Virgo 28° (September 19)
Libra is soon to be here and I have to say I’m pretty happy about it. I have a lot on my plate and still some notes on my desk that I ened to sort through en route to making this week count and my work stick. The weather is really dark and going to get stormier as Teddy rages out at sea. To be honest I believe that it will hit New England in a sudden turn but that is my spidey sense. I slept until nine thirty yesterday which is pretty much unheard of. I know my body is trying to recalibrate after the long summer. I say long but was it? I really loved My Brilliant Friend and I will always associate it with this summer’s end. I actually miss the characters which is strange.
Architects, entrepreneurs. Comes at you like a puppy. Rugged individualism. Skanda, Stark. Jupiter Zeus and Indra for Sagittarius. 33 Gods in the Hindu pantheon. Rudra personifies terror “to howl” war cry. Rude, i.e. unnamed nature. Individualism over collectivism. What did I say today oh yes: The Narrowing. How (the rise of) Narcissism and Social Divisiveness Has Led to Niche Individualism. Something like that. It was better originally but isn’t everything. There is so much to say and yet I have been spread as thin as margarine on melba toast. It is so impossible with this administration to ever feel hopeful. And we have got to get back to that hope place. I just don’t know what we will do with ourselves if bozo the psychopath gets reelected and we still can’t leave the country. I mean this is some dark shit I never expected to encounter in a million years. I’m going to pop a bottle of organic prosecco and make myself a spritz and postpone coping for a day or so.
The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of Blagues, nos. 866-870. 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.
When I think about letting myself stay some place for a good long time, traveling around Italy let us say over the course of a month or six weeks, I get anxious, which is a new sensation associated with this sort of thing. And so all the more reason to get over it. I think it will be fantastic to spend the time this autumn in Europe as planned, come home and do a whole lot of early spring cleaning in January and, come February, hightail it back to Europe and stay until earliest April, when I have another show in Cambridge.
Why not really get to know Italy. And then every six months or every year, if need be, pick another country. A country a year for the next thirty years? Why not? That to me sounds incredibly life affirming. And something for which I’d like to be relaxed and thin (so I can wear anything and feel in my skin). Like the Zodiac says, with it’s first house of the physical Self, I need to work on my own cult of the body. Which is fun and actually the antidote to any kind of sag in confidence; or rather put it this way, if we took the Spartan ideal of focusing on the physique, first, an attempt at physical perfection, that would surely foster whatever natural confidence, read swagger, one might have. And, again to look at the Zodiac’s twelfth house which precedes it, we have to dissolve away all impediments first, to gain that spiritual sense of floating, drifting, being at one with the mists and foams and fogs so that we can emerge from them in the most surrendered of fashion. All of this (and more, probably) to illustrate a feeling I’m chasing, a halcyon spirit.
It is something we have taken for granted, that calm we thought would always be there. And it wasn’t a surplus of good hard work which sought to undermine it. It was the indulgence of relaxation and ignorance of the body, that temple of flesh and blood that must be exercised and shaped. But we needn’t beat ourselves up about not re-starting some physically challenging regimen (first house), instead we might focus on the energetic (the immaterial twelfth house) aspect of self, where we are pure energy as all matter is. When we imagine ourselves as such, the space between our atoms can release all that is gathered there, whether we see it as tension or something denser. That’s where I’m trying to live these next two weeks—in the purely mutable waters of my truest being.
I know it isn’t easy to be uplifted these days. All the more reason to get out there and offer people home. We must get beyond the petty antics of others, a challenge when those we put in power embody the worst of humanity. But never mind. Speak truth to power and keep fighting the good fight, waving your sword of righteousness and powering through.
What trips up most people is the feeling they should have more. As if the people we see on television conspicuously consuming have it all sewn up on some level. They don’t. Most people who are glutted by materialism struggle for happiness. Those of us who have aced that particular test, slayed that very dragon, need nothing from the material world. We know where our true riches lie.
One must feel themselves going in a direction and not feel stuck. Momentum is the natural state. I think of my friends with fame and fortune. I see them mainly taking to social media to shove it down others’ throats. Why they need that I can only wonder. To want nothing is true bliss. To count ones blessings and enjoy the here and now is our birthright. To do good works is the only job you have.
I harken to the days of peaceful surrender. I want all of life to be that. And I feel very strongly that it can. I wish to tend my own garden peacefully and if I can’t do it thus then it is not my plot—double entendre intended. I have all that I need and I wish for nothing. I will move seamlessly from this place to that but my home shall be immutable. The news of the world will not enter here. Not until the last bomb drops or the last slave is free. I cannot hold any truth to be self evident but for the right of freedom.
The leaf falls, the crow splashes in what’s left of the birdbath. The white rose turns pink as it passes away. I dreamed of swimming in the ocean, riding waves, popping up to see I was very near a large slick black seal. I saw shadows in the water presumed to be sharks and I awoke. I was unafraid in my own shallow waters.
I can pass through. I will arrive and I will stay and I will leave. Nobody will be affected by me and that is for the best. I cannot manufacture feeling and I can not solicit love. I can only move from moment place, one room, one road at a time. I will snake through the cobbled streets of Paris slick with rain, my heels clacking. I will have walked this path before. I won’t see anything new. I will sip wine and dissolve into the cool surrounding stone. I will be now like the spirit I will become.
