Sagittarius 26° (December 18)
The Melissa McCarthy film (directed by her husband) is the worst shite. And The Flight Attendant is barely good.
Mars as Id. Mars in Cap. Classy in the raw. Mars filtered through Capricorn takes that objectifying Id energy and edifies it, such that the primal energy of the planet continuously spars the enduring endurance. Cap’s warrior spirit. Anyway, it isn’t where I was really going with this today. It is probably more difficult for the Ram man than it is for any other character in the Zodiac to negotiate partnerships, or even the very concept of other, significant or otherwise. So designed are you, Aries, to gain, have and maintain the proverbial edge—there’s that word again—over others, competition for survival cum dominance being encoded in your cosmic DNA, that finding a blendship with friends, let alone a lifelong infatuation, is challenging in the extreme. Cue that Lancelot song once more: His, and indeed your proclaiming your superiority packaged as simple honesty can be off-putting at best. And here’s where etymology starts to bring some theorizing all together: If you were to look up arete in your online dictionary the first word to pop up would likely be spelled with a circumflex, like this: arête, which means a sharp mountain ridge, again, recalling that razor’s edge. The second thing you’d probably see is the upper-case proper noun Arete, which is a Greek principle of excellence and moral virtue. Marrying these thoughts together, to excel, and to be exemplary, is to have the edge. Arete was typically assigned to heroes and nobles, as ever the twain meets in mythology—it shares the same root as the word aristocracy—while an aretology is a narrative about divine or superior being’s miraculous deeds. Though he may have been suspected of possessing it at the start of his story, one would not say that Jason had Arete in the end. For, it is about living up to one’s full potential and fulfilling individual purpose, drives that live in every Aries man. It is also linked to the Greek verb araomai meaning to pray, contemplation being considered the most sublime of human abilities to Aristotle and his pals. Of course the name Aristotle also shares the same root, and fittingly means “the best of all,” aristos totalis.
The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of Blagues, nos. 1306-1310. 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.
This time of year memories of different Christmas times come flooding back; well maybe not memories themselves but the feelings that were associated with this time or that in the past. Today I am feeling the vague, bleak loneliness of Cambridge in 1986 when I worked at the Harvest in Harvard Square. There was a cold, damp emptiness inside me for months and perhaps years on end. I clung to three or four friends for constant comfort in between work times; I partied with co-workers to ease the pain at the end of every shift. I supposed most people were doing likewise but I think back now and wonder if perhaps I was one of the only small group of individuals who didn’t have anything better to do than wait tables, party and try to have sex or avoid doing it through the vapid haze of repetitive quotidian nothingness. It’s a feeling of which I feel remnants, always, when I’m in New England. I feel similar emptinesses other places, all of which can see me courting some form of oblivion or other. You see, when you’re (not) parented in such a way where you are left to your own devices, unsupervised in the extreme, for years on end, you tend to get used to this sort of dreamstate existence of life. For me this was especially true growing up summers when I would wake whenever and pad down stairs barefoot in just gym shorts and a beach badge; and maybe head straight out of the house in the morning heat to the beach or boardwalk and just be in this fog of nothingness, maybe stoned and fourteen at 10AM in the morning haze where I felt set on a different speed than the multitutdes around me jockeying for parking spaces and blanket space as the sun pinged of everything chrome. The first smell of burgers frying in one of the boadwalk food stands; stepping on a half used ketchup packet.
It strikes me now that I could feel lost and oblivious in crowds of sunburned daytrippers, loud and smoking each with their own radio set to do battle with their temporary neighbors in the sandbox. Beats from cars, whistles from lifeguard stands, Coppertone and Hawaiian Tropic. So now when I have great feats of courage to perform, really or figuratively, there is always a part of me (and days at a time) where I rebel, I escape, I cave in, I self-deny and, yes, -destruct, taking to my bed immobilized by the challenges I set forth for myself. And I vacillate between this quiet form of sabotage and a brand of euphoria that comes from imagining it all happening in such a way. That is the only feeling to chase because it is more than a feeling it is an experiment in active faith. It’s all about getting beyond apologies.
I’m on two days now of really bad sleeping, waking up almost immediately around midnight and staying up all through it. Again, it’s because of the internal struggle going on with confronting self in light of projects at hand. But I am determined to make it part of the process. I also really haven’t eaten much these last two days which I’m not that worried about to be honest. I think on some level I know I’m in need of a bit of a fast and, without planning it, I just sort of fell into what might constitute that. But it isn’t the healthiest of methods. Honestly, my stomach hasn’t felt the same since England. I always seem to pick up some kind of Dickensian something while there, like a staff infection or the rickets or consumption. This time it felt a bit like typhoid to my over imaginative mind. And yet I have never been in better shape gearing up for what comes, year after year, this season. I am determined to have a whole helluva lot more fun this year than in previous ones.
