Pisces 11° (March 1)

Doing a big version of the Monday clean up. Top to bottom, je blaze, and I’ll do a dump run and tet that out of the way. Another day of nothing much happening work-wise, but am getting up to speed on how to make the best of my time in the next ninety to one-hundred and twenty days. For what it’s worth And, truth be told, in staying within her signature small orbit, Gemini makes magic on the daily, forever tinkering with, tweaking her immediate surroundings, both physical and ideologic, for the better, endlessly adding little touches and making upgrades to her environment and the general atmosphere of her lifestyle. Feathering her nest, actually and metaphorically, is Gemini’s main preoccupation, befitting her avian astrological archetype. She is forever in a process of preparation for some inevitability, inspired into action by the next event on the horizon, that next hatched plan. In this way, she is always putting something together, without ever having to think too far ahead. And, again, it’s not just the next wing-ding she is putting together, but people too, part and parcel of the Twins’s superpower being the making of successful matches, partnerships that entail equal, shared effort in the “great work” and happenstance of building a successful, seamless professional and private life. Gemini busy bee doesn’t shy away.  

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1666-1670. 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.

So I don’t know what to tell you. It is the same and different all at once. I look back, I reflect. I think I could have done something differently; but nothing ever really changes and people build there little tree houses or whatever they do and they manage to squeak by, not really working, somehow always ending up surfacing, living off renting out the detritus of their existence. I have nothing more to give. Today is the day that I put it all on the line. I am bedridden, sick as a dog. S. will go out to get nails done while I lie there going in and out of sleep. She will return with medicaments naturale. I’ve succombed to sinus pain, cough, sore throat and fever. Oh well. I never get sick so I’m not really that concerned about it to be honest. I am trying to find something to watch on this weird, ancient television. With all the resources around here they don’t update anything. It’s just the way it is. Priorities. No judgments. They will all be going into town today to see the nutcracker. I will attempt to have some semblance of a life. I will try to work. It won’t work.  I am readying myself for this last three weeks at home. Really that is all it will be, I need to contact Jim about stuff. I want to get a haircut and get all my deliveries in. I want to find something nice to wear. I hope the thrift shops will be open this week. The one thing is I am going to prioritize some exercise, wardrobe, grooming and all such things as often get left in the dust. Weird how all the people I have fallings out with begin to overlap. It does very much feel like I’ve cut myself off from pretty much everyone. Or they from me perhaps. There is no use crying over spilled milquetoast. I have enough on my plate to keep my busy and happy in the process. Nobody will give a rat’s ass about most of the people shouting for praise.

Honestly I don’t know what you people want. I wish I had a clue as to what level of attention you think you deserve and why it is you desire it. I am all but gone from social media. I do not promote this Blague. I don’t want anything from anyone. “I want what I have.”—Starsky + Cox. I cannot understand all the greed. Not for money but for attention. How desperate have we become as a people. I don’t care what you think about the play you’re seeing or the food you’re eating. I have become so jaded and cynical and sad. I can’t explain why it is there is such a dearth of joy and giving in the world. I only know that in order to change it we need to make stronger, bolder moves. I can no longer live in fear. I don’t live in fear in fact. I live in a bit of horror if anything. Horror at the world. Horror at the prices of being alive. Horror at the lack of compassion one for another. Since when, I wonder, is someone like Parker “pals” with those creepy orphan people? When in hell would folks like Justin Elizabeth and Dolly overlap. How can it be that this world is not just some hologram of my own nightmares? The grifters of the world are the most obvious and disastrous and strange. I have nothing to do but be healthy and happy. I don’t know why everyone else out there is complaining so much as they dangle tidbits meant to make everyone else on the planet feel less than. I have taken myself completely out of all of that nonesense. I really have to give myself nothing but half an hour a day to get down my thoughts and feelings about all or any of this. I long to travel more and to make my little journeys.

