Pisces 6° (February 25)


Paris, Day Thirty Three of Sixty. And Day Five of Bikram. Had Michael as teacher and Marine was there. I did both triangles which is kind of a big deal. Came back and Timmie was already in the flat with her crap everywhere talking on speaker phone and eating. Ca va pas. It was really creepy trying to get ready and use the loo with this weirdo cleaner here. The agency is going to get a mouthful. We walked to Place Vendom to Carier and passed that evil Jose along the way. I don’t know what the universe is telling me, having me bump into that scary, rude, superior-acting creature. But it figures that he was you know whose boyfriend for years. They are both soulless posers with nothing but snark and narcissism running through their icy veins. Me no like. I think that might be the Cosmic Blague of the situation. Reminding me of the fact that I have often made very bad choices when it comes to friends. Cartier was kind of fun. And then it was a straight shot down Castiglione to Solferino to Raspail. It began to pour and we ducked into a café just at the start of rue Saint Dominique. Le Drop I think it was called. We shared a jambon emmenthal sandwich and had americanos. Then we headed to class where we studied the imperfect plus the conditionel as compared with the present and future simple. Then to Café de la Nouvelle Mairie where we were to meet/not meet/ok yes meet Nan. Two Gaillac, an endives pear and Roquefort salad and Saucisse with white peas. Then off to Cine Club of which it was both the anniversary of the thing and the birthday of the founder. They showed clips from a Woody Allen I had never seen plus one of Christopher Walken, one of Joaquim Phoenix, one from some Italian film where Bruce Springsteen stings and then The Last Picture Show which was incredible since it is the one film we always ironically brag about not having seen. There was this little party reception afterward which was so so French. And then we got a car home. I have to continue with posting some of the intros I’m working on.


As we move from the world of appearances and Light and heights of the Conscious Mind of Libra to the hidden dark, underworld Subconscious Mind of Scorpio, we embrace the Chthonian (subterranean) archetypes (personified as Scorpio people). Ladies first: We explore the Queen of the Underworld, the original femme fatale, Persephone, who sat frozen, entranced on her throne, the proverbial makerwhom you’d may be loath to meet. In mythology, Persephone is Kore (the Virgo Virgin) in her underground aspect. Kore turned to Persephone when she was raped/captured/dragged down to the underworld by its god, Pluto, namesake for Scorpio’s planetary ruler. And like Persephone, who is akin to Kali, Scorpio woman is a snapshot of the goddess in her destroyer aspect, which is worse than it sounds. First, as far as astrology goes,  there is no death—only regeneration, something, which, along with all forms of deep transformation, is endemic to this sign. Scorpio has many totems, all of a piece—scorpion, spider, serpent, lizard, dragon, eagle, phoenix and so forth. Planet Pluto’s orbit, is elliptical, following a pattern like that of the phoenix rising and falling and rising again—regeneration, transformation, reincarnation, reinvention. Up from the ashes come the roses…Scorpio archetype Scarlett O’Hara will “never be hungry again”, she vows, chomping on a subterranean root vegetable excavated from the destruction of her former life (Tara: read terra, Earth, that former Kore-Virgo incarnation). No. She will spin a web and all will be caught in it. That is the way of the Scorpio woman. She chases nothing and nobody. The fixed-water sign (read: ice) lies in wait and entrances (read: paralyzes) others into doing her bidding. And we thank her for it, grateful to be tenderly trapped by her Spiderwoman’s kiss and to see her feast on what we bring to the table to please her. She is like some lady spy whom we know is only telling us half the story, hiding much behind her wry Mona Lisa smile—what does she know that we don’t know? For one thing: to make no apologies for herself and to live life on her own terms, which includes your happily playing the role she assigns you. Should you go against whatever fate the zodiac’s Persephone has in store for you, then, quicker than you can say Demi Moore, you will feel the full wrath of this dragon lady. Some fiery-icy Scorpio femme fatales who’ve made their way onto the silver screen are Vivian Leigh, Hedy Lamarr, Grace Kelly, Gene Tierney, Anne Hathaway, Veronica Lake, Dorothy Dandridge, Louise Brooks, Joanna Moore, Jean Seberg, Lauren Hutton, Tabu, Anna Wintour, Sally Field, Gabriel Union, Jodie Foster, Winona Ryder, Holly Hunter, Tilda Swinton, Demi Moore, Julia Roberts, Emma Stone, Ciara, Rachel McAdams, Sean Young, Björk, Goldie Hawn,

