Aries 6° (March 26)


The deaths just yesterday in America were 223 putting us at 1001 total, meaning yesterday made up nearly a quarter of the total. Louisiana is in trouble, Florida is in trouble, we are all in trouble. The virus has invaded Southern Italy in a big way and nobody can figure out why since travel there from the North has been halted. This thing may be way more airborne and invincible than we imagine. The best thing to do is to stay ultra healthy so that when we do get it, and the majority of us will, we get mild symptoms and build up the requisite antibodies to this thing. I wouldn’t want to be a germ phobe at this time in history. How those poor people are suffering.

A FB “friend” performer who did a virtual show into which many, many people tuned, woke up the next day (yesterday) whining about how he feels ostricized by the so-called “downtown network” of performing artists. Now this is someone who has had successful shows, TV gigs, plays, books and tons of praise from everyone actually in the performance community. He went on this diabribe which was like a Sally Field speech in reverse. When I first started my festival he wanted to do a show which would have required dozens of people which we couldn’t afford, so I asked him to do a one-person show instead. He stopped talking to me because I said no. He was insulted. I ignored this and would reach out year on year to invite him to do things, and he always turned me down with a dismissive air; and as he became more successful he would say he couldn’t do it because of (fill in blank on project he was bragging about). So yesterday, in response to his poor-pity-me routine I actually offered encouraging words in the form of a comment. I told him he was fierce and fabulous and he should be proud of his accomplishments and focus on himself. And that all performers feel left out sometimes and unappreciated. I said that we had talked about this sort of thing in the past—which we ultimately did—feeling hurt and acting from that place. Well he blocked me of course. And friends have told me that the post doesn’t even appear on his page anymore anyway. So in the midst of a health crisis where people (we know) are actually dying this baby gets on social media, after a successful streamed show with a large audience, to talk about how nobody loves him in the community. I and others reach out to buck him up and lovingly tell him to get over himself. And he blocks people (I’m sure I’m not the only one) and removes the post anyway. Such bad form. Talk about your inferiority/superiority complexes. And in a time like this? You know, people, if you decided to be a so-called “downtown” performer which used to mean someone who didn’t care about commercial success or anything other than just making art, then shut the fuck up about the fact that the worship you receive ins’t ubiquitous enough. And while you’re at it, shut the fuck up about your bank account and the fact that other people have stolen your material, or (this is the big kicker) that you are not recognized by the mainstream. You decided you didn’t care about that to begin with, right? The world is totally upside down and you’re still acting from the emotional place of someone who got picked last for kickball? Grow a pair and the fuck up!

Anyway, I’m missing Paris in the worst way today. It truly was a trauma to have already decided to stay another month, filling the apartment with food and supplies, only, days after that decision, having to leave within a span of twelve hours. There I was in Springtime and now I’m back in Winter on Cape Cod. Not complaining because it is a nice refuge, but it is cold and grey and gloomy and, unlike the shelves in stores in Paris, here they are picked bare of all the essentials because we live in this awful competitive society, dog eat dog, every fuckhead for himself. It’s awful. And whereas the situation was bringing out the best in the community where we were, here it seems to be bringing out the ugly aspects, the narcissism, the greed and the need for attention and validation. It’s so dumb. Anyway, I cannot wait for the machinery of our consultancy to start cranking up again next week. We have a ton of clients scheduled and it always makes me feel better to help others. Meanwhile, tomorrow, we have the first brainstorming session for the TV project for which we’ve been brought on. There was a New Moon two days ago and I’m feeling it. As for the negative observations they are just that: observations of negativity, not my own. I eschew all that. In fact I want to remain dissatisfied because I wish to avoid normalizing my feelings about this culture, which has not been aligned with my framework or sensibility, probably since the 1980s. There might be a bit of the 1970s down-and-out-ness that needs to be reclaimed, and I’m all for it. I am someone who owns practically nothing. And all I can think about is further weeding out and getting down to the most essential items and putting the rest into safe storage somewhere. The only props I want to buy are archive boxes and other such containers that look beautiful upon a shelf.

The following blocks of texs are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 31-35.  I am reading through all my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, but the time I get to my seventh, I will have through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize:

I’m reminded of when I first graduated university in Boston. I decided to spend the summer in town before heading off to Paris in the Fall. I had already taken a job at the end of my senior year at the Cafe Florian on Newbury Street. Being back in Boston the space now holds the Thinking Cup where I do enjoy morning coffee, post yoga. It’s funny to be in there. Back in the day it was owned by an older Hungarian couple and the menu consisted of caviar omelettes, vichyssoise, goulash and an assortment of pastries includie sacher tortes. They served wine and beer and in summer the other waiters and I would drink Pilsner with lemon. Our manager was called Ed who had the affectation of starting many a sentence with a drawn out “uhhh;” after our shift we would sit in the restaurant and play a drinking game where everytime we heard Ed say “uhhh” we’d have to take a sip. Oh the simple ways we used to amuse ourselves.

