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.

Pisces 10° (February 28)

I really hope the orange blob gets what he deserves. Laying low today and giving myself a little bit of a break. I will redo the schedule and make a plan for the next few weeks. S. texted to say she will likely come back on Tuesday instead which is fine. I seem to have enough food in house. I’ll finish the kedgeree for lunch and will end up eating a bag of gluten crackers for dinner. Watching the Allen v. Farrow and I really have much better insight into who Mia is and I really do think that she is genuinely compassionate and was primarily a mother first and an actress (and a great one, truly). There is a lot to unpack in this particular episode. I have started the cleaning process and planning the cooking for the coming week. I sent Mike a text and he seems to be struggling. I will get back to him: Now for some more notes of an astrological nature: Gemini is always involved in some task at hand, even if dreaming and scheming, hatching new plans. We have long assigned the archetype of the air sprite Tinker Bell to women of the sign, a character who is never not in the process of some pressing matter or manipulation, a lovable, mischievous mix of dual forces, a seemingly self-serving agent of good, who will nonetheless make great sacrifices for those she holds most dear. Gemini is tenacious and laser focused on what’s presently on her plate and she can quickly tackle projects and move through and onto the next; but for her, multi-tasking is a no-no recipe for neuron fritzing burnout. That said, she doesn’t believe in not letting others see her sweat, often telegraphing how put-upon she is by the marks she has to hit, making mountains out of minutia. Even when there are no deals to make, merchandise 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 loaded frustrated sighs designed to instill the fact in others that she works harder than you do. It might seem that she is controlling a special ops raid, remotely from her computer, meanwhile, she may just be ordering stuff she doesn’t need, and will ultimately return, amid those loaded sighs, off the interweb. It’s actually a great ploy, preventing others from asking too much from and overloading her, while inspiring eyerolls from those who have her number.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1661-1665. 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.

Last night was one of lousy sleep. I woke up like every hour, coughing and/or wheezing. I have to get my act in gear today. As suspected the stupid car window people didn’t come in the, forgiving the pun, window they said they would. So waiting around for nothing all day. It is so annoying. I do want to hear from the agent but at the same time I have to let that expectation go. I’m giving myself certain antcipation agita and (I know from experience) it could end in tears. If there isn’t a book there isn’t a book. I have been waiting all day for the stupid window repair guy to not show up. Was supposed to be here from eight till noon and now it is past four o’clock in the afternoon. I’m really over it I must be honest. I woke up feeling pretty coldy which, knowing me, will pass, without my actually getting ill. But I do feel quite on the verge I must be honest. I know why of course—exposure to smoke always makes me feel this way. Even a very working fieplace can cause me to manifest a cough or worse. I’m so tired of the stressing and of not getting anywhere fast. Oh well, the window guy is finally here and the water is draining perfectly from my sunroof so that’s good news. He is going to replace my windshield (again) but leave the gasket and seal with some urethane. Isn’t this interesting?

I watched the rest of the Grégory documentary on NetFlix when I woke at four this morning because it had subtitles and wouldn’t bother anyone. Then I watched doc of Wynn Handman whom I had never heard of, but that is more a show of my ignorance than anything else. I got to feeling low about having given up on certain dreams; and the weird synchronicities I suffered like starting a poetry and performance night in 1992 or thereabouts at the Bell Caffe and not being able to reach Dael Oerlandersmith who showed up to perform when the project got scrapped. Of course she went on to do great things. I can’t even remember how it is I got the word out back in the day; but I do know that performers contacted me. I was always feeling bad about myself back in those days. (Have things changed all that much.) I have felt disposable as a friend, and seem to relive that trauma over and over. I try to think back on certain times when I felt really solid. I do  know that just prior to moving (back) to NYC (area) in 1987 I wasn’t really concerned with other people in any kind of major way. I was reading the Vedas and the Upanishads and Creative Visualization and was on quite the New Age trip which has now become Now Age. I suppose we can now draw a line from that in such a way that validates my current existence. Although watching that doc on Wynn Handman definitely triggered me and the fact that I didn’t stick on my acting path. I know it’s not too late and I do plan on doing something about it in the coming years (gods willing) and even tying it into something of a book idea. I think the last time I was on Broadway I was twenty nine. I think that makes sense. So maybe I will do something about that at my thirty year anniversary of paying dues to Actors Equity but never quite working as an actor. I don’t believe I took the “wrong” path because there was nobody giving me much support; and pretty much everyone I know who has made it as an actor is either an offspring or never had to work a day in their life on anything but. So that is the long and short of it and I’m certainly not going to feel bad. If Tony Goldwyn couldn’t make it as an actor in the business there would have been something very wrong with him—for instance.

I was trying to piece together my calendar today but frankly I’m just not feeling all that up to snuff. I have a bunch of coldy symptoms which (as they usually do) should pass through me fairly quickly. I must resist the urge to cushion my brain in any way and, the first line of dietary defense, is my instituting some intermittent fasting which is what I did naturally when I was younger. When I look back to my late teens, early twenties, I think that I was something of a manorexic without knowing it. I remember, living in Paris, in 1985, I would go for long stretches without eating and would just order regular old tea with lemon to fill up my stomach. I realize now that I was following some instinct to work against (what has turned out to be) a genetic disposition to be a total fatty. Look I haven’t given myself a lot of time, now, leading up to my departure, twenty-eight days from now. But that is four solid weeks so that is something. I just got lost in social media what a total joke it all is. How does one reclaim there life in this day and age. Everybody is so concerned with being more amazing than the next person. I cannot wait to get out of this emotional wasteland for awhile. I don’t know how much attention people truly need. I just want to focus on giving people guidance and solace and a little bit of laughter in this life. The same people online praising the same other people in this endless chimerac swirl of nothingness. I will hope in vain to hear back today on the subject of books and my night will go too late dealing with repair people. I will be nearly too ill to eat but will manage to get through and then get into bed early with my afflictions.

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 9° (February 27)

Another version of one of my favorite drag names, a relative of Colin’s perhaps. Once again, I won’t get all I need to get done done. It’s always such a mystery how bordelique things can become when alone. Doing a bit of grooming today. Also going into the basement where I realize there are still old clothes and costumes to take to the dump or good will. Still not sleeping and I will end up napping in the afternoon which is good. Feeling a bit expansive even though only getting a little bit more done on the work front. I’m definitely feeling the pressure and actually I got caught in the headlights with the cover tries coming our way. I’m going to let myself take a load off and, what with the nap, I will end up being awake most of the night bingeing away. Here at least is a little bit of needle moving: Nobody can achieve more in the course of a single day than this quicksilver lady who often projects an impatient demeanor, her the rapidity of her listening skills outstripping the forthcoming communication capabilities of most. She only wants the facts and for others to get to their point or plea. Gemini’s motto I think being followed parenthetical (fast). The third astrological house associated with Gemini is that of, among other attributes, community, communication and commerce, mostly experienced, intimately, in small circles. The sign’s planetary ruler Mercury fits the bill, being the planet with the quickest and tightest orbit around the Sun, being named for the messenger god of communication, commerce and immediacy in both space and time— he is god of the crossroads, the local street corner, as well as the fleet-footed, winged deity who can be here or there in an instant. Regardless of sex or gender, Gemini people all inherit Mercury’s canny, streetwise, cunning, but where men of the sign tend to channel his more trickster elements of personality as god of artful, dodgy dealmakers, charlatans and thieves, Gemini woman, despite her own shrewd gypsy soul (pin in that), is more forthright an operator, a word that shares its etymology with opera or opus, simply meaning work, something from which this busy bee never shies away. 

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1656-1660. 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.

Alors…I think I slept well enough and awoke (again I’m on a tear where my posts are talking about yesterday) and took a bath and I thought fuck it let’s go shopping. So we had a little breakfast (with that honey incident) and headed out. We weaved through the West Village and came upon new Reinstein Ross store and saw these incredible metal awnings (which turned out to be at the Hermes shop which we didn’t realize for some reason at the moment) and then we made a rezzie at Pastis for noon and continued strolling up through Chelsea and ended up getting to Comme des Garcons at ten fifty-nine, a minute before they opened. We were basically in there for the next hour and I ended up buying this crazy ass duster that will be very steampunk for the party as well as two pair of trousers that are in a very similar material to the CdG coat I already own. The duster and a few things that S. ended up buying (which of course look fantastic on her) were all about to go on sale at forty percent off while my trouser were full priced; and in the end all of it would be shipped to us to save the tax and the discount worthy stuff held and ran through the till once Friday (sale day) arrived in any case. We still have more to get but it looks like we are interpreting the Steampunk theme of this party as “steampunk inspired pieces that you might see on a modern catwalk;” and why the fuck not, really! We did get lost in that store and rang Pastis to say we were going to be a wee bit late and they held a corner table for us which was nice and I had half a roasted chicken and S. had the salade Nicoise. My stomach is being really troublesome by this point but I’m not letting it slow me down, really. And it is a busy day ahead because we are to meet our potential new publisher/editor at two (with our agent in tow) and then we have a client at five and won’t finish until close to eight o’clock, so I am pacing myself to say the least. We got back rather in the nick of time to freshen up before descending back to the lobby where we sort of just stood there beofre this women with ashe blonde hair, looked like, said “I think you are whom I waiting for” or some such with a really nervous laugh that nearly bordered on the Arnold Horschack variety. We knew she was a Virgo but she challenged us immediately asking did you know I was a Virgo when you wrote your sample chapter. We sort of said we did and didn’t and kind of blamed our picking that sign on Meg and kind of tried to change the subject which we would do more than a few times in the course of the conversation that was to ensue. We surely didn’t know that we would end up spending nearly three hours with her all told. Good thing.