I will leave the world behind. This world. This godforsaken place devoid of spirit. I will find myself a corner, like the Cathars, in some land made holy by my sole belief. I will sit in the golden glare of grand cafés longing for the return of cultures that killed themselves with smoke and ask: What is the equivalent of future longing in my present lifetime? For now I cannot see it. My postmodern mind purchased the test answers from a sketchy character. I will slip behind buildings and find that door, that secret entrance where, in a gold lamé gown, one breast exposed, she bids me welcome with ominous laughter while her partner counts the heads with prices attached.
But back to the world of ideas—that Geminian bastion of genius. What if we had an open house and everything in every room was for sale, because we will have made displays and even #’d the items and it would be something like by appointment meets an open house. We would give a bag to each visitor and put their name on it and let them go to town shopping. And we would advertise it on my festival thrift shop page and we would make some kind of fun Afterglow event about it. And we can do it next September. Just an idea for clearing out everything non-essential to my life. “When things aren’t adding up, substract.”
This was just one of the many ideas discussed yesterday on an incredible beach stroll, from Newcomb Hollow to Cahoon Hollow before the rains came. I am full up with plans and yet I see my primary job as being able to just shut up and work instead of being torn in so many directions.
But the truth is I have a festival in less than a week that I’m producing, promoting and for which I’m fundraising. Then the series at Harvard starts with John Kelly the following week. Then Stella performs her show in New York first week October before we go to Europe, business plan in hand; returning for another show at Harvard then planning NYC rehearsals for our Starsky + Cox holiday show at Joe’s Pub.
Meanwhile we will have discussed the book proposal I wrote with a new agent. I will have written all my year-ahead horoscope books for release in November. I will written a feature for Glamour (if all goes well) serviced our many clients, written that new holiday show and have shopped around that business plan in London, Paris, New York, Boston and beyond.
And I write a Blague everyday.
Now, with that enormity often comes daily dearth brought on by said enormity: I also have to wash, eat, clean, cook, shop, eat, run errands, return emails and attempt to exercise. Funny how other people have time for yoga, massage, oil pulling, pedicures, facials, hair appointments and so forth. No wonder I’m still wearing the same clothes I wore ten years ago. I don’t have time to cultivate a wardrobe. I do, but you know what I mean. Anyway sometimes I have to do all of the above, and even if I don’t, I might just stare at an empty page on this screen.
Today was one of those days where everything seemed scrambled and nobody seemed to be speaking the same language. My many texts and emails were all miscommunication and confusion. It seems that we are culturally holding our breath and none of us are perhaps making the moves we might otherwise make. There’s little release, no great delieveries. It’s like our collective social atmosphere is constipated.
There is a certain pointlessness, perhaps. Because you think, no matter what you do, you’re going to remember there’s an orange dolt in the White House whose latest antic is to act something like a democrat, while still doing diabolical things like trying to dismantle DACA. So why bother, right? It’s all a bit waah-waah as you’re washing up before bed, some with their glasses off, Rachel Maddow a blackish blur on TV in the next room. And it’s September and very Virgo-y. Gooey. Sticky. Like toffee or taffy, Virgo (mutable-earth) is malleable but just barely.
On top of it all, we have costumes to put together for a fancy dress party in Scotland. I didn’t use “fancy dress” to be sound affected but rather to find a synonym for costumes, as I don’t love repeating myself.
Hopefully nobody’s reading this but we’re going to go as a post-apocalyptic Melania and Barron sort of zombies but with some Mary-Jesus overtones (did you notice that Melania worke della robbia blue to the corona-…I mean the inauguration?
I don’t know dear reader me thinks I might be barking up the totally wrong tree here. Or let’s make that trees plural. I am in a period of things ending me-thinks and I really need to look at my solar return chart even though I don’t really know my birth time just vicinity surrounding.
I try not to sound too reactive to things. It’s one of my whatever you call its in twelve-step programs meaning fatal flaws. I’ll think of it. Anyway, I feel myself in a mental-nervous spin down and I’m want to catch myself. I think that this is what this time is for: The joy that can be had from purposefully keeping your head above water, exercising your will to maintain integrity.
Some part of my brain likes to write.
It’s ironic, paradoxical that this is the most dire year yet in regard to fundraising for my festival, and lots of other things are unraveling (one of our artist’s shows is called Unraveling btw). We are coming to another crossroads where things that have been traditionally in place are no longer available. The kicker is that I’m finding myself getting a feeling of elation from things falling apart. I get a visual flash in my mind of a modern northern city. That’s the celtic witch “visual feelings” thing I get.
The truth is I need to build my non-profit work as a business and I’m down for doing that. I will certainly get to the lemniscate year; and I will surely try out the touring bit, but I can no longer get locked into personal weirdnesses with people. This was an off year, what with the oaf and all.
What is becoming clear: I want to perform and I almost feel urged, as a form of survival, to give it the greatest go. Performing as a duo or solo almost feels now like a life raft I’m clinging to. Things fall apart and we need let them. Things are the universe, the grand other with which you are having a relationship—that is a searing aspect of Aquarius, ruled by Uranus, personification of the universe. Uni (one) verse? Well, in French, I know, Aquarius is verseau, meaning vessel (grail, cup) of the Water Bearer, so the universe is one big vessel pouring, what?, itself?
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.
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