Pisces 25° (March 15)
My mother’s birthday. She would have been ninety today. I am going to avoid talking about it on social media. Though I wonder if we shouldn’t dedicate new book? C’est possible. She was alive for the last one but already so debilitated by her disease that she wouldn’t have known what was going on. Such is the way of things I suppose. I’m tempted to make Irish soda bread. I wrote the last sentence two hours go and ended up going to the store for ingredients for the bread and also to make a veg “corned beef” out of tofu. And I’ve done some housework and changed the sheets and comforter cover over; S. made tahini oatcakes with scallion I cut and we topped with apple sauce and Braggs amino acid (we eat this at least once a week). Like this Blague, my menu runs like clockwork. We do manage to have a lovely time. Roasted chicken, suede and boy choy. You’re welcome. I’m unraveling a bit. Big Sisyphus.
The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1736-1740. 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.
Paris, Day Fourteen of Sixty: So I think I slept okay, it’s hard to tell. I did wake to a dream about Gwyneth Paltrow who was coming for dinner which I was making at a friends’ place, presumably, in Paris. The friends had a family with one annoying little chunky boy in a striped shirt like Pugsly or Danny Partridge—you know, big rib cage. I had made this sautéed zucchini which I knew was Gwynnie’s favorite (she was our friend in the dream); and she came over and she was weird and narcissistic and faux self-deprecating (you know, like most actresses you meet) and it suddenly came to light that the boy had eaten all the zucchini I made and she was evidently pissed off, despite her attempts to brush it off. One got the feeling she was slumming it because she was that over the moon for my zucchini (interpret that anyway you like). The dream went on. We bonded over our choice in neighborhood to live. I do think this dream is about success and wanting that kind of goopy version of it on some level which is all fine and good. Now that we are settled back in Paris for the next six weeks, though happy for this amazing trip to Venice, which gave me so, so much on so, so many levels (surtout friendship with the wonderful LLBs), I’m really ready to for a major re-start and looking forward to getting much of the busy work (2021 books in February, all of the festival stuff in March) completely out of the way. April will be focused on Spring cleaning and the selling of household objects, with all the proceeds going to the festival. People can park across at Dunkin Donuts and carefully cross the highway. Starsky + Cox operation will be at this address. We might get a Wellfleet box for the jewels. I am getting all my personal belongings down to a nub. We will see if Tim wants to buy all our books. We will put objects out for free. This is what April will be all about. We will get a ride back to the Cape from the driver. I will get the car inspected and then fixed. I am off on a tangent about things on my mind but that is not a bad thing. It is because I am ready now to shift the energy. We will take a drive to the Hovey in May and visit the people in Portland and so forth. We will stay in Wellfleet as long as we can because we shall continue to make Paris the city. Soon I will not be writing these things but reworking the Sabian symbols each day into my “blue project” which will be gratifying indeed.
Okay so after this trip I am getting a very slow start and yet I am managing to sit here and write this Blague without really being behind. I got a big chunk of work done on the ten-hour train ride that’s for sure. And I will be able to finish up all the prep work on the weekend, no doubt. There is no need for breakfast after last evening’s burger, and we will have some arugula with palm hearts and parmesan for lunch with Badoit. I get a jump start on the Kareem show at Oberon which is happening in a fortnight—and I feel a bit more depressed than I had felt about my series there ending, but I will do what I do and turn it all around. I am nothing if not resilient and I am experiencing so many synchronicities as it is, t’would be impossible to deny them their ability to provide faith in the unfolding. I am allowing for repair foremost; meanwhile I am taking no prisoners in the process. I am mindful of the rush of experience that we have endured and embodied these past several weeks; and am thus so grateful for this time to land in a place that I know it is destined I am to truly call home. I don’t know how it will happen, but I know it will happen; and that there are signs everywhere. So right. After lunch we sat down to try to make sense of our lesson plan for classes at the Alliance Française. Seemed difficult but straightforward enough and we set off for the fifty minute walk to school. En route we passed the bookstalls on the quai and one of them in particular had some wonderful astrology books so we will be checking them out next Tuesday, leaving some time to make some purchases. We got to Raspail with some time to spare and found our classroom where a smiley young blond teacher was waiting with just a few students already seated. One of the students is this terribly annoying woman who will sit herself down right next to S. and keep poking her and asking her questions to which S. has no answers. I can see her skin crawling.