Things went smoothly enough despite the nervous laughter and the fact that she does an impersonation of one of her dogs, the girl one—she has two cocker spaniels, a male and female, both with first and middle names—in a weird, exaggerated baby voice that absolutely inspired redirects of questions to try and snap her out of these canine interpretations in performance. And she really was lovely and there were synchronicities such as the fact she summers in Wellfleet where we live and that alone inspired a million directions in conversation and she seemed really engaged and interested just as she was rather self-interested but never in too narcisissitc a way; if anything she might be self-deprecating. She has a big personality which can be a very fine thing and one had the sense that as far as eggs might go, she would be a good one. And she seemed no bullshit and very honest albeit to a fault perhaps. I mean it was TMI but I love people that are humans. And Virgos are all too human. I actually have a friend who is a Virgo who owns a shop called All Too Human. Reminds me I should reach out to her as it’s been awhile since we’ve had any contact. We did an event at that shop last year and it went really well. I’m going to see if she will do a repeat of last year’s event. Anyway the other shoe dropped when our potential Virgo editor said that she wanted to get feedback from other departments and there was resistance from some folks in their foreign rights department who dredged up some old emails from…what?…fifteen years ago. The fact is that during our process of writing Sextrology back in the day, our editor “lost” a quarter of our manuscript at the gym, our editorial director accidentally sent us an email, a month prior to publication, meant for someone in-house saying “don’t tell Stella and Quinn there book isn’t going to be hardback” which it was meant to be. Our marketing director created a whole book tour before she was meant to leave her post and we found out that she had actually fabricated the entire tour and none of the stores on the list had even heard of us. We found a rogue Argentinian version of the book for sale online when we had no deal with Argentina which means Harper wasn’t minding the store. In other words we have a laundry list of complaints against Harper that we have forgiven and then we find that there is someone there holding a grudge against us for advocating for ourselves. We were first time authors orphaned by our original publisher whose imprint was dissolved when Harper bought Morrow just after we signed our contract. Harper inheritied our book and we didn’t know anyone we were going to be working with at Harper Resource which no longer even exists and they treated us like absolute garbage the entire time and now here we are listening to th TMI lady telling us that there is bad blood still? To be fair she was very nice about it and pushed back against these accusations. And today we realize that the person who said this stuff about us didn’t even work there at the time we were publishing our book with them. Anyway….

After the meeting with her I had loach which is a word an old friend used to describe the feeling one has when other people are talking about you behind their back. And we had a new client who was this lovely, fluid fellow with a beautiful spirit and that sort of helped counteract the yuckiness that I was left with. To be honest I left the meeting feeling I don’t even care if we do a book or not at this point. I have so many other things going on in my life and I have forgiven so many others over the course of my existence and if they don’t want to forgive me that’s fine by me. I really don’t give a flying fig to be honest. I love the elements of my professional life that I have ultimate control over and I don’t need any validation or permission or anything from any outside sources. I was so happy to spend nearly three hours with this client because it is always in giving to others (paid clients though they may be) I always feel better myself and that I am contributing something to the world. After the appointment we decided to just walk around the corner and have a reassuringly pricey dinner at Claudette which, like many places in New York City, is really just a fancy diner, this one on a French Morrocan theme. I had lamb tagine (which wasn’t a tagine at all but just a shank on a plate (apparently they do that when they run out of the exotic crockery.

It really is quite a bummer but my screen froze on Friday, which is the twenty-second of November, and I had written but not posted today’s and nearly tomorrow’s. The entry for today was quite elaborate and I will never be able to replicate it. The sacrifices, though at first unwelcome, that we can might see as ritual sacrifice to the unseen gods who sometimes want exclusive access to our creative goods. I am reminded of the time I went to Florent on a hot day and sat there for hours. I had taken along every notebook in my possession and went through every page an annotated my body of work, earmarking this for a future novel or stage or screen play. Such are the losses. In Virgo we see loss and in Pisces, it’s so-called opposite sign, sacrifice. The loss may be physical, material but it’s sacrifice is spiritual. Indeed Virgo is about turning the physical or, more accurately, the actual, symbolized by its unique mutable-earth quality-element combination. I do believe I want to write this book when I come up with sentences like that. There is so much to say. What I can tell you about the loss of the material for this day it does feel great because of the skill that went into the previous version posted here before disappearing post a frozen laptop screen. He saves and quickly plugs in his laptop.Still, I can transmute that loss into a belief that I can herein create something that is as “good” if not better than what came before. Virgo is turning lemons into lemonade, lead into gold. And Libra is all goodness and light as we say but let’s think about the concept of good. We think of it as the opposite of bad or evil. There is the common good, which is a hallmark of Libra’s balanced and equitable nature.

Being the sole cardinal air sign, we are in the realm of ideas and social principles that connect us to others, Venus (union) on the astral plane. The Scales are the only inanimate symbol in the Zodiac (literally circle of animals). It is the exception and it strives to the exceptional. Cardinal-air translates to light and enlightenment. We are in the world of beautiful notions, high ideals, principles, ethics and aesthetics. The phrase fairest of them all, so physically resonant in the sign of Taurus, also ruled by Venus (on the earth plane), in Libra, points to justice, karma, and all such goodness; but it also expresses astral Venus’ starry notions of beauty and goodness in the abstract. Art is considered beautiful, but moreover good, when enough people agree it is, when there is some kind of silent and sweeping vote one way or another. Now none of this factored into what actually occured on the cay in question. And I’d like to get on with that train of thought. Happy though to have expressed these thoughts. They will go in my book notes.

Okay so it’s Wednesday the twentieth but the look of the heading date above. But you see I am in a pattern at that time of writing about the day previous. So here it is Wednesday but I will recap, once again, what happened on Tuesday. We went down for breakfast. I believe I had the oatmeal because my stomach (which does recover I would have been happy to know) is in complete agony really—I don’t want to feel that way again. I try to pay but as usual there isn’t a server in sight at this place lately. The dour hostess is passing by I say can I have our check. She continues her frowning and just turns, goes to the service station, snaps somethings around, and comes back with a check in a leather folder and slaps it down without saying anything turns and goes. We say thank you she says nothing. S. notices she didn’t bring the kind of check you can sign to you room. So I say excuse me—she’s at the register—could you bring us a check we can sign to her room. Increased frowning of disapproval, a palpable rolling of eyes attitude, more snapping around, then she slaps down the second check that much more pointedly without a word. We again say thank you and she says nothing so I call her back by saying thank you very much for your charming service; she then comes back, gets in my face, leaning in and says: my child just died and I’m trying not to cry. At this dramatic shift I reach out to touch her arm, she violently pulls away and storms away out of the room.

Yesterday morning (Wednesday) I awoke and it was six forty-five when I went down to the lobby. I asked the desk, which turns out is being run by yet another clueless being this place seems to like to hire, if they were serving coffee in the lobby, he said not until seven, and then he went on this weird rant about the neighborhood, a salad of words that included Sixth Avenue and tourists and expectations and Starbucks. I said well what about the restaurant. He said no they (the staff) have all just come in and they’re setting up and a second salad of getting in their way and tourists and expectations. I shot him a look and proceeded to the restuarant where I found behind the bar the maitre d’ in her flannel shirt and boots asked her if I could get two Americanos. She said sure and I followed her to the expresso machine and told her what had happened the morning before because I knew she asked S. during lunch with A. I told her. And she told me that the hostess had said it was the anniversary of her losing a child I don’t know how many years ago. Which is still the most horrible thing in the world. But it’s like I said to Stella this is the perfect Curb Your Enthusiasm experience: Larry goes to breakfast he asks for a check the hostess brings it doesn’t respond to thank yous, needs to bring another check, more thank yous no responses; Larry finally says thank you for your charming service, the woman gets in his face and says my child just dies then comes back for lunch and she’s laughing it up with, sorry, other women of color and Larry finds out that the loss of her child didn’t just happen. It has the kind of tension of a Curb show because how far can Larry realy push his argument in the face of a loss of a child. It’s kinda perfect plot wise.

Okay so three things are happening. Number one I’m re-writing text that originally occupied this spot but which I lost due to a computer crash. That’s one. Two I had already been a “day behind” plot-wise in that what I was writing on this given days, and several previous, was about the day before. But thirdly, now, writing you from three days later than this date, I have fallen further behind such that I am now writing about what happened two days ago. So I just did that Curb Your Enthusiasm bit and added information that would be new to you—that the maitre d’ had reached out to S. and that the hostess was yukking it up with customers. But instead of going back into yesterday’s post, which was writing about the day before, I’m going to continue the story from when the hostess left the room, two days ago, and try to catch up on that day and also yesterday, and maybe take a couple days to do that, even, as this post becomes further and further fleshed out and beefed up.

