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Thoroughly Mod

Scorpio 27° (November 19)

Moving around today sending an artist some money and also doing some shopping in the big city of Orleans. Relatively quiet as compared with the last couple of days and our client cancelled so the afternoon is free. It ended up being something of a mental health day. I will let the marks go by and hit them tomorrow. Sitting in the living room in the afternoon, after a lunch of pasta lefties. Dinner twill be salmon with tomato, thyme rice and avocado. It was bloody delish watching Sophia as Madame Rosa. Will look for my copy of La Vie Devant Soi by Romain Gary in this little corner of a book shelf where all my books are stored but I will not find it. 

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1161-1165 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.

Scorpio Man

If Libra represents light, then Scorpio is that shadow that follows. Men of the sign are creatures of shade (in more ways than one) and their path toward success and happiness is stealthy, biding their time, doing what is necessary, largely unawares, to bring about their desires. In his youth, he is brooding and sarcastic, poking fun at, practically joking, or outright undermining his sunnier, more optimistic or blatantly popular peers; if not to their faces, then behind their backs. He personifies a sort of correction, a keeping in check of unbridled cheer, which he is wired to perceive as a set up for a fall. Ruled by planet Pluto, named for the god of the underworld—and of riches, we’ll get to that—Scorpio is likewise subversive, often gloomy, suspicious and seeking to dig below the surface of people, places and things which he simply cannot accept on face value. Pluto doesn’t live in the full, glorious glare of Olympus, but dwells in the netherworld, subterra symbolizing the world of his own subconscious, from whence he sees everything stems.

Rooted in his own interior landscape, Scorpio is the least likely of men to be swayed by external climates; only the weather within determines his actions, hopes and fears. For all his disdain for bluster and braggarts, he is ironically one of the Zodiac’s great egoists, though he’d be loath to admit it, citing a string of insecurities to prove his point. But he takes up a lot of space and energy in so doing; and his so-called friendships tend to smack of a certain psychic possession and hostage taking. Vehemently not a joiner, he instead drags others down into his underground existence, seeking to amass a band of followers, groovy ghoulies who share his gothic sensibility, mysterious if not morbid. Indeed, Scorpio man is motivated by keeping other people at bay and guessing; while his aesthetic is best described as noirish if not bordering on the downright funerary— all dead dried roses, smokey mirrors, frayed rugs and skeletal furniture. And, to extend the metaphor, Scorpio man operates very much by gaslighting. A creature of subtext, notoriously jealous and psychically possessive, he is most proprietary of those who populate his minute social circle. And should he sense they are slipping from his mind-controlling grip, he will launch cloaked attacks. An expert at subtext, he will invent narratives designed to discredit even his so-called closest cronies and freeze them out if he fears they might be plotting to ditch him first. He is the most paranoid of all the signs.

The infamous Pluto myth is that of his rape of Kore, goddess of springtime, who then transforms, 180°, into Persephone (Roman: Proserpina, from whence we get the word prosperity—still keeping a pin in the subject of “riches”). Like Pluto, in a flash, breaking from the ground to grab the goddess, Scorpio man likewise takes a smash and snatch approach, lying in wait, unseen—Pluto wore the original cloak of invisibilty. There is inferior inner voice in Scorpio that says he will be shot down if he approaches any objective desires openly. While Libra man, working his Apollo archetype, negotiates the enobling themes of rejection by Daphne, Scorpio man will not risk rebuffing, this his own central theme running through all elements of his life. He will not venture that which he is uncertain to gain. And he will not wait in hopes of life or the universe providing. He is a pessimist for whom hope is nothing; so he plots and makes every preparation to pull people and opportunities (synonymous to his mind) his way. In this way, he risks being viewed as a kind raptor-captor from whom others may ultimately seek to escape. And we’re back to the paranoia, the fear of abandonment, and the continued need to possess.

Beauty and the Beast is a retelling of the Pluto myth. The Beast/Pluto offers untold riches to Beauty/Persephone—bribes, really, which point to that Scorpion insecurity that he, alone, is somehow deficient or repugnant, and therefore must sweeten the deal in order to be loved in return. This psychology is typically rooted in Scorpio feeling unloved by his own mother, a symptom we see all too often in men of the sign. In a way, Scorpio subconsciously presents a test to would-be friends and lovers. As many people do flee from the prospect of a close relationship with this most uncompromising of men with whom life is always, in a word, intense, he poses a natural weeding-out process such that anyone who can put up with his beastly, grabby, self-centered approach to life, and love him inspite of it, will actually pass through his fogged looking glass to find that he is someone quite completely different—a benign and caring, profoundly devoted, those still dark-humored, prince among men who would literally die for those he loves. To others he may remain one of the walking dead, but to those who break through what is really a facade made of hurt and dejection, he can be his true eternal-beloved self.

With everyone else, he will continue to personify the old adage, it is better to be feared than loved, continuing probe people to show their hands, revealing their truths, just as he keeps those same souls guessing, if not on guard for his next serpentine strike.


Scorpio Woman

Scorpio woman is an immoveable figure, born, seemingly, with an intact moral code and and fixed sets opinions from which she’ll hardly ever waver. It’s as if she emerged into this life fully encoded with all she’ll ever need, a readymade work of art, incarnate, the circumstnaces of life having comparatively little effect on her. She embodies the notion of nature-over-nurture. And if life is a mystery Scorpio is no less so. The proverbial Sphynx, she appears to have all the answers, while it will she who’ll be asking all the questions. She is a natural born psychologiest—think of Lucy van Pelt of Peanuts fame—and she can be no less caustic, on the surface which, when properly scratched, would reveal a caring character with a heart of gold. Whereas Scorpio man is endless probing, provocative or just plain nudgy, Scorpio woman draws out others, typically with a series of well appointed queries, resulting in rather stream-of-consciousness confessions from those she keys into. And after listening, signature stony faced, she will offer up her conclusions on exactly what you should do, when, and in what order to fix or refocus whatever might be ailing or irking you.

Ruled by planet Pluto, which portrays the power of elimination and transformation—named for the god of death which, in astrology and other esoteric fields, isn’t an end but a regeneration—Scorpio is all about killing off that which drains ones energy. Think of the sign’s season autumn, when we prune back trees, so to stimulate new growth, helping to concentrate energy at root level, through the hardened winter. This is a metaphor for how the Scorpio woman operates in toto. She will not put herself out on limbs, unnecessarily, rather concentrating on the most essential needs of her own design; and putting as much energy as possible into rooting herself ever deeper into what she considers a desired lifestyle. Her personality might best be described as dug in, and all that goes with it: You typically go to her, not vice versa, whether on a social visit or soliciting her guidance as premier agony aunt. She sets the agenda with family and friends, creating a strong center gravity from whence both directives and support will derive. She can be something of black hole, too, to be honest. That is to say you might, upon entering her world, become easily caught up in whatever swirl of activity she is currently conducting, assigned tasks you might as well perform, as you’re there anyway.

Drawing on the mythological archetype of Pluto’s female counterpart, Persephone, the queen of the underworld, whom all souls must meet upon their demise and who shall decide one’s ultimate fate—the o.g. maker you meet—Scorpio does tend to collect lost souls and finds no irony in telling the exactly what needs doing to find new footing. People are just some of her many projects. Well, for starters, life itself is one, hopefully, long one. Scorpio has a fixed idea from the time she could squawk how it All should roll out. And though she will tolerate slight deviations in her game plan, she is determined to hit all her major marks, whatever they might be. Typically, she is hellbent on a combo-platter of success, security and excitement—what she avoids like the plague are surprises. When it comes to a choice in life partner she pretty much has a composite sketch in mind for eons before the would-be suspect makes a close enough match. She will seek to stimulate the growth of the desired qualities she observes and the rest she’ll try to kill off, if not with direct cease-and-desist orders, then with withering looks.

On some level every Scorpio woman considers herself something of a femme fatale. She has a notoriously high opinion of herself (whether masking insecurity remains to be seen), such that you might hear her utter, without irony, that a partner or lover couldn’t do any better than her. She is an alpha of the first order, but unlike other signs that fall into said category, she is not an aggressor, au contraire: Scorpio does everything by seduction—cue spider in parlor—inviting every boon and opportunity. She will have you do for her, unabashedly asking for favors, connections and entrées; and she couldn’t be more sure that, in granting her request, she’ll provide a feather for your cap. Circling back to Ms. van Pelt, even she was convinced she drove ’em wild; forever unaware of Schroeder pulling faces to the contrary from the piano. The Scorpio paradox in a nutshell: bossy as hell, wearing the trousers; and subtly seductive, with who knows what underneath them. Undeniably, it makes for a potent, if not lethal combination.

Scorpio personifies power, which isn’t lost on her, and she’ll have you know it. She brims with skills and talents and wisdom and wiles. And should they not find proper expression, or be met with deepest appreciation, she will become a cauldron of frustration, despair and fury. She does not take her life lightly, and you shouldn’t either. She is all the mysteries of the ages, smiling wryly, Mona Lisa, forever luring others to, and inspiring longing for, her. In Sextrology we call her The Specimen, and she is the perfect one.


Sagittarius Man

He has the most unbridled energy of anyone in the Zodiac, yet he handles himself as one would a prized thoroughbred, minding, harnassing, his signature fury of fabulous ideas and outsized inspirations, as only he can. His particular paradox lies in being at once totally at ease in his skin and jumping out of it. He is his own whisperer bent on simultaneously taming and tapping into his wildfire spirit. Sagittarius is the sole mutable-fire sign in the Zodiac, which most readily translates to lightening, that proverbial wildfire in the sky; and his sign is ruled by Jupiter, named for the omnipotent chief god, incidentally, of thunder and lightning, so that all fits nicely. Lighting speaks to the most immense natural power there is while also metaphorically pointing to certain genius. Although we’ve heard literal accounts of lightning strikes causing brain damage, or providing some kind of second sight, or both. The sign of Sagittarius, whose motto is I See (also I Understand) is very much hinged on the notion of a third-eye perspective of existence, something the Sagittarius male is most readily designed for. The physical seat of the third eye is the pineal gland, so called because it resembles a pine cone. The wildly ecstatic god Dionysus bore a staff topped with a pine cone. He and his father Jupiter share the masculine estate of this sign as, unlike all his hundreds of other sons, Dionysus is heir apparent, inheritor of his supremacy. The largest planet, Jupiter’s brand of power is expansive—and so is the Sagittarian male’s m.o., for better or for worse.

The male population of the sign is replete with figures who’ve gone to great lengths and/or too far. Sagittarian men are born with an ex prefix, driving them to explore, experiment, express, expose, and yes, expand, and explode up any given given seen; but potentially also to excess, expense, exhaustion and early extinction if he’s not mindful. If he is, he will more readily “master” meditative like practices than most other men. He is typically an extrovert and unapologetic in the extreme; but even a so-called Sagittarian introvert will take up a lot of energetic, if not emotional space. No one can be more silently demanding and yet, another paradox, spiritually libertarian than he. Even though Dionysus is the seamless scion, chip off the old block, he is also a rebel nonconformist who shakes, and perhaps breaks, the traditional order. In Sextrology the Sagittarian male chapter is titled The Maverick because he draws on this archetype of being daddy’s boy, a mini-me of sorts, particularly at ease in the patriarchy regardless of sexual or gender identity, and yet he is bound to shatter the mold of his fathers he once so easily fit. Often Sagittarius works in the same line of biz as his pop, but does him one better there, at the very least, still expanding out from an existing formula.

There are a great many ways Sagittarian man breaks on through to the other side of whatever it is he is setting his mind to. As a list of so many satirists and comedians of the sign would suggest, humor is one of the key ways. The madcap comic genius is an obvious figure in our culture, bringing the funny in more expansive and explosive a way, breaking through taboos, the result being torrents of laughter and thunderous applause as a—wait for it—mindbending new take on reality shockingly takes hold, forever altering mass consciousness. We see this same pattern in any professional or personal walk of life the jovial, jocular Sagittarian treads. He will always bring the funny, point out the absurd, if not rattle nerves and cages, particularly in exposing that which has gone unnoticed or unsaid. The Sagittarian experience is stream-of-consciousness, making links between the conscious and the subconscious (or subversive, suppressed or otherwise unspoken); which, yes, can result in a kind of ecstacy or hilarity, though probably as often in censure, arrest, and other oppressive forms of blow back. But whenever that connection is made, either within our own minds—as is a constant for the Sagittarian man—or culturally, it is like a lightning flash, an exposure, of something that can never then be unseen. Mark Twain (an invented name meaning “the point between”—third eye!), a satirist of the first order, nonetheless exposed a many societal ills and, thus, altered our global perception.