At first it was tough. We missed the first class. We are sharing a book, which is fine, but I can’t actually see very well with my lame readers so I need to get some stronger glasses. S. whispered she thought the class would be too easy for her as the other students weren’t really speaking all that well. To our right, here is a girl from Italy, one from Pakistan, a Russian girl and a guy who is either Irlandais (Irish) or Hollandais (Dutch) but I couldn’t tell which he said. The lady to Stella’s left was asked where she was from but she didn’t answer the question. In fact whenever the teacher asks a question she is the first to chime in but with something that in no way resembles an answer to the question being asked, which is making the teacher make that sort of dubious lip pucker and emittance of air that French people do when they are like “no” but they are trying to be nice and find a way to understand the mental connection you are making. She is failing miserably. Then there is a guy from Egypt and a girl from Spain. That is our class. We are very old. But I’m doing better than I thought, despite the fact I am concerened with S.’s annoyance at the lady and her misplacement in the class as a whole. Things are starting to gel though. And the last exercise of the day is breaking up into groups to create travel-agency brochures for various places. We are assigned/choose Hawaiia. Ours is less a brochure than it is a television ad, but it doesn’t start of well. La Capricorne, who is way more proficient than I am, is being super type A and my simple suggestions aren’t landing. Also, she is stuck on the fact that the teacher said that we can use our phones to get an idea of the types of things French travel brouchures actually contain. S. thinks we are meant to overthink this and do something more difficult and specific than simply make this fun, easy and engaging. I finally will out and we write some snappy copy and I draw a poster of a lady in a beret and grass skirt doing the hula. We name our brochure (or rather our ad campaign) “Dites Aloha!” and invite imaginary French people to Venez and Voyez and Visitez and Surfez and Plongez and it is very funny and we name our agency 11 Bis Paris. We get applause.
Take a very small advance for Sextrologiejust to get it out there. Have someone clean up the translation and update the celebrity sidebars and find someone to publish it who will do right by the project and not hold their nose while they speak to us. That was what I couldn’t abide last time out. That and the fact that nobody listened to me when I said there were glaring issues about the translation. For instance the English title of the Virgo chapter is The Vessel, which was translated to Verseau which is the French word for Aquarius so the Virgo chapter title ended up being The Aquarius. That type of thing. Some nuance was lost for sure. All of this will be put into a strategy plan in the coming days in any case.
Paris, Day Fifteen of Sixty.I wish I could remember. And I wish I could say why or how it is I came to be where I am. I am totally disgruntled. And I learn over these last few days that it isn’t me. I awoke to a dream of destruction. I was at some sort of party-reunion of people from Wyckoff and Franklin Lakes. Lisa Dibsie was the defacto host and she was, for the most part, as far as I could tell, happy to see me. Then she introduced me to her family, which was made up of a bunch of male thugs. I was shaking their hands and then it became increasingly hostile and they began to call me names and now they were outright harassing me. And I tried to get away and they were chasing me. We were along a river like the Hudson and I started shouting for the police and a police barge then came down the river and they started firing bombs and I was wondering who they knew who their target was. It became clear they weren’t firing at us safely and so I was dodging the bombs along with everybody else and trying to avoid the enemy of thugs. Anyway it was all incredibly apocalyptic. I woke up late as I have been doing and I sent into the living room for coffee and LLB had written S. with some tarot cards he spied on the interweb. They looked familiar and in an instant I realized he had copied in samples from the tarot deck by Nick Khan with whom I grew up and went to school. The deck is called The End of the World Tarot which, hello, was fitting considering the dream from which I had just awoken.
We did some shopping and had some fennel-tomato soup I had made and did some laundry and all that sort of thing. And then we had a new client which was a breath of fresh air, actually. I had a rendezvous with my earliest childhood friend Bonnie Sip. Indeed Bonnie is probably the first friend I ever had. We went to nursery school together and my memories of her, taking the short bus to the Jewish Community Center in Jersey City, are my earliest beside those involving my immediate family. We had a wonderful time. She was in town with her step daughter, scattering the ashes of her second husband who died two years ago. It was all so happy-sad, which apparently is a term he used all the time. I never met him. She wrote to say meeting made her heart happy and I couldn’t agree more. We had shopped earlier for salmon and avocado and salad and cheese and wine and good thing because our plans didn’t include dinner just hors d’oeuvres. Anyway we had a late meal and some lovely organic red from the cheese lady and we watched the unwatchable Grace and Frankie. Sorry Jane and Lily but I am not going to make it through this season. It’s fine when you’re on screen but the other actors are just awful, especially those playing the daughters, and I cannot stomach Martin Sheen and anyway the writing is just terrible anyway. Speaking of television we did receive word that the office in London wants to option our second book and we will see them again when we are back in town, which is now turning out to be highly necessary.
