Virgo 6° (August 28)
Sometimes you have to trick yourself into getting words down on paper. Something about being on a fast track, as a strategist, maybe let’s others take care of her in some way or other. She isn’t the type to readily send a thank you note. You have no idea whom I’m talking about, but I do. And that’s the point. I need to speak around the subject of this person. No bones about it, very clear, not taking no for an answer. I wrote one page. I was meant to write four more. It’s okay, I’m writing this. And tomorrow I have that much more to do. Eight pages in all. It’s not impossible I dare say. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is start. And I’ve started. Something weird: My keys on my keyboard feel harder to press than usual. Is that a thing? I dunno. Maybe I’m just that tired? It is possible. I have some notes I need to put together let’s see: something to the effect of, okay that thing I just said…if, coming off what we should said about free-spiritedness being encoded in Aries DNA, you’re scratching your head wondering then why it is that the Aries woman in your life calls you for advice more often than anyone you know. Or if you, Aries, reading this is likewise curious why it is you call your mother daily for advice on every tiny career move we have some answers for you. First of all when clients come to see us we explain…. That is to say you’re not there yet. Also one of the markers for personal evolution in Aries world is just how much you do rely on others for, what is typically, a specific brand of guidance. The more self-realized Aries will not only solicit such advice infrequently, she will also find herself playing the role of wise woman, with friends in within her family. But there is a distinction we want to make here. You’re not so much needy as you are needful. That is to say you’re not approaching people as a victim like say another sign whose name begins with the same letter and who tends to tells their tales of woe, rather you ask for others opinions with your mind on winning, enlisting others’ advice as any intended victor would do in her warroom. Well that was a good start.
I think if I can keep up a fairly steady pace, I will have a nice draft by winter. It’s a good goal in any case. I’m surely not going anywhere—they will have to pry me out with a stick. It will be an interesting time one way or another. And though I wish I didn’t have a single negative feeling hanging over my head I didn’t create it and I can’t cure it. You can’t go from telling people month in and month out how amazing they are as, shall we say, residents; only to then one day turn around and become this drastically abusive entity. It will not work that way and, if anything, this will be a galvanizing catalyst and I pity the poor fool who takes us on. I always try to tell people: don’t do it. Because I’ve seen some really awful karmic things come down as a result. I have to chalk this past week up to coincidence. I refuse to believe our juju had anything to do with the terrible events of the week. But holy moly it is really tough when people who have just treated you like garbage suddenly meet with tragedy. I can’t exactly reach out with any kind of comfort, if anything I feel how acutely that instinct has already been bred out of me which is strange in and of itself. Enough of new writing, let’s bring on the old….
The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of Blagues, nos. 756-760. 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.
Fifth memory: Taking a bath in an aluminum tub with my first cousin Karen outside at my Aunty Margies house. My father, the oldest, had three siblings: Marge, Junior and Donny (surely not their actual names—I told you all my life my father’s name was James, right, until he told me in my thirties that his name was really Vicenzo?). Marge lived in Lyndhurst, New Jersey. And like I tried to tell Georgeann Walken (Christopher’s wife) who was the casting director of The Sopranos (on which a slew of friends and acquaintances like Michael Imperioli and Aida Turturro appeared): I knew the entire landscape of that show from growing up and going to Auntie Margie’s, passing, like the Soprano’s opening credits, all they pictured there plus the endless cemetaries and cemetary themed shops—yes I think they were cemetary shops where you could by tombstones and fake flower decorations because, in that part of New Jersey, death-themed outlets and fledgling fast food restaurants—the first ever McDonald’s I ever saw—was in Lyndhurst and Kearny, where New Jersey children of immigrants went to die. You could entered Auntie Margie’s house without ever going into the house at all. They had the first electric garage door opener I ever saw. It was just a doorbell near the garage door that you pushed, meaning anyone could at any time but didn’t because people didn’t assume such a thing existed then. The door opened and before it was fully raised, as soon as you could, you ducked into the garage and then immediately into the “basement” which was all tile and lineoleum (easily wiped down with cleaner on a cloth) and there was a kitchen and a cheap outdoor/indoor table, glass and iron, and other smaller, mainly card, tables, that doubled as “kids tables” and places where poker would happen. Karen was uncle Donny’s daughter. I never saw her growing up past the age when we were three. But for that time we were inseparably bathed, bedded and put to play together.