If it feels like Sadge’s personal life is being somewhat ignored here, you should see how he deals with it. He is at once uberdemonstrative and ultra-detached, exhibiting affection in sudden and showy ways, with extravagant gestures, which, one wonders, could be overcompensation for lacking emotion, or inability to tap therein. He can be all over the place inrelationonships, whether due to diverse preferences—he’ll try anything trice—or in sheer quantity of experiences, or both. He’s both-minded about most things. Whereas his opposite sign, Gemini, signals duality, Sagittarius is past it, forever looking at life from both sides. Now, that may seem too vast a vista for most would-be mates, but for someone willing to provide ample free rein, life with freewheeling Sadge will prove be a rodeo of daring thrills, mindboggling skills, satiric philosophy and a broad clowning.


Sagittarius Woman

No shrinking violet, she. Sagittarius woman is an arresting character who runs the gamut from quietly charismatic to blowhorn blatant. She is dazzling, easily lighting up a room. Yet there is always something nervy or skittish about her, a bubbly mixture of natural enthusiasm, excess brain activity, and a penchant for pleasing. She is a flatterer, but a sincere one, tending to key into the best qualities in a person, often missing their worst, at first. Like male Sagittarius, she appears larger than life, her ruling planet Jupiter hinging on largesse, optimism, in every sense of the word. Her default view on life is one of celebration. Expansive she enters, but, you know, the bigger the bubble of optimism, the more likely it is to burst. And so we see glimpse a potentially explosive woman, who is vigilantly negotiate a superspontaeous nature, a wildcard element in her makeup, that sees her swing to extremes, from daring to dread, devotion to disdain, delight to despair.

One such point of negotiation is learning how not to get too far of herself. She is the archeress, after all, with her narrowly expansive eye on the target, prize and future. But sometimes she gets ahead of herself—enter nervy skittishness. It’s not easy for her to live in the now, which is why she makes some version of her doing so a top priority in her life. It’s a happy paradox about the Sadge—she is so painfully aware of her shortcomings, the sting of them so severe to her, that she is most compelled to make positive changes. The sole mutable-fire sign, the assignation translates most readily to lightning, the most potent form of natural energy. So much power but where will it strike next is not predictable. And that’s how Sagittarius feels of the thunderous tempests she feels raging inside her.

Planet Jupiter is named for the chief lightning and thunder god; and whereas Sadge male draws on that archetype, Sadge woman draws on that of his wife and queen, Juno, goddess of power, thus goddess of knowledge, and goddess of women, none of the above being mutual exclusive, au contraire. The thing about Juno, who like Sadge woman, is also prone to jealousy, is that when her envy and rage did flare, they literally did so. Talk about being triggered. Juno would come to full power and emit an energy so radiant that all were burned or blinded. Cue next irony: The sign’s motto is I See (and I Understand). Juno blinded Tieresias for siding with Jupiter against her. She is Lady Godiva (goddess-diva) who put out the famed peeper’s peepers. Sagittarius knows she’s likewise volatile, and that she is capable of great, some resplendent, shows of perrsonal power, but that she can also blow everything up. In cartoon mythology she is the X-Men’s Jane. Juno as the penultimate power in the universe presents some pretty big archetypical shoes to fill. An insightful inference, here, thus, might be: That the most accurate way of describing Sadge’s particular brand of lifelong process (née struggle) is as the persistant growing pains of becoming herself.

And, for this lady diva, what an epic journey it is—part canter in the park, part race against time atop a bucking bronco, through an expansive landscape where lightning strikes and wildfires need putting out. The respective metaphorical meaning being that Sadge often receives bolts from the blue of opportunity and big breaks for which she’ll move on a dime, strenghth to strenghth, amid fiery family relations, friendships, and too-familiar professional bonds. Whoa, nervous Nellie, Sadge woman lives by leaps and bounds, progressively sitting calm and tall in the saddle, as her genius aspirations increasingly meld with her more preternatural urges. That’s the symbolism of the centaur: Finding that connection between our animal self and our higher mind, both of which are more infinitely powerful than we realize—Sadge woman having especial lighting glimpses into the fact. There’s no room for second-guessing, typically, in her experience. Jupiter is the planet of abundance and fortune, and it comes like a thundering freight train and leaves the station just as fast. Risk-taking is de rigeur for this ironically reticent creature. And sometimes it’s a love train.

In love, Sadge isn’t impetuous but she is sweeping. She makes big love-connect, drawn to those who live large and promise an active, engaged and worldly lifestyle. Just as projects an exaggerated vision, she has heightened expectations of what a relationship should deliver, and though loath to admit it, she’s wired to want it all—fun, excitiement, means, an ecstatic meeting of the minds, and the mostest carnal know-how she can bone up on. But for the most easily board Auntie Mame at the bouffet, enough is never enough, not even constant, coordinated travel and redecorating. No, she soon learns that externals don’t cut it in the true-happiness game, that she must shine her light for herself, radiating Juno-like with a such knowledge and power she can impart to others. If planet Juipter is generosity than Sagittarius is a generator in whose strength and power we hope to share.


Capricorn man is a throwback. He is cosmically steeped in tradition, born with an old-world sensibility, a practical penchant for tried -and-trued methods, and reverance and romanticism for former grandeur in any number of forms. This is archetypally ordained, it would seem, as the sign is ruled by Saturn, the deposed king of the god’s and ruler of the mythological golden age, that of the Titans, before being overthrown by the classical Olympian gods. Though more primitive a time, the reign of the Titans was something of a paradise, as there was no vice in the world, everybody did the right thing; there wasjust peace and harmony and prosperity; nobody worked to survive, the earth providing in abundance, and people lived to a very old age while retaining their youthful appearance, dying peacfully, though living on as ancestor spirits. Nothing wrong with that; unless you forever long for a world while living in this one, something Capricorn men do in a variety of ways.

Capricorn might live by a solemn moral code—rules and regulations, long-held traditions being attributes of the tenth astrological house associated with his sign—while indulging in certain decadences—decay being a hallmark of his own artistry and aesthetic. There is an inherent wistfulness to his character, fittingly, if not a sorrowful melancholy that is suprising motivating. For, Capricorn is not a defeatist; rather he won’t easily venture that which he’s not pretty much guaranteed to achieve; as such he is highly realistic about what talents he does or does not possess; he never strives to be something that doesn’t come easily. That which does will be given his total all—he’s never one to put eggs in multiple baskets. And being so narrowly focused, he doesn’t entertain. the notion of competition, that is except for the self-kind of beating his own personal bests.

In contrast to Jupiter whose energy is expansive (ruling over the previous sign of Sagittarius), Saturn’s energy is restrictive, containing and retiring. It is about preservation. And Capricorn surely paces himself, like an elder getting through a long day’s events. His tastes tend to the elegantly leisurely—no man perhaps possessses as many pairs of loafers. He is not out to prove…anything. Still, his own self-imposed goals will be as high as the standards of personal conduct he sets for himself. Like the metaphoricaly deposed royal that he is, no matter his worldly origins, Capricorn comports himself with what can only be described as good breeding, which, biologically speaking, is a most vivid example of tradition. Carrying on, in fact, is something Capricorn is wont to do, in every sense of the term. That is to say he can succomb to wailing bouts of melancholia so abyssmal that he must fight to climb out of them. In some ways Capricorn man seems not so much a scapegoat as an escape valve through which not just his own but a sort of collective grief is expressed. Like he’s mourning for all of us. That sense of hurt lends him a serious air, pulling on heart strings and contributing to his overall appeal and profile as a seasoned, experienced, mature and sophisticated a man.

Even at a tender age, this, the Zodiac’s Holden Caulfield, has a wizened lens on the world, which motivates him to gather his rosebuds as he may; which manifests in something of a paradoxical manner: Capricorn, whose sign motto is I use, will waste not a moment in pursuing his dreams, working every wrinkle in time for accomplishment; while, at the same time, he sows more wild oats and samples more earthly delights than any man in the Zodiac. Of course, if doing so conflicts with that notoriously strict moral code, he may wrestle self-loathing on that score. For the most part, though, Capricorn doesn’t find his lofty aspirations and licentious affectations to be mutually exclusive. Like the goat god Pan living in Arcadia, even the most urbanite Capricorn has a pastoral view of existence—simple and quiet but for the rutting of satyrs and nymphs. He is, in fact attracted to rustic types with whom intimate relations will smack of certain corruption. He likes to have the upper hand in relationships, as a rule, often partnering with people who in no way threaten to get up in his goatish grill. Let’s bring the catcher Caulfield back in to illustrate the Capricorn male paradox: He wants to at once save and slaughter the innocence of life, to preserve it so to savor the spoils thereof.

Like his mythic ruler, Saturn, Capricorn is all about divine decadence. Saturn is god of seed sowing, and yet, with his signature scythe, he is the prototype of the grim reaper. Also of Father Time, which seems to be on Capricorn’s side. He is an enduring character who moves, albeit sometimes at a tortoise’s pace, from strength to strength. Even when suffering a personal fall, he rarely slips so far that he can’t pick himself up to continue his ascent toward his next milestone. Capricorn David Bowie even rose from the dead, Lazurus-like. And we may find that young Holden recovered from his own breakdown—depending on what Capricorn J.D. Salinger may’ve published posthumously

The most monumental of women, even pint-sized Capricorns pack an iconic punch. She is at once a staunch and capricious character, depending on the stimuli. Most people will experience her as the former, only a handful of intimates getting glimpses of the latter. Much of the ongoing Capricorn condition is hinged on affecting a certain flow between the more rigid and more carefree sides of her personality—to find the freedom inside her infamous self-rules and -regulation and to employ them as solid scaffolding from which her boundless spirit may safely soar. Ruled by Saturn, the planet of structure and containment, she is born with healthy boundaries. Whereas Capricorn man draws on the archetype of the mythic Saturn, Capricorn woman derives power and meaning from his female counterpart, Rhea, whose name means “ease.” This might be music to Capricorn ears as, from youth, she is used to hearing and feeling that life must be hard. In truth, the mountaineering Goat is drawn to great heights of achievement, tough roads to hoe, but this is Capricorn’s happy paradox: As she matures she increasingly finds success in her professional and personal callings the more she eases into their processes. In our book Sextrology we call Capricorn woman The Sleeper. She is, by would-be cosmic decree, something of a late bloomer, all the hard work of her youth contributing to what might appear, to outsiders, as latebreaking overnight success. And they’d never seen her sweat.

In mythology, Rhea is goddess of motherhood; she the “grand mother” and “goddess of generations”, plural. Her husband ate her first five children; she managed to save her sixth, Zeus, who overthrew his father and freed his siblings. She embodies the passing on to others—she even mentored and gave her grandson, Zeus’ inheritor, Dionysus, her full “estate”, that is to say her brand of power, making him a male nature god, plus perks like her leopard-drawn chariot. She is the embodiment of traditions, endowments being passed down. She comes to us in fairy tales as the fairy godmother, a kindly all-powerful being. All of this goes a long way to illustrate Capricorn woman’s character: Whether or not she herself ever gives birth, the grandness in the she-goat’s character dictates that she play universal mother to a great many, nurturing, mentoring and administering to so-called children on a vast scale, in the abstract or both. Even if she is a literal mother, she is somewhat eccentric and detached. Though thoroughly loving, she imposes a healthy formality, on guard against codepency, you might say, taking a more grandmotherly approach, with one cool remove, to motherhood.

The mythical Saturn, with his scythe, is the symbol of the grim reaper, but Rhea’s brand of “passing on” is in the form of a baton. Likewise, Capricorn’ ambition always includes others. She learns things she can impart; she gains wealth to share it. The Capricorn motto is I use, and she does so for great purpose(s). Born under the cardinal-earth sign, symbolized by a mountain, Capricorn is sure-footed, enduring, in it for the long haul. Rhea’s home is the mountain, also called a horn—Matterhorn means mother mountain. Capricorn is the cornucopia, the goat horn of plenty. The previous sign of Sagittarius, ruled by Jupiter, is about abundance—Capricorn, ruled by Saturn, denotes containment, seeking to preserve the bounties of the world lest they overflow and spoil. To be exact, Capricorn is the Sea-Goat, mountain and lake, a reservoir, a container of all that is abundant and pure. Capricorn woman is reserved and conservative in the truest sense, a cosmic holder of that worth preserving. She is a keeper of postive traditions, generation upon generation, be it knowledge, customs, codes, mores, all such things that will serve the future. She is a human time capsule, a classic, a golden girl from the get go.