So we are talking about Tuesday here. And this post is Thursday’s. And I am writing this on Sunday. So I am staring at three empty Blague posts to do past this one today so to finish out Sunday. At the same time I am behind and still have to recreate some text I wrote and lost, but now I have more room in which to flow it (these empty Blagues I’ve yet to write) which is a good thing because there aren’t as many “events” to recount being that we returned home to write and do little else but banal activities. But where I left off was the hostess storming out of the room. And at that moment the pretty French woman from the elevator, who at pastries for breakfast yesterday, and whom I had seen in the lounge, later, with a swarthy guy speaking French, they both came in and sat in a small booth. S. recognized him as this movie-maker she loves and whom I also like. So on the way out I went over and said hi there just want to say we are big fans and he was very grateful and flattered and he asked what we did and we said mainly astrologers, that we met in France, and did a book which didn’t last with Flammarion and were on a French TV show where, when I froze, they sent in a cloun. S. had mentioned we met there and she studied at the Sorbonne et tout ca. I then said something about his being on our “dinner party list” you know, if you had a dinner party and could invite anybody who would it be. We always said he and Charlotte. Anyway now I don’t remember if that happened in the morning or in the afternoon. Because we did go upstairs for a bit. A. was coming at 10 but she was going to be on the phone from 930 downstairs. We were watching the hearings so it was fine.

Anyway we came back down and Yvan was still there and the conversation continued and he asked for a card and S. went to fetch one and I sat with A. who ordered a breakfast of smoked salmon and such. I had another coffee, still. S. came down and dropped a card and we had a great meeting and we really talked through the whole V.D. situation and we signed all our contracts and combed through some design questions that had popped into my brain in the night, which weren’t specious in the end. And A. had to get back to work and we decided, right, let’s go back to Pastis for lunch why not. I made a reservation. We had a lovely lunch, I the Nicoise, S. the chicken paillard salad. We then went and got a gifty for A. at Hermes, which turns out to be the place where I had photographed the metal awnings the day before which I just showed to A. this morning. How did we not realize it was Hermes—I guess they must have had metal gates lowered. Anyway we returned back in time for a phone chat with Meg?…oh no that’s not right. We already had the phone chat with Meg?—see this is what happens when you lose material and have to recreate it—my memory is no longer one hundred percent on this.  Whenever the call was it kind of doesn’t matter.

We had a client, whom it was great to see. I had a call with my osteo guy to discuss what’s going on in my neck. I was not surprised to hear. We are definitely coming back in a few weeks for this party. They are getting the parts together at the mechanics, I just need to contact them Friday (but I won’t make contact when I call in the morning and I won’t call back). Just like we returned to the scene of the lunch crime so are we going back to Claudette for dinner. We are creatures of habit and like to mitigate our surprises and my stomach is so bad today I have this weird instinct that I should have a vodka martini. We go to the resto. I have that martini. Then scallops and we get the Bandol again and a pot de creme (I think it’s been on someone’s mind since they saw it on the menu, too, at Pastis). We have the clean tajine discussion this night I think. There is a homeless woman outside to whom we give money but S. is freaked out and thinks she’s buying drugs with it and will overdose. We go back to the hotel and now tomorrow (Wednesday morning) is the day on which I began this actual post, writing it into the Thursday’s slot on a Sunday. And When I write tomorrow’s post I will begin again on that same day, now, two days later.

I totally forgot to say that Yvan wrote back the same day and I hope we shall see him in Paris. We don’t have much of a set-up there for serving meals—although I intend to change that! This is meant to be Friday’s post. I am writing it on Sunday, but the subject of what I’m writing begins on the previous Wednesday and, by the time it’s done, I hope at least to be caught up through Thursday. So I got those early morning Americanos downstairs and brought them up so we can pack. My stomach feels markedly better and I credit my martini instinct of last night. We descended for brekkie with A. and I had the weird board with whipped ricotta, hardboiled eggs and sweet potato and kale. Strange combination truly. Then I had a chicken sausage. I want to remain full today as we are hopping a train. A. had what she had yesterday plus some taters and she loved the present be brought here. Now remember the day before we had this full on discussion about the person who introduced us and how we empowered A. to stand up for her and vice versa really; and also how the person who works for that culprit in London confided that we are all blameless and that V.D. is insidious to say the least. And penny wise pound foolish, we would have been so happy to have given to and remained open to working with her; but to be shaken down by someone in this culture of shakedown is just that much more an affront and so not on. Yvan’s screenwriting partner was seated at a booth herself, no sign of him today. We went over a major timeline for the jewelry and it felt very forward moving on that score. So it was time to get on the road. We walked through the lounge and to the front door of the hotel and A. asked where the ladies was and we explained she should go back through the lounge the way she came. We hugged and elevatored to the room to grab our bangs and go. In those few minutes A. had written that V.D. was actually in the lounge! Can you believe this particular synchronicity? I mean, it’s been quite a week. And we had J.D. and now V.D. and we got loached by the editor and my stomach hurts and the whole thing is feeling very depressing suddenly but I’m going to sail through that feeling. We grabbed our bags and checked out and managed to avoid her which felt like an accomplishment in itself.

Got to the train station with some time to spare. There was this Amish or I’m going to say even more strict sect Mennonite family that looked so super odd and inbred with the tiniest faces you’ve even seen and really small feet, all in black with bonnets and suitcases without wheels. Come to find out later when we get to Reading that there is quite a large community upstate, which I find terribly interesting. Our train was called at Standby and we did see some folks gathering in one area and it turned out they had information we didn’t have. Still we queued up in time not to be in a crush of people heading down to the train platform and we did find seats across the aisle from each other in the quiet car and I sat down and wrote a great deal of texts that would have made up the entries for November nineteen, twenty and twenty-one. And I have now caught up, by way of circular conversation to the day before the day of this date. Phew. So I was sitting next to this kind of dry, funny guy who wanted to connect, briefly, which was cool. We had some emails from our agent, also forwarding us a note from the would-be editor who came to the same conclusion we had. The person who was the problem at Harper didn’t even work there when we were publishing our book under that aegis. She also asked if she could approach a first pass list. There were two people on it from the old days and I said we were kind of spooked. She wrote right back to say that she already had enthusiastic verbal feedback that they did want to see our proposal. So things are starting to feel a little healed on the publishing front and perhaps we are not in some kind of pergatory after all.

We got to 128 and it was already very dark and raining and there would be traffic, but not as bad as I thought and so we listened to the hearings and headed to Reading to grab some La Stoppa and Pellegrino (and I was given a little fig dip for helping the staff with something). We got to N.’s and I think they might have been waiting for us a bit but it was super casual and we had some broccoli soup with cheese and salad and had a fairly calm talk. If anything I talked too much recapping what went down. I was talking about the effects of my new direction with medical treatment and the like. We are planning to see our doctors in Cambridge the next day which is one of the best places one can see doctors. In this way I feel very at home in this part of the world. I would have to be ill in New York City or need a hospital there. It really is most surely unglam. So Wednesday ends and we manage to sleep enough and thankfull I get another bath before leaving and I’m feeling very relaxed indeed. The debates were on but seem so beside the fact now. And tomorrow will be the final day of these hearings (for now).

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 8° (February 26)

I didn’t sleep and that is not unusual when I am alone—my patterns get all screwed up. So there is definitely a chicken outside of the coop and it appears farmer fuckwad knows about it and just doesn’t care. Just a perfect metaphor for our situation actually. No news on the real estate front in any case. I will repeat lunch menu from yesterday, sans pain, and I am making a sort of kedgeree only with potato not rice. I was thinking of getting some things in from Orleans or Provincetown but actually there is plenty here in house to fill the voids.This will last a few days, actually. Maybe too many potatoes. Not getting a whole lot done today but did get to say this much anyway: Gemini is the cosmic switchboard operator of the zodiac, plugged in and connected every which way, possessing and passing along a wealth of information, without necessarily processing it. Indeed, the facts and figuring she retains often defies her own logic, being unaware of when and where she picked up this bit or bob of her accumulated knowledge. But those in her mercurial orbit are well aware that if they have a question, she generally has several answers to choose from. All things being, at least, bidirectional in the dual Twins’s world, she is the consummate connector as well—she of the valuable introductions—although it isn’t a role she always wants to play, and certainly not for just anybody. She is all too aware—or should be—that in acting as a facilitator, a conduit, for others’ successes, she might lose sign of your own. So, you do well, Gemini, to be discerning on this point, reserving your energy for those most deserving and in endeavors that provide mutual benefit or are a byproduct of putting yourself first. Gemini is a natural agent, even when she is the primary or sole client. She is simply designed to broker deals, particularly when the hot commodity is herself. Gemini learns early on, and frequently the hard way, to take a hands-on approach to her career and creative goals, never relinquishing complete control to representatives on her behalf. She is a great delegator, but she should never completely outsource her authority, a micro-dose of micro-management going a long way to protect her interests. 

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1651-1655. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.

