Pisces 20° (March 10)

Only ten days until Spring. And thirty till Happy Anny. Which we will celebrate on a Friday, so still got a nice span of time for kickstarting. I must say I’m ready. Today, I turn to another sign. Oy. It is never easy but I think it can get easier. We shall see. I’m missing a certain seventies sensation, for some reason summed up in a “hi-hi” from Phyllis Lindstrom. I aim to isolate the superpowers of the sign in such a way as to make this book very active. I will outline some things to add to the end of Gemini woman; and I will reacquaint myself with the Cancer man experience so to get that motor running. I know I’m facing a bit of an abyss right now and I don’t think it has ever been so hard to pull myself back, but pull I must. Percival, Heracles, Osiris, etc. Blanchefleur reveals mystic meanings of chivalry. I don’t think I’m going crazy. I’m terribly sick of the monarchy. And I could use a tiny hit and just lie down for the rest of the day. I made egg drop soup for lunch, my best ever. My hair is clean and curly. I have genuine love and genuine sadness. I am making a grilled romaine Caesar with shrimp, which I need to marinate thanks for reminding me, you are welcome. It’s like giving birth every day to write a book but I asked for it and I got it. I did manage to touch base with orthopedic guy—something has definitely got to give on that score. It’s going to be what it’s going to be today and yet I am feeling optimistic.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1711-1715. 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.

S. came back from her night away. I couldn’t bring myself to eat a single bite and won’t have anything until we go to P + M for dinner where I will drink sparkling water and eat a single helping. We are surprised when Rose and James arrive because we were expect Dolce e Gabana to enter the sitting room instead. We are listening to jazz on the turntable and folks are drinking beer and wine. I feel shaky and not just metaphorically. Rose likes Boris Johnson and I am shocked. She was among the originals who came to LLB’s party where I worked in the Marais, in Paris, at Dizzy Place, not the Dizzy Place or Dizzy’s Place but Dizzy Place in 1986. The LLB’s are threatening to recreate that evening to some degree. If so I will go in drag. S. had a bag at P + M’s which she fetched and then forgot. I am also to blame for this which is actually reasonable. We are spending a lot of money. But I am trying not to focus too much on that right now. Everything is changing and I must learn to let it. I am a total asshole of this I am certain. I also know that not everything is my fault. That said I can do better. Way better. I’m looking forward to the change finally, which is weird given the fact I’m so bereft on this day. Something has broken but I think it was meant to do so. I need to focus on some action items. The apartment situation is really loud and I will address that in a letter. I’m sad and lonely but I must forge on. There are real friends now to be found and we will figure all that out. We have a meeting next week about product with the LLBs and I very much look forward to that, even though it is at an inconvenient time. Meetings must be taken. And now some more thoughts on things astrological;

As mentioned in a recent post the classic female “water bearer” was Hebe, cupbearer to the gods, who poured out their divine nectar. The daughter of Zeus and Hera, Hebe means youth; which is a word often synonymous with the future, as in the tuneful “I believe the children are our future.” The real future, along with science fiction, fall under the rulership of the Aquarian eleventh astrological house. Zeus, who went every which way, replaced Hebe—thanks Dad—with a beautiful boy he fell for called Ganymede. The eleventh house also rules homosexuality. Ganymede means gladness, joyor gaiety. In Arthurian legend, we find the figure of Galahad who achieves the quest for the holy grail. He is the son of Elaine who is the grail-bearer, the dispenser of joy and wisdom. In Tolkien’s work, the character of Galadriel is likewise the guardian of a water vessel from which is revealed all possibilities for the future, good news or bad. The goddesses of the dawn and rainbow, Eos and Iris, respectively, are both messenger deities who brought the good news and are both, too, depicted eternally holding pitchers.

The weird thing is when I pasted todays posting onto the online site the date 1986 popped up for no real reason. It is so terribly strange since that is the year when we met all the friends who are now impacting our life. Things I can write about: I can already be putting together text blocks per estate. I can already be articulating the pendant program and pinpointing the elements needed to do this or that. I have to figure out how and why to keep A. in the picture. The healing isn’t coming easy this time. This time the pain is real real real.

S is meeting Jo and Susanne tonight and I will eat the leftovers from heir soir, after I take a nice walk up to The Grocery to get some more of that incredible biodynamic wine. I stopped for a beer at the George and the Dragon which was peopled with nobody older than thirty-five, I kid you not. I felt extremely old and aware of the fact that younger people now almost look like a different species with their smooth skin and lustrous hair and beards. Was I ever that young and beautiful. I pretty much doubt it. I strolled home and put dinner together and tried to make something happen but I just ended up watching NetFlix. In the late afternoon I did meet up with Richard who wrote a piece on us a few years ago for British Vogue. It was really great to see him. I’m guessing he’s some fifteen years my junior. He has a six year old and one (it’s really to early to say) on the way (but he and now I said it anyway) and his whole life is still laid out before him. There must be some sense of that I can glean for myself but I haven’t really been able to “find” it, if you catch my drift. Apparently we are invited onto the boat in April. I have yet another bathing suit goal that I will likely not achieve. Oh well. Such is life. I keep have moments of clarity that dissolve into nothingness. I am again making a transition with this Blague, writing through certain things that need getting done. For starters, I am on quite a trip and I want to document the synchronicities thereof, ever a mission of this prospect and project.

S. reveals that during the day a wifi connection came up for someone Amy Murray. Now, Amy, our dearly departed friend, was both the bestie of Su and Jo. And this is the first time since 1986 that they have sat and talked about her and all that went down. Then, I’m told, Su mentions where Amy is buried and it turns out it’s the same place Jo got married. So really, of all the friends, only Amy got to attend that wedding after all. I need to look up Esoterika bookstore. There is no such place. It must be Watkins or Treadwells or Atlantis. I will find out. I did fight out. It is Atlantis. I also found out that Amy wasn’t buried there but that the funeral services were there. And of course I already sent the text. Good golly. I always seem (to be persuaded) to put my foot in it. Anyway, I have a feeling there may be some family conflict with April but I certainly hope not.

There is still a pall, no getting around it. And, on the continued theme of getting my head on straight, I think what I might do is make a grid. Yes, a grid. Starting with Sextrology and working down to the most underserved projects. I do think retribution could come in the form of publishing lots of little books. We could definitely use some influencer energy from folks, that much is certain. I want a little shop somewhere people can find me but I don’t know where that is. I suppose it could be some place in Boston although it often feels like such an energy suck. I want to figure this out. Would that it could be Ptown but that isn’t quite right anymore, really. I’m having an existential crisis when it comes to my location of choice, that much is certain. Would I like to live in Maine? I mean sure. And people would have to find us, which wouldn’t be a bad thing. Especially if we rented a flat, for our trouble, in Paris and spent time in London with whomever. We shall see. These are all good questions to ask, even though I have no solid answers. I am going to let it go for now and see what occurs.

I need to make up a list of subjects, prompts, questions on which to expound. The new business alone would have the following: Business model and operations, this would include who does what, budgets, production flow chart documenting who does what and when, sales and the trunk show concept for people, packaging and branding is its own thing, website and shipping is another whole area that needs to be explored, press and promotion, the pendant program itself is a whole world in and of its own. That list alone goes on and on. Congruently we need to figure out what the Wheel side of things entails, including what the consultancy is all about, what we are thinking in terms of books, and the self-publishing universe which I think could be major. Wheel is already established as an online publishing entity, so it makes perfect sense to build on that. The other Wheel projects include events, product (like those with Tim), and other content creation.

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.

Pisces 19° (March 9)

I have spent way too much time on this particular chapter and I, though I got some pages down this morning, I need to work all afternoon bringing this maybe home. And then I’ll just have three days for the next chapter, knowing it is a marathon not a sprint. I’ve just finished up the middle section and now I need to transition into the third. A writer friend says that it requires talent (which s/he believes I have) and will with which, let’s face it, I tend to struggle. I just want today to be the best day it can be. Nothing in particular ever happens these days, there are no events. So I must rely pretty much solely on what is going on in my head or in my expression for introductory fodder for this Blague. I know I can make some magic here I just have to stay open to it. A lot can happen in the course of a day. And whatever doesn’t get written today will get written in the second pass when we package this into a first draft. Increasingly I will be waking earlier, my upstairs office being warmer and warmer as time goes by. Plenty of time in the evening to pack books and bags and so forth. I need to get my body moving a bit again. I will have five more chapters to write in the coming month. And then another twelve which will bring me to May when I will take a tiny break of just a day or two to go to Boston and Cambridge and get some things accomplished. 

Sometimes I think that I am behind and then I get signposts that say that I’m right on time. And so I am relaxing into the next final three hours of my day. Taking a little break to synthesize and reorganize my ideas. I will start with the notion of there being that star-crossed things, other countries, races, religions. Might even elope or marry in secret or in a private ceremony designed to say that don’t want to make too big a deal out of themselves while doing just the opposite, snubbing, making a great many Erises out of, others. She uses the metaphor of a rose, the flower associated with Gemini it blooms during the sign’s timeline on the calendare but also in meaning.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1706-1710. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.

It’s a bit of a tetchy morning and I will wait too long to eat, taking myself to Cecconi for some chicken paillard before we have a client session for ninety minutes to two hours. Then Alice will come over and we will look at some more designs and make our notes; she says she had a lousy day, I forget why exactly. Anyway, we decide to go to the Grocery for some wine and cheese which is not very much like us, especially as we have a dinner date with Susanne. Something about the dinner at Emile triggers me and I’m not sure why but I get very emotional without explanation. I’m still wondering what that was all about. I think I’m feeling sadness surrounding not having children as I have such real affection for her boy. I know it is something like that. Plus the passing of time and all the unfulfilled promises. And of course all the rejection I feel I’ve been experiencing beginning at the end of last year, which is carrying over through to now. It is a Full Moon. It is a Pluto conjunct Saturn thing. It is all of it. And I suppose the cosmos is working my nerves harder than even usual. I want to make some drastic changes in my life that much is for certain. But where to begin. We shall see.

The transition from Capricorn to Aquarius is, in simple terms, a shift from the old guard to the avant guard. Capricorn is steeped in culture, tradition and social mores that are worth preserving for all time; while Aquarius is about breaking out of outmoded structures, innovation, and the shock of the new. Though opposite energies in many ways, they work in tandem to keep the past and the future in synch. Capricorn is the cardinal-earth sign whose symbol is the mountain, and Aquarius is the fixed-air sign, that translates to the stars or heavens. In most mythologies, the throne of the gods sits atop some mountain, a terrestrial seat from whence divine powers of the universe are received. Capricorn urges us to the pinnacle of earthy beingness, as it is from the vantage point of our most elevated selves that we glimpse truest cosmic revelation, and receive the manna that Aquarius represents.

The time corresponding to Aquarius is that of deepest winter. Whereas Capricorn began at solstice and involved seasonal revelry then resolutions made, Aquarius is about what revelations have come to bear, as a result, and what sense of renewal we might feel, thus far, in driest January. The o.g. waterbearer to the Olympian gods was Hebe, goddess of youth, who poured out the nectar that kept the gods juicy and eternally juvenated. At this time, we aren’t now so concerned with who we’ve been, and any changes needing making; now we arethe change, and we already have a renewed sense of ourselves and what the future of this year might bring. As we see the days getting longer, we feel on the dawn of a new era. Like Hebe, the goddess of the dawn, Eos, and the goddess of the rainbow, Iris, are all “descending goddesses” who had a special love for mortals, to whom they would descend in hopes of raising them up. So, just as we might be high on our positively altered states, we should remember to bring the good news of our own personal revelations to others, so they might likewise feel as lovingly renewed as we do.