Being likened to some kind of grandma, even in her youth, is common for Capricorn. She leads with her serious self, intending to be respected and never trifled with. (If you catch her in a rare moment when you get an opposite impression she’s taken off her granny glasses and down her bun to let off a little steam.) She grooms herself into a person of importance, learned and refined, with ethos to impart. She is culture incarnate, the best of the past, present and future, three points drawing the circle of time (eternity). The cornucopeia, the reservoir; the Petri dish, in which select new growth is cultured . (Never mind that Capricorn Mary Tyler Moore played Laura Petrie on TV in the 1960s, evolving the culture, panicking the patriarchy, by insisting on wearing Capri pants.) The word panic comes from the goat-god Pan, whose wailing melancholy speaks archetypal volumes on Capricorn man. But Capricorn woman is so on guard against would-be gloominess, constantly climbing out of sinking feelings, this becomes the main motor of her self-empowerment. She will overcome. She’s not only been to the mountain, she is it, monumental. As a biproduct of her own edification, she Sherpas others and elevates the ethos overall. She personifies all that is enduring, meaning: lasting and worth suffering.

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. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Whatever Kween

Scorpio 26° (November 18)

That would be today, five weeks until some tests I need having done. Let’s see what results that will bring. In the meantime, it isn’t a perfect situation around here of course but it is, proverbially, what it is. Woke up to a note from row-man to which we immediately responded. Today absolutely must result in results, and, to that end, I will attack the FOB section of the book and get that into some kind of fun draft, with a light touch. I’m trying to get the indoor shower to work better than it has. Lefty chowder for lunch and chicken and boy choy for din. I have an appointment at four and have to rack three hours of work before that. I must read in the wee hours of the morning the four chapters that I already have in works, making notes in the Virgo margins, and then there will be another client in the afternoon. Things will be cooking and that’s all that needs happening at this time. Still no word back today about the domestic dealings but I have to find the strength every day to persevere. We have protection of the terrestrial and spiritual kind on our side; I just need to meet this challenge half way and, as I get cooking, hopefully carve out enough late-afternoon hours to go through things and throw them away. Dump runs are to be my favorite outing it would seem, little by little, getting things up and out. 

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1156-1160 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.

Leo Woman

If, for Leo man, life is a game, for Leo woman it is a hunt. She is the most ferociously ambitious of all the gender-signs of the Zodiac. Wearing her signature predator’s smile, she prowls this life, on the scent of the particular successes for she hungers. If Leo woman is the Zodiac’s legendary king Arthur, Leo woman is the mythological Artemis, whom Homer called “Lioness amongst women,” a feral, untameable shrew (read: aggressively assertive). Typically left to her own devices, to fend for herself, from early childhood, the Leo woman doesn’t have much of one. She grows up sooner than she perhaps should, and yet, fortunately, not being a vulnerable personality, she isn’t as a rule victimized by circumstance in youth. Rather, she aligns herself, making friends, with adults, whether they be teachers or mentors within her family or community. She is an overachiever of the first order; and not so much a sore loser as one metaphysically disinclined to failure, whether it be in the pursuit of her marks, leading roles or positions, or awards. All for her is a contest, and she aims to outshine the competition, though she rarely recognizes others as such. If she should fall short of her high self-expectations she can be as fiercely self-condemning as she is, typically, -aggrandizing. Which explains why she can be so hard on those around her—it’s the same kind of expectant tough-love she bestows on herself.

Leo woman plays god in close company, doing for others as much to help others as to ensnare them, keeping them bound by the favor(s) she bestow(s). In the best light, she gets a charge from being responsible for contributing to the fortunes of those she loves; while surely solidifying bonds with those who owe her a debt of gratitude, giving her the upper hand in relationships. And demonstrating her sway and scope, in this way, is akin to a cat stretching, flexing her muscles and showing her teeth, keeping them sharp and giving playful expression to her natural aggression. What is play in nature but preparation for the battle of life?—or, more specificially, for the lion, the hunt. And so when not occupied with pouncing her larger life goals, she plays cat and mouse with people, drawing them in only to give them a few whacks; love taps, she might call them. She is canny and she is cunning and she will cut a bitch. Think of Artemis, giving chase, flanked by her faithful handmaidens and hounds; on some level, that’s as much status as Leo’s cronies might be afforded. We are all, to some extent, her bitches. From her perspective, you should be so lucky as to call her friend. Though she requires untold loyalty from others, she can be fickle and you can find yourself on the outs at a moments notice…only to be back in again before ere long.

Whereas Leo Man is on high alert for phoniness, Leo woman is know to adopt a persona or two or several, all rather lofty ones, over the course of her lifetime. She isn’t so much a social climber as she is someone who, no matter her origins, feels she belongs to some upper echelon or other. And when she “arrives” she is far more comfortable in her skin, like a deposed royal being reinstated, or one abducted in her infanthood, restored to her proper station. There is no irony in the way that she will assimilate with the so-called upper classes. Many people make bank, but not all of them require all the traditional trappings that go along with it. Think Madonna in full equestrian kit muttering in her ersatz British accent. While cardinal signs are the initiators of the Zodiac, the fixed signs that follow them, like Leo, are imitators, honers, and perfectors. What Leo might lack in originality, she more than makes up for in execution, a word which carries a funny double-entendre, especially in light of one of Leo woman’s archetypes, the Red Queen, whose famous expression is “off with her head.” Most anything you can do she can do better; and if she feels out-matched she might find other ways to eliminate the competition.

Creatively, intellectually working within well-worn genres, there maybe be more Leo women superstars, celebrated queens of whatever her chosen field, creative outlet or her intellectual arena might be. This is due, in large part, to…(we may never know


Virgo Man

Virgo man enters doubting; all having to be proven to him before he can decide whether or not to sanction. More than just a defense, this is a default expectation of a literal dis-appoint-ment. Which symbolically makes perfect sense in that it speaks to the shift from the sign of Leo (divine King) to that of Virgo (the Everyman). The Virgo is beyond some naive notion of innate nobility, which, for the Virgo, smack of delusions of grandeur. Virgo is coming from a different place, metaphysically—that is to say: emotionally, mentally, spiritually (all of which effect his physcal nature and body language). He is of the mind that life is what you make of it; that none of us are singled out for any predestined purpose; rather that you create your own existence, and any import thereof, everyday, block by block, over time. Likewise people, places and the things of circumstance must prove themselves to him over multiple interactons, if not a lifetime.

Virgo is especially dubious of others enthusiasm, and those who take too optimistic a view of life. Healthy skepticism is his superpower, allowing him to critique and diagnose situations, circumstances, environments, and other people. He is the alchemist of the Zodiac, seeking to root out the baser elements he encounters and to transmute that which he encounters to a more purified state. He cannot abide dysfunction (as he perceives it), the irony of course being that he has more than his fair share of flaws. And he will own that. Nothing and nobody is perfect, he will concede; but there must be a concerted effort toward betterment, amelioration. After the roaring pride of the sign of Leo, Virgo operates on humility, at least, as a jumping off point. He isn’t born thinking he’s god’s gift to the universe. Virgo is not shot through with bold-faced confidence or bravado; rather, he supplements any lack he perceives in himself via lifelong processes of honing expertise, in this area or that, which can lend him an erudite air, in the end, and, yes, a certain sophisticated superiority.

Fancying himself a connoisseur of this, that or the other, Virgo can be quite the culture vulture, though a selective one. While some say the sign is ruled by disabled Chiron, once a planet that was pummeled by asterioids, or the as yet undiscovered Vulcan, but the traditional ruler of the sign is Mercury, named for the winged god, which rules Gemini also. In that air sign all manner of breeze born birds and insect have emblematic impact; while in the earth sign of Virgo, we are symbolically grounded in the more terrestrial species, the gangly strutting storks and cranes, and the flightless emus, ostriches and other such big birds. Flightlessness in birds isn’t actually a disability, but a mark of evolution. It signifies filling a niche in an environment where there is no danger from predators. We are telling you this because, metaphorically, this is very telling about the Virgo male. He isn’t one to compete, in fact competition makes him anxious in the extreme. He opts instead to carve out an existence for himself where he isn’t open to comparison or censure. (As a Virgo once said: “comparison is violence”). Virgo isn’t comfortable under others’ authority. He is an isolationist and thrives, most, in that regard, both professionally and privately.

We have bemused the fact that Virgo can perform a disappearance act, suddenly dropping out of touch with friends and family, often for years, and sometimes permanently. As personally as one is wont to take this, it is always about him and not about you. Of all men, Virgo man doesn’t want to be known because he doesn’t feel it truly possible; he believes the human condition is indeed hinged on solitude, being alone and dying alone, and, on some level, that the in between time shouldn’t be any different. In the Tarot, the Hermit card is associated with Virgo. And in astrology, the sign has native rule of the sixth astrological house of habits, work, duty, behavior and the daily experience. If we deepen the routine of mere existence it becomes ritual; and life therefore becomes in itself a devotion. Virgo’s mottos are I work and I serve. To the Virgo mind: You are what you do. And a worthwhile life should be a dedicated life; and others, by and large, can be a distraction from whatever form of consecration Virgo’s life takes on. He is designed to be functional and to contribute to the common good, the paradox being that he can best do this by solitary means.


Virgo Woman

You’re not what you appear to be and in oh, so many ways. You’re seemingly unassuming, presenting as an affable creature, laughing readily, and game to realize fun plans and notions. You exude a childlike aura, and yet one suspects you of possessing serious countenance, a truly complex and layered you beneath any guileless surface gloss. We have likened Virgo to a cameo, you know like the jewelry or the framed kind, a delicately drawn, dimensional profile of a person, old-fashioned, human, and not to be forgotten, and of great value, especially, personally. This is how you appeal and how you self-protect. Because as inviting as you can be, something about you says you’re not to be trifled with. (And sometimes you might want to be, at least just a little.)

You can be something of a people pleaser but that’s just half that story. We come to learn that you’re meanwhile exacting an agenda al you’re own—your sign motto isn’t “I work” for nothing—getting what you require from every situation and relationship. You thereby put together the pieces of your own successes. A lender you may never be, but a borrower you are for certain. Virgo woman is a collage in fact of every influence—people, places and things—she encounters. These three p’s comprise the happenstance of life, which speaks to Virgo as the ruler of the astrologicial 6th house, that of daily experience and quotidien existence. In mythology it is Pandora, made out of clay by the god smithy and potter god, Hephaestus, whose every physical feature is modeled on, borrowed, picked and chosen from the best attributes of all the divine goddesses in total. Pandora means all-given (it also means all-giver—we’ll get to that fact). It is one thing to be an amalgam of all our experiences and influences, it’s quite another to mold it all into something completely unique in personality and style. Which is something you do nine times out of ten.

As the sole mutable-earth sign in the zodiac….

You are the zodiac’s mama’s girl. It is indeed coded into your astrological DNA. The virgin of the Virgo is called Kore, she is the mythical daughter and, really, the maiden form of the mother earth goddess (of the harvest) Demeter, who was legendarily attached to her daughter who was snatched by Pluto and turned into Persephone (archeypes of Scorpio). You’ll notice your sign symbol and Scorpio’s both have an M emblem, yours that folds in, hymen-like on itself, and Scorpio’s which jutts out with an arrow head, that symbolic scorpion sting. M is for Mater, Mother. Demeter and Pluto struck a bargain, ultimately (there were pomegranates involved, it’s a long story), and Persephone became Kore again for half the (springtime, summer) year. Demeter grieved the other, plunging us into fall and winter. So if you wonder why the bond with mom is loaded, it’s cuz it carries the archetypal weight of this mother-daughter myth. There is paradoxical power to be mined and pifalls to negotiate in consideration of what inheritances you share with your own mater. Your superpower to diagnose and set things aright, healing situations, making them functional where they were not in some way stems from this relationship, for better or worse. So too does any arrested development.


