Taurus 12° (May 1)
Rabbit, rabbit, once again. May Day will be a final hoorah of sorts, this time for real, with scallops, hopefully, and the last buckets for thirty days. If all goes to plan I will only have to make two stops in Provincetown. As it is I think I will avoid the bigger stores all together and focus on making wee purchases at the fish shop or health food store. They institute a mandatory mask policy for Ptown today so that is a good thing. I need to check the front door and see if our gloves have been delivered. I noticed a delivery across the road which I hope isn’t our stuff wrongly delivered there. To invest and investigate, I wrote it down. So I am seriously functioning on zero sleep here and the greater part of my itch seems to have passed, let us hope. I need to make appointment with my (new primary) and seek to reschedule that certain procedure that people my age and older need to get, and I need to contact the dermatologist office here as well. I woke at 2 a.m. and watched Taxi Driver and then I just lay there mulling over everything that was on my mind, work-wise and creatively. And before I knew it, it was 5 a.m. and I had to get upstairs to work. The only thing is that now it is nearly 8 and I’m yawning and haven’t made much of a dent. So here are some of the paragraphs I have to write today me thinks. Actually turns out there is only one: Central — core collection is the gilet, essentially a sleeveless coat with poetic license to function in various lengths and styles—from blouse to vest to tunic to bodice—straight-sided or cinched at the waist. The gilet is designed for freedom of movement andof expression, as it can be worn any number of ways.
It is one of the darnest things, though, that I stumbled upon a forgotten bit of joint and so was able to give myself a little gifty. Fun, right? After a morning of bring it all home we had a client and then headed to the big city of Orleans Cape Cod, masked and ready to make three quick stops that yielded scallops for dinner tonight and some sayanara celebratories. We had a BLT salad for our luncheon and then I lay down just as The Roman Spring of Mrs Stone was coming on. I only dozed for about fifteen minutes near the end of the film, but it is enough. Our client said she’s been sleeping twelve hour sleeps. I’ve decided that’s what I want for myself in this coming month, for sure. Anyway I had a meal to make of scallops and leeks and fingerlings. And I needed to get a jump on the menus for the week as well. I am feeling fine but it isn’t going to last. At the same time I am going to be hyper productive and do a bunch of spring cleaning tomorrow to be sure. I want so much to transcend the state I’m in. I know with this new book that we will definitely be getting ourselves out there again, but there are so many imitators now on the market it isn’t easy to work our way up and threw. Someone put out a book about the color associated with your day (using Pantone) which, of course, was one of my ideas. I need to get my brain around the fact that people have been eating our lunch, which is fine, but I need to get my brain around how to make all the truth work.
But for now I’m simply going to enjoy this evening and laugh and have some fun. We’re Here is a great show and I’m really enjoying it. The Hollywood show was of course Ryan Murphy. First of all the cast members—Darren Criss, Holland Taylor—were a giveaway; but so was the slick, pat and campy production value. I was surprised to see that my friend Dan had directed an episode (I wonder how many) because he is much better than that show and really has done some artistic work of note and merit. But it’s a Provincetown thing. They both live there and so, over complimentary appetizers some kiss-ass restaurateur would have sent to the table, a deal would have been made to slap dash that shit together and put it on the screen. And still it’s tempting but it’s cheap, trading on the revisionist theme in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, by Tarantino. Anyway, I’m going to really think about all this. I will probably check out a few more episodes only because there are some good people in it, like Mira Sorvino and Brester Paget and Jim Parsons, all of whom I really like. But these actors that find their way into the Murphy universe—I dunno—there is something sad and demeaning about it. I never saw the American Horror with Billy Eichner. I’ve tried to be friendly toward him and I loved his live show and guerrilla TV work back in the day, but he’s the kind of guy for whom any kind of fame goes to his head. And so you kind of don’t want to give those people more attention than they think they deserve. I see people re-posting things from C.N. which is great. She wrote a “how to read three bits of your own chart” book; it’s not anything that hasn’t been published a thousand times over the last hundred years. But because she’s an “activist” and “queer” and all the rest, she has a lot of momentum with “the community” which happens to find themselves in vogue right now. And she calls herself a writer, which is great. We think of ourselves as writers first as well. And I know this will sound like sour grapes and I swear to you it isn’t: It’s a lot of smoke and mirrors. What we do is so totally different. We don’t offer the masses downloadables of video or other such content on “Uranus entering Taurus” or some such and charge fifty bucks a head (stupid of us probably because she gets like tens of thousands of people buying that stuff). We work with clients one on one. We really are trained astrologers. We know our craft and we have a wonderful clientele who pays us handsomely to work with them very intimately in helping them spiral their way upward toward greatest success. That is the real work. And as writers we are humanist astrologers who are deeply steeped in archetype. It’s what motivates us. I’m closer to a writer like Joseph Campbell or even Madeline Miller than I am C. who, power to her, is doing fantastically and I think everyone should get theirs. She’s had a lot of help. Shonda Rimes or whoever she is…
The following blocks of texs are exceprts from my first year of Blagues, nos. 206-210 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 hope you all read that a dozen times. We arrived yesterday afternoon in Grenoble where we met on our study abroad program, exactly thirty-two years ago this month. As we drove from Lake Geneva, down, through Annecy, and arrived in this Alpine city, the gateway to the south, where we go today, I had butterflies like crazy. I was expecting to find a dreary, dull town, worse off than when I left it, with little interest but vague nostalgia, but I discovered the opposite: a culturally rich and beautiful little city along a river, that used to be neon green with industrial chemicals, now clean and pure, it’s ancient fish returned. I know this because my “french family” told me. When I was nineteen here I lived with a young couple, Gérard, who was 30 and Christine who was twenty-eight and their two and a half year old boy, Laurent. On this study-abroad program, as I said, I met Stella-Lynne. On the last night in Grenoble we baby sat Laurent so that Gérard et Christine could go out (for once) and they did, all night. We had a train first thing the next morning and Laurent kept us up all night. I had to mimic his father’s voice to keep him in line but I thought of that trick to late. No sleep. Gérard was fresh as a daisy at four a.m. when they came home and by five he was driving us to the train station. “Dites pas au revoir,” he said, “mais à bientôt.” Okay, so thirty-two years later I arranged with Laurent to suprise him and Christine, and we met at a restaurant last evening near our hotel and didn’t take a single ussie because we forgot, no, we, didn’t think of it because it was a genuine experience.
As I write this Stella’s iphone alarm is “ringing” with Nina Simone singing “Here Comes The Sun.” Read Dane Rudhyar’s words one more time because there can be no better summation of the key to today’s symbol and I would fail if I tried to top that. All I can say is what I kept saying yesterday as I walked along the Isère and through Grenobles winding ancient streets: “I feel reborn. I feel like this is a new beginning. I feel alive. I feel revitalized. I feel like this is a fresh start. I feel like a giant thread has been woven back through the most essential fabric of my being and I’m no longer holding onto some mythic past because my present is suffused with all that is essential and relevant about it. I am filled with love and hope and renewal. I am the fox. I am the rooster. I am the dawn.
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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