We’ve had our tree for over a week and still only have white lights on it which is nice. It’s still drinking but it is losing some needles now. We will spend so much time away over the holidays—I must admit I get a secret thrill from that thought because, if you know me you know I could live in hotels for the rest of my life. I know it sounds hyperbolic but it ‘aint. Well I kind of feel like that tree. What do I mean by that? That I peaked too early and now I’m tired and losing needles. It should really all be so much simpler than I make it; at least that’s the prevailing opinion hanging in the air around here. And yet, the amount of creative output I do achieve is pretty legendary I think. I see others struggling with the same old projects and months and months pass; and despite the slog I encounter I do manage to get a great deal done with the least amount of grousing and the least amount of work for anybody else as I can possible affect. In fact I’m kind of a martyr that way I will admit.
George Bush I died. I know I shouldn’t be suckered by the likes of Andrea Mitchell and other supposedly progressive MSNBC type characters into a revisionist view of him; but, at the same time I can’t stand this knee-jerk liberal move to offer only good riddance. I know he wasn’t a moral saint who wanted a kinder America—I realize the thousand points of light thing was at least half a ploy. But he did work with Clinton and other democrats in the last twenty-five years; and I think he was far better than his scion; and he surely is better than the orange crap we have now. Anyway I just saw Brad Meltzer put up this long tribute. He whose career was in such large part made by gay men who really invested in him. Oh I don’t know what to think any more. Everything gets normalized. Oh well, I guess that’s the way the history cookie crumbles. Anyway, I can’t let Andrea Mitchell in black bum me out. I have stuff to do. I’ll just say I’m happy for members of the Bush family to have managed to live so long without consciences.
Oh well maybe we can stop talking about that dynasty now and focus on the dissolution of the present crime family. And I can get back to what can only be considered my excitement addiction. Tomorrow is back to Glow day which is fine. I think I’m sufficiently catching up in all my other arenas. “I hate that term,” (I paraphrase) is something I hear quite often; as often, at least, as I say it which is, well, often. The sustained spirit of elation that is the truest form of any euphoria is kept alive by diligance and determination for truth and goodness and honesty. If we just keep taking baby steps and human bites all should unfold pretty readily of its own accord. We are all the vessel and the vehichle. Certain enlightment would be achieved by the firing on all twelve cylinders. The creative part that makes my heart sing the most has to be the most constant throughline, the broadest band in my eternal width. That’s terrible.
Tomorrow I will catch up on all things Glow Festival which will be fun. I look forward to making some major inroads on that score in the next two months. Today, though, I start the process of getting the words into my brain. I’ve had a script for some time now but it’s sort of just an example of things I could say. I mean I will hit most marks anyway. It’s just a matter of how painful I allow the process to be which, I would like to say: not at all. It can all be turned into something way more pleasurable at this point and one of the other subjects I go on about so ad nauseum that I won’t even mention here is still an ongoing issue. Let’s just say I have success on that score in my sites. I’m sure I have some form of ADHD; I’m also pretty certain that this Blague was unconsciously/subconsciously designed to help me get over it. OMG, last year in February I realized I hadn’t written a single day’s entry since early October. Do you remember that? I had to catch up on five months. But I did it; and only slightly cheated a little here and there. Now I need to stay on topic which is the day.
There are so many ways to slice and dice the next few weeks of the year; and I do plan on entering 2019 with a renewed hope. I can’t get everything from any one. But I do think i can get a lot in the process by giving myself more time and space. Also in the offering of myself forgiveness. We used to have this expression, dating back to 1984/5 called “second semester” which is a blanket term to describe a sort of self-imposed ascetism and forgoing of such earthly pleasures that aren’t conducive to a little weight loss, the if only slight changing of hair and fashion style, plus an uptick in overall clarity as evidenced in part by a longlost glimpse in cheekbones and the reemerging of some semblance of a jawline.
Yesterday was pretty fun I must say. I wrote a lot in the morning and somewhere in the back of my mind I did want to get to the opening of the new Community Center Arts but I knew I wouldn’t likely make the actual ribbon cutting ceremony. I made a sort of delicious stew, with, well, stewed tomatoes, bok choy, chicken, cashew and some leftover browned sauce from the roast. It was delicious and filling. Anyway, I haven’t been going on about food simply because I haven’t really been in the kitchen as per usual. This time last year I remember doing so much with food but ever since I’ve removed potatoes, grains of all kind, and am trying to err on the keto side (not that I know if that’s even good for me) I was having more fun. I think I may have to go back to that a bit. Anyway, I’m not saying that my fun was fueled by legumes, which I also no longer eat, but it was creative to have more leeway in the kitchen. And besides what I’m trying to get to is that I’m getting a bit more turned on by the kitchen again and yesterday I floated the idea of cauliflower crust pizza and it went over really well and even included accompanying red wine so I did all the ingredient shopping, including cheescloth, for squeezing the liquid out of roasted riced cauliflower, and I got the wine, and I got to stop by the Community Center. And it was our first time really plowing through the show, songs foremost.