Libra Man

Mention the sign of Libra and most people say how much they love it or that it’s their favorite. Mention Libra man and you might hear crickets. Maybe the most misunderstood of all signs, Libra man can read as a lightweight who nonetheless asserts a heavy agenda. The truth is Libra has a great many talents. Typically, though, it is challenging for the Libra man to go deep into any one of them to the exclusion of others. This is one of the factors in the that give rise to Libras being labelled indecisive, which isn’t really an appropriate mark. The Scales man is born to weigh his options; and it is in his nature to want to do a plethora of things creatively. This is part of the reason Libra can feel others don’t take him seriously. Also, the Libra personality tends to the bright side, often to a fault, making light of life; and though this is one of the sign’s sincerest personality traits, others can find it put-on, phony, too good to be true—espcially the more brooding of the signs. The fact is, Libra tries tokeep dark thoughts and moods to himself because they seem to him a private affair that others shouldn’t be bothered with; likewsie he doesn’t wish to be burdened with other people’s problems—Libra’s not the greatest in an emergency—which to him, more times than not, just seem boring and beside the point. Get over it can be a Libra creed; but the fact is that some issues, challenges, facts of life do need sorting through. Libra’s default, rose-colored optimism can be, sometimes inappropriately, too much—unrealistic, avoidist and indicative of a lack in coping skills— just as his expectations of others to likewise rise above and roll with the punches can be too great.

As the cardinal-air sign, Libra energy translates to Light. The male arechetype of the sign is Apollo, the god of light (not to be confused with the Sun god, Helios) who is also god of a slew of abstracts—reason, order, music (harmony), law, poetry, art, prophesy and other such conceptuals—and you will note that the Scales are the only inanimate symbol in the Zodiac, all the rest are human or other animal. In truth Libra man can seem the least animalistic of all men, while he doesn’t subscribe to being all too human either. Apollo isn’t a rough and tumble god. He’s masculine but in a rather ethereal way. We see him cloaked in white, fair haired, walking through ordered, columned halls. Vanilla is likely his favorite flavor. He’s the golden boy. And yet his myths all hinge on rejection, most notably, his love for the nymph Daphne, who fled from his affections—was too much expectation?—as she would rather turn herself into a laurel tree than couple with him. Thus Apollow wears a laurel crown, his godhead symbolized by being shot down. He’s not in with the other male gods. They likely think him a little precious, perfectionistic, a bit too challenging, cerebral, none to chill and laidback. Is any of this sounding familiar?

To others, Libra man can feel like a hard lesson you’re learning. He’s like that teacher you had that was tough and formal and perhaps a bit mean but from whom you learned everything you’ll never forget. The paradox (within paradox) of Libra is that he tends only to realize his full self and potential, in one-on-one relationships; and yet his need to be in so terrific a twosome can feel so loaded to a potential partner that they…just…can’t. The seventh astrological house that falls under Libran rule is that of one-on-one relationships, partnerships and marriage, but as with all things associated with the sign, its primary resonance is an abstract one. Libra likes to marry—ideas into revelatory aha! principles, individuals with connections (other people or situations) that spell success, and, especially conflicting opposities into powerful alliances. And he definitely seeks all of the above for himself. As the opposite sign of Aries, ruled by Mars, named for the god of war—symbolizing the spearheading of individual goals, sole concquest and survival, Libra, alternatively, is ruled by Venus, the power of attraction, union, and shared goals and experience, equality, democratic co-existence, and, thus, peace, specifically of the mind. The sign’s two mottos are I balance and We are.

Embodying the notion that we can’t live in isolation, Libra is often, paradoxically, something of a lone wolf (the animal totem associated with Apollo). He isn’t as naturally embraced by guy peers, especially, as are other male signs. He tends not to be a chip off the old block, embodying an opposing vision of masculinity from his father and other men in his family. And you would never call him earthy. He can live very much in his mind and reality often falls short of his idealized vision. He is anything but laid back, and struggles to live life on life’s terms. His rosey outlook is thus his greatest superpower and fatal flaw. The trick for him is to understand that things can never live up to his pink-bubble expectations but that he should maintain them nonetheless. The world may not be singing in perfect harmony, but that is no reason not to want to keep teaching it to do so.


Libra Woman

Wherever Libra woman is, that’s the place to be. At least that’s her storyline and she’s sticking to it. She is the craftiest of the Zodiacal characters, in every meaning of the word. An individualist of the first order, and someting of an eccentric, she carves out her own space in life, taking a rather d.i.y. approach to living, and keeping her human interest light, lively, and moving. She is one to play by her own rules, which often necessitates working alone or in tandem with a loved one, and more often than not, in an aesthetic field or one hinged on lovely ideals. The air sign of Libra, ruled by Venus, is all about gorgeous notions, whether of the conceptual or knick-knack variety. While Venus’s rule over the earth sign of Taurus emphasizes physical beauty, in Libra, it translates to conceptual splendor and the amelioration of the world, or at least her corner of it, through the living of life on an idealized plane (which, again, is much easier to do in some form of isolation). As a rule, Libra is a liberal if not an activist of her own design, her relationships with others being more sweeping and abstract and less cozy and personal—and, besides, it’s easier to carry around a soapbox designed solely for one.

As Apollo, god of light and prophecy, is the archetype of the Libra man, it follows that his counterpart(s), is the High Priestess, oracle of Delphi through whom Apollo would, ultimately, speak. Originally the oracle belonged to his grandmother Phoebe, meaning “shining” (Apollo bears the prefix Phoebus) and, in later mythology, Pythia, meaning “rotting” whose oracles are inspired by the fumes of the rotting Python, whom Apollo slay (he is also Apollopython). Taken all together: To shine and to rot point to an infinitive, inherent paradox in the Libra woman whose tradmark adult role as an enlightener (of others) stems from signature destructions in her early life, symptomatic of her own recovery therefrom—more often than not Libra women come from broken homes where they are made to feel divided, pulled in opposite directions; having to be the balance, the mediator, here come the judge—the proverbial Lady of the Scales. The High Priestess sits upon a three-legged pedestal. As does Libra woman, by virtue of her own edification, others’ idealized vision of her, or some combination of both. For all Libra’s goodness and light, one senses they derive from times in dark places. The white witch with certain knowledge of the dark.

Where Libra man tries as he might to eschew darkness, remaining in his pink-bubble of optimism, which oft leads to disappointment; Libra woman works that bubble, riding it, like Glinda, to try to shed said light in dark places, to elevate consciousness on a democratic scale, to illumine a world of possibility. Due to upbringing, however, she may try to be too many things to too many people, losing sight of herself and her needs in the process. She is most often so agreeable, that when she does take a strong stand, she can be accused of being contrary for its own sake. It’s just one of the levels on which Libra can be misunderstood. The High Priestess spoke in gibberish, which was up to others to interpret. Likewise, Libra can keep people guessing by offering a plethora of possible answers to any one question and a salad of would-be solutions to any single problem. Glinda, you will note, didn’t just say “click your heels” as an instant remedy; rather she said follow that road which would inevitably split into a spray of would be paths. Though you wouldn’t accuse her of being indecisive, per se, as you might the the Libran male, Libra woman can inspire a kind of vacillation in others. And she does jump around, taking on different paths, herself, on a fairly steady basis. She doesn’t seem a dilletante like Libra man, who wears too many hats at once; rather she reinvents fairly constantly, committing for a time, completely, to the one path she’s set upon; while her loved ones learn not to be surprised if, they next time they speak, she’s on a completely different trip.

The one constant, and the one word that best defines the Libra woman, in a word, is style. Not a follower of fashion or other design trends, Libra exudes a personal aesthetic sensibility that inimitable. If strolling through a crowded fleamarket, say, she has a natural eye for spotting hidden, often quirky treasures, that might otherwise go unnoticed. Likewise, she assembles a wardrobe without breaking any banks but nontheless enables her to dress to kill on a daily basis. Seemingly superficial, these talents add up to something resonant: She is forever in the process of endowing herself and her environment with tangible representation of her surpassing taste, which has a powerful effect on her psyche, her confidence, and her sense of identity and well-being. Her ability to visibly and vividly design herself, her surroundings and indeed her lifestyle is a spiritual expression of auto-validation. She can see her tastes and principles reflected in everything she touches, making very real her concepts for living. It’s a slow motion process of waving a wand, snapping her finger, or wriggling her nose to make manifest that which she desires. TK

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. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Truly Unctious

Scorpio 25° (November 17)

I thought yesterday was bad. Today was much worse. It created a junkyard fortress outside behind his truck and trailer which he parked just next to our car. It blasted music from the garage and banged metal objects together and invited a string of people over to whom he complained about and slandered us one after another. It was all a trap. We had to go to Provincetown and he aggressed us. I won’t go into details but we called the police which we should have done as well back in August. I feel somehow better though I can’t say why. I spent the afternoon writing up the incident. I had some follow up questions for the police. I made my peace with a writing schedule that I will surely keep and I will work solidly on the projects at hand on any given day. We learned that FF has filed something with the court but that should be deemed bogus. We might end up meeting a real-life sheriff this week which is fine. I will ask if we can record him for posterity and also make it clear where we stand in in financial relationship. All the while I made a delicious clam chowder and we decided to crack some vino and watch the final two episodes of The Crown, the storylines of which that involve the Diana character I find boring.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1151-1155 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.

Gemini is forever striking some kind of bargain or another, internally negotiating opposing forces (along the proverbial right vs. wrong dichotomy), and outwardly navigating his wants against that which he supposes others want of him, exacting his next move, the next deal, to further his direction. His can be a tricky head to be in; and yet there is very little the Gemini doesn’t do mindfully, being less prone than most to unconscious motivations, compulsions, and the like. He likes to keep others guessing for as long as he can, which can make him appear indecisive or confused, when in fact he is sowing confusion, creating distractions, to better move along his own agendas.

Gemini man is self-aware, if to a fault, purposely putting on dazzle and otherwise creating excitement aimed at keeping spirits bright, especially his own—even if knowingly faking it. He is the personification of the adage: Fake it till you make it. For him it’s all about his field of experience, and what buzz he can create within it. Immediacy is his watchword. Ruled by Mercury, the eternally youthful, quicksilver god who can be here or there in an instant, the sign of Twins is hinged on both the instantaneous and the intimate, the immediacy of time and space, respectively. He is focused on the here and now, needing to be engaged by interatction, physical activities or conversation, and surrounded by a close circle of cronies who personify as emanations of his own will. He thus attracts those who tend to lack a will or direction of their own. The fairytale Mercury, Peter Pan, whom we’ve long associated with the sign, amasses his tribe of lost boys seeking solace and guidance. And Gemini runs on the steam of such tribalism, if not mob mentality, like that other fellow in green tights, Robin Hood, operating in secret, employing the element of surprise, being rather thuggish, even, in lofty enterprises.

Gemini may be the least naturally instrospective of characters, and must work harder than most in the understanding of an inner life. Even the work of the great Gemini poet Walt Whitman (his name being something of an aptronym in that Gemini man lives most by his wits) is an exploration of what he sees, feels, senses right in front of him, a celebration of what is right under his feet, the street-level of existence. Likewise, Geminiman is occupied with the most urgent to-dos and shiniest objects currently before his own eyes, cutting a path through life like an arful dodger snaking his way through a crowded avenue, reveling in covert action and certain lendergemain. He is a celebrator or experiential self, an operator and a manipulator. That word has its negative connotations of course, but it also speaks to Gemini’s premier superpower—that of positive thinking—which is the highest form of manipulation in that it suggests that experience itself is malleable and can be directed by the determination of our thoughts.

Gemini is nervy and (he mightn’t admit it) rather fearful of the answers to life’s big questions. He loves the world of the living, gravitating toward social hubs of activities, where a vibrant demonstration of life can distract him from what is a signature underlying loneliness. He doesn’t like to feel things because he might do so too deeply for his delicate nerves. Gemini likes to keep it light and keep it moving, immersed in temporal activity; and yet he is more prone to most to subscribe to an eternal element of self—let’s call it soul. He takes from various religions and philosophies that which they all share, tending not to fully subscribe to any one path (though he may feign to do so). In love he is the most monagamist and philandering of fellows, forgiving what he might label human frailty, particularly in himself. He doesn’t linger on thoughts or doubts that might undo him—there is always something more cheering to alight on. A nod to his airborn archetype, the winged capped and footed Mercury, Gemini likewise wings his way through life, too impatient for most processes of preparation. As a rule he doesn’t aspire to higher achievement or higher thought—rather he seeks to reap fullest benefit for doing what comes easily to him, which tends to fall under the larger heading of processing and proliferating his own personal observances, typically in brief form.