The truth is that I will only ever get through a portion of what I need to accomplish today which is actually absolutely fine. I cannot overachieve anymore. I do need to get myself into some sort of shape so that I can feel my natural confidence soar. I don’t mean physically or even emotionally, but definitely spiritually. That is the only manner of being that truly matters in any case. I am prety delirious lying here all day. They will go from the ballet to Myers + Chang and I will ask for some hot and sour soup and some fried rice and I will eat it rather late and then fall asleep after watching all but the last Chernobyl. I’m running out of things to watch in the evening. I should be reading. I am only here for a very short time. And then I have to float around with no real place to stay; and then I must make my way to the airport. But that is not for another three weeks, in which span of time I will go to New York and be back in Boston a couple of times. It should all be good. I know there is much magic in all of this. I cannot believe how long it’s been since I’ve seen certian friends. I have such a sense of abandonment it’s not real. seriously i cannot emotionally handle it.

how can that be? how can I be so affected by lawn decor

i think people are extra honking as they go by

or I’m imagining it. in any case lawn decor should not cause me to disassociate from myself (is that the term?)

There is this mandate for me to say more than this. It is like pulling teeth. I really don’t know where to begin. I feel as though I will disappoint myself in the coming weeks, once again. I have unrealistic expectations. I do do the same things over and over and think I’ll be spared the same results. It is definitely something I do. I have to make a sharp turn and stay off every kind of carb for the next nine days. As such I might have a ghost of a chance to shed a little before these upcoming parties. I will dust off the top hat I have sitting in the closet—a gift from a troll of a character with a nearby business. Really he’s just a crotchety thief of a pothead (and I think drug dealer too). One of the nasty sheep that find their way into one fold or other here on the tip of olde Cape Cod. Salonpas. There I said it. Been stuck in my brain all day. Had to get it out. Phew. I forwarded the information about the Orphans show on to Bill Mumy. I didn’t get any response. I must be resolved. I have begun perusing the people I need to approach. I sent out a whole bunch of FB pleas for people to give to the festival at the last of the year. Not a single response. I will do the same by email but I dare say it might be ineffectual. I could make an event of it I suppose but it just seems such a waste of time. I think I’m better off focusing on what I might achieve on larger, more scalable level. But first I must continue to invest in myself. And to that end I must look on the bright side or I’ll never move the spoon, so to speak. I have just a few weeks left on this rock and I’ve got to make the best of it. I look at my hands and they look weird and swollen like my father’s and it repulses me. I wonder if they will ever be slender again. Such a silly, selfish thought, perhaps.

I remember the feeling of anonymity growing up and how wonderful it was. That was the beauty of living in the 1970s. You could drive a truck through space and time that is how vast it felt. I could, as a kid, summers, at the Jersey Shore, walk out the door on any given weekday morning, the early warmth and floral smells pervading my being, the grainy cement of the sidewalk tickling my soles; and I could head off in any direction feeling every grain of my being. I suppose the answer is always meditation. I think that (and yoga) is the only answer to everything. I believe I have to stop and prioritize this. I have the resources to make this a part of my daily life. I can even go twice a day if I so choose. That’s what people who do yoga study do. Why should I not do the same. I see no reason to avoid the obvious. We have to find ways, nowadays, to recapture the natural spirit of how things should be. I am not contributing anything to the world writing this Blague as of late. I can tell I am creatively dry by the nature of this work. It’s okay so long as this dry spell gives rise to something better. It cannot all be fertile output all the time. We have to go through these spells. I think of all the transmutations of this endeavor. There have been so many incarnations. In the first year it was all about following the Sabian symbols; then it became a platform for various other creative and academic ideas. It also served as a kind of psychological exercise. There have been moments of Dada insanity. I do wish to go to Venice but I think maybe the winter is the only time to go after all. I’m going to champion that instinct. I will write to them today for sure. At the core I will get down to absolute basics. I will completely batten down the hatches in my office and begin to catalogue my books in librarian fashion. I will be more brutal in my editing of clothing from my wardrobe. These things will happen in the coming days as I plan my proverbial exit.

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.