With all that’s going on in the world I still can’t get my brain around the timeline in the Mama Mia movies. Either Meryl Streep had Amanda Seyfried at 40 (which is doubtful since she had to hide the pregnancy from her peers and parents) or the Amanda Seyfriend character is actually aged 50. If we could negotiate this problem I think we can fix so much of what’s wrong with the world today.
Sorry about the above but sometimes certain thoughts occupy my brain. Anyway, it was fun to have a little break but broth now again replaces wine as the evening libation as I put body, mind and spirit into training mode leading up to the next high feast day. I did spend the day getting the tour-work moving and contacting folks at theaters on that score. I will (over the holidays not now) get a comprehensive document together listing all the possible venues and put a letter out there. I also hope to get myself into some board rooms for what will be the Boston based Glow Festival. If I can be a part of generating income for artists in the New England region that would be a very worthwhile endeavor. I hope that I will get equal support from venues and from artists. Such that I would communicate the fact that we are literally putting this together, from both sides.
I keep getting clues from the Universe, in any case, that we are on the right track. Twice I found items—a receipt, a photo—that dated back to our most original foray into the world of manufacturing. I even forgot that much of what we ended up doing in 2006 had its roots a decade, even, before that. It is therefore reassuring to remember that this has been a part of us for a long time; and there is a certain sense of reuniting with (your)self on this very subject. In a sense that it isn’t a fall-back plan by any stretch of the imagination, but that it is part and parcel of plan A. What is required in any form of plan A is the getting together, and keeping together, of oneself. This is a literal form of integrity. A mind-body-spirit form that is essential to the succesful achievement of anything really.
I don’t want to give the wrong impression with this post today because I’m not being negative or poor-pity-me in any sense of the word. In fact, I think the reason I can broach this subject is because I no longer carry the kind of sensitivity I once did regarding this: That if I were more well respected a figure I could get away with opinions I hold. I have often re-posted posts from Penny Arcade, for instance, which express my own ideas because she will get an outpouring of support for such positions as would invite ire by people if I were to do it. I am not a popular figure and that is just a fact; and people have seen me as an easy target for their own hate a phobis, especially in the downtown queer community where I have never had the acceptance that so-called straight folks have.
Alot of these people, performers in particular, get away with theft and murder daily and it never effects their standing. I cite Penny again here who will point out when artists are stealing from her or others; calling out the sycophants and the poseurs and those who are doing what they’re doing for attention not for the expression of their creativity, at least in a slanted ratio that neither she (nor I) find authentic. I have seen even my closest friends succomb to life lived inside the bubble of NYC’s limping downtown artistic scene. The truth is, too, that NYC is over. Well, Manhattan is over for sure. But all of it, really. I know this one actor (I will keep it genderless) for instance who is British and had houses bought for them in London and in Brooklyn and they have never had to work a day in their life and they comes from famous aristocratic and actor/writer parents and has been given (along with their partner who also has never worked a day in their life) every opportunity to “make it” now in their late forties as an actor; and all of that is fine except that people like this pose as down and out figures, faux hipsters, who look upon (and I would say down their noses) at the more hard-working and earnest people who, like Penny or myself or countless others, have never had a single thing handed to them in their life and who still create and not only that seek to elevate others who genuinely struggle in the process.
Every person I have known over the years (and there are many) who have gone on to secure fame as an performer, well, as an actor really, never had to lift a pinkie to do anything else but let their ships come in over the kind of calm seas that parental or grandparental or stepparental money could support. It is just the way it goes. I can think of singular exceptions but even they were groomed via Performing Arts High School and Julliard and the like. My parents were never going to give any amount for college if I studied any kind of art. It’s sad, and I wish it was different, but that’s the way it is. As it is I spent my whole adult life paying back the student loans they took out so really I paid for the education I didn’t choose. I wish I hadn’t thought this notion through because it actually makes me feel sick. Oh well, perish that thought; because, again, I am able to put this into words I think because I really have transcended much of the sensitivity I feel regarding the original point of this post—that some people will get praise for saying the very same words that invite hatred when I utter them. So yes getting away with theft (actually stealing other people’s creative ideas—I’m looking at you Taurus people ha—just kidding, sorta) and the murder of being total assholes and getting away with it because why? Because they have kissed their way up the asses of so many people over the years they now receive the same kind of treatment back. As for me, I will continue to drop it like I’m Penny.
To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°, for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360 degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.
Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go! Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.