I don’t mind a short graph of nonsequitors and I don’t want you to judge me for employing them. I had another mystical morning. Most mornings this week. Spoke with a client before the interview with Tanya. Ticking things off the list big time. I’ve been writing notes to myself everywhere, including on a giant blackboard; and in about a half hour from now I will start erasing hopefully. Tying off, as I said yesterday (or the day before). Also not jumping at the first possible thing, I’m more interested in holding out for the good stuff. I didn’t realize that I wasn’t quite finished here today, which is fine, i’m going to spend the next ten minutes doing this and then the next twenty on pre-work for my meeting with Brad Thursday morning. These sorts of last minute whatchamacallits give me the willies and the heebyjeebies and leave a large pit in my stomach. I suppose I might feel my way back to when I was friends with Bruce Piszel which was second or third grade maybe. We both had these big knight figures we played with, one had gold armour, one had silver. And I also had this sort of fold out metal castle thingy with turrets (there was a Fort Apache version of this weird toy) with plastic knight figures that were very civil looking and then their enemies which looked like Saxon vikings or some such. His older brother and sister Buddy and Pam would probably ten or so years his senior and they were concert pianists who played separately and duets and studied with the teacher we studied with but Bruce quit. They moved to Rutherford the year we moved to Wyckoff. I tried to keep up visiting but it didn’t last long. I think Bruce and his younger brother Michael got into karate. They were pretty active kids.

But I see us in our turtlenecks and striped bell bottoms and Keds sliding across the floor, playing, sometimes Operation which was my favorite and it was so cool that they had it. I suddenly see another playmate, a girl, heavy, and yet like Marcy from Dennis the Menace, with pigtails tied with that thick cottony twine that came in different colors and girls always wore then. I remember being in a driveway. I recall an entrance with a vestibule. There was something very European about the Piszels, as their name would suggest. Polish I think. Was Chopin Polish. I do believe that it was the first time in my life that I can think of as depressing. I don’t know why. All I remember is a wet winter that wouldn’t end. I’m going to have a day tomorrow but it’s actually okay, only because I will get up super early and do then what I didn’t quite get to today. But what else is new, really, I mean this is the way of the world. We are cancelling some unnecessary plans which I think is really wise. I definitely need to float through as much as I can and take the time to pack and clean and all that sort of thing. I believe it is enough to forgo one thing but not all things. I don’t think felt depressed again, actually, for awhile. I do remember the first year moving to Wyckoff I had a smell in my nose like old cracked colored paper and this lasted for months. Probably a sinus infection that went unattended. I suppose there was a bit of depression involved, staying indoors, playing superhero, tying ropes to the railings inside our house. Metal railings inside our house. Why were they not wood. Don’t answer that.

 I made a reservation for seven Saturday at Kanoyama, so that’s done. I’m kind of psyched for sushi and it’s so easy. It’s right across the street from Pangea and I don’t think it will be overly hectic like places we don’t know that well. I think we try something new on our own when we are there for the Kennedy event. This Cosmic Blague is going to add up to something someday that much I can tell you. I’ll be curious to read myself back. I’m going to have to be somewhat speedy in the writing of the new book. Maybe the intros are entitled random thoughts about the Aries et al. Right I know: I write the horoscopes first and then do the intros and those will be the starter kits in any case, more like the back of page matter we created for Wallpaper•.
A thing you don’t know about me: Upon moving to NYC in the early late 80s I worked uptown by day at Avenue magazine and downtown by night editing DV8 Magazine which was the club kid bible and the motor by which their parties were thrown—DV8* made deals with club owners to throw parties the kids would attend and where we circulated DV8*, the first ever magazine desktop published on a Mac as far as I know. I don’t remember Walt Cassidy (his aka Wallpaper sounds familiar) but that doesn’t mean anything. A couple of years ago at the LA Art Book Fair I saw some photographer that was showing work we produced at DV8* which turned out to be that of my friend and then contributor. I do know that David LaChapelle‘s firstcover (correct me if I’m wrong) was DV8*. And the pages, which I will start to scan at some point onto this FB Page, were filled with so many folks who went on to do terrific things. The much alluded to TV appearance and New York magazine article that constituted, which was the most exposure we/the club kids experienced at that epoch, understood and made mention of DV8*’s influence. I’ll be interested to know if we appear in this book. I always thought it funny that Wallpaper* magazine had an asterisk in its title as well. Ultimately, under our non-pagan names, Stella and I became co-Executive Editors of Wallpaper* in London, in the early aughts, our last ever office job working for somebody else. Postscript: Michael Musto wrote to say his name was Walt Paper. I still don’t remember him.

Okay well here I am, on this date, writing a final paragraph before I move onto the last project of the day. I have to say it is a real joy to get here; we certainly did ring the bell this year I have to say and as we slide into the final six weeks of it, I am reminded to take things slower even as so many things are simultaneously heating up. The reality is that I will be writing for a good chunk of the next two years and that’s okay. When I get on the plane I’ll start next  year’s planet moves. That can be January while February and March I put those packets together—grabbing “musings” and “experience” plus notes about each of the Sextrology chapters—into document packages. That can be like four two days per sign, four times twenty four is forty-eight, so that’s pretty doable really as a backdrop project, deconstructing what we’re doing;

 Anyway, I spent the day writing and packing and fell asleep pretty exhausted rather early only to awken around three (big surprise) and I popped on the TV to see exactly what time it actually was and Smithereens was on TCM. Now I know this film was pivotal for S. back in the day but I think I only thought I knew it or had seen it; and if I had seen it, which is slightly familiar, I don’t remember any of it. I only watched a bit with the sound off before thankfully falling back to sleep. But what struck me was the following:

It was of it’s time. Now I know that sounds obvious but hear me out. It was made and set in 1982 and, though we associate the eighties with being the beginning of big shoulder pads and Wall Street and Alexis and Crystal, the fact is that, in 1982, New York (as the prime location not only of the film but of American consciousness at the time) was at its most burnt out. We think of the seventies as being burnt out but really it was just still burning. In 1982 New York was a shell of a former self and a raw scaffolding for what would be its new identity. In the film, the characters are living in a van in a parking lot surrounded by homeless people and burnt out buildings and everything, including advertisements for shows at Max’s Kansas City, was expressed in fresh grafitti. What was happening on screen might be a slightly exaggerated version of what was going on downtown but not too too much. Susan Seidelman was capturing the authenticity of the era in real time. People looked like the characters on screen. They smoked extinguished cigarette butts, they dove into diners where they would see a friend or acquaintance and quickly steal a bite of their burger, they wore converse hightops with miniskirts that cost pennies in thrift shops. As we did. It got me thinking: This was the last time a filmmaker caught on screen, in fictionalized form, a reality they were presently living—well, it was at least the last time a white person did. In the late eighties and nineties Spike Lee and John Singleton managed to show us slices of real life in real time, fictionalized though it was. Tell me what film you can think of since that time, though, when we are seeing the reality we are living staring back at us through film. Diane Arbus did it in photographs in the fifties and sixties; Joan Didion did it in the seventies (although she was writing essays from life, which doesn’t really count). Only a certain desolation and despair can be translated as such. Unless you labor under the delusion that your life in the West Village in the nineties was exactly like Friends or Sex and the City then I don’t think you have even a specious argument. Another thing: I hate Ryan Murphy. I’m sure I’d loath the person actually as much as I do his revisionist glamorization of horrific times. Paris is Burning was a documentary so it doesn’t count. But had there been a real scripted film at the time about people living life in New York City during that time, instead of a sanitized twenty-first century version thereof, that would have been more along the lines of what I was talking about.

Anyway we rose at six and left the house by nine to make a train from Dedham. These tablets are really chilling; although I did feel a certain wave of adrenalin attempt to make its way up through the miasma of my newly alchemically shifted self. Still it wasn’t nearly like what I have been coping with over the last couple of years with increasing intensity. We are headed to NYC and the Acela is much more relaxing than driving that is for shitting sure. It’s just after noon now and that means only a couple more hours to go. Part of me imagines I will take a nap when I get there, but, honestly by the time we check in and unpack I don’t see how that will be possible. Also I just realized that I forgot some things which (oy) I won’t mention. It’s not a big deal but it does sort of add to the dilemma if there were one. Which there needn’t be. So much of this stuff is made up in my mind in any case. I might do well to just lie down, set an alarm, and head out just in time for dinner and not have to stress any of this. I do have a habit of complicating things unnecessarily, that we know is very true. Meanwhile I’m sitting here on a train next to a boy who I think is a coder of some kind. He keeps writing impossible mathematcal looking equations. I can barely type in English. I have a giant to-do list, I may have mentioned, that I have to start plugging into my online calendar and/or daily planner. I’m sorry I don’t know how to code. Should I care that I can’t? Just got an invitation to a holiday dinner—it popped across my screen—but it isn’t something I’m going to be able to make. We have to figure out, as it is, how we are going to get from olde Cape Cod to Boston during Christmas week. I suppose we could stay in a hotel for two nights and then make our way to the family for dinner. That is a possibility. Might be very good for shopping; and still we would have time to do any last minute laundry and such at the inlaws. We will again post Scotland when back in London for, what? two days. And then Suffolk and then I suppose we can make our way to Paris and drop our bags at Susie’s or Dom and Nan’s and then head down to Geneva where H+C will surely pick us up and then onto Venice (with them?). This is all to be figured out.