Gemini man is the master of the three-minute pop song, the elevator pitch, snappy patter, killer slogan or pithy pun. He is ephemera incarnate, living life to its fullest, like a mayfly on limited liberty. Truly owning the fact that we live on borrowed time, Gemini doesn’t become mired in guilt, doubt or regret. Each next moment provides a new opportunity to rewrite the proverbial headline. Being mercenary comes with his Mercury rule, such that being money-grubbing is just one of the ways he gets all he can from life. Lucrative deals are just human interaction with material pay off; another form of whistling in the graveyard and challenging the notion that you can’t take it with you.


Gemin Woman

She is the cosmic switchboard operator—like opera, plural of opus, meaning: Work! Gemini woman is plugged in and connected every which way. While also, a nod to the duality inherent in her sign, she is the consumate connector, a role she doesn’t always wish to play. She is all too aware, or should be, that she can be a faciliatator, a conduit, to others’ successes, via her own. The larger part of her superpower includes making amazing matches, partnerhips; let’s call it mutuality—equal, shared effort toward that “work,” a.k.a. the happenstance of a successful life. Gemini doesn’t shy away or try to transcend from very certain desired trappings of living, most unapologetically, a material existence. Neither is she greedy, as a rule; striking the perfect balance, more often than most, of leading a constitently “set up” life, with plenty of perks and passions, without all that pesky, excess avarice.

Enough being enough for Gemini speaks volumes on the fact that, despite being a “mutable” sign”, she doesn’t like change. She is a homebody at heart and would rather play the puppet master, even, on a global scale from the privacy of her fuzzy slippers. She is the original tough cookie, promising such sweetness. Sometimes taking the dubious wrap for being flighty, but only, most people don’t realize, when it suits her. Tinker Bell to Gemini man’s Peter Pan, she is no doubt dual herself. Saccharine when it suits her, like Tink to Pete, but in the turn of a head her devilish nature may emerge. The symbol of Gemini’s ruler Mercury’s might suggest a winged cap or horns, as she, the English Rose of the Zodiac, can indeed be thorny. Drawing on the archetype of Mercury’s counterpart, the winged Eris, goddess of discord, hell hath no fury like a Gemini scorned. You simply, silently, no longer exist. Tink, the cartoon Eris, operates solely on nerves, and is easily rundown, needing utmost care and concern from others. So too does Gemini who gives, gives, gives, till it’s totally gone.

Gemini woman is one person in the Zodiac you’d want to have your back. She’s a tough and protective Tinker Bell, a fixer of ailing or broken utility, aimed at mending flailing situations and relationships and problem-solving in general. She is the proverbial mother hen on whom others come to rely, and behind whom we must all fall in line. She is best in all astrology at covering the basics, and all the bases there in, making sure the mechanics of her daily life function smoothly, if not too repetitively, such that it becomes a grind. She can get lost in so-called causes, if not invented drama, which, when pressed, she may admit she cares little about. The doing of things—that’s why she’s great at busy work—can sometimes divert and dissapate energy that might go toward more long-term thinking, achievement or success. She needs reminding of the fact. There is ease and safety, though, sometimes, in making molehills from minutuae. Not to say she purposefully feigns being overworked ao to cut herself slack in her daily schedule. It’s just that perfecting the daily ops of living affords the Gemini you the expertise and status to do so, increasingly, by remote control. To her mind, that is what success looks like.

For the Gemini connector, reward takes the form of unplugging, doing less while being more. Ultimately it’s the Gemini influencer’s word, her endorsement, her bugs in people’s ears, that become a prized gift in itself. (Her ruler Mercury, the messenger god, personifies the word, Logos.) Touting your name, or lending her name, or face to a project or enterprise—all is currency. In the global world of advertising most of the famous faces you see launching a thousand beauty products or perfumes are Gemini women. (Featured in the same myth as Eris, instigator of the Trogan war, is Helen, who hatched from an egg, yet another fine feathered Gemini archetype.) Meanwhile, all Gemini women possess an infamous power to make or break those around her—the face most often empowered to launch a thousand careers, deals and contracts. Even Tinker Bell is Disney’s brand ambassador. And, likewise, as tiny as it might appear, Gemini woman possesses the power to sprinkle fairy dust over situations or be something of a stinging gladfly chasing away would-be opportunity. All depending on what she’s getting out of the deal. She desires no more than simple reciprocation, no matter the commodity, be it love or money or any means of exchange.


Cancer Man

The Moonchild is the most self-protective of men, which allows him to live life more safely on a purely emotional level. And vice versa: He needs strong defenses because he seeks to leave himself open as such. Despite a seeming insouciance—that Crab shell—he is the most sensitive of fellows and can easily be crushed by chaotic feelings. (Not to kick off on so morbid a note, but some of the most famous “French exits” from this life have been made by Cancerians—notably Ernest Hemingway, Robin Williams, Freddie Prinze, Ian Curtis, Anthony Bourdain, Chris Cornell, Hunter S. Thompson, George Eastman, Tony Scott, and too many others.) On a far cheerier note, the intense level of sensitivty with which Cancer is endowed can make him the most caring of chaps. And it will necessitate his being the most trusting, using his superpower intuition to invest in the right people places and things.

The crab will keep his emotions locked up until he establishes a safe means for their expression—in relationships, environment and chosen vocation. It may come as no surprise that irony is also one of Cancer’s superpowers, the ability to get across his point of view, often a sharp and searing one, in a softened, even satirical way. These little jabs, whether directed in his creative work or conversation (typically both), serve as an escape valve for what might otherwise be a deluge of feelings, despair included, he otherwise purposefully keeps pent up. He will protect himself to the death from pain and suffering, needing to learn that the former is inevitable, and the latter, a choice. Meanwhile he does what he can to mitigate all difficulty in his life for the paradoxical reason that he sees life as inherently difficult enough. The Cancerian life experience is all about passage, recovery, promise and deliverance, and men of the sign are predisposed to believing they are born into a journey aimed at landing them on a more hospitable shore than from whence they orginated. Like many marined creatures, birth is immediately followed by a race not just for survival but certain thrivation.

Cancer man lives in a private word, both real and imaginary, avoiding conflict or often anything more than vague interaction unless he sees promise in it. In the literal sense, he prefers solo work, which he can hopefully perform, set apart, ebbing and flowing to his own rhythm; and, figuratively, too, he must let his mind drift to imaginings of would-be scenarios he might ultimately realize. He will of course allow others to form a team to back his efforts. He appears the personification of hope, promise and ease and this is what attracts others to him both professionally and in his private life. He seems (the operative word) so completely unneedy, in contrast to his female Cancer counterpart; as if requiring nothing more than a little support and cultivation to draw him out. Meanwhile, he accesses others’ sensitivity, appealing to their feelings as well as their funny bones, sensitivity and humor being hallmarks of his charm. One feels safe in the company of the Cancerian, that on this journey through life, he is happy to be a designated driver. Not so unassuming, truth is he is one of the more deliberate and calculated characters on the astrological block, though rarely in any insidious sort of way. He simply believes in the fulfillment of his potential and he will subtly get his hooks into situations and those whom he considers to play a part in the unfolding of his destiny.

En route, Cancer man keeps it simple and his head down, quietly powering through. He is entirely pleasant, as a rule, across the board, to friends and acquaintances alike. In fact there seems little difference, often, between the amount of interest or affection he appears to invest in any case. He is practiced in his social repartée, often retelling stories, year on year, losing track of who may or may not heard his anecdotes before. He isn’t very present minded, something he must work on; a result perhaps of being cosmically engineered to look, with hope, toward the future. This may result in anxiety; and he must work to find comfort in uncertainty. He is surely one of the existentialists of the Zodiac, not given to opiates of religion or set belief systems. He might intellectually perceive an ordered universe, but his gut tells him that the bulk of being is random, chaos.

Cancer Woman

Cancer woman is the embodiment of longing, the true nature of which provides insight into her personality. Try to think of longing as emotional outreach, an active and useful mechanism for scanning and searching life, the universe, all experience, for that which one has true feeling. In this way, Cancer woman is perpetually taking emotional action. She invented the term: putting out feelers. And we feel her, don’t we: Cancer women on the whole are not subtle creatures who hide their needs, indeed, their demands. Think of her symbol crab. She flows with the current, which is to say the present, which does sometimes require being what to others can appear to be clingy. The fact is she must establish fixed experiences—occupations, living environements and relationships—for herself to counterbalance what might otherwise feel like a life of being swept up in said moment. Indeed, certain fixtures allow the Cancer to be fully accessible, circumstantially, and emotionally available. Accessing feeling is indeed a hallmark of the Cancerian female experience, most poignantly expressed by the exceedingly emotive brand of actresses born under the sign.

We cite Cinderella as a Cancerian archetype, a figure characterized by longing. Longing is a Cancer woman superpower. Though it goes unseen, this emotionally loaded action may or may not send signals to a harkening universe—though we would assert it does—but there is a strong argument that, in pinpointing that for which the Cancer might might pine, she delineates certain desire and direction to take in life. And who is to say that, being one with this longing, that the Cancer woman isn’t vibrating with needful intention, attracting desired situations, if not destiny, to her. For us, she seems the personification of the notion that hope, another Cancerian superpower, is only partly something we, as people, feel, but that there is an energetic or divine element to it whereby the universe offers it up. Cancer woman seems to have singular insight into the notion that what she feels (she needs) is one and the same with what the cosmos is prepared to provide her. Providence, promise, deliverance, all being Cancer watchwords. And so her infamous capacity for expression is thereby her part of the bargain in bringing about her own fulfillment. She will let life do the rest. The cardinal-water sign, she is like

a fountain, spring or the source of a mighty river, rolling out her feelings. It can thus be difficult for her to turn off the waterworks, and impossible for anyone to do it for her.

The secret ingredient for Cancer is time. The oyster cannot create a pearl without the ebbing and flowing tides that fall under Cancer’s ruler Moon. That tiny orb made in the Moon’s own image, is a symbol of a certain kind of wisdom of the untuitive kind. Flood myths, hinged on recovery and deliverance, hope and promise (the ark) are associated with this sign; in the classic flood myth it is the Titan goddess Themis who appears to Decaulian (the Greek Noah) and his wife Pyrra who, like two peas in a pod, make it to the proverbial other shore, the sole survivors. Themis means, and is the personification of divine law and order; literally “that which is put in place”; and Cancer woman naturally draws on this archetype letting nature/the universe help put into place that which she longs (and, thus, hopefully, works) for, while using her outsized intuition, another superpower, as a gut-level guide. She subscribes to the inclusion of a mystic element in life; and mysticism, by definition, is wisdom that is inaccessible to the intellect and only gained through intuition. So feeling all her feels, which can be overwhelming to her and others, in time provides her with intuitive insight opening onto a brand of wisdom of the highest emotional faculty. That is to say that Cinderella (who brought that prince and palace to her) ultimately becomes the fairy godmother, the wise Titaness, Themis. She is the goddess of customs, traditions, mores (all attributes of the astrological fourth house of Cancer!), the human, earthly manifestation of said order, and our part of the bargain in maintaining it. As such Cancerian women, unlike their male counterparts, will subscribe more readily to traditional religious and social practices.

Themis can also see the future, which is why she is one of the oracular deities to preside over the oracle at Delphi. Cancer woman too provides herself such insight. Her signature longing morphs, in time, into self-assurance, so long as she maintains a steady course toward the objects of it. Happily, the Cancerian isn’t result orientated, and is thus increasingly self-assured by the order she perceives emerging from the (both internal and trademark external) chaos of her early life.


Leo Man

Leo man is best at playing the game of life, one, he is certain, is not one of chance but fierce self-determination. (Ironically he loves to gamble but that’s another story.) He is authority, license and free will incarnate. That said, and as extremely creative and productive as he can be, Leo takes a leisurely approach to living. Fun, play, for him is front-loaded, and he believes that success and fulfillment can be far more easily and naturally had than the rest of us do. He holds that thought. And, while giving his all, he is never one to overdo it. Excess ambition, or the slightest pushiness in the process, are anathema to him, and he finds it vulgar in others. That goes for at work, in his social life, and even in familial relationships. Of all the men in the Zodiac, Leo feels he has the least to prove. Nor is he super demonstrative in his approval of others achievements either.

