Cancer 9° (June 29)

Digging my way out now. Rejigging the menus, putting all else in perspective, letting the days go by. I watched Amy’s film Disclosure and it was super interasing, especially in light of what’s going on with friends on the subject. There was this sort of final scene that looked like fairy people doing stuff. I looked up Candis’ bio for clues which led me down a weeklong rabbit hole watching the magicians. It could have been worse. Dobie is f-requesting me right now. How is it we weren’t already connected that seems odd. Oh well it is what it is. Our basil has bugs eating it. We will have some late night sing a longs. We will watch the best film of the year about the Eurovision Song Contest. There will be elves. In Greenland or in Iceland. But I do fear we won’t get to see them this year. A trip into Provincetown to get some essentials. We are doing the best we can. It isn’t enough. I sound like Radiohead. I am Radiohead or rather I used to be. Everything has gotten to distorted and uncool. I’m being attacked for attacking. Forest through the trees. Anyway I’m going to keep on keeping on. There is no choice but to do so. I am truly one of the fortunate and I’m grateful for that; I just can’t help taking umbrage with people’s privilege and their blatant displays of narcissism. I work for a living. People seem to think I lead some kind of ridiculous life. I will speak to Nomad in the coming days. We have to get IRAs. I need to have a meeting about finances. I must download Sonos, there is so much to do (yes I’m joking). I have to send artists money. I am grateful to hear this whole accident case is closing. I am gearing up for a powerful ritual. I am putting things to rights. We are sitting outside, sipping, in the evenings and making glorious food. I’m glad for the solitude but I will not say so. I miss my friends but I’m tired of being the one who always does the reaching out. I need to set myself up as more aspirational in my own eyes for starters. I must release the past and its emotional hold on me.

My dreams have been rather labyrinthian of late. Last night I was carting a whole bunch of stuff, including a small Christmas tree, around with me. I do know what that’s about—it’s simple—as I have moved this tiny evergreen with me from place to place since owning our house up-cape. But I was in France, in Paris, as I often am and I had to get to the airport by the end of the day. Somehow S. and I got separated; she went into a corner shop and I was to meet her back at our flat later. I found myself inside this apartment where a party was going on, mostly men in camouflage. I myself was wearing cargo khaki pants, something I haven’t owned since 1983; I checked for my wallet and it was nowhere in my pockets until I discovered it in a pocket down low on my right leg. I walked from room to room. It was like a dorm or a giant flop house where the rooms were barracks like but filled with stuff and blankets; I had the sense someone was following me from room to room. Then suddenly another guy asked if I was me (I was); he said he met me a year before when my mother was visiting and there was a picture taken of us all; I felt at a loss because I couldn’t remember his name but his face was vaguely familiar. We all sat down on couch and chairs and the three of us fell asleep because when I awoke it was ten at night and my Christmas tree was gone, although I think my belongings were still with me. But I had not only not returned to the flat as I said I would but I had missed my flight back to the States. I grabbed my phone in a panic and awoke.

You think I might still be experience travel trauma? That was rhetorical. Of course I am and it is on top of moving-house trauma on top of mother travel as, upon waking, my first thought was oh, no, had I not even phoned my mother during the course of the year since that photo was taken with that boy whose name I don’t remember? I then I real-life remembered: no. My mother has been dead since 2006. When you wake from a dream like this you can’t fall back and so I didn’t get as much sleep as I would have appreciated but tomorrow is another day and there are whole battles to be waged and won. I wonder if the Trojan War (Illiad) isn’t as metaphoric as the Gita which I still haven’t read. I need to get into a zone. I have paved the way for it so I know it is possible. The main goals are to stay healthy and try to sow some good vibes. It bums me out that in this cancel culture you can’t have a civilized conversation. People can just erase you with a click of a button. It is so cowardly and so boring. But it is motivating because there are better places to be and I’m ready to make my future plans present reality. As far as travel this summer goes, I wouldn’t bank on it.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 476-480. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  (For thirty days this paragraph will include this parentheses to say: I realized that in the summer of 2016 I actually didn’t post for some time, such that for the expanse of two months, I will continue to number the past Blagues, as above, five at a time, but there will be nothing to post from that period.)

(Crickets)

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!
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