There was a good article on Venice in Winter in Vogue from a few years ago. It looks super on the nose but when you’re visiting a place for the first time for a short time why not be on the nose about it all. I think it is just my luck that they’ve had one of the biggest floods in their history, a bit early this year, just as we decide to go there. What else is new? I just hope that after our visit, given my Pluto rising, it doesn’t completely sink into the sea. Anyway I’m trying not to panic. We are on the Acela still and we are stuck on the tracks as a bridge that is opened in front of us is not cooperating and isn’t closing. I am going to keep an open mind and think positive thoughts but why is there always something fucked up about American trains. They suck we know that. I have been on trains all through Europe for decades with nary a problem. As I write this they say that we will soon get underway. I’ll believe it when we are actually rolling.

Back to yesterday: Well the train to New York was fine but upon arrival I can once again say I fucking hate it here. I don’t even lament “my New York” and the rest of the lamenteers who still live here and make art about how it isn’t the same should fucking leave just as I have. Taxi ride from hell and then we get to our hotel where we are paying full price for a suite and we are told “heads up” there is a wedding party in the next suite and they may be loud later. I was like well heads up we will be complaining then if there is noise that wakes us up. Which inspired the desk guy (manager?) who I’ve met before and me no like to cop an attitude. I quickly pointed out we have had problems in the past because they are always so understaffed so that when there is noise problem they don’t even have an extra person to come upstairs to check on the noise let alone fix it. And get this he says: Yeah we still have an understaffing problem so….So? So okay you pay the seven hundred dollars it costs to be here then you fucking moron. I’m so pissed right now I could spit. Then on top of it I’m made to feel that this is my fault. You know what fuck everyone. I’m sick to death of this shit. I suppose it’s okay to tell someone that is just checking in that there going to have a lousy night of no sleep and there will be nobody at the desk to help them out. Just checked out Yelp and this place gets totally trashed. Okay I got that all out of my system—shwoooooo—and now I can go on with some happy thoughts and plans. I only need to be bitter long enought o get this out of my system. Not that the crappy hotel manager was ever contrite. He is a dick and that is the long and short of it.

So I went downstairs for a cocktail once S. headed to her hair appointment. And I ate a ton of olives. Then I headed over to meet her for dinner at Hearth which was incredibly overrated and overpriced. It really is too bad. I mean it’s one thing that in this new gilded age things that used to be easy breezy and rather on the cheap, like grabbing a bite in the East Village, has turned into twenty-six dollar orders of meat balls, but it’s quite another that there is even less effort put into it. Back in the day you would show up at some restaurant and even if it was cheap and cheerful the hostess, say, would have a look and a healthy, reassuringly cool attitude. She wouldn’t be wearing a fleece pullover unironically as if she were working some NYU cafeteria. I find myself not even wanting to tip anymore just becuase nothing matches the prices and the service places has gotten, worse and worse, lazier and lazier. One morning here at the Marlton I had to ask three different servers for a side of honey. And everyone just seems to take it for granted they are going to receive big gratuities on their crappy service. Sorry but no. Anyway still on evening one: We had a little bit of friction at dinner because what happened but a run in with he whom I’ve offered referred to as the devin incarnate because he hasn’t not been. In full disclosure I reached out to him last to wish him well and get any suck karma, good or bad, off my side of the street. His response was “thanks for the sentiment” adding S. on the email in an effort, what?, to rat me out for writing him? Whatever queen.

So soon after sitting down to dinner S. tells me that she was walking past his shop(s) and looked in the window and there he was doing his usual futzing thing. Their eyes locked and he beckoned her in and, well, honestly I didn’t really pay much attention to her telling me what exctly transired except for the fact that he hugged her (twice) and I think she said he asked about me or something to that effect. I mean if he’s not schizophrenic I can tell you that the situation absolutely is. And all I’m left wonering is: would he have acted that way toward me if I had similarly been passing and took a glance into his fussy little window. Eek gads. Even if he was being nice and actually loving in the situation he still creates this dynamic of division in a sense. Just one more way he proves that he’s a psycho. If he would have hugged me the same and been all lovey dovey then why doesn’t he just write me a note saying he wants things to be kosher between us (because he doesn’t); yet he knows that S. will report back to me how he treated her; so, in effect, he wants me to know that he feels one way toward her but another toward me. And thus he wished to cause even further pain. And why? Because he is an asshole that’s why. Anyway, honestly, if the situation was reverse I would have given him the giner and walked on. But S. being the nice person that she is allowed herself to be drawn in; and she doesn’t think people are as evil as they are so she doesn’t realize that she was part of his manipulation. Which pissed me off even more.

We went to see David Mills after dinner as he was performing at Pangea. The show was just good but it isn’t one I would necessarily put on because it is a bit too understated, probably, for the festival. I really am loking for a little bit of pizzazz, actually. I ended up knocking a candle over and the wax went flying and ended up staining some of the nicer clothing items we were wearing which reallly is quite a bummer to be honest. The walk home was a bit brisk but it was pretty okay. There is just something depressing about being here I can’t quite put my finger on. I meanit’s very glomy and very dirty but not in a lovely old-school kind of way. It’s more or less just a dump at this point and the streets are filled with banks and drugstores and things that used to be there, scaffolding surrounding every other building, no glowy or even vaguely sparkly feel that one used to encounter strolling from block to block. It just seems deptressed on an irrevocable level. Like something that won’t really come back. Looking out from our hotel suite at what are some of the most expensive buildings on Lower Fifth, it looks like the windows, some of them filled with books and some with air conditioners left, carelessly, in place all winter long, year on year, are all about to just fall out like rotted teeth. They look as unhappy as their inhabitants.

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 7° (February 25)

S. heads North.  I’ll run some errands need fizzy water and I’m thinking I will have a farewell to Devil’s Purse before I go deep. I very much want to be productive but I know from experience that when I’m alone the amount of time that goes into cooking and cleaning and all the usual shared stuff takes up a great deal of time and energy. I will have some turkey and cheese toasties for lunch and salmon and rice for dinner. But on to the necessary materials needing drafting: She generally doesn’t buy into notions of status or privilege, and yet she tends to be obsessed with the gritty details of tabloid gossip, along with that of her residential or professional community, dishing the dirt being a favorite form of entertainment. Her penchant for low-brow amusement doesn’t stem from superficiality on her part, rather it’s the absurdity of it all that tickles her fancy and funny bone. Very few on the astrological block love to laugh as much or as often as Gemini, who draws on the archetype of the cheeky air-sprites, fairies and other prankish, mythical winged creatures—befitting this, the sole mutable-air sign. Her mind is a steel trap, keen and penetrating, and before there were technological terms like downloading or clouds, Gemini woman has always been the original receiver, recorder and transmitter, too, of endless information, buzzing about the ether. And yet, despite her flighty astrological assignation, she is extremely practical, decisive, and black-and-white in her thinking, likes and dislikes, and her leveling of opinions. She makes a deeply connected life-long bond with a single best friend or two, cutting most ties from her youth without compunction. Her immediate family provide ninety percent of her human interaction, and she is fiercely protective, often overly so, of her brood. She can be a tough bird, not coming off as the friendliest sort, whereby masking a skittish shyness, insecurity, if not severe social anxiety. As a rule, Gemini doesn’t willingly engage in, say, karaoke, audience participation or anything that constitutes being put on the spot.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1646-1650. 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.

Mystical morning. We will out for most of the day. First to Provincetown to sort out all things banking. I made some avocado toast to hold us over and had turkey bacon and stewed tomato frittata waiting for us afterward. Then a whore’s bath. (Kathy Griffin is a hero.)The off to pick up some new goodies from the apothecary, and onto Yarmouth for two quick, rainy appointments of S’s. Then I was twenty-two minutes early for mine and I saw I had a call and it was the facility saying I could come early. Why do I find getting MRIs one of the most relaxing experiences. It’s like I when forced to stay still I will do so willingly. It’s like an iso-tank. They blast loud sound alarms of various beats into your brain and, in my case, spine. You have both earplugs and headphones piping music—I picked classical (because I know it further induces my iso-experience). And a few jokes surfaced: 1) It had a good beat but I just can’t dance to it; 2) Can we go again? 3) I forget the rest right now, hopefully they’ll come back to me. Oops, maybe that sound did scramble my brain a bit. It was very wild, rainy, stormy and dark with not much visibility on the way home which was stressful, but I felt remarkably unpanicky. I wonder if the apothecary had anything to do with it. That and the fact I left my car window open, I will find, when I wake the next morning.

While at the bank we got a text that there is a gala to go to in New York City. So I guess we will be in town twice in the next month. Fine why not. These are the moments from which life is made. It accelerates my diet plans to near-crash level (I’m hoping to discern a healthy path in the next month cum six weeks. I have to say it is not as easy as I suspected. There might be something to this thing about thinking you can quit stuff easily any time and then realizing, wait, not so fast, when you actually try to do so. I have to demonstrate to myself that this is possible. I have been trying to apply the same philsophy of “floating past” that I use to handle anxiety to the surfacing of certain urges and desires to, well, give in to urges and desires, some of which go hand in hand. There are many ways we take the edge off. And yet we describe people we admire as having an edge. I think I just thought of a title for this Blague entry. I’m sure I’ve already used it. I’m not going to tell you which thing happened. And you should ask yourself why does it matter.