S. wants to meet for lunch to talk about what’s going on. It is a very good question but not one I’m apparently ready to answer. I am in a mood and it isn’t a good one. Things will fall apart but I will have no idea just how much. It’s just one of those things on the one hand and yet it really must mark a turning point. My plaid bag and blue scarf will be the casualties. I need to call Emile to see if the latter might be there. I know the former has been scattered to the four winds. Why this bothers me more than any other aspect of this day is behind me because it is basically a plastic bag and there are elements of my actual life in peril and yet I must endow the small things, I suppose, with the big because the big are just too big to cope with? Something like that.

The planetary ruler of Aquarius is Uranus, the original sky god of the Universe. Just as Sagittarius is ruled by king Jupiter, followed by Capricorn, which is ruled by his father Saturn, so too do we go back a generation, in turn, to his father Uranus, as we move forward into the sign of Aquarius. Uranus is the personification of the stars, the heavens, just as the fixed-air sign of Aquarius is represented by the star—the Star card in the Tarot depicts the Waterbearer. To the ancients, the stars were divine beings, in the form of constellations, and so it follows that the grand daddy of the gods comprised that vast starry Universe of all his progeny. The motto of Aquarius is “I Know,” and the Universe represents omniscience. It is from it that we receive glimpses in the form of revelation, when we are worthy or ready or both. The lofty stars paradoxically provided knowledge of earthly placement, in the here and now, especially for seafarers. In this way the stars were the bearers of souls over the water. When mythical Uranus was deposed, cast down by his son, Saturn, he fertilized the sea, from whence Venus, goddess of love emerged. We can remember that, even in times of deepest disappointment or dis-aster (meaning the dissipation of the stars) the result can be a resurgence love, especially the self sort, in our lives

The New Moon in Aquarius initiates a period of emotional freedom and detachment. We can and should let go of ties that bind too tightly, along with possessiveness and jealousy—a ritual releasing on that theme can be quite powerful (we suggest lighting a purple candle). Alternatively, the New Aquarian Moon cosmically assists us in making emotional commitments to ideologies and causes and to the large groups and organizations that champion them. It is a powerful moment to divest emotion to people in general, if not humanity as a whole, along with the animal and plant populations. One powerful Aquarian archetype is (the sister-wife of Uranus, the namesake of the sign’s planetary ruler): Gaia, who is the divine embodiment of the Earth itself. Environmental issues do indeed effect us all. On a lighter note, it’s a great time to network on a global scale and to send your ideas and projects out into the ether. Aquarius is symbolized by wavelengths—the sign is air, remember, not water—so it’s time to infiltrate the Zeitgeist.

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.

Pisces 18° (March 8)

I am quote unquote caught up but I just have this feeling that today is going to be challenging. It’s just my gut. It is the new day one. But I will try my best and I will move the needle faster and be that much more attentive to writing final-ish copy. I really have to. I want to feel healthy and relaxed and I want the ills of this carcass to heal. I want to feel happy and I want to shake this feeling of paranoia (but the commentary makes me feel as if I’m being spied upon which I do not like). Anyway, all is coming clear. No more C.F. in my life, no more of the Canadians, they can now be fully forgotten. I am focusing solely on career and real estate. These are my only interests moving forward. I am getting a slow start to the morning but that is to be expected. I will start my work day officially at 9:30 and work for a totally of six hours only today. As I say focus is on healing and I’ve decided I will wait two months until I get some blood work done and just do a little spin into Boston for the day, maybe get some takeaway somewhere, or just head to Nancoise for the night, why not. We could even go for Sunday dinner, that might be nice. Everyone should have their shots by then I imagine. I have this sinking feeling that we will be hearing from the lawyer today. I suppose that is the dread and sense that this day will be challenging. Honestly I just don’t want the distraction. It is a privilege I must say to be able to muse the way I am, day after day, so I really need to get my brain around that, which isn’t so hard to do really. I’ve decided to fall in love with myself again and not see anybody else for the time being. Ha! I know that made no sense. I have to find some tricks today to get myself “in.”

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1701-1705. 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 had the strangest dreams last night. It involved JD and his house and chickens and foxes. The chickens thing is maybe obvious because the LLB’s have chickens and we were talking about how they “put themselves away” at night unlike geese and ducks. In the dream there were several white chickens that I suppose I owned. There was some sort of issue, too, with the law and drugs being (planted) on me. And then there were three distinct foxes, two of which were snow white, and one of which was black. All of them were cute and incredibly fluffy. One feature of the dream was that I had somehow left chickens inside JD’s house, where I had also somehow managed to get the foxes locked in. So when he came to visit his house, and we interacted even though there was a real disease about doing so—reflecting reality—I wasn’t quite in a position to go into the house and free the chickens which I imagined were roosting in the basement—I wanted to open a bulkhead unnoticed and let them out. While I had no idea where the foxes were. The black one was, specifically, mine, while the white ones were a bit more wild cards. As I write this I realize they might have been ghost foxes because, when nobody but me was looking they ran past me and out the front door squeezing easily into a crack that ran down the center of it. As if they were ghosts. Which they weren’t not I suppose. But really who the hell knows. We had breakfast—they no longer do cooked version here which is too bad because it used to be wonderful—and got packed and ready to head to the train station. The train itself was a much better version of the one on which we traveled to Scotland. So that was a small merci. I got some work done but not a lot, but at least it didn’t feel endless.

We got back to Myddelton Square, dropped our bags and headed for dinner at Brother Marcus post train. I order a gin and tonic which I don’t normally drink, but my time with the LLB’s still lingers. The waiter is Italian. I speak to him in it. I must be drunker of this one g+t then I thought. The food is very snack and delicious. I want to live in London. I’m pretty tired of my life on the other side of the pond. I will need to move my series to another location. I’m going to talk to City Winery and see what I might effect. I will write to Mike there. I will end up writing him for sure. I need to get Ellie off the list.

I need to reassess also the whole Scapes conversation and decide on whether to jewelry or not to jewelry. I fear that having not done a Christmas show last year that we won’t ever do one but I am going to see where that energy goes in the coming months. The summer should really tell us what’s what. As book plans have changed I need to refocus energy and rework my schedule. Soon I will be able to focus this Blague back on its original ways and means. The house cleaning soon begins. I’m glad we will miss the winter in New England as it is just too much to bear. I am going to make this a most fruitful year on every level. I know I don’t need to worry. Because, as we often say: If you’re worrying you’re not working (and by that we mean functioning). I need to be something of a beacon now and make this time about health and healing.

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.

Pisces 17° (March 7)

Awoke at 3:33 like in the days of yore. And yet I don’t feel too too tired. Rather I feel that I am making some progress at least and I know if I hit my marks today and get about five pages in the can, then tomorrow will be bringing it all home and that can feel pretty awesome and still on schedule which is the most important thing really. It isn’t all the much to ask. Trying to understand where my head is. Today is my first of ninety days detoxing,which will bring me to June I can only imagine that the following six weeks will be about a bit of fun and sun. I want to feel as well as I can before heading to Italy. There is a certain amout of pleasure in writing this book that hasn’t happened with the previous ones. That is to say I can be pretty relaxed about saying whatever I want and I don’t have to focus on sex which is a real relief. I’m interestedin the roll-outs. I want to make good on and with what I’m doing. So far we have a nice rapport going and, even with the change in pub date (so much better) there was no agita in that process. 

Okay going to do a bit more drafting….

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1696-1700. 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.

Up at five o’clock and in an Uber by six to get to Euston station to catch the train to Edinburgh. That was fine although one had the sense that the “first class” service wasn’t exactly up to its usual speed; still, each time I travel anywhere in Europe or in the U.K. I am reminded of just how disfunctional American life, and its so-called private and social services, truly is. Euston Station compared with the horrific Penn Station; Heathrow vs. JFK. Please. Did a bunch of writing and scheming and such and by the time we got to Edinburgh we were ready to get off the train. Only to have to get on another one in just over an hour’s time. It was rainy outside so just as well that we stayed inside Waverly; but the train from there up to Pitlochry was seriously unfun. I see where Jo might have got her idea for the mean trolley lady. We were starving and tried to get to the café car, or rather S. did; only the trolley lady was already heading our way and wouldn’t let her of any othe passengers get by, which made no sense because there were plenty of spaces/opportunities to let a person pass. S. and the other passengers gave up thinking that they would get to the café car once trolley crunt had passed. But troll-y, who wasn’t Scottish but some kind of eastern European with snail blood was determined to block anybody. Finally, finally, when the journey was nearly over she went passed and S. got to the café car, but by then it had run out of food. This was a bad sitcom episode. We bought some crisps and other sundries and grumbled it down. We got off at Pitlochry where the taxi awaited us and drove us about twenty minutes to Aberfeldy. The reception was one and same with the restaurant bar; we checked in and asked if the LLBs had yet to arrive. They just had. We got to our room and I saw a text beckoning us to come to them for a drink. We wore our coats thinking we would stop by and then go for the walk we planned to take. Well that didn’t happen. They poured me a gin tonic and I went down to get S. a wine. Our room seemed fine but the LLB’s had something more of a suite, so we inquired about moving but the hotel was fully committed. We drank and then decided not to wait for our seven forty five reservation, but to instead go down and have an early bird special which our advancing age now affords us.

The food was surprisingly good. Laurence orded an Argentinian Malbec much to my consternation. Not so fast. I explored oher options on he menu and decided to concede which turned out to be a wise thing because we ended up drinking several bottles of the stuff and (spoiler alert) walk up feeling fine the next day. I had a beef madras and S. had the bang bang chicken. We had some kind of starter which excapes me now writing this days on. After dinner the shenanigans really began. We sent back to the LLB suite and spent another four hours talking, laughing, recalling and bringing up showtunes to which we could sing along in turn. I had no idea that the LLB’s were wont to go there, so it was so fun and expressive and such a laugh. I went down for another bottle. We have video of singing numbers Evita, Ricky Horror, Cabaret, Hair and there were surely more that we didn’t catch on “film.” I am struck by how easy it is to be with these two. They have always been exactly this, which means to say that, at twenty, they were comparatively grand delusional (because we didn’t know what they knew: that they were going to fulfill the destiny of being household names, for starters). I truly love them. And I suppose it might be considered ironic, in the end, that they are in fact the most authentic, genuine people I know. They have a grandson now who is three and whom they love so much. They live on a sort of family compound out in the country and it sounds so wonderful. As the non-breeders in the troop, there are times when tales of family dynamics and so forth really do impart a kind of sadness—not too, too often thus far in life, still more and more as time goes on. But any pangs of jealousy aside (because it’s not really that, never that) it just sounds so grand and scruffy all at that same time to be living with two daughters and their partners and a grandchild (with more to come) and cats and dogs and chickens and whatever other kind of livestock they might have floating around them. And in the end, I think Laurence has emerged as the most menschlike of us all, despite his fame and flights of fancy. I do truly love these people I must say. Even more so now I know that we can fall into home karaoke at the drop of a jazz hand.

