre which is ten minutes away. And we’ll still have fifty minutes to spare. Still she is incredulous. I am trying to ignore this. We get to Mestre and the train isn’t posted—yet. And then it finally is and we are seated in first class and on our way. Soon, much to S.’s delight, we realize that this isn’t the same path we took coming, which was quite ugly and industrial. This journey takes us passed lake Garda—which S. has always wanted to see (and plans to visit)—and we are now in Milan and switch stations there as well, as we did on the journey to Venice. Soon we are on the TGV on which nobody ever checked our ticket, not once, the whole way to Paris. And even when we got to Modane, nobody checked my passport!

I was standing in the café car when we stopped at the frontier. The barman shut his shutters and jumped outside to smoke, presumably. A tall thin man holding just a plastic bag got on the train and went straight for the toilet. There was already a smelly young guy installed in one of the booths of the café car who had been stopped by one of the train staff, a sort of chef du train, and ushered out of first class—I overhead the chef du train say that he didn’t have a ticket. I got freaked out by the guy in the bathroom and headed back to my seat. On the way I saw the team of border control agents checking everyone’s passports, pretty aggressively at that. As I passed one I said in English hoping to be understood—you should check on the guy in the bathroom, not understanding the irony of the situation that would soon ensue. I got back to our seats and S. said that she had been grilled by these agents, as many were, that they checked every page of her passport. I told her about the guy in the bathroom and that I said something to an agent in passing but that the agent just stared at me for a second and I wasn’t sure he even understood me. S. said and I agreed that I should go back and say it again with feeling. As I retraced my steps toward the café car I could see the team of agents swarming on someone, sort of corralling him, and I got a glimpse of a hand holding that same plastic bag. He was being ushered off the train along with the smellier guy that was already stationed in the café car booth. I took up my position at the standing table in the café car and back came the barman and I told him what happened and he had the opposite reaction to what I would have expected. He said he hates these people. I asked did he mean the agents and he did. He said they are so unnecessarily mean to these people who are refugees. And this same thing happens every day. They say things like “where is the black” and other racist remarks and (get this) the mainly white customers laugh. They grilled a black man who had a ticket and all the necessary papers for hours he tells me. They are just awful. So I say, well, I passed them twice back and forth and never once did any of this team even ask to see my passport. That’s how white I am, apparently. I felt awful that I would have tipped them off to the guy in the bathroom but le barman assured me they would have found him anyway.

I need to write to Jax and Lars and tell them what a fantastic time we had and thank them. I will do that in the next couple of days. We got a taxi back pretty easily after the first driver told us he wouldn’t take us to Rambuteau (I guess it wasn’t far enough to make it worth the fare?—who knows). We take the next one and that’s fine. We come up to the flat, newly cleaned, and I completely unpack before we descend for a bite. S. isn’t hungry and doesn’t want to go. I say I’ll go on my own. She seems not to trust this—maybe because I already had a bunch of train wine as I always do in the end. So she comes with me “if it’s going to be short” which I intend it to be. I have some more wine and a weird burger and she eats all the French fries which I’m never all that interested in. The maître d’ is this woman and she’s very fun and funny and has a great laugh. The young Asian guy who always wears a jaunty scarf was there and of course recognized me. The food isn’t great but it is a fun place to be. I’m glad it’s in the building as it is. I feel safe having it just downstairs. We are on the second floor supposedly only it is, in American terms, on the fourth floor. Things are already about to start happening.

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 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Circuit City

Pisces 23° (March 13)

Up at four, got some water, took some gummies, put on GOT episode I’ve seen four thousand times and promptly fell asleep. Cleaned up had some yoghurt and berries and made some smoked salmon goat cheese microgreen sandwiches. We hopped in car and Louie drove which was good as my back is really out of whack. We got to the place after making a few wrong turns and the experience was actually pretty remarkable—such nice people and functionally so together. Also the place was empty and nobody cared about comorbidities. We were out of there in fifteen minutes, ate half a sandwich, then headed to Orleans to do some shopping. We are going to take the rest of the day off after doing some more house cleaning and unpacking all the goodies. I will make scallops and leeks for dinner. And we bought ice cream which we never eat. 

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1726-1730. 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.

Paris, Day Four of Sixty: I feel edgy and dissatisfied. We are meeting Ellen today at two so I will set off for a long walk in the Les Halles direction stopping for a little something to tide me over—I went a bit too far, actually, and need to get myself back— and I’ll grab some rouleaux printemps on Rambuteau. We get some instructions from Ellen about the trash and so forth and she doesn’t know how to get the dishwasher to go either. That all goes fine. It was an edgy day and S. took herself to a sort of health food restaurant for lunch. My arm pain is acting up again. I cannot believe how lost in the moment I was. I end up checking out the Bains du Marais and having a tiny beer out on my own. I come back and we decide, though it is raining, that we will stroll all the way to the Café de la Nouvelle Mairie. I have clams and poireaux and saucisse. We have gateaux fromage blanc and mousse. On the agenda to write today is the following:

Something about any delusion of guys being in love with you. Or this can be added into the other bit. We can also talk about the shed and the lake and how Virgos tend to spend too much time in the former and not enough in the later. Because the sign of Virgo is all about habits and behavior people of the sign can be overly administrative in their lives, tinkering with themselves (as we mentioned regarding self help) or being to in service in their lives and works to the needs of others, playing the helper, the fixer, the assistant, the apprentice, defining themselves by how much they can organize and administer to the lives and careers of others (which more often than not leads to more Virgo resentment). Do less and be more.