His is a world unto his own. Leo sticks to a particularly small circle, even if it be a superpowered social circuit, around which he makes the requisite rounds of dates for sports, meals and leisure activites with friends; he is purposefully guarded and unshowy, allergic to attention getters he deems phony or puffed up—and yes, there is irony here, as he does like all eyes on him, holding court as he does within said close circles. This to him is apples and oranges; and he doesn’t see said irony that his so-called reserve stems from the fact he believes all eyes are on him, as they would be any divinely righteous monarch of a man. He sees himself as spreading ingenuous warmth, perhaps not realizing that it is indeed a part of the game; he will invest this much favor and affection, but he’s on the lookout for signs in others of genuine deference would-be fealty. He will say he is drawn to (what he perceives to be) goodness and guilelessness in others. And, indeed, authenticity is one of his superpowers—and prides himself on being uanabashedly, if not overbearingly real himself; which can be at turns enviable and annoying to we, the people. He values his own opinion most highly, and like some other fixed signs, he experiences them as fact. Entitlement is a paradoxical theme that Leo man embodies.

In Sextrology, the Leo Man chapter is The Natural. Whether individually or culturally, he is drawn to those who seem likewise. Leo, himself, is wont to go native, being astrologically designed, like his totem Lion, to easefully roam life’s great expanses. And, yes, he is drawn to people, places and things with a primal throb. Like its ruler, the central Sun, the heart-center of the body is governed by the sign of Leo. The beating of the heart is the rhythm of life; and besides boasting many drummers among its number, the sign of Leo breeds men who live life at its own pace or, at least, they believe that they do. For, the zodiac’s king might naturally confuse his own will with that of the divine. The fifth astrological house of Leo is that of “co-creation with god;” so back to that pardoxical entitlement theme: Leo mainly finds it his duty to be as good a sun king as he can; to embody the best of what man can be, and thus not exploit is godlike designation, but to be a positive life-force for others, creator as well as creature, a positive life force that, to use the vernacular, gives us life. The shadow side of the king, of course, is the tyrant and anyone acquainted with a Leo man has probably seen it creep in.

Being one so cosmically endowed with nobility, Leo man will take personally every lousy move made by others. Even in circumstances that have naught to do with him, if you cross his well-drawn moral boundaries, you will make a direct insult to his majesty. He is all or nothing on that score. And when you’ve been cast out of the realm of his kinship, you typically remain so. He is one of the Zodiac’s greatest grudge holders. And it will take major recompense to enter back into his good graces, which may never happen. He is the golden boy in his youth, the wholesome Picaresque hero around which everything revolves, a typically athetic class clown who charms others with a disarming Tom Sawyer panache, he can nonetheless be emotionally distant and will be hostile to other males he considers sneaky or conniving. He is Archie and always has a rival Reggie on whom to heap his disapproval. As he matures, his world tends to get smaller, not bigger, his fan base limited to family and a handful of friends. He can be nostalgic, lost in his proverbial glory days; and must take pains to focus on the future, the uncertainty of which he’s not so naturally down with. Many twentysomething wunderkinds fall under the sign of Leo; and they risk equating inevitable aging with the weakening of their powers. Archetypally, this is the sign of young King David and King Arthur whose greatest successes come at an early age. So Leo must fight not to see himself as over the hill at thirty-five; and to consciously and constantly reinvent himself, his greatest challenge.

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. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Ma-dun

Scorpio 24° (November 16)

Le shit hits le fan. I was awake most of the night with waves of anxiety regarding the ongoing drama with farmer fuckface. And my psychic power was pumping. We learned that he put our electricity in his name, which would have entailed telling Eversource that we moved out, which we hadn’t done. We had to get that turned back on. I had a draft of a letter ready. We pulled the trigger on that and on the official one from our lawyer. It demanded access to the house but did not replace the storm door insert. It camped outside in a chair and glared and gesticulated at the house and us. Still we managed to have a lovely salmon dinner with salad, stewed tomato and avocado. But sleep was pretty much non-existent.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1146-1150 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.

One of the topics I’d like to tackle today are those psychic storefronts everywhere. You know how in every neighborhood, including the most expensive ones, like say the West Village in Manhattan which I called home for fifteen years, you find not one, not two but several Psychic joints where, if you were to enter, you’d be greeted by a typically older black-haired woman, seeming to what to discourage you from asking anything of her, let alone her services. Well there was a time, during the early Starsky + Cox years, when we first half-jokingly and then seriously but naively imaginaed taking over these establishments and making them chic versions a la Starsky + Cox; but one day at Jackson Square in the West Village we saw a whole bunch of Russian thugs coming out of one of those places and it suddenly dawned on us (rather late, probably—you all likely know this already) that these places were fronts for the Russian mob and probably tiny bits of money laundering. But of course! But maybe more than that.

Some Ptown friends had an apartment on Bank Street in a large building near Bleecker. I always thought the building creepy when I passed it pretty much daily for that fifteen years; but here, friends had a friend, a woman, who had an apartment on the top floor; but she had moved to another city and, because it was really cheap slash something shady was going on she kept it and these friends of hers we knew paid part of the rent and stayed there sometimes and they offered us in on the deal to split the rent even more. We stayed there and nearly died from what was obviously a gas leak (that we couldn’t report because we weren’t supposed to be there) but from next door, through the wall to this dump’s living room, we could hear loud fucking, but never ending loud fucking; women moaning and screaming—no doubt faking it—and low male voices, Russian voices.

The hallways of the building were filthy, the tiled floors strewn, sometimes with broken green beer bottles. There were always Russian thugs outside, on the sidewalk; if not the same exact guys we saw coming from the psychic on Jackson square, then part of the same tribe, shall we say.

Taken all together I feel that Starsky + Cox have a sort of history with the concept of these ubiquitous “psychics”, “readers”, curiously lodged in all the best neighborhoods. My spidey sense tells me that it’s money laundering, it’s prostitution, it’s sex trafficking, it fucking all of it. And the fact that that fronts for this criminality were the very store fronts I once innocently thought about “buying up” to turn into chic Starsky + Cox versions of the same? O. M. G.. They are there for a reason and it’s not a good one.

So I think this is going to be my angle of attack.

In other news I’m fucking pissed off about Chris Hardwick. Sorry, but there is no fucking way he was abusive. I mean there is but he wasn’t. The ex accusing him I’m sorry but I know her type. I’m serious. I side with women 99 and 99/100% of the time—anybody who knows me knows that—so my emphatic defense of Chris doesn’t come easy. And I concede: I don’t know. But, you know, to see him fired off his show and his name be taken off his brand. Fuck that. I told him: Let me tell you something: Don’t lose heart. The spidey sense says this isn’t a derailment but a redirect. Also people aren’t really buying this one. I see you very clearly rising from whatever ashes this might create. This is more a test of how you deal with it. Don’t succomb to any negative hyphenated words that start with self-. Weather this with grace and ultimately speak your truth. We are with you!


In our book Sextrology, the Aries Man chapter is titled The One. It is a nod to the inherent sense of appointment, being singled out as special, that the Aries possesses; as well as a reference to his innate ability to approach life from his own singular perspective. Aries takes a warrior approach to life, entering into forms of training, if even of his own devising, that will keep him on the straight and narrow, directed toward his goals. He is fiercely competitive, which is why, ironically, he tends to shy away from contests and comparisons. He doesn’t much entertain the aims or even the concerns of others, because for him they might constitute a distraction. Aries is Latin for Ram‚the word arietare means to ram or to butt. As the male personification of this premier astrological energy, Aries embodies initiation and the birthing of new ideas and orders. Mars, whose namesake planet rules the sign. is the Olympian war god who carries a spear—in more ancient mythologies, he was a hunter then herder, carrying a staff, still, like the spear, a phallic symbol. All told, he is a male fertility god, and the virile Aries doesn’t fall far from that tree. Whether it be of a flock, or of a hunt or an army, the archetype is that of a leader. Aries energy is all about initiative if not being on the attack. And to say the Aries man isn’t a follower would be an understatement.

Aries man is on his own trip and it’s near impossible for him to on on others’ He is aggressive in his attempt to get you to engage in what he’s doing, his activities and interests, chief among them: himself, and his goals. The most lone, if not the most lonely guy, their is a natural silence to his existence with which he’s most comfortable, yet with others he can be a bit extra. Not to say all Aries come on strong—many are intensely solitary, even in company. But, either way, he makes a great impact. The Areis male is the most unironically butch, with the fewest androgynes (if any) found in their order. And, whether solo or before an audience, it’s always the Aries man show. He is great at putting it (his ideas, his plans, his creative efforts) out there but it’s difficult for him to take things in. Let’s just say this buster can filibuster, like the fire sign he is, sucking all the air out of a room. He is the most honest of the gender signs, for shiz, and often brutally so. He is the proverbial boss, and he’s good at it, so long as his associates buy wholesale into his vision. Voted most likely to achieve singular goals, Aries man is shot through with adrenalin, just one of many A-words associated with Aries, along with ardour, assertion, aggression, ambition, actualization, achievement—even his biblical and mythological archetypes, Adam and Ares (Roman: Mars) do likewise.

Aries man is the most unapologetic of signs. He embodies the notion that a person must put on his own oxygen mask before helping others do likewise. The unevolved Aries can be excedingly demanding in the assertion of his agenda, given to infantile outbursts when he feels he’s not being heard. At his most evolved, Aries is completely self-sufficient and, when participating with others, will do so detachedly. Somerset Maughm’s Larry Darrell, the protagonist of The Razor’s Edge, is an archetype of the Aries man, the war (god) hero on a soulful, existential journey that sees him renounce the people, places and things to which he’s supposed to be attached. Aries is the embodiment of purpose, the one true one being the full understanding of upper-case Self. Buddha himself was apparently born an Aries. The paradox of being an Aries man is probably the most striking of any individual on the astrological wheel. He is the most physical of men and yet he is the most inclined to realize his purely spiritual nature, separate from others. He is the most objective and objectifying of creatures and yet one who is compelled to look inward, to isolate a sense of pure goodness. He arguable possesses the largest ego of any of us—endowed with an outsized sense of purpose and importance—and yet this will drive him to the most vigilant of men in the pursuit of enlightenment, often through some denial of his physical self, wants and desires. He’s all me, me, me but ultimately in service of some greater good.

C’est moi, is the song sung by the character Lancelot, another Aries archetype, in the musical Camelot. In it, he extols his own superior virtues, both his extraordinary physical prowess and might as a knight but also his remarkable soul and purest heart and mind, “the envy of every saint.” Such is the hyperbole that Aries man is want to reserve for himself. And yet he didn’t escape his animal, sexual nature in the end, no matter how much he exercised his spiritual muscle.

  • They take everything personally • Not only do they have difficulty seeing others’ perspectives, they exhibit no irony in believing that everyone should be looking at life from theirs. • They are the biggest hostage taker. •They are the most unbeholden living life on their own terms and on their own time. If they find, as they often do, a solo vocation where they needn’t much interface with others—solo artist or business owner, carpenter, graphic designer, anything where they can create and come up with any goods alone. Other notions: Stalker tendencies (if denied what they want), hard workers (bad bosses), strong body odor, bossy bottoms, bluster and bravado, Up for anything not for too long, thumbsucking and having to change their diapers. They adore without being clingy. In charge. Always moving onto the next thing. They have short tempers and are prone to tantrums. “Charismatic mansplainers. Active adventurous, but not in it for the long haul. In it for the “moment” and ultimately good with being in the moment (via meditation, etc).

Aries Woman

Aries is, in a word, spirited. In our book Sextrology the Aries woman chapter is called The Original and it does indeed seem her natural birthright to stand out from the rest of the flock, to be unique, if not decidedly so; but the title also refers to something more primal; that the Aries woman embodies femalehood in its purest sense, untinged by the societal dictates or expectations of women, all of which Aries considers to be artifice, compounded over the millennia. She is someone about whom one says she broke the mold. And she is the most naturally feminist of female, cosmically programmed, on can argue, to take an objective view of life, making of it what she will. A strong defense is her superpower and she is forever on-guard, armored, against any people, place or thing that calls for her submission or deference to some patriarchy, especiallly.