There is the sense this week of being on any number of precipices and there isn’t really anything wrong with that. I don’t understand stories on social media. I don’t really understand much. All I know is that I’m writing more content here right now as I funnel, shepherd, all my to do list that is popping up as I go into a giant list at the end of this. I am predicting that by, what day is it today, Tuesday?, that by Thursday I’m super all caught up and that, at this point, I will be waking and writing a paragraph, stopping at lunch to write a paragraph, then adding a third before dinner. That’s how this maybe is going to go from now on. Everything else between now and six weeks hence, at the end of the year, is just a matter of tying off. We aren’t even thinking about starting something new. I wish I had a friend who would knock on my door and shout hey and then walk (door’s open) and find me in front of the fire a flop down and just start talking at me like some TV neighbor or dormmate. I want that kind of close boon companionship again. And, to quote A Chorus Line, god(s) I hope I get it. And you wonder why I don’t have friend’s with references like that. Not here on Cape Cod anyway. No shortage of bearded fellows in plaid who will talk at me sideways with their arms folded though.

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 6° (February 24)

Feeling pretty inspired by motivation for wellness, a word that doesn’t make me cringe as much as one might suspect. I was thinking about where I was in the chapter yesterday, and where my mind went as I was doing some dishes. It was something about telegraphing that she is overwhelmed. Also the fragility factor. The walking fast. The feeling disenfranchised and therefore it makes her dangerous. I will continue along this path. We will have a love parsley pesto penne for din din ce soir. Things I have percolating on the writing front:  Gemini woman doesn’t miss a trick. She is a no-nonsense character who pulls no punches and is thoroughly engaged in the daily process of living. A go-to family member and friend, Gemini takes charge of small-group and community aims and endeavors, acting as the headquarters for common goals and campaigns, and as the social director for pleasure outings and shared holidays. She is boots on the ground for any loved one requiring assistance, and she excels in start-up or pop-up projects and as a manager of people, an expert delegator and unapologetic negotiator. Her true affections are reserved for a select few, but she can sweet talk total strangers into doing her bidding like nobody’s business, slapping on a saccharine demeanor that loved ones find comically false but highly effective. Unlike others who are endowed with natural talents, when Gemini is intellectually or creatively gifted, she is touched by a certain genius, barely having to hone her talents which seem divinely endowed. Gemini considers herself a regular girl, if not a plain Jane, even when she is blessed with surpassing beauty, as many women of the sign indeed are.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1641-1645. 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.

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 5° (February 23)

This is today and I’m going to spend just about twelve minutes putting down some thoughts and then I shall be moving on. Meanwhile I’m being easy on myself, I have to be. There is no point in stressing this life. And so what that twelve minutes turned into forty. I’m easily distracted. I know that. Tell me something I don’t. I just realized we don’t have (ever have had?) any Gemini clients. She is the least introspective. She doesn’t want to delve. She is a surface dweller. Keeping things light. Anyway, that is the plan. And I will do my best to get some more pages under my belt today and definitely start moving the needle. I know that soon there will be some kind of news in regard to this current living situation, and that a deal will be brokered. Conversations started and unfinished. I think the only way to be is magic. I am going to get into that head today. Some days are easier than others. I do lack will and that is something I need to cultivate. It is rather all or nothing. The bad news is time flies—the good news is you’re the pilot, said Michael Altshuler who is pretty much a nobody quack. I am ready to move into the thought space. I am ready to face the challenges put in front of me. We have an important client today which should prove interesting. I don’t know about Woody or Mia, but I am certain that Ronan is not biologically related to Woody Allen who paid child support. Woody could not produce a kid as cute as him, no way, no how. And when you put pic of Ronan next to pic of old blue eyes, there is absolutely no question.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1636-1640. 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 a wild night which I missed. After going upstairs to try to sleep sitting up because I was still so ill, S. had quite an experience. She was asleep and heard banging and loud shouting and screaming, a man’s and woman’s voice respectively. There was a party at the house across the street where a bunch of Jamaicains live—they work at Wicked Oyster whose owner owns the house. I’ll tell you what happened first then what I found out upon waking from S. The man (who was naked) was banging on the door saying I’m going in while his “girlfriend” was screaming for him not to. S. called 911. The dispatcher asked, “is he naked?” which S. thought odd of course, so they had already had a clue about this man and what was going on. Anyway, she grabbed a knife from the kitchen and hid behind the chimney. There wasn’t even time for her to come upstairs to wake me. Meanwhile I did wake up for a second seeing cop car lights outside; and I did hear voices but I thought it was the TV. Anyway it was about a minute or maybe two between calling 911 and the cops arriving. S. did try to peer at the window. The man was indeed naked, he had left his underwear, in fact, on our door step and he completely banged in the entire screen door. If there hadn’t been a deadbolt on that door (which was by S.’s insistence) he would have been able to get in for sure.

Backing up, we had gone for more of a drive yesterday, along scenic route 6A, which felt so very much like when we first moved here twenty one years ago. That’s what I was saying, picking up the thread now. I’m about to digress, though, in any case. I realize I cannot do this business without the support of other people. I need them so very much it is clear. And now I am understanding (and we will in the end keep ou plan to speak to our designers) just how right it was that we made the decision we did to move forward with certain folks in place. It is going to be quite the ride. I am thinking perhaps Trip should have his own company division. That he should be the PR at Wheel for real. That might make everything a little clearer. He could have a have a bunch of related clients. I remind myself that I am going to ask M.T. about the relationship book and what percentage of it can be used in a subsequent book. I honestly feel like diving directly into that for some reason. I can’t exactly explain why. The truth is that I should be deconstructing the Sextrology chapters as I have begun with one of the chapters; and be putting little packages together in preparation for what should be a next deal. And I will do I think once I find out it’s happening. Meanwhile, I’m on my own in the creation of schedules in any case. It looks like we won’t get to a shared conversation on the subject for a couple of weeks. So I’m just going to do me, if you will. Anyway we arrived back to the house in time to unpack and have des verres de vin and delicious cheese and crackers and watch a great doc about Laurel Canyon. And then I made pumpkin ravioli in a sage butter and someone had very little and someone couldn’t stop eating them. Jump cut to me having terrible indigestion—called “inties” around these pahts—and I felt really ill and cranky and went upstairs and slept in the room right above the commotion and yet I heard nothing which is terribly hard to believe, really.

We learned the next morning his name was McCloud and he was apparently on edibles and alcohol and it was actually the folks in the house he lived with who first called the police and that’s why they arrived so quickly they were on their way anyway. And it explains why the first question the dispatcher asked S. was: “is he naked?”. We had appointments we couldn’t move so it was already a full day and the detective was to be coming over in the afternoon for a chat. Some notes we put down into words: Not really someone knocking but threatening to come in with force involved. Girlfriend, whom we learned was strangled and dragged and was missing chunks of hair as a result (I kid you not)  was shouting “No, no don’t” trying to fend him off protecting herself or trying to prevent him from breaking down the door or both. He was in a heightened state of rage. “I’m going in!” Full volume. Loudest voice, S. says, she ever heard in her life. Learned from the landord that A.J. was fellow who phoned the police. There was a domestic incident first apparently he threw up and she was trying to clean him and put him under shower and he freaked out. They were both naked. He was charged with strangulation, disorderly conduct, some other assualty type charge and malicious destruction of property. His landlord and employer K. said he was band news and couldn’t wait to not see him again; he and others were apparently leaving in three days and K. couldn’t wait to see him gone. He also said we should press (as many) charges (as we could). The parenthetical bit was intensely implied.

We are meant to fill out a victim report and I will put that on the to-do list.

Today was weird and kind of fun but basically I didn’t sleep the night before at all (again) so I got as much done as I could in the morning. I touched base with Bryan which was cool. And just did the minimum I ate pumpkin seeds with Braggs as my only lunch and then took a nap and slept through what was meant to be four-way chat with D+N. I binged on a bit of Atypical. I did manage to put together a wee dinner of soup and some leftovers which was pretty yummy and there was a sip of wine each. S. is catching up on one of my binges and in the night I started Carnival Row which I just might be able to get into. The news seems better but then it gets worse. I once again feel like Margaery Tyrell just before the whole place blows, and this is not a great thing to feel. I really needed to get some ya yas out and I hope I did. Because I have to immediately pivot and start getting all the larger picture elements in place, which means there can’t be much playing around at present. I did look at the work D+N did and I have to say: I am quite impressed overall. I like the maker’s mark element, especially when paired with more modern, classic sans seraf logo, but I think the AC would have to be less hammered out, less moyen age, and slightly more sleek and deco meets 70s decay? We also liked the future-y one but would want to shy away from that Moonraker, Jaqueline Susanne kind of look?