We took a car home from the restaurant last evening. It looks like the Jimin work will come into play. I am now, a week later, filling in some gaps here. I’m not sure what to say but I know I need to get some things flowing. It is still the beginning of the year and I am going to accomplish some greatness, early on. I truly want to let go of all the pain and resentment. And the false friendships especially. I mentioned receiving a weird email from Stefan after years of not speaking. In the coming days I will write him back and say I think it was weird and solicitous. And I will find out in the process that he has become an astrologer and is working for a newspaper on the Cape. What is wrong with people? That is a rhetorical question. He cut and pasted into his email this old exchange between us from 2015 or some such where he references our working together. I really don’t want him in my forcefield. Then again I feel that way about a number of people these days. I am cleaning house on all levels and, I’m going to write myself through this and out the other side. I know what it is I want to do and I want to do it. First I want to focus on the pendants to the enth degree. The rest is just a matter of information. In some ways the excitement of the trip is causing me to fuck up a bit. On the other hand I learn as we encounter third parties that I am not the one who is really off. I thought the best way to articulate what went down with that freak would be to write to O.


Paris, Day Five of Sixty: Spent morning in working and then the handyman came to fix the television and the broken window which was newly so due to the strong winds which were beautiful and rainy. I managed to find a valve for the dishwasher so we can check that off the list.We had a lunch of chicken, beets and potato leftovers. I took out the trash and did some shopping at Monop and at the vegetable people then came back and set up the kitchen a bit more. Galoule. I have been awake since three o’clock and can’t do much of anything. We decide to walk up to the third and have some biologique wine at Barav, where we end up having beaucoup and eating a cheese and charcuterie plate and some raviolis and crudities ending in another chocolate mousse and fromage blanc. We drank a bunch of reds but there was this white we tried that I will go back for tomorrow. We met some nice people at the restaurant, Isabelle from Belleville. I think she put her number in my phone.  I do have a great deal to write today, unfortunately I won’t get to it. On the agenda to write today is the following


Paris, Day Six of Sixty: Book and Consultancy promotion day. Spent the morning writing and cooking. Had some incredible Greek yoghurt and strawberries and coffee. We will speak with A. and Guglia by Facetime or Skype today. Maybe we could reach out to press who will be attending shows and let them know that we are here and start talking about who the jewelry writers and editors are. I should ask Bryony and all other journailists in London too. That might be a great place to start. I’m pretty excited about the television thing but I’m so braced for disappointment so much of the tlime that it’s hard to gauge exactly what will happen. On the agenda to write today is the following


Paris, Day Seven of Sixty: I did a little shoppage at Monop’ and the Caviste and made a soup and otherwise put things to rights while S. had a hair appointment. When she came back we went back out and got some paper and other supplies at BHV; and then went to do a little more food shopping only to realize that stores won’t reopen until later in the day. So I just keep working on these ideas for the book which I will finish up on the train on Friday. We bought some lovely lamb and sides from the Greek shop and veggies and herbs and such. S. has drycleaning and cobbler to sort out. When I get back it seems the garlic didn’t make it into my bag, so I run back out, just as A. arrived. I come back and marinate the lamb while we talk and drink standing up in the kitchen. There is more wine than we need and we might drink a bit too much of it. We will stay up until one in the morning, and I will wake up on the sofa and drag myself into bed.



Paris, Day Eight of Sixty. I didn’t wake up in time to see A. off but I did manage to shout goodbye from the bedroom. Apparently they were up for at least an hour this morning rumbling around but I heard nothing. I’m loving earplugs. We had a little coffee and set off to the Alliance Francaise for placement tests. I thought it would be a quick affair but it took hours. I thought I was doing fantastically but actually I wasn’t being viewed as proficient at all. S. thought she was doing terribly and yet (of course) she was testing way better. She was even given a harder test than I took. I basically told the lady testers that if I didn’t get to be in the same class with her that I wasn’t going to take a class at all. So they let me go into the same class which is going to be difficult for me and probably too easy for S. My body feels strangely loose and strong and I’m trying, even on the walk across the river, to have a more athletic stance. There is a huge line to register, then, after we get through the sorting hat process. They might not be quick in France but they are thorough. Because we have given over to the length of time things take, and because I do have a soup waiting at home, we decide to take our lunch at the Café de la Nouvelle Mairee. I have oysters and steak tartare and S. has a radicchio salad and a quiche. We have a little pot of red. And then we walk back and touch down in the apartment for a bit before heading back out to visit the hotel Nancy wants us to check out and we grab some wine and some ziplocks and such and then sit at La Fronde, which, it turns out, has organic wine—I had only had beer there before—along with having a diverse and attractive wait staff. We nearly literally bumped into Diane Pernet, which is fantastic because she was first on my list of folks to contact.

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 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Aggravation

Pisces 22° (March 12)

Another underachieving day. Oh well. Every little bit helps and there will be times when I write twenty pages at a time (yeah right). Maybe I do indeed lack the will for these sorts of things. Or maybe the idea itself is flawed. In any case I will do the minimum and have some fun. I ended up raking the yard when the resident evil wasn’t here. Speaking of evil that douchebag Manso can’t not be hateful. I pointed it out to many applause except for that Fedorko guy who is just always a big miss as well; and of course they are friends. Such old-school bitterness I can’t even. I will make a lovely flounder for dinner tonight. Hard act to follow after last night’s polenta and eggplant spectacle. But I’m going to put a little pecorino in with the bread crumbs. And serve it with broccoli and tiny whole roasted potatoes. Yum. And then, as if I wasn’t sore enough from yard work, we danced over five thousand steps. It was a good thing to do on a number of levels. Tomorrow we drive to Dartmouth for the first of two vaccine doeses.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1721-1725. 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.