I need to write to Jackie. Bonjour Roger! Sorry it has taken me so long to put down in words how much we loved seeing you and how grateful we are for taking time out of your busy lives to meet and show us your Venice. It feels as if I dreamed it. But the mime in me says that it was real and no illusion. I tell you what: I cannot remember when I’ve had more fun and laughed so much. It is very rare to be able to consistently enjoy the company of even the closest of friends and to be on the same page with likes and dislikes of activities and such; but I could have easily spent a lot more time together exploring and otherwise tearing up the town. It was very inspiring as well and I came away feeling quite different about our business and the roles we play in our career. And thank you for urging us to take the taxi on the way back to the train station because it was in itself a highlight of the trip. Unfortunately, our train did not originate from Santa Lucia but from Mestre but it wasn’t a hassle to get there. And the train took a different route than the one going to Venice, taking us passed Lake Garda which was really nice. I managed to get a a lot of work done on the train, and not drink as much red wine, as I did on the journey to Venice. Just writing the word transports me there. I feel such a strong pull to go back, which isn’t reality I realize. I do so hope I get to go every year—the gods willing.
I am returning to Bikram yoga (where I hope I won’t drop dead and thus never see Venice again) despite your warnings of it loosening my ear crystals. I’m determined to get some of my weight off in the next couple months; and also, it can be too, too easy to just keep eating and drinking my way through the rest of our stay in Paris. We started our French classes which are really fun. And after our first class we went to our favorite Café/Wine Bar which is near Pantheon and our French agent, whom we haven’t seen in fourteen years, popped in for a solo meal. Which was very cool. Did we tell you too that we saw Yvan Attal (director husband to Charlotte Gainsbourg) at our hotel restaurant in New York City in November and, S. being a huge fan, I went up and introduced ourselves. I went on to tell him that he (and Charlotte, but I didn’t mention her) are on our fantasy-dinner-party invite list. And he said well we should have dinner then. We said we would be in Paris and he gave us his email. S. wrote him yesterday and he wrote right back so we are having dinner with him (and who knows if he’ll bring Charlotte)! It’s funny because in our original Starsky + Cox live show party of Stella’s story is that she was the au pair for Charlotte and had a fling with Serge and Jane held back Stella’s pay for “safe keeping” and was supposed to give her it all at the end—but then refused to pay her in the end. To which Stella says: “It’s okay. I found a way to compensate myself. Let’s just say that I have the original Birkin bag.” So yeah that’s happening. Weird right? We also heard back from the TV folks and they want to option our Cosmic Coupling book in the process of working together, so I am giving our agent a chance to get a copy of our contract from our publisher and first crack at brokering it. But if she declines or drags her feet I’m going to find someone else. Which reminds me: If you think (I forget her name) at Fresh would want to chat again, we are in London March 24-30. That week is already getting super packed schedule-wise so maybe sound her out sooner than later. Only if you want to. Honestly there is no pressure about this.
Paris, Day Sixteen of Sixty. There is so much going on we are very busy. S. is going out on an appointment and I will sortir with her and get some food in. We are going to have caviar and crème fraiche omelettes for lunch with a delicious mache salad. And I will make a spinach soup for dinner. I will take a walk into the first and have a little bit of fun and then come back and make lunch and we will go to the museum of the chasse and find it closed and then I will end up sleeping for three hours. What is that about? I have been sleeping so much in Paris it is ridiculous. We had a really fun night. We had that spinach soup and watched Wanda Sykes who really is a master—I learn so much watching her. I miss performing. Still no word from the friends I wrote to regarding French contacts—it’s all information. We then watched a terrible film starring Jennifer Aniston: Dumplin. Which should be renamed el stinko. Anyway I have a list a mile long of stuff that needs doing. And first on it today is putting some thoughts together for J.C.. So here goes nothing on that score.