With still some other Blague entries left undone, I have four to do to catch up on so to coincide with the present day. This will be a difficult challenge but I have decided to be up to it and get right up to speed. There is much to do in the new year; even more so there is much to be. I will find out that a friend who always comes to see our show at Joe’s was disappointed that we didn’t perform this year so she bought tickets to Sandra Bernhard instead only to report back that the show was boring and didn’t hold a candle to ours in terms of entertainment. In the past I might find a comment like that to be rather hard to believe but I am now of the mind to accept comments like this as truisms. I think the apologies I have made for myself are indeed now a thing of he past. I must turn the corner on so much of it. I will reach out to that guy Peter M. in coming days because he and I do have some overlap, being that he also produces artists. But things like this often prove to be disappointing. There is always that little bit of ego that crops in. Well not always but most often. After spending days with lovely friends the last thing I need is attitude from competitive strangers and the grandstanding that characterizes the underconfident. Boring. I am remembering the good and loving and supportive energy that I am blessed to enjoy in this life and I am not letting the rest of it get me down, so help me. So back to the story at hand on this day…

Okay so last night was fine-ish. But around five a.m. I was awakened from a dead sleep thinking S. was up and about doing this and that. Turned out the people in the next room, with whom we shared a paper wall, decided to unleash a bull that richocheted around there room. It was awful and after last night it was the last thing I needed. It happened again around seven then again around nine, not that we fell back from five because we did not. S. was having none of it and beelined downstairs to demand a different room only to return deflated because they didn’t have one. Being the New Year, people had rooms booked for months if not from a year ago. We said we would meet for a late breakfast that goes until ten so we headed down at nine forty five and Jax had said that Larry was still snoring so I expected her. Instead he came down looking highly reluctant and made shaking motions to signal his nerves were a bit shot from last night’s fun. I had the meatiest, greasiest breakfast I could order. Jax didn’t surface–something about her hair. L. brought her up a giant eggs Benedicte. Despite S. being shot down I managed to convince the staff to let us change rooms. So I spent the morning bathing and packing. I think S. had some appointment. We then met up again with the LLBs for lunch—we put our name down at three lemons—and went for a walk. People stopped to ask me to take pictures of LLB of course. There was some shoe shopping. And we all had to get bits and bobs and the pharmacy; and LLB needed more gin for his room. At lunch we ran into friends we would have expected to meet. And we talked about going to Venice together as the LLBs are regulars on that scene and we have never been.

I really didn’t intend to drink at lunch but all bets seem to be off and I followed Larry and had a stout. And then another. The girls shared a bottle of wine. We then went to our rooms to dress for the evening. I thought I said this but we met up with the mythological other couple attending the party (obviously they were in costumes) and all shared a car. The party itself was really fun. Stomp and Queen (with Adam Lambert) performed. I stayed pretty sober most of the evening but toward the end, when it was time to do some dancing, I let loose a bit. I always seem to encounter Neil B and his wife toward the end of these parties and I mentioned I was leaving my whole kit at the party which I did. Earlier on D. N. hung around with us and I honestly couldn’t understand anything he was saying. He seemed totally together but was obviously really quite drunk. No physical change in his behavior but his words were just so random. The whole theme worked well (being inside an H.G. Wells novel, really); and to be honest I don’t remember much of the ride home although I do remember giving my critique of the whole concept of repackaging Queen. Like you wouldn’t recast John Lennon and George Harrison and call it The Beatles featuring, oh I dunno, Chris Martin and Thom Yorke.

Well I felt better this morning than I truly had a right to. The LLBs met us for breakfast and I had the same greasy meat. We were meant to be back at Jo’s for brunch anytime after 11:30 or something. When we got there we were really the last to arrive. The guy that plays the detective character was there (I realized it was him later). And all the boat people were there. And Willy who was at the party last night of course and with whom I really had a lovely time (reverse foreshadowing) despite the fact the last time I saw her she sort of came for me which was unfortunate. She’s sort of done it before and I really do need to ignore it. Was lovely to see the kids of course and John and David and the whole lot. I had a bagel and some smoked salmon and then we went for a lovely long walk in the wet and green. I had a lovely chat with Aine whom I really hadn’t gotten to connect with much yet on the trip. The LLBs didn’t join on the walk as they threatened they wouldn’t due to footwear issues or just the fact they didn’t want to. Willy was overheard saying that she hates walking outside or something. So more foreshadowing. Scotland really is the most magical place on the planet I must say. We got back to the house and I texted LLBs to “come back,” and learned that Larry had invited the peeps from the hotel, Karen and Kenny to dinner with us (he is a political journalist like the other boat guys), and also J. and F. which was really great as we hadn’t really seen them much. J. was definitely one of the more in cups of the partygoers last night but she seemend perfectly fine today. I really love them and enjoy their company immensely. We were asked if we wanted hot toddies which, you know what, I never knew what went into one. Pretty much everybody had them. I couldn’t believe the Edinburgh crowd drove home last night after the party and then back again today for the brunch. The plan was to then seem them tomorrow when we ourselves get to town. I told Laurence that we had to invite Aine which of course we did, so now we were going to be nine peeps instead of eight which would be fine; but much to my delight and surprise J said she’d like to join with N of course and also Willy and her new fellow. How to explain to the hotel that we would now be thirteen for dinner.

We arrived back at the Townhouse and went straight to break the news in hopes of hearing it would be no problem. It wasn’t not a problem. It took a lot of cajoling and convincing. Finally it came down to furniture and we said we’d bring tables and chairs from our rooms. We got a reluctant yes. The LLBs had already been set up in the bar while we were out for our long country constitutional. Larry had some Guinness and champagne going—a black velvet it is apparently called. I could retch just thinking about it; but of course Jax didn’t have anything because apparently in Scotland they throw the book at you for even the slightest bit of alcohol in your system, which must come from being a very alcoholic culture to begin (and end) with. Anywig, we never even made it upstairs but instead sat in the lounge, the couples, on sofas, facing one another, whilst Karen (half of the other couple, with Kenny) sat in an armchair diagonally facing us. For nearly four hours she sat and listened to us like she was binge-watching a series. The four of us recounted our stories, sort of at, one another, filling in the gaps on stories, reminding each other of things that never made it to longterm memory. Finally Karen said we should all write a book together, which is something I can imagine easily happening. It is difficult for me to sustain a thought right now as I am writing this from about two weeks out, trying to play catch up once again. There is a pattern here: when I encounter any kind of mini trauma or setback my work tends to go out the window. I am sitting here right now in a flat we’ve rented in London and the upstairs neighbors are so loud it’s hard to concentrate. We had a lousy couple of days at the end of last week, leading into the weekend, and it has been hard to recover. I am going to spend as much of this day just sitting here writing and doing little else so that I can pick up what pieces are still available to me. So many have been lost. It is the way it goes I suppose. I am trying not to hang on but instead to move forward. I still have my health which sometimes I think is a miracle. Anyway back to what I was saying. So this went, as I said, for about four hours, and we went up to change and refreshen as best as we could. When we arrived back down Kenny had emerged and we sat down to a new bottle of wine they were now serving (Karen had the benefit of ours the whole time). Not long after J and N and guests arrived and we all settled down to a lovely dinner. The food is wonderful in this place. I was seated across from Willy who at one point said “Hillary Clinton really fucked up.” Knowing she is something of a Bernie Bros. and that she has baited me in the past over stuff (not to mention that she is a good friend to a good friend of mine) I said politely that, well, actually she won the popular vote against all odds—corruption, voter booth tampering, rolls purging, hacking, and the larger insidiousness of foreign, Russian interference. But, truly, it is misogyny that was the main weapon used against her. This was argued for awhile. Then I said that women in all cultures are really the most maligned and disenfranchised of people and made the mistake of saying (because I thought we would beyond the question of my being able to say this or not) that “woman is the n-word of the world,” a valid prospect to be discussed. Forgettaboutit. W said that we can’t talk about the oppression of women without discussing the notion of race; I said I disagreed: that we can certainly talk about the oppression of women in its own right as it is to varying degrees a problem in all cultures, including our own. It was a rabbit hole and we were both terriers digging into it, for too long, neither one of us conceding. Until finally I moved to the other end of the table where the topic was no lighter: the notion of transgenderism in the face of newest wave feminism and the shadowside of terfism. The night did not end on the cheeriest of notes I must say. And I was told in coming days that I told the same story of our (friends) meeting in the course of twenty minutes without knowing it. The multiple nights (and days) of partying had indeed caught up to me.

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.

Pisces 16° (March 6)

I am reading about the goddess Eris in preparation for this day. It is indeed putting me in the mood to understand the complexity of the Gemini. Being all over the place. Misinterpreted nature. All the signs have their paradoxes, especially the mutable (every third) sign of the zodiac, but the Twins are by their very nature the most dual, and rather magically so. Yes get into the magic. Get into the fairies. Gypsies. Unexpectedly I awoke feeling really numb in places so not sure what that’s all about but I’m taking it very seriously. I will end up taking a giant nap and working very little but I’m not feeling stressed at the thought of that. I decided (for some reason)…well let me put it this way I saw in my mind’s eye a platter with tofu and avocado which doesn’t sound that great and even S. thought it sounded yucky. Then I did a search and it’s a thing, with raw tofu, like a salad. I decided to bake the tofu and alternate slices of that with avocado all in a line with toasted ginger and scallion and a dressing I made of miso, roasted garlic, rice vinegar, toasted sesame oil and honey. It was pretty damned good, served with some stir fry veggies. I am steering clear of anything bad for me today in anticipation of tomrrow’s beginning of a major detox. And some writing thoughts:

Whether or not it is a result of Gemini’s archetypal assignation and its suffusion of her metaphysical makeup, even the most enlightened individual born under this sign cannot resist her puckish if not prankish nature, something she oft expresses unconsciously. For example, even if positioned to lead a life of leisure, delegating every chore to a staff of domestics, she may still go through the motions of one who is put upon, and in the extreme. Never mind that Gemini doesn’t believe in not letting others see her sweat, often telegraphing how slammed or in the weeds she is, purposefully making mountains out of minutia; even when there are no deals to make, merch to move, or other such ships to launch, she will occupy her time with elective chores that she will undertake with the same amount of import and frustrated sighs designed to instill in others “the fact” that she works harder than you do. The finer point here is that she is manipulating others’ thoughts, making them perceive a reality of her own divining. It might seem that she is running a special-ops raid remotely from her computer, meanwhile, she may just be online ordering stuff she doesn’t need, and will ultimately return, amid those same loaded sighs. It’s actually a great ploy, preventing others from asking too much from, and overloading, her, inspiring loving eyerolls from those who have her number. Truth be told, from within her signature small orbit, Gemini daily makes magic, forever tinkering with, tweaking, adding little touches, making upgrades to her immediate surroundings, physical and atmospheric, the environment and general ambience of a lifestyle. This is how Gemini identifies herself, to self and others, it is through the presentation of a scene, a field of experience. That’s where the metaphor of the Mercury’s marketplace comes in…but, wait let’s back up: The first sign of Aries is objective (masculine) out-put energy, the second of Taurus is subjective (feminine) in-put energy, and Gemini comes along and combines them both, that crossroads, a place, a setting, a happening.  Birds show off their nest building skills and often it’s decoration, they are also the original buskers, putting on a little dance and music festivals, with elaborate vocals, fancy footwork and impressive displays of fanned plumage. It’s their song of self, singing the body electric, how they signal to others who they are and secure a mate. They are looking to strike a deal, form a partnership, putting themselves at the proverbial crossroads, up for sale, to the highest bidder. Gemini woman feathers her nest, hatches her plans, puts together her events, launches her projects and otherwise makes it all happen as a means of self-expression. She literally puts it out there and when we say it we mean her it-factor, her best expression of self.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1691-1695. 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 can’t say I feel all that terrific today. And I’m kind of over the sloppiness of the situation. Apparently the FIL fell yesterday. He came over with MIL and he wasn’t very friendly. First off, he was told last time we were here that this would now be a dry house. He had asked his granddaughter for beer, she’s ten. There is an embargo on, and we have been instructed not to offer wine or even display it. Well it didn’t make for a very jolly evening. Seems no matter what one is going to be taken hostage by the man in the mood. Apparently he BIL if there was any beer and was told no; so he went and grabbed one he brought from his pocket. Imagine asking when you already have a stash of sorts. Then he asked the granddaughter to ask S. if there was any wine. That was also a no and has raised a lot of ire, which it would from the BIL. Anyway, on the bright side, the kid is gorgeous and had a lovely morning opening her prezzies. And there was Irish soda bread from SIL’s best friend whom I love (and who visited yesterday with her kiddies). And we had some fun doing Mad Libs and I made a soup before the harrumphing no helpers retruned and made noise and otherwise lumped around. Aren’t I nice. All I know is that in less than ninety minutes I am heading to the hair-port and can only hope that the loungers will be open. They’d have to be, I imagine. I don’t want to sit there for hours not taking advantage of what might be on offer. I will try not to snore tonight on the plane. I was fortunate enough to have avoided that fate last evening. I’m so glad we are flying upper class on Virgin because it takes all the pain out of the process. In a world where everything has become second rate it is some compensation. Now that we live in a gilded age part of this trip will be about trying to make the new world order work for me and mine. Wherever democracy is safest is probably where I’ll end up going. Once the oldies in my life finishing kicking the bucket it will be easier to escape Merry Christmas.