One day I was meant to work the outdoor cafe, arriving at 4PM for my evening shift, but I had a social opportunity I didn’t want to pass up. The weather looked and felt a little like it does today. I was sharing a huge apartment in Allston with mostly absentee roommates. I decided to do an experiment. I stood, arms akimbo, in the living rooms giant bay window and I attempted to “gather” the energy of the atmosphere into something of a rain storm. Now of course this could be coincidence; although witnesses to the fact seem to feel this actually happened: I poured every fiber of my intention into becoming one with the air and I found myself do all sorts of automatic movements and the wind did begin not just to blow but create mini tornadoes on the street just below the window and the sky suddenly blackened and it began to pour. A friend phoned a store next to the Florian and asked if it was raining there. It wasn’t. Then he phoned The Magic Pan which used also to be on Newbury Street, up the block. They said it was just starting to drizzle. Sweat was beading off my brow as I continued my new wave rain dance; and I gave it one more powerful thrust of intention and movement for power and called the Florian myself. Hi I’m supposed to work the cafe but it’s absolutely pouring here, how about there? It was torrential and I was let off work for the night. I hung up and within minutes the sun came out and there was a rainbow and I slapped on some Kouros (probably), threw on some Matinique outfit and set off for my sanctioned evening of social activity. Ah the days of no cellphones and minimal accountability and blessed anonymity.

So, witches, though today is about a release and intervention from the heavens, you might just be able to participate in its formation and its purpose. But mind you don’t do so too selfishly, as I believe I might have done that day. I do think someone who needed the money too my shift so I don’t think there was any karmic retribution. Still, if I were you, I’d focus straight on the rainbow!


Let’s discuss death metaphorically though for a minute, separate from the fact that we are all literally dying from the moment we are born—an ultimate paradox. We experience death of situations and relationships all the time. We don’t know when it’s coming, typically, just like the real deal. There’ll be a call (or my favorite: an email at 5 o’clock on a Friday) that a job or gig that you’ve had, and upon which you probably counted, for ages has suddenly bit the dust. Or somebody will get a bee in their bonnet about something and snuff out your bond with them. Well the subject of this oracle isn’t the grave, really, but the widow; and that suggests to me that we are meant to meditate on what becomes of her. We are all widowed by experiences like the examples above. Things end all the time. The question is, what do we do next? Whenever there is a real or metaphoric death we start over, in a sense; and we typically try not to repeat the mistakes of the past—when taken metaphorically—just as we might understand we can’t replicate a relationship with a loved one who leaves us. We can have new relationships, but we’ll never have that one; perhaps because we’re still having it and we’ll always have it. In the case of a real death of a true intimate, I think it’s very rare that we would want to bond again so deeply; instead I think human nature dictates that we involve ourselves more detachedly should we find love again.

Surely, this is true when we stay in metaphoric land. We will not repeat the mistakes we made in a job, say, if we find ourselves suddenly fired from one. In simple terms we might say we won’t let ourselves be hurt that way again. But really, we are inspired to transcend and to invest less personally, next time, in like situations. The pain of losing a job or opportunity is invariably felt by the ego. But herein we learn the lesson of letting go lightly. All that we experience with our senses is impermanent, which is why eastern philosophies often characterize so-called reality as the illusion. What if anything is permanent one wonders. Eternity is the self-evident response, but what is that? Is it something that we can participate in. I would say yes. But you shouldn’t listen to me. You would have to experience such a connection for yourself to know. I suddenly hear a parody of a pharmaceutical company in my head: As your metaphysician if Eternity is right for you. Side effects may include transmuation into pure love and light, transcendence of time and space, expression of your full divine nature, and Oneness.

 In astrology the eighth house rules death, sleep and sex, among other key attributes. Why these three elements hang together is because they fall under the larger concept of regeneration. The diviners of our ancient Zodiac believed death to be a means via which the spirit achieved rebirth, just as sleep rejuvenates the body and sex reproduces life. It does reflect that scientific view of indestructable energy. So I’m going with that. Still we feel the pain of the loss of personal attachment and I don’t believe we’re meant to transcend those feelings completely, especially when we leave the realm of metaphor in considering the message of this symbol. And yet, we must continually make our peace with saying goodbye to the past. And really, who among us is really that good with goodbyes?


To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree pointof the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.


Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
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