You are TK and TK is you. The story of JTK is your story. The company and collection are the culmination of all you’ve done and all you’ve been. The collection is the manifestation of your expertiseand experience, personal and professional, as ever the ‘twain have met over the years. We will discuss what elements—web content, mailer (real or virtual), promotional material, press release, brand book, etc—you want to have written; but your biography should be an important part of the whole of the content and not necessarily a separate piece of writing. There may be specific bullet points that can remain separate, otherwise your story should drive the narrative. The company and the collection are the result of your continued success in the business which combines your purely creative side with your keen business acumen and your understanding of brands and the building thereof. T. You also have this rarified position as fashion director of PKS which is a kind of appointment (if not an anointment) of note in the international fashion and retail landscape. JL, and TK, by extension, is thus greater than the sum of the parts you play in the business.
I know you know this: that the words accompanying the imagery you sent are nowhere near where the narrative needs to be. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation. The words must always be as good if not better than the images, which are invaluable to illustrating the brand. Good wording can go unnoticed while bad wording never does. A great narrative that is honed to a sparkle and is more powerful, still, than pictures. This was always the work involved in writing for (Neiman Marcus) The Book, especially. The writing has to rise to the level of the subject and beyond. It has to dazzle and inspire as much as it informs. And there should never be a vague or unnecessary or frivolous word or phrase in the copy. The words should be set like precious stones into a clear, concise and creative composition; because, when it comes to fashion, art or any form of design, the words don’t just describe the subject, they reflect it. And they must portray intelligence, confidence and certain artistry, sprinkled with some levity and humility, too.
Besides experience and expertise, among other attributes, JL and TK stand for stand for knowledge, ease in elegance, expansiveness, personal expression, efficiency and freedom. As the designer and fashion business veteran, you uniquely know what women want and what sells. The collection is hinged on quality and value; and you are both creator of the collection and curator of the collective of other items and objects and accessories that are presented in the store. Everything in the collection and in the shop is integral and there are no spare parts or throwaways. Care has been put into every decision. You’ve created a world where you’ve done all the thinking for your customer. Each piece in the collection is carefully conceived and fulfills a sartorial need that women have. It is the same with work from other creatives—they are like artists in your gallery—which fit the clear and directional criteria that you set forth. And so we get to one of the most important elements to communicate in words: That of your vision. The two mottos of Sagittarius, remember are “I see” and “I understand.” And so you are the visionary who saw this entire enterprise into being; at the same time you are the seasoned expert creative who understands what women want and need and you’re simply now giving it to them, letting them in on the secrets you’ve discovered over the years. And here is another keystone of TK that we will put forth into the narrative: The company, collection and curation (store) is the expression of Jimin Lee’s philosophy of fashion and what it means and how it applies to women in their lives. You are expediting other women’s own understanding and liberating them through your philosophy as represented by your clothing and accessories (and objects and decorative items and textiles and wherever you allow your beautiful philosophy to take you!).
What strikes me most about the TK collection itself is the emerging philosophy. The pieces have a strong point of view and are clearly designed (and engineered!) to empower and to free/liberate the wearer and send them places, really and figuratively. It is a blend of sheer beauty and clear purpose that makes the collection unique. More than a blending of hard and soft elements, or a fluid, feminine aesthetic with a sense utility and function, the collection seeks to outfit women for the adventure of life that includes travel, versatility in moving between worlds of career and social experience, and providing the wearer a sense of expedition, in every sense of the word. This is a collection for women citizens of the world who want to look amazing but aren’t living in ivory towers or existing in bubbles. This is an engaging and energetic collection that prepares women for any number of inevitabilities and synchronicities, providing them comfort and beauty and security in meeting the challenges and demands and whimsies of life. The customer is readied for anything in owning numerous pieces in this collection; and they get to express their own creativity in the way they pair and otherwise put the pieces together. There is a practicality but it is never prosaic—au contraire, there is a poetry and a romance to the collection that contributes to a celebration of self through color and movement. One can be as subtle or bold as they care to be wearing TK and it thus fits a woman’s many mindsets. There is room for her to be many versions of herself and yet there is a consistency in the styling which makes the collection easily recognizable. I can hear others readily asking the wearer: is that TK, being pleased with themselves for guessing—yes!—correctly.