Aries is the premier strategist of the Zodiac, endowed with the power to think many moves ahead of others in any situation. She is a master planner and architect of a life lived “at the top”—of whatever field or experience she enters into—planning her work and working her plan until she secures herself a lofty enough position—professionally, socially, artistically—where she will not be put down or subject to censure. She does not take criticism constructively. And, like her Aries brother, she wants freedom in autonomy, had either in solo pursuits or as one in charge with total carte blanche. She is cool, even aloof, on the outside, but internally her mind and spirit burn with ambition, mostly of the goodly kind. That superpower of hers makes Aries a notoriously great defender, particularly, of those whom, or that which, cannot defend themselves—be it women, minorities, children, animals, natural resources or the environment.

We have always found much treasure in the typecasting of actors of the various signs, as they often get pigeon holed by virtue of the archetypes and attributes associated with them. Aries women play unapologetic and unabashed. Their characters can be at war with the world and the men what made it. Though she holds herself apart, she is objectifying of that which she wants, which she wants when she want it. What she fancies should be hers by rights, and she sees no irony in that perspective. Aries is highly selective, after all, and thus singular in her ambitions and would-be conquests. She can be most selfish for love, if not in it. To connect the aliterative dots she is alert, attentive, aware, audacious, avid and avaricious. She assimilates and seeks to do so, most simply. She is exacting and employs an economy of moves, suffering no fools. She isn’t by nature sentimental, and she jettison people, places and things from her life, without regret. When she goes, she’s gone, to coin a phrase.

Like the male Ram, Aries woman also draws on the archetype of the warrior, albeit in female form. The prudent goddess of war and diplomacy, Athena, is her classical archetype. Like her, Aries woman’s steely exterior—never warm and fuzzy—belies a natural compassion not only as a defender of those in need, but on seeks to lift others up. In this we see true purpose of her pursuit of lofty positions: they are a necessity for benefitting those on whom she aims to bestow her patronage. She likes to feel important in this way, to make a positive impact and an obvious difference in the word, to be that proverbial one in a million. Athena gave the olive tree to her namesake Athens, a source of food (survival) and oil (fuel, or metaphorically speaking, enlightenment). War deities were always originally shepherd gods (which is why the first sign of the Zodiac, associated with the origin of life, is that of a sheep) agrarian staffs turning to spears as the world populated and peoples clashed. And we see that original nature in the Aries woman who is uniquely qualified to lead some flock or another, defending them against the wolves of the world. But that takes a fierceness all its own

Which is why, on the flipside, Aries woman is acutely attuned to others’ weaknesses and vulnerabilities and will readily point them out or exploit them in the pursuit of her goals. She is crafty and cunning and won’t hesitate to hold things over other people’s heads, or work them into a corner, if it suits her goodly purposes. Aries is reactionary in the extreme, and yet one might scarcely know it, she is that good at keeping her cards close to her vest. But she will play them, never fear, at the self-appointed time, and she is determined to win. Unfortunately, it can be at any cost, which is her fatal flaw. Perhaps because she is, by nature, rather righteous, she always has to be right, loath to ever admit she’s wrong. This can cause a lot of casualties—broken bonds and bridges—along the way. In signature steely style she might pretend to the bitter end that she couldn’t care less about it; but the truth is she bears the pain of regret deeply. Funny that a large part of the Aries woman’s personal evolution and enlightenment could be hastened by a few heart-felt apologies; they are, as a rule, not forthcoming.


Taurus man is the most evocative of creatures. He is a master of self-cultivation. Like a gardner he designs his persona to appeal to those whose attention he most wishes to capture, presenting himself as an anti-hero of sorts, seemingly subtle and insinuating and self-reverential—even if in the form of self-deprecation. He is rather unstraightfoward in the way he puts himself out there. That is to say he can be oblique, usually asking a series of questions (to which he already knows the answers you’ll give him) designed to illustrate his agenda while you’re the one who seems to have asserted it. He obscures his desires and motivations while diligently exacting them.

In keeping with his symbol Bull, the object (you) has to incite the Taurus’ charge (that agenda). Funny that Taurus is associated with responsibility because Taurus man doesn’t seem to take much of it—however, in the literal sense of the word, he is always responding to people’s reactions to him, and forever making tweaks to his approach so to maximize his appeal. You might say he is synonomous with his wants. And his process in achieving them is one of selective people-pleasing, all the while expressing (or feigning?) a certain guilelessness. The garden being the metaphorical landscape of this fixed-earth sign, his innocent self-cultivation gives way to pointed temptation as he promises others some form or other of favor or delight. But he always takes for what he gives. It’s All About (St)eve, a fact of which most people will be blissfully unaware, just how the little Bully intends it.

Taurus man is endlessly self-reflective, his seeming insouciance belying a carefully crafted persona. The French have the term decontracté which is a sort of negligent chic, in both style and demeanor. Taurus is an expert in this arena, never wanting to appear contrived in any way—when, truth be told, he can be the most self-art-directed of men, down to his paper-thin jeans, perfect stubble and well-rehearsed conversation. He does all he can to look, and make it all seem, natural. He learns early to take stock of skills and talents and to target the precious few that provide him admiration and assistance, even if in the vaguest form of praise. More than most he seeks to be considered an artist at whatever he does.

His main goal is ease, so he might settle for a comfortable success or tiny slice of renown, forgoing a surplus of hard work or sacrifice that might score higher achievement. He is however all for being swept up toward goals by endless assists and favors provided by his ever exanding immediate fan base. Taurus has a way of ingratiating himself into many lives, and often in a way that invites others to take care of him, on some level. Thus he evokes a certain patronage and sometimes stirring some sexual element into the mix. Taurus draws on the archetype of such male flower gods as Adonis, Hyacinth and Narcissisus, the cartoon version being Ferdinand the Bull and his roses. He is better than most people at sustaining a lifestyle that can be characterizes and stopping to smell those posies, that is to say, living in the present.

What Taurus can’t afford in his life are who might see through his more sychophantic ways and thus threaten to out him as an opportunist. This slice of the population is typically comprised of former friends he collected who helped him along the way but found themselves to be stepping stones. Those who continue to serve a purpose to the Taurus, however, will find his friendship addicting, because they are heaped with praise and attention in return, rewarded in kind for their patronage.

Taurus man is a notorious name-dropper, forever seeking to rise by version of his associations. Money is a major motivator to this man of careful action; and even those who pretend to be in love with certain poverty, or to champion the downtrodden, would be the first to cash in if he could…and he often does.

Astrology 101 is always talking about the Taurus appetite and how people born under the sign can overindulge in substances, food and drugs among them. It’s not quite true. Taurus man is more inclined to let you think he has a problem because it elicits more help from others, at the same time endowing him with a romantic, tragic brand of cool reserved for legendary hedonists who become iconic cultural figures. He is more, again, carefully cultivated and controlled a dabbler than he’d have others believe; if anything he is prone to be a pusher of such delights as might border on dangerous, a literal manifestation of the temptation energy associated with his sign. To psychoanalyze this tendency, one might infer that he seeks to derail others as a way of knocking out the competition; because it’s usually those he supposedly admires most that he, if only subconsciously, seeks to undermine. It’s not so much malicious as it is myopic, maybe. And ….


Taurus Woman

Taurus woman comes with a checklist of things they need to achieve and aquire, and they work it till they’ve ticked off each and every item, and then some. This modus operandi provides them security, or at least the sense that they I securing it for themselves. They are sensual creatures with a natural innocence, even when batting their cow eyes at you. Think of them like shutters of a camera, taking in and recording, from every angle, what the abundant world of possibility, or you yourself, might have to offer them. They are efficiency experts, loath to waste precious time—to them a true commodity—on people, places and things not worth their salt. They embody the notion that life should be carefree, doing all in their power to create a safe enclosure for themselves against the savagery of society. They see these same people, places and things in terms of value, investing interest, even the loving kind, only when confident of a solid return. The face of value being deceiving, they can be duped by appearances and overemphasis external trappings, which ultimately leave them wanting.

She is born under the archetype of the naive earth nymphs such as Io, who took the form of a snow-white heifer—the fairy tale of Snow White, innocence incarnate, is a retelling of that myth. These stories are hinged on experience and resiliance—the unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, typecast with a Taurus actress, is a funny, modern echoing of the same old story of the guileless female learning the often wicked ways of the world, without losing her childlike spirit. And so Taurus’ journey is about understanding her own strength and value without becoming jaded. She embodies the knowledge that our natural state should be one of happiness and living in harmony with nature. But this wide eyed view can also make the Taurus overly trusting, thus vulnerable to would-be snakes in the grass. She will readily learn this in life, and hopefully not too much the hard way.

If Taurus man is the gardener of the Zodiac, Taurus woman is like a flower, itself, delicate, pleasing, and needful of cultivation and care. Enviroment is everything to the Taurus woman, and a loving one is essential for her to exhibit her full expression of talent, value and beauty. She must be rooted in some talent or purpose and allow her surroundings to be a nurturative force. Flowers don’t seek to open part way, they intend toward full expression of their perfumed power and beauty. Flower power is the law of attraction, a superpower Taurus woman personifies. The power of passivity. Partnerships, one-on-one relationships, are key. Trust is her main theme, and yet it requires a setting of absolute safety, emotional or otherwise, in order for her to invest it. Funny that a show of trust is expressed in such financial terms—just as a trust itself can also mean a fund of sorts—as Taurus is the most material of signs, associated with value and esteem. To earn her trust, one must continually prize all the positive and loving assets that Taurus woman brings to the table, which is a lot. As such, she can find herself being used more than most people, whether for her talent or beauty or whatever else might make her a potential cash cow. So discernment is something the Taurus needs to develop lest she become distrustful, especially in love relationships. The irony of being the Zodiac’s proverbial innocent is notoriously attracted to bad-ass, baller characters. The best kind of company she can keep, however, is childlike, fun-loving creatures like herself.

Taurus tends to be naturally playful and prone to goofy, comedic antics and practical jokes. She can, however, be the most demanding of individuals, expecting a lot from the people in her life. She knows her worth and appreciates (read: demands) demonstrations of people’s affection and appreciation. She is a private but social creature who amasses a close circle of friends, those with similar tastes and lifestyles. She is a devoted friend; but she can cut those from her life who belittle or betray her loyalty with nary a regret. She can be competitive financially, and in the measuring of success, and her biggest challenge is being prone to envy of others, which she must learn to channel into inspiration from them. Sisterhood is something from which Taurus draws strength, and she is very much interested in the feminine experience beyond her personal own. She doesn’t revel in solitude; rather she enjoys sharing experience and working as a team, or ensemble, though she naturally acts the boss. If she possesses a bankable talent, she will bring friends and family along for a successful ride. She is mindful with money, even when flush in the extreme, but it won’t keep her from spending on creature comforts—her taste being more cushy than overly extravagant.

Prone to focussing on appearance, Taurus woman will especially indulge in fashion and beauty, and she is rather on the nose when it comes to telegraphing status or wealth—choosing designer labels, luxury cars, living in tony neighborhoods and the like. These all signal proof of her success, as much to herself as to others who might take note. She tends to see herself through others’s eyes, anyway, comfortable in a subjective role.