When you have no family and friends are hard to find, you can become quite cynical on a holiday such as these. And you think and say things like what the fuck is this mass hallucination that sees us still celebrating some guy’s birthday when, if he even actually existed, wouldn’t have been his birthday but an existing pagan holidays with toys and trees and nothing to do with a supposed Messiah. And this year, especially, gathering with family who aren’t family, while the authoritarian forces are slowly taking over? Yeah okay: Gather with your friends of misfits and pretend everything’s alright. That’s fine. No, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just that we don’t really live in a democracy anymore. But don’t worry, you have really cute cats and your new creative project is just stunning. I am going to get some major perspective during the coming months. It’s going to be slightly difficult to go without my usual crutches, but I know that in the end this is exactly what is needed. It will all come right in the end. I will write for five more minutes and then I will start moving my baggage downstairs. I made that soup, as I said. I’m having a bit of wine in the room. We will get a ride from Dobie and drop his mother off first, much to her seeming disappointment. Check in took forever as there were no workers at their posts. We ended up talking to this couple—he’s English, she’s American—they live on the South Shore. He seems like the English equivalent of a townie douchebag and that will turn out to be very much correct.

We arrived at the lounge and the lovely lady checking us in was dressed something like a yankee chic Mrs. Claus. What will happen during the first part of this trip is a rupture and all the underlying stresses will surface along with all the suppressed annoyances and resentments. Meanwhile we don’t know that so it feels fine. I took a picture of the lady and had a vegetarian Tiki Masala. Those people said they couldn’t use the lounge because they were in economy plus but suddenly they were there. They said they talked their way into it because they are semi regulars (or he is). Things were going sort of fine. He is a Scorpio and she is a Virgo, so we should have known something wasn’t going to be right. And indeed it was clear he was a thumb-headed blowhard and she the personification of acquiescence. She shook a lot. She mentioned she had had a child before they met and that the child had cerebral palsy. Fast forward to how the evening ended when I showed them a picture of Nancy Pelosi I had on my phone and the douche ws obviously an impersonation of the orange menace doing an impersonation of the journalist who had a like disability. To be clear, he was doing an evil impersonation of Nancy to suggest she was somehow neurologically disabled as if he was swallowing whatever kind of speak was coming from the fake right news. That was that. I told them they had to get the fuck out of my face. They did. Soon we were called for our flight. It was late and we were exhausted. I had them make up my bed in the herringbone class of Virgin and I ordered food but I was asleep before it arrived.

I was awakened by talking and was aware there was turbulence. A flight attendant had sat down to talk someone through it. It was a sibilant monologue. Apparently I shot her a look. Sorry but not really. I had an almond croissant. Soon we landed and I realized I had already lost my first item of the trip, a much needed pair of reading glasses. I will have to replace those. These things seem small but they do make for a sad and empty feeling, something I am struggling with anyway this time of year, having no family and friends who are hard to find. At the baggage claim the Virgo talked to us and I was having none of it. As I’m writing this I feel like I’m having some kind of allergic reaction. It feels to be all in my head, quite literally. I mean to say I’m feeling a physical sensation inside my  head somewhere near where my throat meets my ears. Anyway. I’m sure it will pass (like the morning dew). Our driver will be late and unapologetic. I realize he’s just kind of not very bright. I sound like such an asshole and I’m not not. Especially today. The drive was fine but slow. London looked good to me on this quiet morning. We arrived at Myddelton Square but driver only took cash so S. had to set off to find some and returned to inform me that our cards weren’t working at multiple banks. Typical. I arranged the bags and drank some sparkling and we set off in search of lunch because it was not time for it. The only things open in Exmouth Market were the Greek deli place and a delicious Italian restaurant where we (I) got into a state. I’m not good at directly communicating my feelings at this point and am being weird and exaggerative, two euphemisms for something worse. I just want to shed some skin and don’t know how to do it. The point is I’m terribly disappointed in what transpired with agent and all that and I simply cannot process it. It is eating me from the inside out. I will reach out to make a plan to speak on the sixth. I really can’t say more about the date at hand other than I came back to sleep and returned to the restaurant at around ten o’clock and overate and overspent and am just plain over myself.

I had this weird dream that I was acting in a play with Lucille Ball. She lived in my (parents’) house in Belmar, New Jersey. And I had to visit her first to pick her up or something. It was sort of like she was coming out of retirement. It was an uneasy dream. I had to drive along the turnpike or parkway to our house in Wyckoff as well. I have a strange numbness. I’m sure from carrying all our bags and so forth. I need a bit of recuperation. I don’t know where I left the bag of food. All I know is I didn’t have it when I returned. And really the last thing I needed was a hit off a joint from strangers. I was having a sort of out of body experience I think. I do not want to repeat this. I forgot to take the necessary required. Tomorrow will be quite a dip as a result of all this. I will have that very scary kind of feeling I won’t know how to shake it. I am definitely not in tiptop form now. I did hope that I would sail into this new reality feeling a lot better than I do. Anyway I have to transcend the cause of all this which is still this crappy book situation. What a lousy bunch of people work in that industry. Honestly, it has never been fun to work in any aspect of publishing. I do have a sort of funny idea of what kind of book I could write but it would be a rather ironic publication. Waking Nightmares Working in Publishing. I do think it could be rather fun to put out there. The stories would run chronologically. The first one would be about Paris 1985 working at Passion (and would include meeting all the friends we now have; Dizzy Place, and the do you sell Passion question, fashion shows, Princess Caroline, Clic, the mini tell, Ilene Rosensweig, Andree Carroon, Stephen Daly (was that his name?) Robert, Maia, Mimi, Stacy Madadam. I applied for an internship I guess. I do believe I remember writing a letter saying why I wanted to be an intern, having no money and having to leave, going to Tilburg in any case; there being a staff party and going to Le Palace, taking Jackie and Lawrence, going dancing at the club privé, David Clark was also an intern, writing about the biologique market. Hanging out at La Palette.

I suppose the next chapter would be Avenue magazine and the move to New York. This would include the Mikail Barysh story, also DV8 and that whole world. It would include acting and Uta and maybe New York Social Calendar which actually happened before the book of the month club and comedy class and all that jazz; perhaps it would bridge into the next wave of working at all the magazines like Detour and InStyle and YM and Paper. I think Paper might have happened before National Actors and all that but probably not. I will need to work out something of a timeline. And then all the fashion show era and pitching to the Face and all that perhaps and working for City TV and the Darren Star bit. All of that would probably go together nicely together. Something about losing all my notebooks at Florent. The rest will have to be sorted out as we go. We know it involves the crap our publishers pulled. People are basically really awful in that industry. We will see what happens next.

Today will be a fun day because it is Louie day. We will go for a long walk and the plan was to hit the Portrait Gallery then The Wollesely, but we were so starving by the time we started walking we decided to eat first and at J. Sheeky instead. A rocket salad and fish pie for me with a bottle of Chablis. That works. The drinking is going to have to stop. I will learn in two days time that there is something called dry January. That’s for me this year me thinks. Seems counterintuitive being away and all that but the fact is I’m here to work. But for today we will enjoy ourselves. The Portrait Gallery was fine. Not everything was to my liking but mostly I would say. And I could tell neither of us was really in the mood for a lot of museum action. We decided to stroll back and stopped at Lambs Conduit to make a little detour only to stumble upon Noble Rot, which we will likely circle back and visit. There was a tiny side road where people kept potted plants right on the street. London is a wonderful place even in its grimness. I am feeling fairly low by this point and upon our arrival back at Sadler’s Wells we went to suss out the butcher’s schedule—he won’t reopen for days. We went to the French wine shop and found something really good and were directed to Camden Passage to check to see if the cheese shop was open. It was. Coq Epicerie.

It is one of those December days in London, mild, the street lights reflecting off the wet cobble stones. If ever I could live here I would live right here. I am looking forward to Shoreditch too but mostly this is where I would stay. We are ridiculously blessed that we have friends whoare so generous with us. So with our cheese in tow we headed back to Myddelton Square and had a lovely time playing records and snacking in the sitting room. John Coltraine, Millie Jackson. We talked through some of the stickiness we encountered, mostly generated by me I really don’t want to be the cause of that sort of thing. But I too often am. We talked through the entire entropy of the publishing process. I realize on this day more than any other just how incredibly sad I am. I wanted so much to make this move. And now we will have to confront the situation head on, for real. I am no longer in the bravado phase. I am really truly upset and we will have to address it. I am actually hurt by the initial suggestion by M. in the process. I know these things will happen in waves, coming and going, the feelings of disappointment and rejection. One of my pet peeves is people who type really loud on their laptops, or as I like to call it slaptops.

I am really needing to let go of all this and more. The friendships; the feeling that I’ve made so many connections for so many people and they seem not to care enough to keep me in the picture. I’ve been a happy connector for people and I just don’t see why it is that I am so damn dispensible. But I have to not fight it. I must accept and move on. I am truly ready to do that now and I want most to triumph over what used to threaten to bring me down; there are so many more good things to look forward to and I cannot continue to try to get blood from stones. I will put my mind to the positive things and what that actually requires is severing all the emotional ties of the past. I have had the fantasy of disappearing into the ether. We shall see what people are made of. Espeically those who might just want to make money from us and nothing more. That will be eye opening to say the least.

I think what added to my sense of depression and loss was my sense of depression and loss. Losing things has been a theme, whether it applies to my ready-readers or opportunities passing me by to friendships that need falling away by the force of their own weight. I will spend New Year’s Eve writing out my affirmations and getting a fix on my finances and finding a way to further my aims and speed the plow. We are obviously being funneled in one direction and it all comes down to that. I will do a little math and I will make all the cash myself. Not only that I will make sure that people are properly dealt with and, not only that, but I will make it my goal to get my rights back. Examples will be made and the justice will be swift. We shall see that it is wielded because we are not afraid. People are not going to be able to get away with what they determine to get away with. And at the same time I will let the past be the past and move forward that much more singlemindedly. What is working is going to work really well. And we have time and inclination and energy and fortune on our side. I will make a success of all of this and I will live somewhere where it will all make sense and all be empowered.

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.

Pisces 15° (March 5)

I’m going to call what we got yesterday some very good news. I am transitioning today but speeding the plow nonetheless. I slept through the night for the first time in over a week. The mandate no matter what now is six pages per day, beginning as early as possible, living on farmer’s hours once again. They have finished reading the covid relief bill. I hate Republicans. I suppose I feel a bit more protected now and looking down a cleared path and I’ve started to articulate our part in what will be mediation. And I feel happy and optimistic about this book which has felt like pulling teeth but truly isn’t actually. The hard work that I have done, all the stressing about it, even, is why I am here now; and that is actually really fine. I know I am approaching a time of increasing facility with zero fucks to give. Plus I really wish to be in the best shape of my life. Going to start counting my friends one by one. I don’t need a big house is also part of the good news. I know I won’t be buying low per se but that too is a-ok. It’s going to warmer and lighter longer. Everything I’ve done, preparing for lawyers and inevitable moves, is going to add up to ease now. I did all the heavy lifting and now I can leave it behind. Soon it will smell like Spring. Night time can be about packing and moving. If we find a place nearby I can do all the little stuff myself and keep our car. I am going to do a spell (with a special kit we have) to bring this house to me. For some reason I see a small shack in Truro this time, which could be really nice. Easy to get to stores and even more valuable in the end. I really do want to stay put.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1686-1690. 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.