The sign of Scorpio rules the genitalia, something we’ve had fun exploring in view of people of the sign personifying its energy. Maybe because we have so long lived in a Lizard King patriarchy, it’s Scorpio lady’s unabashed embracing of her potent womanhood that’s spurred the notion that she’s the most infamous of females. Yes, she is the zodiac’s unapologetic Scarlett O’Hara who is also voted most likely to be slapped with a scarlet letter. Imagine Georgia O’Keeffe opening a gallery in 17th century Salem? Sex and death and regeneration are all associated with Scorpio’s astrological 8th house. The abyss inhabited by the sign’s planetary namesake god of the underworld, Pluto, and his female counterpart Persephone, symbolizes the subconscious, the subversive, all that is hidden, a mystery, as death (mort) and sex (petit mort) are; and if Scorpio man is, like his totem serpent/dragon/snake, a probing, investigative if not prickly character, then Scorpio woman personifies—Persephonizes—the dark interior itself. Earth’s crystalized cave interior matches Scorpio’s assignation as the fixed-water (ice, crystals) sign. Scorpio woman is the unseen, enigma incarnate. And, if Scorpio guy can be something of a dick, then we will let you finish this sentence yourself. The point is that Scorpio woman is well aware of the power she wields and how threatening, diminishing, if not castrating her vagina-dentata character might make her. She knows it automatically weeds out the faint of heart, the phonies, the wannabes and the sycophants, as she demands the company of strong figures and, when it comes to male lovers, those virile enough to match her concentrated, potent femininity. Otherwise she might flash that Mona Lisa smile or outright laugh in your face while pointing lower. Persephone, akin to Kali, is the goddess in her destroyer aspect and it is on this archetype that Scorpio woman draws. Persephone is the proverbial maker you meet upon entering her own dark, moist underworld where she decides your fate based on your earthly deeds. Go ask Alice or any of these Scorpio female inhabitants of W-underland what’s what: Grace Slick, Joni Mitchell, Helen Reddy, Mary Travers, Shere Hite, Roseanne, Kathy Griffin, Whoopi Goldberg, Hillary Clinton, Kate Clinton, Condoleezza Rice, Jenny McCarthy, Ann Sexton, George Elliot, Marie Curie, Sylvia Path, Ethel Waters, Marie Antoinette, Indira Ghandi, k.d. lang, Margaret Mitchell, Georgia O’Keeffe.


In our book Sextrology, the Scorpio Man chapter is titled The Stranger. Like his archetypal god Pluto, namesake of the planet ruler of the sign, Scorpio men choose not to live on some bright, shining Olympus as part of any pantheon of other joiners, but rather inhabit their own dominion—Pluto’s underworld symbolizes ones inner life and the realm of the subconscious. Scorpio man finds fatuous the world of appearances—rose-colored glasses aren’t endemic to his fashion sense. He is a born outsider, an anti-hero, and he delves the depths of experience that are typically hidden from view, whether they be taboo aspects of life or the murmurings of our own repressed psychology. Scorpio is deep. And he can be dark if only to bring the unknown and unexplored to light—just as those alternatively attempting to keep things light tend to cast a long shadow of repression. Scorpio man can get under our skin in an attempt to root out our secrets; he acts on subconscious instinct to cure what ails us as, the saying goes, for individuals or society as a whole: We are only as sick as said secrets. So bid enter the brooding, seemingly pessimistic, subversive miner for meaning and hearts of gold: Albert Camus, Pablo Picasso, Neil Young, Johnny Carson, Dick Cavett, Charles Bronson, Robert Mapplethorpe, Seth MacFarlane, Roberto Benigni, Richard Burton, Christopher Columbus, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Joachim Phoenix, Auguste Rodin, Bram Stoker, Dylan Thomas, Kurt Vonnegut, Jonathan Winters, Leon Trotsky, Gordon Ramsay, Lyle Lovett, John Keats, Neil Gaiman, Matt Drudge, Rodney Dangerfield, Claude Rains, Voltaire.

As each sign is associated with a different set of body parts, Scorpio rules our tender bits and pieces. We’ve had a lot of fun writing about this and in our live shows too, when we’ve gone through the entire zodiac talking about the various personality types per sign vis à vis its anatomical rule. For Scorpio man is, by nature rather rigid—being a fixed sign—with a, shall we say, stiff countenance—he tends to turn his whole upper body, not just his head, to look this way or that. (Think of Johnny Carson.) The sign of Scorpio boasts multiple totems including the lizard, the snake, the serpent, the dragon, the phoenix and, you might say that the male of the sign is, on the whole, fairly reptilian looking. Okay fine—no beating around the bush (ha, ha) he can look like a penis: with his signature sinewy physique, veiny extremities, hooded hairline, if he has hair at all—Scorpio does bald quite readily—never mind his penchant for turtlenecks. And the metaphor extends to his personality which is best described as probing if not intrusive, insistent if not unrelenting and, yes, often, truly deep. Nobody invests more interest and concern in, or is it control over?, those he loves; and nobody can be a bigger prick when crossed. Take a look at this list of Scorpios and you tell us if it’s all phallus-y or not: Adam Driver, David Schwimmer, Damon Wayans, Seth MacFarlane, Owen Wilson, Matthew McConaughey, Dolph Lundgren, Ted Turner, Howard Dean, Dylan McDermott, Dermot Mulroney, Leonardo DiCaprio, Joachim Phoenix, Ryan Gosling, Sam Rockwell, Gerard Butler, Johnny Lee Miller, Ethan Hawke, Mads Mikkelson, Ben Foster, Chris Noth, F. Murray Abraham, Wallace Shawn, Sam Shepherd, Romany Malco, Bob Hoskins, Ed Asner and B.D. Wong.


To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree pointof the Sabian Symbol will be one degree higher than the one listed for today. 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 or 6 days per year—so they near 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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