Today got off to a horrible start. We were awakened by the film crew just after four o’clock. It was insupportable. And of course this was the first day of holiday for the hotel manager with whom I’d already nurtured a relationship. Was a bummer. I called down to ask to speak to a manager and one wasn’t yet in. The crew had taken over. There was no reception, no morning breakfast room. Nobody answered the phone at room service. The desk said that breakfast was being set up somewhere on a different floor. I set out in search of answers and stumbled on two guys in suits one of whom said “morning sir, y’alright?” I said I’m looking for a manager and he pointed to the other guy who had pulled ahead and now spun on his heels. You’re the man I’m looking for said I. He said he hadn’t yet begun his day. That was lost on me. I started in on my noise complaint. He is about my height and, it might be a cultural thing—his name is Rachid and I’m assuming Algerian or some such—but he got right into my face. Not in a mean way, but he was definitely a close talker of the first kind and he wasn’t totally contrite, or so it seemed at the time. We went down to breakfast where they had set it up in this sort of ballroom sized hall, a buffet, but with pretty much all the same food one could order off the menu. We stockpiled some meats and cheese for A. who arrived about a half an hour later. We discussed packaging again for the most part as she wanted to prepare a brief for G. who will now be our new designer since the other folks have dragged their heels. Hard to believe that it is over nine months since we started a conversation with them; and it has been nearly four since I already said I think it might not be an auspicious arrangement. I have really felt held hostage by the situation, especially, as I was accused at the time of already having another person in place, which I didn’t, amid reassurances that everything could happen quickly. What I find especially irksome is that, though I care so (too) much about preserving our friendship, I feel the other bloke doesn’t give a flying fuck. Speaking of other blokes, what happened to Sebastian. Good question. Weird how people just flake off. Not to mention the recent exchange with Stefan the horrible. What a nutjob that jerk turned out to be. Next!

So I excused myself from breakfast a bit early as the subject turned to websites. I wanted to sneak in a swim, even a quick one, which I did. We then dressed and set off in a car to Soho for this meeting with the production company owned by C.M.. We got there a bit early so we strolled and popped into a magazine shop. Then we sent to the meeting, which was on Berwick Street, to which we were slightly early—they were just finishing up (eating). She herself was there which was astonishing, as were two associates, one being director of development. We were off and running. I won’t say much here about the content of the conversation because I probably really shouldn’t but there are a few takeaways we can discuss. First off, we were there because they are doing a show on theme of what we do for a living. C.M. is old school and a fan of Linda Goodman. It was her receptionist, who was out with a cold, apparently, who had a copy of Sextrology in her bag and told her bosses they should contact us. They would have looked us up and contacted our assistants, assuming we were in New York or L.A. or someplace domestic. Upon hearing from them, given who it is, we naturally assumed they were L.A. based. Turns out they are firmly, now, established in London. And, I’m sure murch to their surprise, we were also in London at the moment they wished to meet us. The next thing is the real kicker: The show idea they described is the exact show that we two had envisioned and talked about, some five years ago in Paris. But exactly the show. So the major takeaway is this: whatever happens at this point the fact is that the thoughtform of idea we put out there walking around Paris in 2025, excitedly describing the would-be show (that we could never make) to each other, managed to float through space and time and end up in the brain of one of the most successful and prolific producers of television there ever was. And we were brought in, seemingly on a whim, and while in the same city, all at the same time, an Uber away, to witness the next, and hopefully true, iteration of this very idea. So my lesson this week is in Faith. Faith that energy, like matter, can neither be created nor destroyed, and that our thought form of energy was indeed alive and it somehow made its way over the last five years through the ether. The meeting was an hour and we covered every bit of territory and we really liked each other and if nothing else I hope we made a friend.

We head out in a happy daze and work our way, en route to Liberty, to the Soho Hotel where we hope to have a drink and a snack, but they are not serving food, so we use the loo and leave. Because of our stay there a year ago November I remember how to work our way down Carnaby Street but we don’t get that far when S. spots Brindisa, where we stop for a few plates of tapas and a carafe of red wine. Really delicious. Then we head to Liberty and breeze through the jewelry section and see A.’s collection there of course. Post that, frustration ensues: We want to find the Atlantis bookshop on Museum Street but our Map apps are fucking with us and we end up in the landscape of hell which is Oxford Street and vow never again to do this. Jo raved about Atlantis so we had to go; but what we realize is that, whereas this type of shop might be unique in London, it is a pale comparison to any number of shops on this theme which we have encountered over the years in New York and Boston and Los Angeles. I had looked up the shop online and it typically yielded stories about how this shop has been in one family for generations, picturing mum and daughts. Well, when we got there, there they were mum and daughts and grand daughts. The shop gave me a weird vibe I have to say. These kinds of shops either feel good or weird, and this was a weird feel. I couldn’t wait to get out. We were close to Theobalds at that point and thus a very direct stroll up it to Rosebury Avenue and Exmouth Market, where I was just yesterday.

We stopped by our fave wine shop in the area for something to bring to Pascale and Matt’s. We then circled back to Exmouth and installed ourselves at Caravan for a tea and wine (guess who had which). And then it was time for dinner with the fam as Hen and Dot were there and there was a seventh space set at the table. Call Caroline for dinner, Pascale shouted at her children and we were like who is Caroline. Well, apparently Mary has a German friend from school in Eindhoven who has been living at Myddelton Square but we had no idea. She was very sweet. And Pascale made one of her signature delicious plant-based meals. S. and I had a little red, P. had a little white, M. is drinking non-alcoholic beer (m’ok); they asked if I had left a sports jacket in their bedroom cupboard. I was convinced I hadn’t, but yes it was mine—I totally forgot I brought this blazer with me, which I would have planned to wear at the end of a trip ending in major weight loss. I told Matt to try it on—he did—and it fit him perfectly. It is now his. It really felt like old times tonight and I just loved being able to have a family meal and be with people whom you know and who know you.