Where to begin. I feel like starting it all up to be honest. I want to start me up. I’m going to follow through shooting the moon. I’m sick of cancel culture and I will continue the story I started yesterday. And I will gently urge…that’s where I ended writing on this day now four days ago. This is what always happens—I get derailed. So it is now the 22^nd. Last night was meant to be our solstice show at Joe’s Pub, but I barely even remembered it was solstice let alone did I commemorate it. When people treat me badly I pile on and treat myself like crap. This is what always happens. I further blow up my existence and then I have to spend time picking up the pieces. It isn’t enough that I have a full plate and that I’m leaving the country for months and am enduring the usual stresses that entails. No I have got to make it worse. And there are always the usual and unusual delays. Like this week was a horror of getting my new phone and computer sorted. I am now typing on a new mac and the keyboard is so loud. I hate loud keyboards. If you know me you know it is just one of my pet peaves. I have so many of those. More than most people. I feel broke on so many levels. I suppose I shall get back to the story at hand although I must say I have lost much interest on that score. Anyway I need to recall what was happening on this actual day. I think this would be Wednesday. I know that over the last couple of days I did send out a number of books.

In the wake of the publishing of Sextrology, Elaine Markson quietly and unofficially retired and we were often on the front lines with the various departments at Harper. There were a numbe of foreign deals made, not without some foibles on that score, but nothing we remember. We just know to explore this since Liz Sullavan intimated in our meeting at the Marlton that something was amiss with the rights department.I don’t know if I can do this actually.I think I won’t. What I will do is cut and paste somethings.

I sent this to Meg: When Sextrology came out Stephen H was the publisher at HarperCollins under which our imprint, Harper Resource,fell—he was Megan N’s boss and was replaced by Joe Tessitore who I think recently passed away.Fast forward to 2013, Steve writes to say he is setting up his own agency and would like for us to be his clients. He says he thinks we should do a “Birthday Book” concept. We say that we have a project in mind, we call BBOD, which remains on our to-do list of books to write (as we’ve mentioned to you). He says he wants to set up a meeting at Abrams just a meet and greet, not a pitch scenario. We say fine. We go to Abrams, we like each other, then Steve pitches his idea for a book, not our idea. (He also showed up an hour late, wearing shorts, and, afterward, was a bit too “celebratory” at lunch for our liking).  The Abrams folks we met were Holly D. and her colleague at the time David somebody. (Note from her to Steve post-meeting is below). We decide not to sign Steve on as our agent—we were not interested in writing his idea of a book—and so we completely drop out of publishing at this point to focus on our private consultancy and self-started projects. We don’t know what exactly Steve would have said to Holly. All this to say: Do you know if Holly is still at Abrams? Is she someone we could add to next pitch list of folks?

Then this: Cool. We have our thinking caps on.

Honestly, though we always rise above and make the lemonade; We have been quite upset by the Harper thing. I’ve spent the last couple of days doing some narrative therapy which has helped a lot. Still, what keeps coming up is how much crap we put up with and forgave HC (some hair-raising things that would strike you as painfully comical if not completely unbelievable) like the pretend book tour Kate Stark fabricated before leaving Harper just as our book was coming out (I kid you not) with fake flights booked and appearances at Book Soup and Booksmith in SF. HC ended up writing us a check to design our own book store which ultimately included those two places.

And this is just one of the trauma episodes coming up. Yet, we forgave them all their trespasses and still now don’t know what it is they still have in their bonnet about us. Because Harper didn’t buy Sexxtrology to begin with, and we ended up on their doorstep, they were one big Miss Minchin to us the entire time. None of the people we know of (who were  there at the time) are even still there. Despite the crap we went through we remain friendly with folks we first worked with; and have tried to forge trusting and collaborative relationships to those who’ve inherited us, pinballing from one imprint to another over the years. At some point I think we will need to know exactly what bee they have in their bonnet; we feel whatever is being said by whomever is messing with our livelihood and that is truly upsetting. But for now we are doing our best transcendence act

And this I sent to Mary Ellen C.:  I hope this finds you well! You’re probably like What The…?

I am working on funny stories about our experience in the publishing world and I am trying to piece together a timeline in so doing

When Sextrology was about to be published I think both Megan N. and Kate S. left HC and you came aboard, is that right?

I think also that Joe T., whom I hear is no longer with us?, replaced Steve H. at the same time? Steve actually wanted to agent us a few years back and I recall that he was a bit bitter about all that. Anyway, I’m off the point…..

This is my recollection and I wonder if you have the same one: There was this whole west coast book tour set up for Starsky + Cox (by Kate before she left) including TV appearances and radio and airline tickets and book store events at Book Soup and Booksmith in SF. We received an entire itinerary I remember and we tried to follow up about the plane tix and such only to discover that the entire tour had been fabricated. No tickets purchased. No TV appearances. And the bookstore owners had no idea what we were talking about when we called about our in-store events. Do I have all this right?

I do remember you and Joe decided to write Stella and me a check so that we could re-create the tour ourself and then some. We used the money very sparingly I know and did appear on KTLA in Los Angeles and at Book Soup (where friends of Tori Amos came and gave her a copy of our book which inspired her to write “Goodbye Pisces,” crediting us in her own book about song writing called Piece by Piece!!) and also at Booksmith in San Francisco where the Chronicle did a wonderful piece on us that really got the press rolling.

In my mind the check you gave us was for $3K. Anyway the funny bit about SF was that we stayed at this cheaper hotel owned by the Triton hotel and they piped music into our room. We had done the Booksmith event and they made Starsky + Cox “trading cards” as they do for authors. I said (never being a baseball fan) that the only cards I ever collected were Partridge Family cards. The morning after as we packed to head for the airport they piped “I Think I Love You” into our room. I got to the airport and used the mensroom and in there was Brian Forster who played the part of Chris Partridge on the show. I said “I used to collect your cards when I was a kids, so here you go, take one of ours!” Isn’t that so weird and synchronistic. Then again stuff like that happens to us all the time.

Anyway, I hope this jogs your memory and anything you can add to this story would be much appreciated. Everything happens for a reason and on some level I suppose I’m grateful to Kate Stark for faking our book tour before quitting Harper!

Yesterday I went to Yarmouth to the dermatologist and made the mistake of passing through some old haunts. Thre is a new online newspaper called the Independent to which people are contributing. I will only do so if there was money in it. It didn’t help my mood to take this trip today. I have a bunch of errands to do as well and that’s fine. I fell off my yoga wheel and will try to get back on during the course of the next couple of days. I’m giving myself ninethy minutes to write the next three days of posts because, if you’ve been paying attention, we are late to the party. Okay so here I go, kicking into a sort of hyper mode, which is the only way to go. I drove past the West Dennis beach I drove up Old County Road. And then made the mistake of going up Gorham, ours is the only house on the street that exists solely in memory. I want to get and stay ahead of all the curves. I want the pain I feel to fuel something. I am frightened of this trip ad of myself. I am tired of the withholding way that so-called friends (who never really were) are wont to treat me. I am going to get into this feeling today and I am going to accelerate it into a burning feeling of fiercity. I’m tired of the self-promoters and all their bullshit. I need time off to fucking get my brain around everything that is now happening and I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I am going to try and book some low-key characters. I have to shed five pounds in the next ten days. That is something that must occur. It should be easier. If I can just stop chowing like a pig and drinking like a fish. That messed up Shari E. who stood us up all those years ago—figures, as she’s a friend of that soulless Jack P.—well turns out that she is a major Qanon Trumpster. Big surprise there. We took down all her art and will likely burn it. I’ve lost so many things I’ve loved it’s not hard for me to lose shit I don’t care about Merry Fucking Christmas. Oh, man: I have no holiday spirit to speak of. Negative holiday spirit. I’m so mad at the world this week. But it’s no use pretening I’m note. I have to go through this as part of my process. Not meant to be speaking to the usual middle wo/men until after the holidays. Once I get the full skinny I’m going to go for the jugular. I know the universe can do the work for me. That will be my m.o.. There is not only no reason for revenge; it actually does the opposite of the desired effect.

And so I try and try to turn the corner on this particular issue that is burning at my core. I spent so much of the year writing a book and trying to get it published. The first round people didn’t bite as expected. Would that we didn’t’ go from “I’ve got so many editors chomping at the bit” to waah, waah. So that will be the first thing to figure out: How can that be. That will be the first thing we tackle. The second thing will tackle is this bad wrap bulsshit by HarperCollins. I will pick up the thread and write about the fact that we wrote for the worst person ever Joe Dolce (well actually his boss Bonnie Fuller was the worst person ever). I hope they are Googling themselves and see this. There have never been more unspiritual, soulless people than these two. At least I’m lucky enough to say that. So wow, yes, this is a purge. I am getting out all my vitriol. Underneath it is me, HI!, Quinn the Kind. I promise I haven’t gone to the dark side. I just need to release this shadow. I need to get to my truth. I will happily write a tell all. There is so much to say and do and so and say and say say say. Sherherazade. I don’t mind the free association. We had a mini vocal band back in the day called The Free Associates. It was a fun offshoot of the other more elaborate jam bands I was in. With my so-called best man. Ha! That’s a joike. I have always attracted the same one zodiacal sign as my best friend for as long as I can remember. And they always betrayed me. Always turned on me. They were always insular and selfish. I think I bring out the worst in this particular sign. Have I said enough already. I’d like to think I have. I have so much more to get to and I don’t know that I ever will.

You say you want a resolution? Well, you know, that is a very Capricorn thing to do. We are posting a lot about this sort of thing on social media. Sometimes the post hit FB but mainly you need to follow StarskyandCox on Instagram for the full effect. We are trying to be better at social media. Apparently having followers (which so many people just buy anyway) is more important than having actual readers of ones work, and by that I mean books. Just when you thought traditional publishing couldn’t be even more twisted, venal and celebrity worshiping. But let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about cancel culture instead. It is so much more fun. This past year I had an artist cancel a show very last minute leaving my non-profit holding the financial bag. Do you think this artist cared? No they didn’t. But it doesn’t stop there. The artist then turns around and bad mouths the very non-profit that spent a ton of money to support them and with witch the broke a contract without batting an eye, let alone exhibiting a conscience. It’s more than galling. Another performer last year cancelled out on a series we put on which meaned having to refund tickets like crazy. Again no remorse. Anyway this is going nowhere.

A Resolution is a very Capricorn Thing. Shalt-nots being Saturned-ruled restrictions.Don’t bet me started on Moses—ten commandments, tenth sign of the Zodiac—whom God told to build a tabernacle out of Goat Hair. I’m off subject…My Resolution this year is to be an Agent of Accountability in the Age of Cancel Culture. If you bad-mouth, ef-over, gaslight, virtue signal (not to mention break a promise, let alone a contract with me) or otherwise sow any seeds of false narrative (bear false witness) against me, my work or organizations, or anybody I even remotely like, I’m going to call your shit out. I don’t care if you’re a community high priestess or the maharincess of liberal politcical correctness. One of my myriad Libran selves is a bad ass born on the streets of Jersey City; and starting in 2020 I’m bringing guido back, pulling no punches and taking no prisoners when it comes to the very basics of living life by the Golden Rule. I have no more blind eyes or cheeks to turn and there may even be some retroaction on that score. So if you think you maybe got something by or over some proverbial mister niceguy, don’t let 2019 hit you on the ass on the way out.

I’m almost done with this spewing I promise you. I have just a little further to go with all of this and then I hope it will be out of my body. It is more sickening for me than it is for you can promise you that. I’m so not putting up with any crap this coming year. I am so not letting others get away with murder. I am so not letting the ghostlighting and the cancel culture take me down. It is all a mass hallucination on so many levels in any case and I am determined to keep this situation as real as I possibly can. I promise that when I get into the post that corresponds with two days hence I will begin to say positive things. I’m also aware of the fact that I started thoughts that I haven’t finished; but that too is part of the process here. This new laptop has the loudest keyboard I said that but I can’t believe how loud this shit gets. Anyway I want this Blague to be like a big pre-colonoscopy treatment where I get all the shit out of my system. I have had to deal with so much negative crap over the last couple of days and I have not risen above it. I haven’t lashed out but worse: I took it all in. That was my bad for real. And I haven’t fulfilled a number of promises I made to myself.  Anyway, I have once again written enough. Tomorrow’s post may be that much more vehement. But you can handle it, whoever you are.