Paris, Day Seventeen of Sixty. For the most part today I am staying put and setting things to right. I will get a handle on where I am in my book planning process for 2021. Meanwhile there are forty-seven weeks of 2020 left. That’s 21¢ per week. I will ask if we are doing some kind of major promotion for Sextrology, which it seems we are. I’m feeling a bit dodgy and dehydrated and I’m going to pretty much fast today and drink Badoit and otherwise get my brain in a good place. I will go out and (try to) get a chicken from the butchers, only to realize they chose at one o’clock on Sundays. I had a feeling. I did get some needed things from the produce shop and wine from our back-up caviste which carries a delicious light wine we often order at Uni in Boston. We are not not foodies and winos these days which has been super great but, to everything, there is a season, and it is indeed time to turn, turn, turn. I decide to go for a walk with my notebook as sitting in the same position typing onto my laptop has really begun to take its toll. I draft many notes in tiny boxxes in my notebook and that is as it should be. Not much happens to give me pause. I am supposedly somewhere in the eleventh but not even sure I’ve left the third. By the time it’s time to stroll home I realize I’m super hungry and the notion of eating a little gravlax isn’t as appealing as downing a huge meal of take-away items from the Greek trattoria which, miraculously, is open. I will reopen that dialogue with SP who never wrote me back after I went the extra mile to transcend whatever kind of bullshit his tweaked mind is cooking up and dishing out. What a shame that people lose their noodles, and so young to. Oh well, I have to realize it is not my problem. I cannot be co-dependent about this. It will serve nobody. I have reached out to our agent to see if they can scare up our contract as there is interested in optioning the other sister book. She will write back that only the agent who brokered the book originally can do that. And so I will put word out tomorrow and see what comes back (in fact they come right back with the contract electronically which is fantastic!). I love efficiency. It is in fact one of my favorite things. No word back yet from Y. which is good. I feel I need a little me-time this week and don’t want to jump directly into a new bond; but it will happen. S. has also scheduled me a massage for this coming week which is great. The gods know I need it.
I am going to muse for the next ten minutes on the transition from Aquarius to Pisces. (As I set my mind to do this I feel an incredible fatigue in my body that I don’t quite understand giving the fact I have been sleep many more hours per night than I ever have in my life. I might have to have a coffee this afternoon to push through this feeling. I think that if I focus my energy this week on total recuperation, which will mean not overdoing work and making myself sick on that score, I might be able to start the work of true healing. So the transition: The move from Aquarius to Pisces is a journey beyond the veil. The former sign of the Waterbearer is represented by the biblcial archetypes of John the Baptist, and by extension, Salome, whose dance of the seven veils, one for each color of the rainbow, marries to the sign’s classical figures such as Iris, goddess of the rainbow, who, like John, was there to deliver the “good news” to humanity. As we move to Pisces, we travel somewhere over the rainbow, to a transcendence beyond time and space, a Nirvana (Kurt Cobain was a Pisces), of dream space. But the parodox of those opposite facing fish tell us that reality is illusion and vice versa. The fixed-air sign of Aquarius, ruled by Uranus, god of the Universe, the motto of which is “I know” is represented by a star (or an infinite cosmos made up of innumerable ones). It is about utter conviction and revelation. This revelation gives way to another dimension, another universe, the mutable-water sign of Pisces, ruled by Neptune, god of the sea or primordial ooze (the non-material essential from which everything emanates and to which all returns, the proverbial womb-tomb). Uranus, the energy of revolution and revelation, representing Aquarian conviction and full-knowingness gives way to Neptune, whose energy is that of dissolution, that disintegrates and washes away all that can be known, and bring us into the oneness state with the all that is the sign of Pisces, the motto of which is “I believe.” Belief is the magical power with which we can create future realities—our imagination, which shares an etymology with magic, is the primordial soup of all being from which all knowable realities ultimately emerge. John the Baptist, lost in Aquarius revelation, presages the coming of Christ, the premier archetype of Pisces—the Jesus fish?. The embodiment of Pisces energy, he is of course a miracle worker, an agent of the power of belief.