Paris, Day One of Sixty: We wake finish packing I pay the bill I swim for an hour we check out and I get a bunch of expenses taken off our bill and a free car to the train station. We aren’t allowed in the first class lounge even though we have first class tickets. Oh well. The class of service is good but there are two mole people sitting next to us. I shoot them looks but they’re too dense to pick up the clues. They are sexless gamers who seem to work for Sainsbury’s or something. Anyway the ride was quick and I had a chicken dish and some mousse and a few minis of red wine. We get to Gare du Nord and people are soliciting us for taxis before we even queue up in the official line, which is strange. Well, turns out there is a manifestation and most of the taxis lining up are refusing to take the majority of people in line anywhere. We convince a driver to do so and it takes ninety minutes and many tens of euros to get to the rue des Archives. We took on little walk on Rambuteau and grabbed some coffee for the morning and some wine and cheese and water and a baguette that we could snack on as we unpack. The rue Rambuteau has everything. A cheese shop, a fish shop, a butcher, great veg places, the perfect place to buy coffee. And so many traiteurs—a Greek one, an Italian one. And this one bakery that sells just savory foods with a second one that just sells sweets. We do so fully and are exhausted so we stay local and find Le Mangerie which was recommended to me by la fille de Normandie who works at The Grocery on Kingsland Road. It was terrible. Weird little tapas type things. We can’t figure out how to turn certain lights on and the television isn’t in working order either. We will send a note about these things and get them fixed.

I feel like I have bitten off more than I can chew. Last night ended with dinner with A. at Emile which was just a pop-up it turns out and will open with more permanent digs in Belgravia in March. Anyway we were talking about our real names and how Corbett comes from Corbet, b and v being one an the same, thus Corvet or Corveau. Anyway, it all translates to the raven which is the family crest. On my side Leone is lion which would be our family crest. We joked about how, when you put us together, you might come up with Corleone. A. asked what our family crest would be and S. said the funniest thing ever: The Other Shoe Dropping. I’m still laughing to myself about this it was hysterical. Days later I’ll still spontaneously crack up on the street such that people will think I’m psycho. I am feeling unreal waves of happiness. Like crazy happiness. I thought I was happy in London but nowhere near how I feel now. I forget how much I love Paris and how bright it makes me feel. I must remember this feeling. I am here for two months and it already feels like it won’t be long enough. I am fatter than I want to be and there is this amazing men’s shop we happen across called Plusque Parfait. I am determined to get this weight off by the time Spring rolls around when I can buy myself some beautiful things from the shop. I have a lot on my plate but I feel up to the task. We are getting a second room in the hotel in Venice. I can’t believe I’m finally going to Venice. The train ride is ten hours. We go from the Gare de L’Est? S. needs to send me my ticket so I have it on my phone. I will definitely stop eating like a giant pig for a couple days before we go. The beauty is we don’t have to think about anything. The LLBs will be the tour guides arranging everything. Even the second hotel room so that someone can get some sleep. I will take the crappier of the two rooms.

By Thursday I need to have my text boxes drafted so that I can tweak and send them over the weekend. We have decided that on our return from Milan that S. and I would go over the particulars. I am super happy that we decided to stay away. It has already been an incredible boon; and I am determined to sail this ship toward ultimate success. It is about getting out ahead of the curve and staying there. That has always been the trick; and now, with this offsite plan, I feel that I can really accomplish all that needs accomplishing. The pendant program itself is an entire world of business needing to be accomplished. We will be getting initial things from Guilia this week which is great. It really is hard to articulate this feeling and this need to put things into motion. Ideas dissolve like the landscape of a lucid dream every time I sit down to hammer things out. I have two and a half hours left today to make magic and put things into motion and to start my own factory roll out for the new year. It is still only January. There is no panic as everything will move forward and give me a break, people take vacations. Even when I go away on holidays I always bring my work with me. I have got to stop feeling guilty and afraid. I do what I do and if I can’t live with the consequences than I shouldn’t do it. It really is that simple. It’s time to grow up and in the process be kinder to myself on all levels which means not putting my body and mind through unnecessary stresses while at the same time forgiving myself for any overindulgences I do fall into.


Paris, Day Two of Sixty: We woke and had coffee and went out in search of Bikram and the health food store, both of which we found after a cul de sac of time and space in which we looked for the yoga studio but we were on the wrong road. We did some shopping on Rambuteau, including a couple of sandwiches which we will eat before going back out for more groceries and flowers for the week. We also discover the Caviste, which we now remember, was among our favorite wine shops. We had the appointment with a favorite client who is in Paris; then we set off for the left bank. We do a little shopping at Papier Plus and then it is nearly time for the singing mass at St. Gervais. This morning I had a dream about saving my grandmother from a burning building. We sit in the church on small benches for half an hour while the nuns settle into their spots and never move a muscle. The priests finally arrive. There is such a difference between them, the women are still and meditative and serene, in their blue robes and white hooded cloaks, and the men, all in black, are slightly more boisterous and jolly and read like school boys on retreat ever so slightly. The congregation is shuffling in and the spots are all but taken up. The music begins and everyone begins to sing but only gets a few seconds in before a young man appears at the pulpit and takes the microphone protesting the Catholic Church. S. is having none of it, as is her personality—she’s freaked and needs to get the ef out. We go and I can’t help thinking the congregation believes that we are somehow complicit with the protester.