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.

Pisces 14° (March 4)

Make It Snappy. I need to go back and employ shorter sentences. Thinking more about my meditation and I’m super way into it. It is steeped in the belief that the body can heal itself and that, like so many other things, astrology can be a practical source for meditation and wellness. That’s where I’m going with this. I really feel that I can create a workshop along these lines. I need to catch some lightning in a bottle now and that is exactly what I am to do. The moment I decided to do a nice long clear out what do you think happens? Two cases of wine show up at the same exact moment Tim drives up with a dozen mugs. It will be fun to write some snappy copy for that and put on something groovy for filming. I don’t look my absolute best but I am jonesing a bit to have some fun and make some funny videos. We had a meeting on the ancillary book matter and I think it’s a good idea to get some things moving in the publisher’s direct. Then we can be left alone for a good long time. I keep getting flashes of Ireland which is strange because it so isn’t on my radar.

I tried watching Stanley Tucci host his new Italy show on CNN and, sorry, but he seems so entitled, vain and vapid with nothing but movie star connections—zero charisma nor point of view. You wouldn’t necessarily know it from the title “Searching For Italy” but it is a food show; and yet despite repeating over and over that he’s a “foodie” that worn expression doesn’t even seem true. All he does is stut around in tiny jackets, cropped pants with no socks, taste food and say “oh my God.” Seriously, if there was a drinking game where you had to take a shot every time he said “oh my God,” you would die of alcohol poisoning. His few attempts at Anthony Bourdain philsophy are nonsensical misses, and he actually takes swipes at his guests. (You know how people who aren’t funny try to be funny and just end up being sarcastic and insulting?) There was one take away, however: If you close your eyes, you would swear his whiny affected posh delivery was being voiced by Jack Benny. Hey CNN here’s a suggestion: Replace Tucci with Susan Lucci in Gucci. Even with her years of face work, she can register infinitely more varied and vivid expression than the Mr. Magoo in Thom Browne silhouettes you currently have prancing le strade d’Italia. (Sorry I didn’t get much sleep last night.)

So once again awoke at three and stayed awake only to find that S. was also up reading. We surfaced a couple hours later and managed to score some vaccination appointments so that feels great but somehow odd. Which is how I feel in any case, but I’m getting acclimated to this new era. Got my budgets squared away and have gone through some more notes and then I’m just going to write for a couple of hours today and get to bed on the early. I have pre-preparted a lovely chowder and we had lefties from last couple of meals—last night I marinated salmon in miso and molasses and serves with crispy scallion and ginger, spicy green beans and some potato chips left over from my flounder fish &, plus quinoa tabbouleh I made the other day. All yumster. I’m going to be regaling you in the next few days with more astrology so stayed tuned for that!

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1681-1685. 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.

Ah, Solstice. With the start of Capricorn, the days start getting longer, and, as we slowly celebrate the return of light, we make our new year’s resolutions. Capricorn advocates for keeping it real and doing what we can do in the present to have lasting effects. It is the sign of endurance, posterity and a certain slice of eternity. Capricorn is ruled by Saturn, “Old Father Time”, named for the Titan god of the mythic Golden Age, the “grandfather” of the gods who, with his wife, Rhea (her name means “ease”), are endlessly retiring. The sign and it’s timely resolutions are about retiring certain aspects of self which no longer serve as we mature and grow. On that magical old TV show “Bewitched” Samantha’s parents personify Saturn and Rhea. Even her mother’s name, Endora, portrays the enduring nature of this cosmic archetype. And just as you wouldn’t mess with her, or her errant hubby, you should think twice before crossing a mighty Capricorn witch or warlock.

In ancient times, this week was celebrated as Saturnalia, festival of the god Saturn whose namesake planet rules this sign of Capricorn. Coincidence? We think not. The Saturs (English Satyrs) were goat gods and insatiable in their appetites; and Saturnalia was all about indulgence, feasting, intoxication and orgies. Some unlucky candidate was force fed then sacrificed in a ghastly scapegoat ritual, the ancients believing they were destroying the forces of darkness in killing off some innocent person. Thus the bonfires, the Yule log, and decorating with candles and with wreaths and boughs of holly, garlands and, of course, trees—bringing the outside inside was a topsy turvy way to recognize the the life force in the deadest, darkest time of year. Masters would wait on servants during festival, an aristocratic tradition in Britain and elsewhere that exists to this day. Reversal was seen as a necessary element to enact in celebration at this time of year. So you might ask yourself what needs switching up. And how, at this darkest time of year, you can spark new signs of liveliness in yourself that can manifest with the new year. And what can you rid yourself of and mindfully sacrifice without making any ritual killings that is.

Ring-ring-a-ling. We’d like to propose a toast: Here’s to the lads and ladies who do unto others as they would have…well you get the idea. The Golden Rule is the simplest to live by, but it isn’t the easiest. Look to yourself this holiday season, check your intentions, and take responsibility for your actions and try to keep your side of the sidewalk shoveled. This most magical time of the year allows you to work some real sorcery all your own. Capricorn restraint (and whatever resolution you have planned) doesn’t mean denying yourself anything; it’s about freeing yourself from the unseen forces (a/k/a our conditioning) that make us do and think and say things that aren’t true expressions of who we are. This only makes us feel in conflict and divided. When in doubt, evoke that Rule, and ritualize the Yuletide as a time of certain atonement, that is to say at-one-ment.

Good Tidings! The annular solar eclipse happened overnight, and it is all about fresh starts and putting new plans in motion for the future. And here we are setting off on a new journey of our own. Good Tithings! It is Boxing Day and we have just landed in London where this holiday means something. It’s origin is hinged on putting together “Christmas boxes” for servants and vendors and other such workers on whom more posh folks habitually rely. So it is about expressing appreciation and giving back, things we can do today whereever we might be. Every year, S+C do a ritual tithe, where we provide our private-consultancy services to a few folks for free. To be honest it feels like the most selfish thing to do, because it inspires such a sense of warmth and well-being. So here we are: Taking appointments for the next month in London before settling into Paris, our European HQ, to see even more clients, so many of whom work in fashion and design.

Stella Starsky was born on this date, same birthday as Marlene Dietrich—no big stretch there. Capricorn women, more than any others, deserve the status designation: Iconic. Towering figures, even when tiny (Stella is quite tall), they embody the attributes of their Capricorn-ruled tenth house, that of respect, honor, authority, veneration and influence. Stella has a way of lifting up others, of empowering them, and expecting them to ascend to their best selves. As a Capricorn she embodies the power of Faith, in herself, those she loves, and in humanity as a whole. Like another famous Capricorn woman, when others go low, she goes higher and higher. Drawing on the archetype of the “ascending goddess”, the gorgeous Sea Goat is designed for the slow and steady climb toward self-realization. So Happy Birthday Stella Starsky! Other Capricorn beauties born this day: Lily Cole and Timothée Chalamet.

As mentioned in a previous post, in antiquity this time of year was celebrated with the festival of Saturnalia. The planet ruler of Capricorn was named for Saturn (Greek: Cronus) the deposed chief god of the Golden Age (a paradise of time/space when there were no rules, no lies or crime, no disease and mortals, who lived for hundreds of years, mingled with the gods who then inhabited the earth). Capricorn men draw on the archetype of Saturn, being throwbacks to a more glittering time, encyclopedic in their knowledge of the past, often at a very young age, seeming worldly wise beyond their years. They also have a retiring, laid-back approach to life, being old-souls with a faded-glory aesthetic (not to mention some decadent proclivities); they can rock a cardigan, ascot, pair of loafers, vintage watch and signet pinky ring better than any ol’ boy on the planet. They are rather Saturnine (somber if not melancholic) and Saturnian (sardonic, slow to change, if not effete); and, as the old goat of the Zodiac, may be prone to certain satyriasis, named for the randy mythological satyrs who were forever chasing young nymphs. Hello J.D. Salinger, ef you R. Kelly—even Elvis had a child bride. Whatever savage beastliness lurks beneath the surface of the Capricorn man, to all appearances he is an elegant, soave and debonair fellow, as evidenced by the likes of Cary Grant, Denzel Washington, Jude Law, Morris Chestnut, David Bowie, Orlando Bloom, James Earl Jones, Kit Harrington, John Legend, Zayn Malik, Bradley Cooper and Eddie Redmayne.

The classic Capricorn archetype is Rhea, the sister-wife of Cronus, (Roman: Saturn), namesake of the planet ruler of the sign. Rhea is an anagram of her “daughter” Hera, (Roman: Juno), who with her brother-husband, Zeus, (Greek: Jupiter), inherits the kingdom of heaven (Olympus) and the chiefdom of the gods. Fearing a prophecy he’d be overthrown, Cronus gobbled up five of his six kids, but when Rhea delivered her youngest, Zeus, she hid him away and swaddled up some stone for Saturn to swallow. In the form of a She-Goat (Amaltheia) Rhea nursed her child who grew up to fulfill the prophecy, with his newly regurgitated siblings by his side. And just as Capricorn man and women differently manifest the energy of their sign, if not being diametrically opposed, Cronus-Saturn is struck down, deposed and dissident, while Rhea rises up. Capricorn is the cardinal-earth sign, which translates to a mountain, and Rhea is an “ascending goddess” who takes to her mountain fortress (Mount Ida), her crown being turretted in shape to reflect the elevated spiritual stronghold she occupies. She is the mountain mother, the Matterhorn, the Grand (read: Great) Mother of the gods; but no shrinking violet is she. Sometimes called Cybele, from whom we get the term cymbals, (Roman: Ops, meaning plenty—optimism, optimal, opportunity, options), Rhea may have retired, but she created her own swinging retreat with rhythmic and rather loud revelry. When her grandson, the orgiastic Bacchus-Dionysus, youngest of the gods, comes on the scene, she bequeaths her entire estate to him, including her leapard-drawn chariot, and her entire retinue of party-goers (in leopard print), mainly women, who literally slay men, in ritual killings. There was always human and other sacrifices going on during this time of year. Rhea’s passing the torch to Dionysus is a mythic allegory of renunciation. Called Rhea-Cronus, it is where we get the word crone. Making peace with life’s ephemeral nature ironically allows Capricorn women to glimpse eternity and foster an enduring legacy.

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.

Pisces 13° (March 3)

Heartless. Sadistic. My hope is that the poor chicken, about which I can do nothing in the circumstances, fell comfortably asleep and froze to death without any pain. I can’t bear the thought of it suffering any longer. That was one of my awakening thoughts today. I’ve turned the corner and rejigged my schedule. Today I will continue to make inroads. And there are some things I want to accomplish—some bank balancing, going over sidebars and intro, getting the Public Theater stuff squared away. (The chicken lives and I saw fuckface’s sister feeding it so I give up.) Food prep is pretty much done. Now back to some revelations on healing and how to get this party started right. I was off to such a good start today, truly wuly was I. However, I got a vibe from S. and got a bit freaked out, which, given the fact I awoke at 2:45 am, resulted in some panic-attacking; nothing to terrible, but I don’t have bandwidth for the stress. Upon awaking, after trying to fall back without any drama, I decided to do a meditation which, as I realized, is pretty astrological, since it was a relaxation technique the went from head to foot. I kept naming areas of body, starting with the Aries ruled head, and worked my way down. And what I realized was that there were a gazillion things to relax, physically, just speaking about the head. Really specific things. Then I was working into the throat and there was this overlap of signs and then I started relaxing things like “sense of smell” and so forth and it dawned on me that there could be more figurative elements in these suggestions as I worked my way down, and other physical things to like blood and flesh and fat. When I got to throat I had to change my position because my soft palate actually relaxed so much it closed up the airway. I had this weird moment where I saw this child and when I asked who are you? my entire head was bathed in healing electric chills. I had this very resistant, tense pain up through my face and, breathing into it, my back cracked in the exact spot of one of my earliest accidents, falling downstairs, where I got the wind knocked out of me. I realized in the reverie that this was real but also metaphoric. Gemini could well be prana. Speaking of her I do need to get a move on with the chapter today but I guess I just wanted to say that this could be a book. A living book to which can be added ones own additions to “the script”, a guided meditation that you could read into a voice dictate and change daily. Allowing my words to become the reader’s words—this is a concept that made sense in the moment. Well I did a pretty thorough job on the first phase and I was working into the second and could do a bit more before moving into the third which I really want to do. That familiar panic that you’re going to forget ideas. But the fact is, with this one, that the ideas are all already there. I’ll report back with more of this tomorrow I imagine. Oh yes there was also a moment where something moved inside me on my lower left side, close to the haunches, and it made me jump, quite dramatically, off the bed. I think I have found something powerful; not to say that this guided meditation isn’t something that I used to do with regularity in my mid twenties because it is, quite exactly.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1676-1680. 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.