So I came upon a Facebook message this awful person sent me before immediately blocking me. He is a notorious criminal and an even more notorious asshole called Duncan. I think he was on a celebrity rehab show. Anyway, he was in Provincetown for the first Afterglow, sharing a house with one of the performers. I managed not to meet him the entire festival because I wasn’t one to party with the performers which is a good policy to maintain. On the final night John Cameron Mitchell had a show and it was surely going to sell out. I told the hangers-around the theater including close friends that they should buy tickets before they were gone. My friends did. Not only did we sell out but JCM arrived at showtime with an entourage that we also had to somehow “fit” into the room. I had limitations—fire codes imposed by the venue. We got everybody in except this asshole Duncan who threw a fit. I said: “I told you hours ago to buy tickets before we were sold out.” He went around in a heightened state of Don’t You Know Who I Am? No, I don’t; and I don’t care. He was miserably rude to me. I ignored it. But then he went around bullying young people I had volunteering as ushers. That was it. I told him to get out. He called me a “Fat AIDS Dwarf” among other thing. Then he flung a water in my face and stormed out but not before being hit with two (closed) bottles of water my hands had found and flung at him before my brain even had a chance to process. JCM was meant to introduce me onstage. I was soaking wet. He came into the lobby asking what had happened. I went on stage soaking wet. Meanwhile Stella was seated next to Taylor Mac whom she told I had had an issue with Duncan, not knowing the upshot. Oh that guy, said Taylor. He had a bunch of performers come to the West Coast for a performance and then didn’t pay anybody. (I’m paraphrasing). Apparently en route leaving the theater he bent and broke the radio antennae on my antique Mercedes. He’s a bad egg. He has been in trouble with the law I learned since. Three years ago, when I was in Paris, I awoke to this note on FB….at least he didn’t call me “fat” this time.
So inspired by the last spoke whereby a guy named Duncan sent me a note he never should. I was glancing at my email “drafts and noticed I have an even 240 said drafts. I suspect they are mainly made up of emails I wrote in some state of emotion than thought the better of. I’m twenty-eight Blagues behind, spanning the signs of Taurus and Gemini. So what better way to bridge that gap then by publishing narcissistic emails that, in so doing, might take on a comic rather than tragic purpose.
I’m going to start with a letter I wrote recently that I knew, when writing it, I couldn’t send—it was meant for two individuals:
If a certain friend of ours whom we adore ever knew the way you spoke of her it would break her heart. Your hypocrisy and disingenuousness know no bounds. You’ll turn on a dime if something appeals to your vanity.Just how many farewell shows and articles have you done solely for the attention?In life we all encounter people who are users (in multiple senses of the word) masquerading as kind and caring individuals. For me you have been a cautionary tale. That said, when asked about you I only say the kind things I can think of or nothing at all.I have even tried to get beyond animosity with you, year on year, and broker some kind of detente.I realize now that is impossible because you know I see through what others swallow about you hook, line and sinker. You live inside a desperate bubble of narcissistic self-aggrandizement, which, I imagine, must be exhausting to sustain.I really hope for your own sake that you do achieve some semblance of fame in your golden years. I know how important it is to you.Whether or not that does come to pass I will make a non-astrological prediction:Someday one of you will turn a blind eye, one last time, to the fact that the other one of you is a pusher and an assassin. I can only hope that nobody I love and cherish will suffer as a result; and that the pain and guilt will be something you can endure.See you around town as is inevitable.
Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°, for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360 degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.
Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go! Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
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