We head toward the river and S. tells me that she felt her grandmother move through her while she was sitting still on her stool at St. Gervais. Her grandmother changed her name to Genevieve and it turned out that the mass was all about St. Genevieve, the Patron Saint of Paris, whose feast day is January 3, and whose whole mission was about getting believers to believe. She led a prayer marathon which saved the city from siege by the Huns, she also worked out deals with the Germanic invaders. Her symbol is a candle, which we didn’t know as we strolled toward Boulevard St. Germaine to the Diptyque store to buy a candle. I told S. about my grandmother dream this morning from which I woke for the day. I went to see a psychic once who told me my grandmother had a message for me and it was to “go to church.” Just a few steps beyond the candle shop is our destination for dinner, Chez Rene. We were hesitant to go but so glad we did. We made a reservation for eight but arrived at seven, the only people yet in the place. By eight it was packed. S. had betteraves and mache salad and I had salade de chevre chaud and lambchops, with spinach and frites to share and a flan for dessert. We started with a gorgeous glass of champagne each then had some nice AOC vin, Bandol maybe, I don’t remember. We probably won’t go here again this trip so I’m glad we made the effort. As tradtionalese as it is, it is very good and simple and clean. My meal was just a bunch of lamb chops on a plate. So simple and lovely. I’m going to make some lamb in the kitchen here. I do intend on cooking a lot and making soups, especially, once the Bikram begins. I’m a bit nervous about going back and yet I super can’t wait.

We decided to stroll home and it was only about twenty minutes total, which is great. We passed a few little shops that are good to remember. Earlier we had scanned the neighborhood and noticed that Fer au Cheval is closed (they had a fire) and that there is an Eataly in the neighborhood (there it goes) and we picked a lousy (sale!) day to hit BHV but we needed some electronics. I bought a tiny Bluetooth speaker so we can listen to our own music and also I want to figure out continuous white noise. I do need to write to Neil to see if he is still planning a Paris visit. The sound of breaking glass is a particularly French sound. I also need to write to Laurie to ask about her friend’s resto. Tomorrow we will have lovely food from the Greeks. I might also think about making some lambchops just for fun. Oh and I have to research the Enfants Rouge market.


Paris, Day Three of Sixty: Back to Rambuteau to get a roasted chicken. We had a late breakfast of yoghurt, almonds and berries. I realized that I had lost my computer files which makes no actual sense. It put me into a bit of a tail spin. S. had a Facetime scheduled with the family so I decided to go for a beer in the neighborhood to write by hand. I came back and had chicken and decided I wanted to go back out which was actually fine. I actually went to a couple of places and got lost talking to people and writing in my notebook and failed to text home and it wasn’t pretty when I got home. I never know what to do in these cases. Sometimes if I text it starts a whole thing; and sometimes when I don’t it can be even worse. I will definitely limit my solo excursions for the rest of the trip so to keep the peace because we have too many important things to accomplish on this trip, really, and it needs to be productive and fruitful in the extreme. On the agenda to write today is the following:

Some N’ology text boxes one of which would be about self help something likShut down the self help. We know you and you go from this book to the next, searching for external answers. So guess what you’re going to start your own self-help guide based on your experience.The Sixth Astrological House of Virgo is associated with our habits and behaviors, health and healing, how we “work”, that is to say how we operate and function, and the ways in which we best “serve” ourselves, and by extension, our environment and humanity as a whole. This goes a long way toward explaining why it is that, of all the signs, Virgo is the most interested, if not obsessed, with Self Help on many levels, and Virgo women especially. (By contrast, Virgo men tend to be downright hypochontriachal.) The sign’s symbol Virgin holding that sheaf of grain might well be considering its gluten content and what effect it will have on her. It is just one of the many ways in which Virgo overthinks, analyzes and navel gazes in the extreme. In typical Virgo fashion, you have read more than enough books, attended more than your fair share of workshops and seminars, visited a plethora of whole plethora of healing practitioners, psychics and sages, to last you a lifetime. So we are shutting you down—you must take at least three months off from any form of self help other than your regular exercise and maintaining a healthy, balanced diet. And with all that time and energy we are prescribing something actionable, and perhaps challengingly so: You are going to take all your self-help experience to date and create your own mini (or maxi) self-help treatise, weaving together all the myriad modes you have explored over the years, either through study or practice.

Gray is the color associated with the sign of Virgo, a nod to the sign’s mutable-earth assignation, which translates to clay, in keeping with the archetypes of the sign who include the potter god, Hephaestus and the idealized Pandora, with her own ceramic jar or box, whom he sculpted from the stuff. You do possess the potential to mold yourself into being the best you you can be. But another interpretation of Virgo’s trademark color gray speaks to your propensity to get stuck in neutral, lost in the gray area of inertiaI could talk about grey being neutral, a state in which Virgo finds herself all too often, stasis being less an issue of indecision than it is simple fear of making the wrong move. The first order of business will be to see if we can isolate some action items in the process. For fear of being hurt or disappointed. You tend to beat a dead horse, complain, You can be pathologically wronged by others. There needs to be an inventory of the litanies, the complaints, the grousing and the grudges. You have to let it all go. So, your homework is to go just twenty-four hours without a complaint or even the slightest negative comment, particularly about other people or situations you find yourself in.  There is also something about grudges.

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 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Clearing House

Pisces 21° (March 11)