In the 70s anything deco one would encounter would likely now be in decay, and that was the best way to experience deco. I think that sort of thing could work. We have to drive through Orleans anyway. So it can wait. I just want these alerts to stop. Trying to figure that out.Also when it comes to Venice I don’t want to go with C + H actually. I just want to be alone there. Don’t want anyone else to color the trip.There is something called the Thello night train from Paris to Venice so, (thought it wasn’t what I was saying, because I was thinking we’d fly round trip to Geneva or Lausanne or wherever to meet C+H but as I say I thought that through and don’t want to be with them on this trip), we could indeed go to Paris early and ask D + N or Susie even to keep our larger bags for a few days (and maybe stay in some hotel in Paris we’ve been wanting to check out) then take a night train to Venice (10 hours) and spring for our own cabin (which would be part of the romance of the thing) and so forth…I think the Thello is something of a scam in the end.

We could also travel by day and break the trip up as Milan is on the way to Venice. I think it would be smart/fun etc to do the traveling in January and then return to Paris and stay put. In March we can go for overnight trips to Brittany or some such but mainly not waste the grace of the Paris apt. I’m just free-styling I’m not sure of any of it to be honest there is so much to do and I feel a bit put off by the fact that I’m the one being delegated to. I have to figure out my own path through all of this. I’m scattered today. I don’t want to feel like this. There should be a solid, streamlined, plan that we are following and I don’t know if we are achieving that right now. I believe much is going to come down to what gets prioritized. Part of me feels I should just call it a day already and it’s still first thing in the morning. That can’t be right. (I took a little breather and I’m back) Feeling like I turned this around and I’m getting my tiny brain around a few things. I sat and wrote out all I have to do in the next two months and it makes my head spin to even think about it; but hey, it will all come right. I am going on a little bit of an ascetic trip, just for fun. I want to be my best self for all that is about to bubble up; and if I just assign myself one major task per day I think that will make a very big difference.

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 4° (February 22)

Today is the day I start the last big push of the writing year, and that is as it should be. I am seeking to regain about seventeen days of “poldar” (sp?) for lack of a better term. It’s something of a written act of dredging. And I’m just going to do as I feel, work for a couple of hours and then do some washing and cooking. I don’t need much more of a push don’t think, but you never know. In any case I am exactly where I need to be. I ended up saying some pretty fabulous things in consultation with clients yesterday—two long appointments today and one tomorrow. Cover designs came in for the book which gave me a slight panic attack but between practicing what I preach, and the nerves changing to adrenalin, and less than a month left before Spring, I am going to say that I know exactly what I’m doing and leave it at that. There is no good reason to be nervous. But what I can do is exhibit total faith and total effort and I can do this for a few short months. The writing should be the result of everything that has come before not the start of something. Spring is almost here and that means long walks and so forth. I am fine with all of that.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1631-1635. 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.

Awoke in the night and was up until you know who did one of her famous sleep spells. I’m telling you–they work. And I had this series of vignettes of vividly dreamy sleep. S. was talking to our friend in Switzerland and I saw I had a text message on my phone but I didn’t have my glasses on and when I went down stairs, I could see lights on in the basement through the cracks in the steps. And then someone called my name of course it was J. with the fire inspector barking directives. They were there to inspect the new furnace and talk about other stuff. Can we come up? Sure (I’m in my pajamas) but sure. Anyway after they left I saw J. had texted just half an hour before; meaning at seven thirty to say he’s coming at eight. Thanks for the warning pals. Really it wasn’t a big deal but it’s just funny what things people feel comfortable doing or don’t. I couldn’t be that cavalier about someone else’s private morning time; but thankfully we do keep modified farmers hours. I did manage to get a bit of work done which was good and then I got to that place that one often does in writing (non-fiction anyway) where you could line up all the various points still needing hitting in so many different ways, all the while a whole set of other points are flashing in your brain while, as you type, their are even newer points that just follow from the previous sentence which you have to put down. It is definitely the cluster fuck moment in this process where I will have to step away in order to gain some perspective. Anyway we have a client today, and one tomorrow too, so I’m not going to try and overdo it, really, until Friday when (and I will!) I bring it all home. I felt completely stressed out earlier—bodily—and now I feel so drastically the opposite, like I’m going to float out of my body. I’m not really sure what it is. Osteoporosis? Happiness? That was just an old 30 Rock joke. Boy could I ever use a show like that to laugh at now in my life. The world first became humorous and now it has become dangerous all because of the Mango in the Maga. I really truly want to see him pay for everything he has done. Why is nobody calling him a war criminal on top of everything else—human trafficker, drug addict, money launderer, rapist, thief, how many more negative Gemini iterations can one think of here? New paragraph:

I am literally giving myself five minutes to figure out what next I want and need to say. The enormity of what I’m dealing with professionally would make anyone else’s head spin until it twisted clear off. I am going to look up barley water. I am going to search for a certain someone I know who was arrested in Florida because when folks are arrested in Florida it is made known (usually) unless you have ways around that which I doubt most people do. Sure enough there he was. I truly doubt those who would be impacted by this are aware of the visibility of this arrest. I suppose one should let the chips fall where they may. I will have to send Jen and Ian regrets as we are definitely not going to make it to Provincia next week. I will be achieving my goal today without fail. I must make this work even though I am beside myself with a certain brand of distraction. I have to just get rid of it and keep moving I have pages and pages to get through and I will do a timed writing of half an hour on this here today to plow through the mountain, I know what that refers to specficially. The son of Tony Randall made this amazing video plea for funds for his film. I will likely give a little something to the cause. He is at Wesleyan. He seems very smart and very cool and very confident which makes me happy. In many ways it must have been difficult growing up knowing you had an elderly papa who didn’t last to see his children grow. At the same time T. offered so many opportunities and would have passed in the knowledge that he finally had progeny and that makes me very happy indeed.

I can pretty much predict how this day will go I will probably get to about page eight and then will have to finish up tomorrow, which is fine. So long as we have something to work on over the weekend we can make some magic and wow, wow, wow. Wouldn’t it be nice to marry the completion of this material to the ritual we have planned for Sunday because they really do go hand in hand. Oh to ace this phase of life. I know it requires a real presence of mind and a little bit of a makeover (as well as a doever). But today the aching is real. Truly real. I don’t know what else to say really except that I fear it will derail me. It always gets me into trouble this in ability to focus half way through a project. That’s really where I am. I suppose I should take stock of what I’m doing en route to moving the needle forward. I guess I can do that now for the next hour:

The first page is something of a snapshot. Alchemy and navel gazing. The vagary of her internal messaging system. Cartoon bubble, mechanical blinking. Taking a powder, baffling agony aunts and unks. Page two: Self help, embodying loss. Dealing with and creating voids. Emotional intelligence, being a collage, a borrower, the myth of Pandora. I’m concerned that by the third page we are being too repetitive from things we’ve written before but that might just be my projected fear on the subject. Still I’m willing to move through this. The original mama’s girl the myth of Kore. Her emotional intelligence cut its teeth on the mother-daughter dynamic which is loaded. Page four: we are talking about mutable-earth and the power to mold and conform. Prone to victim mentality, especially in sibling context. Being Svengali’d, developing a Wendy complex. Page five: mind body connection, the spica…anyway I managed to get through page eight but I’m not quite sure how it’s going to go in the end the chapter bits might actually end up being for pages total which would make the whole thing thirteen pages; but I’m thinking maybe the last page can mainly be about action items (either as part of the main text or in sidebars, we would represent the Rxs. Maybe we need to say Rx in the proposal proeper. Lots to chew on actually. We will see what we will see. I feel obliged (as I often do) to make this longer than it needs be. But I will tell you this: we are definitely in process, and so we should be. I miss my grandmother. That is a very specific feeling I rarely experience. I wonder why she is hitting me right now. I don’t even get visitations from my mother let alone hers. It’s just one of those things I guess. WE are about to start zeroing in on what is what in the book world. I will be interested to find out one way or ahnother. BH seems to sail through his experience, attacking/attaching to the people I know. I’m going to stop.

I will work steadily over the weekend to bring this project home. There are specific managerial-editing tasks I need to outline and execute before taking on notes from S.’s reading process. The trick is to do do less and be more. I will admit I am bloody exhausted. But I am nearing the end so I needn’t worry my head too much about it. I think I will save as and sort of start a new document now so I can keep the rough one as a record. Would that I could get all four or five pages in the can today that would be incredible. As a rule Virgo needs to be more aspirational in relationships. We will flag to M.T. that some main-text information will ultimately be better served, removed from the main body and put into sidebars. What do pigs symbolize? They are associated with the sign of Virgo for myriad reasons. I can feel the need, on a spiritual level, to be less “full”. I don’t know if I can explain this to you, really. I just miss the emptiness I used to feel at times when I have given myself over to spiritual practice. I don’t want to be stuck today . I need to remind myself of the connection between Pandora and Mary Magdalene. I did find one point of connection but I will have to look even closer. I am doing the best I can but I have to say that I am feeling slightly overwhelmed by all of this. However I do seem to be making progress; and my hope is that by the end of the day onSunday I will have made a success of this. I imagine that much of what I’ll have to say (to report here) on Monday morning will constitute notes to M.T. and tomorrow and Sunday will likely consist of material needed to round out this project.