Paris, Day Eighteen of Sixty. I will start my essay today which is strange to think about. The theme is “Les voyages sont l’education de la jeunesse et l’expérience de la vieillesse” (Francis Bacon). Some ideas that pop to mind: Comme jeuner, one is open, a blank page on which influences are written. We are at our most impressionable and what Francis Bacon wouldn’t have known: science has proved that our brains are still in a state of development up until 18 years old or thereabouts and so, literally, neurologically, we are deigned to receive and absorb information in our youth and this is tantamount to the process of wiring our brains. The next part of the quote from Bacon speaks of language in particular and the concept of schooling. Perhaps in the end there is a teriary connection between the two in the Derrida, Deconstructionist view. Like a “happy trauma” . Experience is that which cultivates wisdom, but it is also the mechanism for creating memory. Bacon’s quote continues: He that travelleth into a country before he hath some entrance into the language, goeth to school, and not to travel.” I will have to think more about this. Anyway this will be a start but it will in no way end up the final product, not even close. S. will start Bikram today after all even though we decided to wait a few days. As it turns out there is no special deal anyway to it will be fine for me to wait. I won’t be losing any time and I will actually only end up going for a month. I am going to try to go every day even if I just stand there. While she is out I’ll do a little stroll near Pompidou before meeting her on Rambuteau. Everything is closed. So we will end up going to La Fronde where S. has an omelette and I have the bavette.
We have A. and Dr. Kimberly in the afternoon. And then we will go out for dinner as well. There has been a lot of that—it’s becoming somewhat worrying. Then again I’m not going to let it get me down. I need to be all forward movement and can’t stop now to think about nickels and dimes, that’s for sure. The restaurant is really fun. I have this sort of pork belly and mussel thing to start, followed by a ducking on a kind of sweet potato mash and S. had katsu of celery whatever that is and som pumpkin dish. The wine is delicious and the vibe is really fun. But there are already fashion people here in town and we are still two weeks out. I have a back and forth going with SP who is now better known as the devil. I don’t know why this is snowballing so out of control but it is. Will write this at some point: I have witnessed cancel culture first hand. It is a dirty snowball. Anyone who isn’t a sheep and speaks their mind as an individual in this day and age (where tribalism is just as rampant within our small so-called artistic communities as it is on a greater social scale) is putting their head on a chopping block of sorts. As a non-profit producer I have had artists cancel on me last minute and have seen the poisonous effects my taking action to recover losses of time and money have taken: the bad-mouthing, the icing out, the rumour mill, the shade. I have seen folks I’ve once called my closest friends close ranks around the most rancid characters simply because they feed their fragile ego and kiss their narcissistic asses. I have never been a sheep and I will continue to speak my mind and take my stands for truth and fairness. Our communities have become like bullying middle-schools and I didn’t want to conform then and I don’t want to conform now. I ask myself and bid you do likewise: Are the opinions you hold about others your own, or are they drawn from the entropic telephone game continually being played out in every sense of the term. As I write this I think of all the people I know who have ended their lives because they felt unloved, attacked, shamed. I also think of those who have taken all those slanderous slings and arrows and turned it into art. Of the sleazy weasels who feed the slanderous fire, I don’t think of you at all.
But that won’t nearly cover it. I have lots more to say on the subject and will eventually get it all down. I am powering through as best I can. I will learn that I am not so far into the weeds as I think I am. The final product of my French “essay” will be this: Chez les jeunes, on est tout overt, une page vierge sur laquelle la vie peut ecrire. Dans notre jeunesse, nous sommes les plus impressionables—nos cerveaux se forme encore. Le voyage stimule plus que notre intellect; il engage tous nos sens. Cela ouvre notre esprit et nous permet d’embrasser la diversité. Le voyage élargit nos horizons and nous aide de savoir ce qui est possible dans la vie. Ma troisième année à l’université, j’ai fait mes études en France et j’ai pris des nombreux voyages secondaires dans ce pays et celui-la. Et cela a completement changé le cours de mon existence. Je peux retracer toutes les bonnes chose qui me sont arrivés depuis cette année. Donc, dans la vieillesse, les voyages comprennent plus que les étoffe de la mémoire. Ils sont les auteurs de nos histoires, les architects do nos succès et même de nos échecs, les peintres de nos images imaginaires que nous appelons les memoires. Alors nous sommes nos voyages.
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.