So we went out for a little sushi last night which was nice and got enough sleep I suppose. It snowed overnight so I had to go down and scrape off the car and we set out at a pretty decent hour. There was no traffic and it was a bit like driving inside a snow globe. We were meant to meet Alice at this tea today but we got a request to have lunch in J+N’s suite so we had to redirect. Got to the Pierre around noon and of course our suite was incredible. Life seems to offer wonderful things and terrible things all in the same day. We didn’t realize exactly what was lying in wait to ambush us this day but it would be devestating and the effects would last for days on end. Whenever we get broadsided like this I lose my ability to keep this Blague going. I have to say I’m at the end of my tether with this specific thing. I will have to address this whole thing at some point and I will figure out a way to do this I suppose. But then what happens is that I risk the relationship with the agent. I really feel that I’ve worked so hard on our relationships with the new folks at our publisher but something is dogging us. I am hiding the lead a little bit here perhaps but the fact is this day ends on quite a sour note (and then a little bit of silver lining). We quickly unpacked and then made our way over for lunch. We had brought a little bit of chocolate as a gift and were handed presents upon arriving that blew ours out of the water. Such is the way of things. We had a lovely lunch (Caesar salad for me) and then went and got ready to meet A. Just as we did S. said there is an email and it isn’t good news. Which it wasn’t. It seems the editor who kept us for two and a half hours wasn’t going to be offering us anything at all. We were so hoping everything would have been flushed out but instead things were rotten in Denmark. Macmillan: F,S+G, Picador, Thomas Dunne. S+S: Howard, Scribner, Touchstone. Anyway, we went to meet A. and the Lowes and talked about how we can do these things on our own. I’m still going in and out of depressive feelings. I would like to get to the bottom of why it is this is still happening, when, in fact, it is so, so long ago. I suppose we must also come to grips with the fact that this might not be our direction. Still I will explore every route possible and that can include small press, electronic only and other entrepreneurial paths for the writing. I was tempted to cance going to dinner but we decided to follow through on plans to go to Café Lux. And there we got a little bit of a sign.

We were at the host station when this man approached and asked S. if her earrings were Ted Muehling, which they were. He is an opera singer at the Met but he is also a goldsmith and a jeweler with a home base in Stonington, Maine. That would be super on target as you know. Anyway we will meet him when wecome back in the Spring, which is going to entail a tour of New England, anyway, exploring all the options. I am going to put my attention into the investment operations and put on my big-boy pants and pull up the old bootstraps. Had some lambchops and frites and some so-so Priorat and tried to word notes to M.T. but I couldn’t come up with anything even remotely salient. I definitely want to catch up on all that needs doing. And yet here I am having to recover and somehow field the feelings that will come and go and come and go. Everything in life is so up and down on this score. It would be nice to get to a place where we don’t have to be in such a state of flux, but I do believe that is up to me. And we need to relax, regroup, and recalibrate so to meet the chanllenges before us. I decided I am not calling or writing J&L. If they want to drive us from Edinburgh that will be great and we can split the cost of the rental no problem. But I am really a bit in need of taking the proper status. The view from the thirty-ninth floor is spectacular at least thought it bothers me that I cannot ever fully enjoy the fantastic things in life. I feel, too, that I might be hitting a bit of a wall with what I’ve considered fun enhancement in the past. I honestly do feel at my very best when simply relaxed and meeting life on life’s terms. I will need to find a way to address the toxicity still lurking in that particular well. I think I have to give myself the gift of being finished with today’s entry.

I woke up feeling pretty crappy. I’m not used to drinking cocktails and also I find that when I do so to drown any feelings of sadness or anxiety I get into a deeper hole that I then struggle to dig out of. S.  has morning appointments so I’m going to take some air and just walk around the neighborhood. I had some poached eggs on hash and it seems to have sat well. We are being texted that we are to have another lunch which is great. I should feel leveleled out by then. Which I do. We met at Georgette and I’m planning to pick up the tab. Quite a nice restaurant. I order some artichokes as my main meal. We talk about Lumos and filmmaking and it is all pretty fascinating. I am guzzling Badoit. We will go back and regroup and make ourselves pretty for the evening. S. decides to go back out as she needs to bring a cash tip to one of her people who serviced her this morning. I will take a bath and slowly put myself together. I am trying not to have a bad day but it is touch and go I must admit. Impeachment is happening and tonight we will see Nancy Pelosi. The phone rings and they say Juan Carlos is here. I say I don’t know who that is. They hang up. I’m in the bath and S. comes back and says she overheard the staff say that the hairdresser had yet to arrive. Uh oh. I realize that perhaps the call that Juan Carlos was here was actually meant for the suite across the hall. S. goes to tell them but here’s they are already on the phone with him, whom we assume, is here to do J.’s hair, but of course. I’m dressed too early but that’s okay. I think things look relatively decent on me. Our driver is meant to be downstairs and five thirty. It is quite cold out and I pop out and approach a couple of cars but neither driver is him. I go back inside and we call him who says he’s right outside. Okay well can’t you see me going around soliciting drivers? We finally get in and he asks where we are going. It is to the Hilton on Sixth. We go to the main entrance and check in and we are ushered to the VIP party which is great. There are interesting looking people yet nobody seems to be dressed all that well. Or rather they are all over the place, some in gowns and tuxes, some in cocktail apparel. There is a place to get photographed. We do so as a lark. We have something barely bearable to drink and lean on a table where this couple talks to us. He is the Tweezerman and she writes feminist fantasy literature. They have a 240 acre property in Rhinebeck and we are invited to visit. They say they like to skinny dip. I don’t think we are going. Then again maybe we can go for lunch in the winter when there won’t be temptations toward nudity. We can stay in Tivoli. It might make a nice trip. I’m still drinking to drown the sorrows of yesterday but I have to pace myself. We are called into dinner.

We find our table and are immediately greeted by a man who turns out to be a Sir. He is with Lumos and he is very sweet and seated next to S. the seats next to me remain empty for a bit and I actually switch my plate with the one next to me as mine is missing a sauce. It is a burrata of sorts and I’m starving now as I only had an artichoke at lunch and it is now getting late. There are bottles of wine on the table. Nothing is great shakes nor would it be. There are Kennedys everywhere. When they introduce J. it is every Kennedy kid on the planet who is brought up on stage. Joe Kennedy, who will be senator, first introduces a video about her. J. is third up after Wendy Abrams and Glenn Tullman, both of whom have done extraordinary things. After J. it’s time to honor the Speaker who gets the most applause of the night as is right. Adam Schiff is here. Ari Melber is here. Katie Couric. It is an elitist Dem gathering of the first order. One of our clients, an actress, is here and we hang for a hot minute. These things are very odd in that, unless I was invited as a guest, I would never be in this room. The table next to us is all young teens and they are talking right through everything, tempting me to tell them to shut it, which I cannot do. Who the hell am I. Nobody. We get to shake hands with the Speaker and her husband which is pretty exciting in and of itself. The security forces are in full swing. J & N are leaving directly after Nancy speaks. We will meet our own car.

We get back tot he hotel and have a little champagne and watch the UK election results. Boris Johnson has a resounding, sweeping win. This is very sad. Brexit is soon to be. Also there will likely be a reunification of Ireland in our lifetime as well as an independent Scotland. These are historic times. I’m eating a ton of cold friench fries, I am drinking glasses of champagne. I know we stayin the suite until an ungodly hour of three a.m. and the next day all I think is what did I talk about that whole time. I can barely remember which is not a good sign. I hate that feeling of not really knowning. I pretty much pass out—you can’t call it falling asleep; and I only have a few hours of unconciousness. I am in the throes of angst and sadness underneath the surface and I am aware that the wine, which would have helped in the short term, was going to back fire on me in the waking hour that comes too soon. This will prove to be correct.

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.

Pisces 12° (March 2)

Literally no sleep last night, but never mind. This will be the ultimate transition day and I’m okay with that. I spent the night cooking chowder and tabbouleh which is good to have in place. There are more vaccines, but Massachusetts is loosening restrictions—terrible that we have a Republican governor. Slow your roll.  Stella returning and doing shopping along the way so it will be a garde manger afternoon. I’ve all but caught up to myself but I still think I’ll need to do a little tweaking along the way. Did a bit of banking but I’m not totally caught up yet. I will try to make some time for that this afternoon. Anyway I am in the business of getting the main work drafted and using this forum for posting excerpts of what my brain is coming up with. It’s a good practice and I need to lead with that aim every morning over coffee. No more email until the end of the day. No more social media at all. And even this work at hand will happen after the fact. Cuomo in hot water I predict he will resign. Christopher Wray not saying quite enough. Time has really traveled under the bridge and I truly am beyond so many relationships that I have previously lamented. No more. It has been completely bred out of me. People have largely seemed ridiculous for nearly a year now; and I am absolutely not putting myself out there anymore just to be swatted away. I have far too much respect for myself than that. In a few short weeks, I will begin year seven of this daily Blague and I am going to do very little in the way of posting—no more going back to year one. I will turn that into another project potentially. And All I’m going to do is read back on the same day of the previous year and think about what kind of material it can be in other places or for other projects. 

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1671-1675. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.

Sagittarius 14° (December 6)

Woke up at three-thirty once again but there is nothing to be done but just start moving and use the time wisely. I have furthered tidied my office—or rather let it tidy itself as I prepare for the grand exodus. I’m not overachieving right now and I don’t feel that I have to. got some writing done and contacted the Venice hotel as I said I would. Prepared the kitchen for the day and am soon to set out to get some errands accomplished. I need to see if my barber is in residence, first and foremost. Then I will slide down to UPS drop off and get some coffee ground at the factory and pick up some sicky supplies (cough drops and tissues et al) then do a breeze through Vintage In Vogue if they are open, which they are meant to be. I got on the phone to the conflicting doctors, too, and hopefully straightened all of that out. There are just over two weeks now until the grand exodus and I’m feeling fairly prepared to make said exit. I will set off soon and when I come back I will put together all the notes regarding Paris and have a lovely time musing on that while I let my choppers brighten. I’m not going to worry about the car right now as there seems no point in doing so. That said I could just give a call—which I did—and same old message as always: that he isn’t it. I will have tried many times. I will stop by there tomorrow after I make my morning dump run. All my errands went well; in the meantime we had a note back from the agent and there is no good news yet to report.