It is perfectly normal to get to the phase in the work and feel rather exhausted by it. I have to figure out why it is that the barn gets all that attention. It seems like such a scam to me but what do I know. But who am I to judge. It just saddens me that I can’t seem to be able to capture the kind of attention they do on the non-profit front. I need a new outlook I that me thinks. Also this needs to be the last day of saying anyting negative on here I think. It really doesn’t serve me to grouse and I’m just going to let go of that. I am so looking forward to spending a few months abroad. It is just the kind of remedy I need me thinks. I will get a few things done here today and then take another final deep breath and push through. We have been having fun and night so that is a boon. But by the new moon Sunday I need to make a switcheroo. This is likely the most boring post I’ve ever written. I have many book ideas and such up my sleeve and I look forward to getting them into works. I think it would make good sense for me to get my grants in order during this final week of October, then to use November to put together the 2021 books so that I can work on them just once a week, is all I need to do. It is odd that I did a sho w this year at festival. I do which I had more consistent support from folks but I can only do as best I can. I will reach out to all the names on that list and see if I can drum up some more support from them for the coming year as I launch my new operation. It will be so nice, this time next year to be set back up in a city.

Things a Virgo need rid herself of. Disdain and Doubt. She is not by nature trusting. Think of Amy and of Heather today. Make an offering to Demeter. Loss and grief are the themes of the Demeter myth. She has only one child. The pig is sacred to her. Goddess of Sacred Law and the Cycles of life. The Eleusian mysteries center on Demeter and Kore and pre-date the Olympian pantheon of gods. Her flower is the Poppy that grows among the barley. Being an earth goddess does have its underworld tones. Demeter is assigned the zodiac constellation Virgo the Virgin by Marcus Manilius in his 1st century Roman work Astronomicon. In art, constellation Virgo holds Spica, a sheaf of wheat in her hand and sits beside constellation Leo the Lion. Underground ceramic jars to store corn, grain. They are silos. When the corn of the old crop is laid on the fields, this is seen as the reunitiging of Demeter and Persephone. Union and reunification?

Virgo’s mutable-earth status speaks to substantial change which doesn’t happen in a flash.
Virgo reminds us that we are all works in progress
Their brand of spirituality is devotional at its core.
Birds and flightless birds. The loss of flight is adaptation! Their ability to adapt and mold. To live life on life’s terms (compared with Cancer which we should change to Hope and Wishcraft. Super power of Adaptation, which is the upshot of vulnerability.

Virgo dealing with loss and imperfection. Chiron represents the wounded healer in astrology. Blesser et al.  Virgos can appear quite gangly and storklike. Spindly legs. Elvis costello. If the sign of Taurus wants you to want them, the sign of Virgo needs you to need them.Opposite sign service vs. sacrifice

Midlife crisis….Mercury god of the crossroads (after birds). Acceptance. Look at the Open Sleigh again here for notes.House. Opposites. M/F.   Age. Bible Shadow. Makes others dependent on them.

More on Virgonot the competitive type, the sign demures related to its humility. Accepting of human frailty. Sixth house of daily habits not sure if you’ve ever tried to change your but doesn’t happen in a day. The irony of Mercury ruling Virgo whose energy is gradual. Virgois a crucible, a smoldering caldron. The Vat. Which is the word to which the French version must change because they use Vessel (Verseau) but that is also the name of Aquarius so that just ends up seeming stupid. I did see the word “vat ” listed in my notes in fact. Coming from a place of helplessness. Learning you are not empty but rather open. Virgo can be a real victim as we know.

Virgo girl to negotiate the world of would-be coupling. She often gets stuck in a sisterly role and her perspective on relationships can be overblown; meaning she might believe she’s in one when, in reality, she’s not. Not to suggest she’s delusional.***She can thus get stuck playing Wendy to any number of Peter Pans, or in any case, settling in to something of a den-mother role. Often, she enjoys a variety of bestie bonds with gay (again, is there a different word we have to use?) men.

There is an upshot to this signature dynamic in that she has the power to play patroness and to elevate her own status by helping others to achieve their own goals and dreams. (Mention Peggy Guggenheim?). She thus makes a great agent or dealer or major domo, natural in the role of proverbial soul of any such operation. It’s a paradoxical helper part she plays, at once playing teacher, preparing others for their ultimate good, and yet also casting them as mentors on whom she’s learning. Virgo tends to live through others vicariously, especially artists and creatives, as she bides her time until she can step out of the shadows herself, using such, typically years-long, associations as her own launching pad, working the many connections she would have made in her remarkable efforts on behalf of others.

The way I comb or cut my way through vegetables in the kitchen is pretty much the same way that I write and edit, a dual ongoing process that expresses my commuicative discourse. That was something I read that I wrote on a note card. I’m not really sure how important it actually is. I also wrote something else on the back I can make out the words Hephaestus and also Jupiter. But when am I not actually writing about the gods I feel as if I always am. I’m sure that made no sense. It’s nearly four in the afternoon and I’ve been up pretty much since midnight. My sleep patterns have really never been so out of whack I don’t believe, but it’s not as if that makes no sense. I was finishing up this book sample process and I’m happy to say we handed it all in today, a few days earlier than scheduled. I’m hopeful but I’m also trepidatious. I’ve been here before, putting my head on the chopping block of potential rejection. I’m not like some people who can throw up a whole bunch of images they stole out of old books and write a little something about how keen and I have, and have the world care to read about it. I have earned every one of our hundreds and hundreds of thousands of readers. Now is about finding them and activating all the myriad projects we have underway. It should be fun, although it won’t be easy. But I’m also not interested in burdening myself, financially, in the process. One does need to spend money to make money, but it is important to get that ratio right. I think I have a natural way with the fiduciary, although I have never once, not for any epoch, been a materialist. I belong in Paris that much I know and I look very much forward to making it my home again, I really am. I think that can work. I’m going to try my hand at expanding the non-profit, to have it be what I think it can be, but I’m also willing at this point to let go of what’s not really working.

Well anyway: Bully for me for redoing the entire proposal and hunkering down to write this sample and getting it in before the end of October. I now have two solid months to focus on getting other things cooking while actually coming down off having been so around-the-clock working. I just got a flashback of Lox Around The Clock. I would have gone there with Laurie and Peter for sure. Funny how things pop into your head like that. I am now just going to type in some notes that are sitting on my desk so I can thrown them away. 1. Harnassing the power of…pin in sibling stuff…is utable-earth in section one? Link to arrested development. Need toe comedy. Madgalene. Moving through; things happen through her or she allows…to be an instrument. As a rule Virgo needs to be more as…the first woman, Pandora. They broke the mold. The All Meets The One is 0° Coming off chapter one four of radical optimism. Beatrice Bruteau. “Myth metaphyiscs and Mysteries”? S. is going to send me a copy of that old 1970s Times piece on the family with the restaurant in Pennsylvania. Gemini: They throw a curve ball (Eris and her apple) at you and before you field it they throw another one and another. Rapid fire gaslighting?  Reality Winner and sometimes a little confection? Is that what I said.

Oh I remember this was what Penny had to say about Ellie and Max. They need to understand themeaning of the word contract. I asked why is it they feel comfortable behaving this way toward our organiziation. Call out culture. Virtue signalling. Who’s eploiting whom here. Too established. Not sure what that meant. The sacred harlot bit is the antidote to the victimization energy of Kore’s rape story. The Spica says it’s up to her.

Being a Virgo, the virgin, metaphorically speaking means they don’t always quite get it. It’s not naivite necessarily, it’s a certain disconnect. When the character Mary Magdalene, a Virgo archetype, sang I don’t know how to love him she was being totally honest about herself, not Him (whoever he might be). Virgo women are notoriously attracted to the most high-impact figures on the planet. And they do orbit close to tony figures who have a sweeping sphere. Virgo begins August 23, the date of the festival of Vulcanalia, for the Roman god Vulcan (Greek: Hephaestus), the potter (mutable-earth!) god, and there is a theory that their is a planet Vulcan, the true ruler of Virgo, that orbits even closer to the Sun than Mercury. May we some day discover it because it would explain a lot about Virgo people, women in particular, securing themselves so extreme an inside track, becoming inside circle, and doing so quite unseen.

Should Virgo admit like Elizabeth I that she really wants to remain the virgin—single, autonomous and unsullied by any others’ needs except those to which she chooses to cater—despite all her protestations/lamentations on being alone or lonely. Because she does seem very much married to some phantom notion that relationships elude her. In mythology, a Virgin goddess is really one who doesn’t want to play a secondary sex role to males—Artemis, Hestia, Athena are not spinsters by default.

In our astrology, the sun sign of any individual represents the self one is becoming, her own hero’s journey, that to which she aspires in this life. The Virgo woman’s concept of happiness and fulfillment is therefore described in terms associated with her sign. That is to say that a life well-lived for the Virgo is one where she has made an indelible mark, a lasting contribution, and in her own way, has been of great service to others and the world at large. The trick of course being that she must find a way to serve her own purposes, foremost, in the process.

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.