I will make some inroads today with a new chapter which is always a good feeling and yet I will underdeliver. It is baffling to think that in just about ten days that I will begin the seventh year of this Blague. I need to keep it simple and might just do a sort of Bluebook thing to get that party started. It could be nice, and link back to the original year for fun. I was feeling pretty upbeat about the real estate angle of things but I have freaked myself out a bit. Oh well: Onto other thoughts: The Moonchild is the most self-protective of men. He needs strong emotional defenses because he is highly sensitive, and so he chooses his company carefully, just as he secures professional positions for himself where he will largely be left to his own devices. As walled-in as he may be, he is, as a rule, exceedingly ambitious; he thus tends to oh, so subtly, target individuals he feels can speed his trip toward success, often becoming a darling to influential people who will take up his cause. He is very good at playing the proverbial game in his career, even when just starting out, especially charming those of an older generation to whom he shows such promise. Though typically cool as a cucumber himself, by astrological design, Cancer man elicits emotional responses from others. When young, he specifically works on the feelings of nostalgia that older men have for their own lives when they were his age, while women of all ages are simply charmed by his signature gentlemanly demeanor and behavior, which isn’t in the least disingenuous. Regardless of their gender or sexual orientation, Cancer men love women who typically make up the bulk of their friendships and associations. One feels safe in the Moonchild’s presence, and he prides himself on being polite, courteous, even, chivalrous. He is not one to act out or up, a master at quelling and disguising anger, upset or sorrow, though he’s quick to laughter, which he isn’t above feigning if he finds it might be endearing, just as he will hang on every word spoken by someone he wants in his corner. He wouldn’t consider himself calculating—he assumes everyone is as purposefully charming as himself. Anyway, pouring it on, as he does, comes naturally to this premier water sign, just one of the many ironies endemic to the Cancer male experience (he just has none about himself). His façade is one and the same as the protective Crab shell, any phoniness is thus a byproduct of shielding himself emotionally. Only those who know him well will recognize this and forgive him for it, for they understand how tender this guy can be. Besides, there is a certain comfort and joy in gaining close access to the Cancer man when knowing how measured, mannered and decorous he remains in his more formal bonds. He expects

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1716-1720. 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 dreamed last night, or rather this morning, that I was in the desert. In Wonder Valley specifically. There was some kind of weird conference and someone threw their rotted cancer hands that they kept in the freezer or something at me and I had to leave. I know that this will make no sense. They were dried and green and horrible. I can’t explain any further. Someone from the art world was interested in working with us. I was aware of the fact that might know Jack and I thought, well, that could be an area of confusion or represent a certain rift. What else is new. All I know is that I am looking for repair and for truth. And I will wait until I am back stateside to deal with those evil little wads in publishing—I am the embodiment of justice this year, wielding a terrible swift sword. Sorry not sorry. I feel quite frustrated today. And like everything is flung everywhere. If I stick to my owners manual it might work out fine. Possible titles: Unwritten Stories. Written Off (Funny Trials and Tribulations in the Publishing Word). Mightier Than The Sword is another one perhaps. Something like that. And why not? I have to put my anger and frustration some place and let it channel fully through me. Anyway there is much to do today. We have a big afternoon and evening planned and I’m super psyched to get out and move around today. There has been much work and just sitting in and writing, dreaming and scheming and my old carcass needs to move around a bit.

So we set off for A.’s studio which is only about a twenty minute stroll up Bethnal Green Road then hanging a left toward Old Bethnal Green Road LOL. The studio was cute and worky and we went over some colors and stones and other details. We are still tweaking to get it right. Then the three of us headed toward Bethnal Green, past the Town Hall where we will move on Sunday, and then we headed up the Old Ford Road (I think it’s called toward and through Victoria Park which was quite beautiful. It is a part of town to which we haven never been; and it was a long stroll through the park along the canal. We ended up at a bar/café/pub/restaurant called Crate where we had some chill drinks and talked more about the collection and packaging and so forth. It was good to get a bit of a jump on all that. As I’m writing this I think I am watching a Harry Stiles video (is that who everyone is always talking about) and he is in the group of people, mainly men, naked from the waist up, writhing about with them. There has been some talk recently within the community that he is gay baiting or whatever. Honestly I just think he’s pansexual like so much of the younger population. Anyway, we got some good ideas on paper and I’ll need a follow-up on that score this week.

A. wanted to take us out so we just had to head upstairs in the same building to Silo which was an English version of Portlandia which I fully enjoyed. The only ingredient that made me go hmm was a “spruce sauce” because I would sear on my life that this was made from discarded Christmas trees found on the street. And I don’t actually say this lightly because the entire philosophy of the place is hinged on non-waste. So, I think my theory is correct. It was a set menu projected onto the wall, so you just get what they give you, with some vegetarian options that I didn’t opt for. The first course was a radish cannelloni. When it arrived I thought it was a mise bouche, it was so tiny. Of all the things in nature it recalled a clitoris, and you know how hard those can sometimes be to find, so that should give you some idea of the portion size. The tables had silos in them that contained cutlery and a wine cooler, the cork lids of which you raised with a giant magnet. They had the best beef dish I’ve ever tasted—it was “aged” to the consistency of pudding, that’s how tender. And a pumpkin ice cream that was served two ways. It was wonderful and ridiculous in equal measure. And they had some very good organic wine which places really all must now have. There is no alternative in this new world. I’m now watching Jamie Oliver on the Uks food network. He is kind of handsome again. I missed his lisp. We went over to A.’s flat just after and met her daughter who shares a name with S. I really like her husband and we talked about film and drank some orange wine. A. fell asleep and I realized she bloody well works too hard. I hope that she can begin to do less and be more.


Probably two hours of sleep. I am getting to the point of exhaustion. We came back from A.’s house and I fell around one but was up by four. I’m just sitting here writing until eight when S. rises. I have quite the day planned and am a bit daunted, even though it is all about and at my leisure: On A.’s recommendation, I have booked a two-hour Ayurvedic massage. I don’t know what to expect but I know the place I’m going is a barge on the other side of the Thames at Tower Bridge. It’s quite cold today but I head out across Bethnal Green Road down past the Shoreditch overground through Spital fields and White Chapel across the bridge along the river. I think I know where the place is so I just sort of loll about; then I think maybe I’m not in the right spot after all, which I wasn’t. So I kept looking and couldn’t find address until I realized a large truck (lorry) was blocking the entrance to the whatever-it-is-you-call-the-metal-thing-you-walk-down-to-the-boats-on-the-river. Suj met me at the locked gate and led me down the slippery gang ways (they’re called gang ways?) to a warren of low barges. I am mainly walking on wooden planks, after a while, covered in chicken wire to make the going less slippery. (What he will tell me later on my way out is that I’m actually walking atop barges, and that the gardens’ plantings on either side of me are rooftop gardens in effect. There is even a large tree growing from the roof of a barge.) We get to his barge, a one-hundred-year-plus-old Dutch number, painted a dark teal. It takes some doing getting onto it. And then we enter this incredibly barebones kitchen behind which is the massage studio, consisting of a very old practice table covered with a towel, and a simple wooden stool, facing a mirror atop a sofa. There is a tele from which is coming plinky plunky music while images of some monk or Rinpoche glowers reassuringly. There is a smell of incense but none currently burning. I have to take a pee which requires a bit of acrobatics to “go below.” One must travel vertically, backwards, as if by ladder.