I said I felt okay about that but the truth is that somewhere I do feel the manifestation of sadness. I understand where one is coming from when they say they would like a win. I too would like a win. I’m not going to write back today because I just can’t bear it really. One of us will have to but I really don’t want it to be me. What can one do. All one can do is keep trying. People who work in publishing are, on the whole, a miserable, victim type individual. They dart around their flourescent lit halls, avoiding real work, then collect their paychecks. They’ve never had to have been creative in their whole entire life. They, like most lawyers, agents, managers, lie for a living. It’s fairly ridiculous. We shall continue to keep a positive attitude. When you make a deal with a publisher you are suddenly working for someone in a sense. And, at least for right now, we don’t have to work for anybody. That is the boon of being who we are. I will work today till around four o’clock and then I’m going to check out and just watch some movies or new Netflix series or some such. I am not here to overachieve. I am here to work my magic as best I’m able and that I can do without much muss or fuss. We are very fortunate. And most likely there will be a deal but if there isn’t one with the person in question than I believe we would have been saved from something. I know one thing is for sure: for wahtever reason we are not being given the easiest of rides in this journey; nor are we having the most difficult either. The most important thing I’m learning at this juncture is that I am capable of pulling myself up by the bootstraps and, moreover, that I have the ability to self moderate, even if that means more abstinence than temporance for awhile. Mainly I don’t want to be bothered by upset, nor do I want to be plagued by overwork. I want to take a light touch and I want to work some magic for awhile. It is about focusing on relationships and that means taking responsibility for those that didn’t serve me in the first place. I have to admit my part in those instances and all I can do really is concentrate on being my best self. It is too easy to be disappointed. Disappointment is a luxury I can ill afford. I wasn’t born into homeless poverty living on the streets of Calcutta; nor was I plopped into some lap of luxury. I grew up poorer than most, for sure. And I want to say I’m proud of that. I need to steer clear of others (anybody!) who equates their material wealth with some sort of superiority. If anything it is a recipe for the opposite being true. I just want to keep my side of the street clean, if not to myself.

I know what I’m doing is right I know the way I’m approaching my days just now is exactly correct. I have faith in my abilities and if people don’t seem to “get me” or my work or my brand or whatever it is you want to call it that’s also fine. I am going where the love is. And the main place that love is coming from is from me. I have no reason to flaunt that fact. I am not taking to social media every day (like so many others) putting up photos of myself. Sure, I am writing about my life and posting it on a Blague that is public, but you don’t seem me promoting the fact. I don’t believe in that. This is my way of being invisible in public which is one of my more favorite things to do slash be. I think that’s why I used to love smoking pot so much in my youth. I would smoke and it would relax me and I would be out in public, even in crowded places, and feel so cushioned and so beautifully alone. It lasted into my thirties. Then it backfired and instead of feeling cottony and chill and part of some invisible, silent fabric, I felt that there were alarms going off in my head. I still love the way it makes me feel, mentally. I love the ideas that it brings to light if not to life. But I cannot stand the way it feels in my body. It’s like little demons getting trapped in my blood or nervous system, that something is going to give way, that I’m going to have a stroke or something. I would never happen because  really what’s going on is some form of panic attack; and in truth pot aint the pot that I grew up on which just made me feel tired and slightly headachy or then, when the green stuff came along, sort of crystaline like the buds themselves, bursting with clarity and flavor. That was the stuff of my college life when that amazing superior bud was first introduced. I could smoke a tiny pinch, a crumb I would call it (didn’t we all) and be high for hours listening to records in my room which I would deconstruct. i had few clothes and I had fewer friends and I liked it that way. I either ran everywhere—to classes or workstudy, which was a deep sadness (having to work in the cafeteria or some such when none of my friends needed to do likewise); or I would ride my nineteen-sixtees no-speed, pedal-break red Columbia bicycle. I was all alone and loving it. I didn’t need another living soul on the planet. I just needed enough for some double cheeseburgers from some cheap place and I don’t think I needed to eat more than once a day. I remember the summer of 1983 living in an M.I.T. dorm and working at the B.U. School of Theology (basically I was the Registrar for the summer while the real one was away) and I know I went to lunch and had those cheeseburgers, which I would bring to my friend Chris’s where we would smoke put and eat them and watch The Monkees on re-runs. But I have no concept of ever eating dinner. Just like I have zero notion of ever being lonely. Who was I then. I know I didn’t have stresses because everything was ahead of me and I just assumed I would be, well, not rich and famous, necessarily (I never thought in those terms) but happy leading a creative life and fulfilled. I’m not quite though am I; although I’m not far off either. I just have a little negotiating to do. A little adjusting.

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.

Pisces 11° (March 1)

Doing a big version of the Monday clean up. Top to bottom, je blaze, and I’ll do a dump run and tet that out of the way. Another day of nothing much happening work-wise, but am getting up to speed on how to make the best of my time in the next ninety to one-hundred and twenty days. For what it’s worth And, truth be told, in staying within her signature small orbit, Gemini makes magic on the daily, forever tinkering with, tweaking her immediate surroundings, both physical and ideologic, for the better, endlessly adding little touches and making upgrades to her environment and the general atmosphere of her lifestyle. Feathering her nest, actually and metaphorically, is Gemini’s main preoccupation, befitting her avian astrological archetype. She is forever in a process of preparation for some inevitability, inspired into action by the next event on the horizon, that next hatched plan. In this way, she is always putting something together, without ever having to think too far ahead. And, again, it’s not just the next wing-ding she is putting together, but people too, part and parcel of the Twins’s superpower being the making of successful matches, partnerships that entail equal, shared effort in the “great work” and happenstance of building a successful, seamless professional and private life. Gemini busy bee doesn’t shy away.  

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1666-1670. 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.

So I don’t know what to tell you. It is the same and different all at once. I look back, I reflect. I think I could have done something differently; but nothing ever really changes and people build there little tree houses or whatever they do and they manage to squeak by, not really working, somehow always ending up surfacing, living off renting out the detritus of their existence. I have nothing more to give. Today is the day that I put it all on the line. I am bedridden, sick as a dog. S. will go out to get nails done while I lie there going in and out of sleep. She will return with medicaments naturale. I’ve succombed to sinus pain, cough, sore throat and fever. Oh well. I never get sick so I’m not really that concerned about it to be honest. I am trying to find something to watch on this weird, ancient television. With all the resources around here they don’t update anything. It’s just the way it is. Priorities. No judgments. They will all be going into town today to see the nutcracker. I will attempt to have some semblance of a life. I will try to work. It won’t work.  I am readying myself for this last three weeks at home. Really that is all it will be, I need to contact Jim about stuff. I want to get a haircut and get all my deliveries in. I want to find something nice to wear. I hope the thrift shops will be open this week. The one thing is I am going to prioritize some exercise, wardrobe, grooming and all such things as often get left in the dust. Weird how all the people I have fallings out with begin to overlap. It does very much feel like I’ve cut myself off from pretty much everyone. Or they from me perhaps. There is no use crying over spilled milquetoast. I have enough on my plate to keep my busy and happy in the process. Nobody will give a rat’s ass about most of the people shouting for praise.

Honestly I don’t know what you people want. I wish I had a clue as to what level of attention you think you deserve and why it is you desire it. I am all but gone from social media. I do not promote this Blague. I don’t want anything from anyone. “I want what I have.”—Starsky + Cox. I cannot understand all the greed. Not for money but for attention. How desperate have we become as a people. I don’t care what you think about the play you’re seeing or the food you’re eating. I have become so jaded and cynical and sad. I can’t explain why it is there is such a dearth of joy and giving in the world. I only know that in order to change it we need to make stronger, bolder moves. I can no longer live in fear. I don’t live in fear in fact. I live in a bit of horror if anything. Horror at the world. Horror at the prices of being alive. Horror at the lack of compassion one for another. Since when, I wonder, is someone like Parker “pals” with those creepy orphan people? When in hell would folks like Justin Elizabeth and Dolly overlap. How can it be that this world is not just some hologram of my own nightmares? The grifters of the world are the most obvious and disastrous and strange. I have nothing to do but be healthy and happy. I don’t know why everyone else out there is complaining so much as they dangle tidbits meant to make everyone else on the planet feel less than. I have taken myself completely out of all of that nonesense. I really have to give myself nothing but half an hour a day to get down my thoughts and feelings about all or any of this. I long to travel more and to make my little journeys.

The truth is that I will only ever get through a portion of what I need to accomplish today which is actually absolutely fine. I cannot overachieve anymore. I do need to get myself into some sort of shape so that I can feel my natural confidence soar. I don’t mean physically or even emotionally, but definitely spiritually. That is the only manner of being that truly matters in any case. I am prety delirious lying here all day. They will go from the ballet to Myers + Chang and I will ask for some hot and sour soup and some fried rice and I will eat it rather late and then fall asleep after watching all but the last Chernobyl. I’m running out of things to watch in the evening. I should be reading. I am only here for a very short time. And then I have to float around with no real place to stay; and then I must make my way to the airport. But that is not for another three weeks, in which span of time I will go to New York and be back in Boston a couple of times. It should all be good. I know there is much magic in all of this. I cannot believe how long it’s been since I’ve seen certian friends. I have such a sense of abandonment it’s not real. seriously i cannot emotionally handle it.

how can that be? how can I be so affected by lawn decor

i think people are extra honking as they go by

or I’m imagining it. in any case lawn decor should not cause me to disassociate from myself (is that the term?)

There is this mandate for me to say more than this. It is like pulling teeth. I really don’t know where to begin. I feel as though I will disappoint myself in the coming weeks, once again. I have unrealistic expectations. I do do the same things over and over and think I’ll be spared the same results. It is definitely something I do. I have to make a sharp turn and stay off every kind of carb for the next nine days. As such I might have a ghost of a chance to shed a little before these upcoming parties. I will dust off the top hat I have sitting in the closet—a gift from a troll of a character with a nearby business. Really he’s just a crotchety thief of a pothead (and I think drug dealer too). One of the nasty sheep that find their way into one fold or other here on the tip of olde Cape Cod. Salonpas. There I said it. Been stuck in my brain all day. Had to get it out. Phew. I forwarded the information about the Orphans show on to Bill Mumy. I didn’t get any response. I must be resolved. I have begun perusing the people I need to approach. I sent out a whole bunch of FB pleas for people to give to the festival at the last of the year. Not a single response. I will do the same by email but I dare say it might be ineffectual. I could make an event of it I suppose but it just seems such a waste of time. I think I’m better off focusing on what I might achieve on larger, more scalable level. But first I must continue to invest in myself. And to that end I must look on the bright side or I’ll never move the spoon, so to speak. I have just a few weeks left on this rock and I’ve got to make the best of it. I look at my hands and they look weird and swollen like my father’s and it repulses me. I wonder if they will ever be slender again. Such a silly, selfish thought, perhaps.

I remember the feeling of anonymity growing up and how wonderful it was. That was the beauty of living in the 1970s. You could drive a truck through space and time that is how vast it felt. I could, as a kid, summers, at the Jersey Shore, walk out the door on any given weekday morning, the early warmth and floral smells pervading my being, the grainy cement of the sidewalk tickling my soles; and I could head off in any direction feeling every grain of my being. I suppose the answer is always meditation. I think that (and yoga) is the only answer to everything. I believe I have to stop and prioritize this. I have the resources to make this a part of my daily life. I can even go twice a day if I so choose. That’s what people who do yoga study do. Why should I not do the same. I see no reason to avoid the obvious. We have to find ways, nowadays, to recapture the natural spirit of how things should be. I am not contributing anything to the world writing this Blague as of late. I can tell I am creatively dry by the nature of this work. It’s okay so long as this dry spell gives rise to something better. It cannot all be fertile output all the time. We have to go through these spells. I think of all the transmutations of this endeavor. There have been so many incarnations. In the first year it was all about following the Sabian symbols; then it became a platform for various other creative and academic ideas. It also served as a kind of psychological exercise. There have been moments of Dada insanity. I do wish to go to Venice but I think maybe the winter is the only time to go after all. I’m going to champion that instinct. I will write to them today for sure. At the core I will get down to absolute basics. I will completely batten down the hatches in my office and begin to catalogue my books in librarian fashion. I will be more brutal in my editing of clothing from my wardrobe. These things will happen in the coming days as I plan my proverbial exit.

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.