Pisces 13° (March 4)
This Leaving Neverland documentary is hard to take on so many levels, not least of which is the abuse of withholding his love and attention from the boys he molested (and manipulated into falling in love with him), burdening them with such dark secrets to bear alone. To me that is the cruelest bit about it. I wonder who in Jackson’s you life molested him in this fashion. One of the older 5? Parents? Who knows but I can guarantee this pattern didn’t start with M.J. but wow did it ever go out of control. To have all that money to build an entire ranched designed for pedophilia is like ancient Rome type level perversion. It is so very shocking. And yet there are those, like MJ’s other pre-pubescent companions, who will claim that it was an impossibility. Anyway, far too much of this morning will be spent watching this shite. And there will be more phone and Skype calls with friends to plan trips to hotels and spas; and frankly I’m just sick of the constant distractions. It occurs to me that I need some kind of agreement between the two of us on the subject of anything we are jointly taking in. I am not loving this day, but I will somehow have to find some kind of throughline to make it all make sense. At times everything just seems to fizzle into nothingness. We had an agent approach us, someone we’ve known for awhile, but instead of wanting to hear our idea, s/he had an idea for us to do. How is that supposed to work? Why don’t we just pull book ideas out of a hat instead. I mean really. I know I can’t do everything right but I’m tired of the must-be-doing-something wrongs. I am going to take a major step back and try to find something that makes my heart sing again. I left the world of publishing for a reason: the constant run-around. If I’m going to reenter it it’s going to be on my own terms. Seriously.
Stoned immaculate makes so much sense to me. I remember the feeling well as a youngster in the pure suburban late spring air and sunshine, being so overtaken, a cow in the distance, walking through the tall grass with friends so many astride, what a glorious feeling to be young and alive and anonymous. The 1970s had so much breadth. Mornings walking to middle school in March when the earthworms would emerge and you had to step over them and puddles while some would cut the poor creatures in half—I don’t remember of they became two different worms or not. I do know that from the primordial Pisces ruled time and ooze these two gendered wrigglers emerge. We are this close today to being totally amazing. And I’m going to do it. I’m also giving myself something of a genuine last hoorah. I have to turn the corner with the changing of the time this coming weekend. The ensuing spring bids me back to my body. I want to buy a windbreaker. I want to ride my bicycle. I want to be in the breeze. It’s a long time coming this winter as lamby as it was for much of it, this last leg is going to make for a cold spring too me thinks. It’s all part of the divine unfolding, even these banal things. I get glimpses of the future I also feel for myself in my process.
I remember the optimism I felt when….when….oh dear, I just lost that thought. I was probably referring to a composite of various times in our lives. Let’s say it was when our first book was just coming out and there was this exhilirating sense of the unknown and the unknowable. I can get back to that garden. Oh I know I was thinking about the advent of moving from Myspace to Facebook and how it felt so connecting and modern and fun and like we were all onto something new and beneficial. It did feel like a legitimately new world. And in my more recent past we spent winters in Los Angeles and it was so affordable to do so. I’m going to need to be at the top of my game again very very soon. Like tomorrow really. C’est bien possible. Tout est possible. It will be smart for me to keep a low profile, again, if only for the next several weeks. I love Courtney Barnett. I’ve just sipped the last sip, metaphorically speaking. So I will continue this a little later (and by that I mean tomorrow). One of my goals (once again….and I say once again because lost in the annals of this Blague somewhere is some similar treatise) is to begin, on day one of Spring, with an integrated plan and social-media presence. So much on the brain today. I can feel the tide turning for the better and yet I am all cramped up in anticipation of the inevitable extinction burst.
The writing is on the wall in any case. I have to be pristine now in so many areas. This new venture is going to require so much fortitude and my fear is that I won’t devote (or won’t be allowed to devote) as much creativity to it as it needs. That is why for me it must dovetail with other efforts and other emeans of manifestation. We will get into all of that…
To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree of the Sabian Symbol may be higher than the one listed here as the symbols cluminate in the next degree. There are 360 degrees spread over 365 days.
Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
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