The massage begins with me naked but for my underwear, seated in the stool, as Suj says he will start with head massage. I have never felt anything in my life like this, my entire nervous system is a-tingle. Feeling as exhausted as I do I have that much more drastic a reaction, I think, than I might otherwise. This goes on for over ten minutes and I’m getting slightly uncomfortable. I’m almost aware of the nerve patterning from my head all the way down my legs, and my left one feels its age-old damage, or at least that’s what I’m imagining. Finally, it is time to move to the massage table where Suj instructs me to lie face down. I slip off my underwear for the rest of it. There are familiar elements to the massage, the symmetry of doing to the right what one does to the left; and of course kneading the muscles, but there is an extra element of covering the same territory, warming it up for starters, and then massage the same areas, over and over again, for extended periods of time. On the left side of my back all goes swimmingly, while it is usually my trouble side; but on the right something isn’t releasing, and with this form of massage, which is repetitive, the resistance is being met over and over again, which is only making me sieze up more and more, like when you try to get into a cross legged position and your hips sieze up, only it is my shoulder complex and I can’t seem to lie flat; so I riase myself off the table a bit on my right side and I’m making noises designed to tell Suj to back off but he doesn’t. I’m feeling a bit panicky, now, but it is subsiding slowly. He remarks on how tense my right side is; ad will tell me how much better my left is. He is all intuition while having perfect technique. He’s now doing those long stroke moves, standing at my head, down my back and ass which he keeps opening up on his way back to starting position. Of course the reflex is to clench and maintain integrity, in all senses of the word, but the repetition forces me to let go and now I’m worrying that my anus is actually going to prolapse. I’m exaggerating slash kidding but not really. He then changes places and starts to do my legs but on this score he will dig so far into my groin, in the process, increasing blood flow, shall we say, to the point of now all I can feel is the worry that he’s going to say turn over while I have an all but raging boner. Oh fuck. It isn’t very relaxing when you’re fretting about showing your full extended manhood. The panic is back now with a vengeance. There might also be a little leakage. Holy Hardon, Batman.

Ultimately he does have me flip over and I simply say: “okay, do erections happen?”, to which he responds, “don’t worry.” Ironically, this makes me worry more because it crosses my mind that his reassuring words carry a meaning along the lines of: I will take care of that. Uh, oh. But, no, thankfully, he had no intention of it going there. And my front now receives just as much attention as my back did; and when it comes to the legs bit, he’s digging back into where my lower body attaches to my top; at one point I think he just took my dick and moved it over as if it were an errant branch he encountered while weeding a garden. The real transcendence begins with the torso massage and ending with the face massage, which includes this move where he makes an opening motion from my third eye out, like opening curtains, over and over again. I have to say for a moment there I saw the face of some blue god, I kid you not. Two hours later and I was completely altered. I hadn’t noticed that the rocking of the barge which was minimal to begin with had completely halted. It was low tide and we were wedged in the mud at a slant. It was tricky enough getting up after this intense massage without having a dizzy spell and passing out, but the entire boat was at a major slant. My Batman reference now seems very apt as that show was so often filmed on a diagonal. I dress as best I can and am walked out back through the warren of boats getting more history of the place. I retrace my way back through Spitalfields where I purchase a reassuring pricey swimsuit, on sale. And S. is still at the flat. She soon sets off to see another friend (I should get one of those at some point) and I will have a pint at the George and the Dragon and do a bit of shopping at the Grocery before returning back to make a pasta sauce and pack up, both of which goes quite successfully.


Wake, clean, pack, leave for Bethnal Green. The owner of the building comes over and he and his wife are contrite about the noise that came from above, but nobody makes any move to compensate us. We do have their direct connection though so we could rebook it but we won’t. We take an Uber to Town Hall and set ourselves up in the lounge. I’m getting all our ideas onto virtual paper. There is a wait for the room for a couple of hours, then when we finally do get in, we see we are in the back of the building which would be fine except we are atop the dumpsters and I’m concerned. We are shown a room in the front which doesn’t have a bath and so we opt for another room in the back that does, but one which is further the way along from what might be dumpster noise. It won’t prove to be brilliant but that won’t be our fault. What we don’t know is that a film crew is moving into the hotel on Monday and they will begin load in at an ungodly hour. Meanwhile we are just happy to unpack—they gave us a giant rolling rack so that we can hang up most of our clothes that require it. We have a reservation for one of the two restaurants but I’m concerned as the wait staff so far have not proven to be all that swift. Never mind, it’s low stakes. And what it might lack in service it makes up for in proximity.

We head out and first walk along the Roman and Globe roads, the latter being kind of a woo-woo enclave of a Buddhist center and metaphysical bookstores, just around the corner from a vegetarian restaurant. With that under our belt we decide to go further afield, up to Broadway market. We pass a pizza pop up along the way which turns out to be a bit of foreshadowing. Upon discover of the Broadway market, we had no idea it was such an oasis and we actually end up requiring a snack and so stop at Franco Manca for a delicious pie to share along with some olives and wine as a late snack. Then uh oh, S. isn’t feeling great. As we make our way back to the hotel she is feeling more and more ill—her stomach is the culprit. So by the time of our reservation she is taking to ed and I head down on my lonesome. I have carafe(s) of wine to accompany my sirloin with cabbage, and a side green salad, followed by a yang (which I realize is a cheese) something I’d never heard of. There is a slightly Asian bent to the restaurant and the crackers that come with the yang almost feel like a sort of wonton. There is an Asian boy eating on his own in plaid pajamas and the slippers provided in his room. He is photographing his food; then again so am I. I will show S. when she is in a place where she can actually look at food. I take my last bit of cheese and wonton and quince jam, in sandwich form wrapped in a napkin, upstairs with a full glass of wine and I finish it while I cue up Netflix. The next thing I know I’ve fallen asleep and wake before one o’clock, having slept maybe three hours in total. So I watch the final episode and a half of the Star Trek series which was only two seasons long.

I think head to bed, it’s around three, and already people are making noise out back. I will awake the next morning to a cacophony of sound and will ask to be shown another room in the front. I go and check it out and it is really quiet though smaller. S. can’t move rooms in any case so it is a moot point. She is truly ill and we will have to cancel plans we had with Neil and Debs. Stella will write to say that I could still join them but they won’t want that as I rightly suspect. I will spend the entire day tomorrow in the room. It is a warm and sunny day. I will write to Matt and say something funny. I will watch the UK Food Network and watch Jennifer Saunders in a celebrity bake off with Joanna Lumley, Lulu and Dame Edna after the lisping of Jaime Oliver. S. will sleep until two in the afternoon. I will still be writing this a day late in preparation for coming back, after a swim in the pool (hopefully), because tomorrow’s post, as I promised myself, must be in regard to the “text box” copy that I am preparing for our agent before she takes the book out for a second round of pitches. We are definitely seeing a production company on Wednesday which is bizarre because they are based in London but didn’t know that we were here when they reached out to us about some work together on a project. WE have been down this road before and would be happy to do something like this for sure. We shall see what we shall see. I suspect I will eat dinner again alone downstairs tonight which is fine, but not fantastic.


I could talk about grey being neutral, a state in which Virgo finds herself all too often, stasis being less an issue of indecision than it is of making the wrong move. The first order of business will be to see if we can isolate some action items in the process. Shut down the self help. We know you and you go from this book to the next, searching for external answers. So guess what you’re going to start your own self-help guide based on your experience. This could be a good approach. This day Monday is all about transition. I stayed in as S. was super ill then went by the little spa and there were definitely guys checking in ahead of me for the final three hours of the evening. There was this one dancer boy. I said something like, hey have you been here before and he did this sort of skeptical half turn like you talking to me? And I was like yes. Have you been here before is it nice, fun, do you like it. And he was like uh huh. So shady. I realized it may perhaps be a bit gay up in this place at the end of men’s day, which it turned out to be. So said the nice lady who was helping people at the desk. She was good natured and gave me an eyeroll after dancer boy sashayed away. I got all the info. The staff seems to be all women. I don’t think that if there is gay stuff going on in there that it would be too overt. That was my read. They have a ton of treatments so I’ll go the next time we pass through this way. Another idea is: You are the appropriator of the Zodiac. So we want to turn this from a liability into an asset. Own the fact that you are open to influence and see it as a positive aspect of your superpower, but do be conscious of giving credit where credit is due, not just for others, but for yourself. You may be surprised by, and wake-up to, the fact that you rather unconsciously borrow from others all the time. You don’t even know you’re doing it.

I went to The Camel on the Globe Road and the boy at the bar near me lives on a barge in Hackney Wick. It’s fun to have conversations with strangers, ones you can’t strike up in places that’s for sure. And yet it is quiet in this world in the only way it can be in a giant city like this one with so many nooks and crannies. Unlike New York where the only place to go is up. Anyway I had a couple of beers and just hung out and chatted with folks for awhile which was a good break after being in the suite all day. I came back and S. is still feeling poorly so she is going to sit out dinner once again. I went down and spent a small fortune overindulging. I was chatting with other folks and ended up being down there many hours which did not go over well as you can imagine. We have booked our trains to Venice which is cool. Richard Godwin will write to say he knows a journalist who wants to interview us. She is from New Zealand and mentioned The Luminaries. This is sending us down a bit of a rabbit hole. We have never read the book which is characterized by one of us as being asleep at the wheel. There is something magical that happens when you go away. We have this television production company interested in our work and it makes me realize that this New Zealand interest might actually dovetail with the conversation this week with the Madelbach folks. I need to read the twelve-step idea for information on what might make for these text boxes I’m writing.

This week is going to fly by of that I am well aware. Dane Martha Keckler Erin. The City Wintery wrote to say they have a gig open, but they need to find someone who might be able to fill the room to capacity. I don’t really know who that could be. I could reach out to a few more folks to see but I did give a shout to Martha. I have a lot on my mind but I’m feeling rather stilted in terms of the writing. I need to be more lake than shed as we say in our family. I had some steak tartare and a green salad and I ordered the pasta but sent it back because it tasted like water. I got the fish instead. And then the cheese and little cookies. I am a bit overwhelmed with dread about what that bill will come to. I made a booking for the hotel and it comes to a hundred pounds more a night than what I’m paying now. I will need to find other digs I think unless they can make this place work out. I’m rambling but that’s the way that goes. I really wanted to have a little more fun this week but it wasn’t meant to be. It is a busy time and I have to make sure I look and feel my best for all these meetings. I really should have read The Luminaries.


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 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

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