———

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. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Wunderbar

Scorpio 23° (November 15)

Exhausting day. Cleaning, laundry, shopping, dump, gard manger and then making carbonara and zucchini for din din, which we will eat super early (Sunday lunch style) before diving into the Crown.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1141-1145 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.

ou know, some days I just don’t know where to start. The state of the world is so troubling and what I didn’t know is how much this was going to effect me and people I know. A friend put up a post on Facebook saying how he thought everything was terrible and was it just him. And another friend (who I have to say is one of the world’s most neediest cases who has called me crying for a handout and has asked for help a number of times—to recommend her for affordable housing, to advance her pay when I’ve employed her, on and on) suggested “just travel” as she is currently in Australia doing a concert and, mind you, is only there because she is traveling on another friend’s dime. To which I responded: Reality check: Geographic cures are not the answer. Anthony Bourdain did a lot of traveling. The state of this country (and world) and what is going on politically is effecting all of us with a conscience and we have to find even the smallest ways of being part of the solution. That is the only way to fight the pall of mass depression that is a deliberate result of an oppressive regime. They are serving us hopelessness on purpose as they dismantle everything we love about being who we are. That is fucking depressing. To tell people to “just travel” is ridiculous. And (AM) you should know as well as anybody the feeling of being stuck and without resource and searching for help and answers from friends to get out of the holes we all find ourselves in. We have to help each other and listen to each other and inspire each other to actually fight. People ask why didn’t the Jews fight back during the Holocaust. Um because they were so demoralized and the erosion was slow enough—the boiling frog syndrome—that by the time it was too late it was. You see we as kind people with a conscience can’t conceive of the evil people are capable of; and those who do evil and plan to oppress others rely on the fact that we can’t conceive of doing such a thing. But this manipulative mechanism is no longer accidental or vague. It is a plot, and a well planned out one where individuals who are antithetical to the institutions they are meant to represent are put in place to destroy them. This is not conspiracy theory. This is happening. So, sure, take a trip and dance barefoot threw the grass that appears greener on the other side, but then come back and become part of the solution. And by the way, the price of jet fuel is going up for a reason. Because not everyone gets plane tickets paid for by someone else; and most of us can’t afford to just jump on a flight somewhere; increasingly that is becoming something only few will be able to afford. Fight. That is the antidote to depression. Fight for your life in even the smallest way you can. It isn’t metaphor. It’s real. And trust your instincts. It is more true now than ever that yes “everything IS terrible.” We all must find a way to do something about it. The struggle is real. And helping others can be the most healfully selfish thing you can do!


I’m just going to type up all the last bits of paper I’d like to throw away and not even judge the content in the least.

Must reach out to top stars to Andy Cohen. Don’t look for anything from them. Instead engage more. Eleganza. I had a dream I met Ken Horgan so I have decided to take some tennis lessons from him (only to later learned he’s no longer doing it). Quinn Cox. William Leone. Letter to menas magazines. I just decided on day recently to get back into it. Than Nelsons. I’m into the Fortnight. AF twitter insta. Agreement for Becca. Add Isaac Oliver to Family. Find and cultivate 1. Letter to Venues. @. Make mini acting resume. Make mini writing resume. Brian letter of agreement. One to two artists a day building the site to Two and Getting materials to Jesse Build sponsor website as we go after them. Preservation al Hall, Provincetown Theater Cotiuit Arts Center. Ask Mitch about Sandra. Fenton Barnus. Edsel. Mildred and the Vidas. Gift cards.

From Lady of the Lake to Lancelot du Lac. Anysaid. Thursday: Growth. Friday: Self Appreciation. Straight White Men. Everyday write a Blague about a place with a photo. Instragram and Tweet from A.F. Write a form ltter to new or college venue.S+ C tweet words about the day. Get on case for new website. What astrology book are we reading?

And that’s the end of that, really. Today is the day I move beyond any sense of catching up in any realm of my existence and feel the wind at my back pushing me forward to do fun and interesting things along the way.

I have the usual artists from whom it’s like pulling teeth to get their information. It’s no longer good enough and I’m going to already research who might be able to replace these horror shows. I’m really sick of my works being undervalued; but it will be my own fault if they continue to be so.

Diane Nelson reached out. She left her job at Warner Bros. a year ago. I didn’t know that. She and her husband Pete and their kids are coming to Truro in a few weeks; so we’ll see them; and also Heather Randall (Tony’s widow) will be coming up because her son is doing some kind of writer’s program, presumably, at the Fine Arts Work Center. A bunch of snobs there I must say.

Provincetown has become super uppity in that regard on the one hand. And yet the cruise shops keep pouring in, dropping thousands of tourists who don’t eat (because they eat for free on the boat) and probably don’t drink much either—they just walk around taking up space. In so many ways it might be time to go to try and carve out a genuine experience somewhere else.

I think we all get attached to what we think we should be doing or to the doing of things we’ve done. And sometimes, even if certain things are going “well” we need to make an abrupt change. I’m feeling that kind of last bow coming on….


The cedar wax wings returned this morning. I woke up at 5am to continue painting upstairs. I love the cedar wax wings. They are like angels. And their calls are like whistles, shrill but delicate. The painting is daunting but, really, I don’t have a deadline.

Four friends from high school are coming to visit. Dave, whom I’ve been in touch with these past four years, as he lived in Paris and we have been going there consistently; and now he’s in New York, in the East Village, so we’ve got to hang there too. Here is actually a really good guitarist. Then there’s Tony whom I haven’t seen since the 1990s. He played in the band the Niagaras, fronted by Robert Whaley, with whom we seemed to click, not sure why. When I was in the Seagull on Broadway, Ethan Hawke starred. And Ethan was close with Robert’s brother Frank who had also been in the band—Ethan and Frank were in Dead Poets’ Society. So Tony is a serious musician.

Then there is Ken whom I haven’t seen but once in 2006 at a high school reunion, and not, before that, since 1987 I believe, when he lived near his parents in Franklin Lakes. We visited him one afternoon or evening and that was the last time I saw Mike, who is also coming to visit. Mike and I go the furtherest back, having gone to grammar school together in Wyckoff where I moved for the fourth grade. He was always pretty rambunctious and kind of a bully—but in that way boys could be when they maybe found themselves having crushes on other boys or sensing a certain ambuiguity in sexual identity. In any case he left high school (military school?) junior year but returned for senior year. At least that is my recollection. I think he and I probably will have the best connection. Though Ken was my dearest friend of the lot, I think he’s become religious. Or at least his wife has become a reverend; Methodist I think. But he always played guitar.

I’m probably the least talented, muscially, and I hope not the fattest. Ironically, I’m the one who performs places like Joe’s Pub, which is only the case because of the wider resonance of the act—these performing astrologers—not because I have any kind of chops. I like to say that I’m a vocalist, not a singer, and not a very good one at that.

I’m at once looking forward to their visit—Stella will be in Canada—and also kind of dreading it, just being which a bunch of guys I hardly know makes me feel encroached upon; and then there is the bathroom scenario. I can’t even think about it. I plan not to poo for a few days. Anyway they all arrive on Friday, June 29th, Tony in the day, the rest in the evening, and Dave leaves the next morning which (when do we sleep?) is going to feel like hell. I think I will do an experiment and drink very little and be the grown up of the group. Honestly I think it’s the only way to pull this off, sanely.


This has always been one of the darkest days of the year for me. I have one sibling (that I know of) born this day and she is probably the worst person you will ever meet. I haven’t had to see her since about 2005, gratefully; and despite what you might be thinking, trust me: there is no going back. As it turns out the mango in chief is also born this day. Flag day. Don’t get me started on the anthem and taking a knee. I’d like to take a baseball bat to that fucker. I cannot wait for the tide to turn and for the return to normalcy. We must vote this creature out; and we must know that our voting process isn’t rigged in the process.

These kids, these girls, toddlers, disappearing at the border: they are being sold into sex slavery, aren’t they? I know it seems sick to say so. But it’s sicker to believe that these pigs are not doing this for the very purpose of human sex trafficking, children sex trafficking. That’s what’s happening here. And the sickos doing it rely on the fact that we non-sickos would think it too sicko to be true. It isn’t.


I can feel a certain radicalism welling up inside me for reals. In some ways I feel quite free. In others I feel quite the opposite. But I can pinpoint the times in my life where I have made strong singular changes. Mostly these moments occurred in my youth, pre-longterm-relationship (which for me means before the age of nineteen!) but somehow there is more freedom in our relationship now than ever. And I am feeling empowered to embark on something of a solo inner journey.

One of the topics I want to explore in the next few days is: a serious argument for astrology. To get started I think I would say that first we have to look at the Zodiac as we know it. It’s something that has always been there, and we’ve pooh-poohed for some reason without really knowing why. Well, they why of it is the advent of the daily horoscope which is a rather new confection, made popular by the birth of Princess Margaret in 1930. But it’s like a sort of mass hallucination that we are meant to mentally, intellectually pass the Zodiac by without really looking at what it is; which is a sort of mandala, a self-contained circle to express all of experience, and something of a system for self-realization. Or at least for discerning to some degree an order to our lives and to the universe.

The symbology and pictography of the Zodiac link directly to the myths and, most extraordinary, to the myths, first associated with the planets (which are named for the chief gods) and with the sign itself. For instance Aries, the Ram, opens onto the myth of the golden fleece; while we might also explore the myths of the namesake of the sign’s planet ruler, in this case, Mars (Greek: Ares, uncoincidentally) and the full estate and legend of the war god who is an apt archetype for the Aries man, just as Athena (the war goddess) is fitting to the Aries woman. Of course, this just one direction one can take in “reading” the Zodiac—here discussing the relevance of each of the twelve signs to people born under them, what is called humanistic astrology—but one can look through the lens of the Zodiac in numerous other ways—there are in fact eight-four different recognized schools of astrology at last count.

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. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Back In The Saddle

Scorpio 22° (November 14)

Slightly more active today. Been perusing the Wellfleet news pages pretty obsessively. Had some back and forth with Patrick which was nice. Looking forward to S.’s return tomorrow.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1136-1140 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.

Today is never a good day. Neither is eight days from now nor Father’s Day. As much as I love June, I have so many negative associations with it. My sister shares a birthday with Trump; how perfect is that?

Stella comes back today which is good. We have a very busy week after all. I think we may have to move a client, however, which is something, really, we never do. I am so looking forward to these next weeks of painting and so forth; although the blue in the bathroom, I think, might look bad.

I have a nervous feeling of having done something wrong. Do you know that feeling. It’s old. As is any kind of cult of worry. I really have gotten past it. I hope. Although the same demons do come back to bite me in the ass.

There is a note written in my planner on this day about some kind of “trick” for the new book. How crazy and wonderful it will be now to be focusing solo on new thoughts and new material and to be able to represent (the cosmic) here. The stuff that happens in the course of putting those thoughts together is really the Blague (joke) part. At least that is the hope.

It is hard to be motivated when you feel quote-unquote behind. But I have to say, starting some time around the 17th or 18th of this month, I will be seamlessly matching this forum with the what-not I need in the course of the day’s work at hand. Multi-purpose. To which I will add my social media. But I have to spoon that stuff in.

I really do feel that I will have a large following eventually on here; but to do that I actually have to tell people I write this. Yeah, see that could be a problem…

A friend asked a question to which I want to answer.

 Hi! I’ve given your question some thought and I think the answer is in making tiny adjustments that work with the unfolding or rather, are part of it. First of all, enjoy the magic, make no major changes, keep things basically just the way they are; allow yourself to enjoy the way things are this year; much of the relaxation you feel is in comparison to last year with the boat and such; so this year just enjoy the fact that business is growing, and will be booming, just as you find yourself with more calm and time which, being summer, we talked about your using to get to the beach, surf, and otherwise provide yourself a 360° existence even whilst in your busy season with a burgeoning business. I think being available to the steady success of Baie while not stressing out in the least would be the greatest accomplishment and constitute “success” at the juncture. You might find that this is a rhythm you want to establish for all time.

There really is nothing cooler than a successful business that doesn’t have to do promotion. And I would basically shy away from doing anything traditional—no press releases, no nothing of the sort. The right people already know that Baie is a rare gem of quality culinary experience in Provincetown. All you have to do is to continue to express yourself and your creativity and to unfold the beauty of your vision and share it. Which is exactly what you’re doing. Should you have some beautiful business cards made? Of course, but only when you feel like it. Meanwhile you can get a stamp and some blank cards, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Just keep enjoying and creating the experience. They will continue to find you. Believe us on this one.

Now, just as you might get some nice cards, you will keep up your Instagram, which is already beautiful; and you’ll find your own way and language with the messenging and the photography. I think if you’re looking to “promote”, say, the daytime experience at Baie, you might focus on that bit of the experience, otherwise just letting your followers know what’s cooking, what’s being thought of the kitchen, maybe a little philosophy or why you love cooking certain things or elements of decor or wines or desserts or what have you. You could hone that personal voice coming from Baie into Social Media.

But that’s all I would do this summer if that. I think post-season you can be more reflective. I think doing some cool, boutique events in the Fall might be interesting and “newsworthy” for local press and so forth. But, ultimately, what should happen post-season, is cultivating your chef profile and, if there is promotion to be done, to let media, newspapers and I think television, especially, know that you are who you are and you have the resume you have and you have this exceptional restaurant in an exceptional place and that it is a destination for international tastemakers, designers, food critics, etc. And in the meantime the mainstream press will be coming there and writing you up without your lifting a pinky these next three months.


Not much on the books today, thankfully. I ‘ll just keep the flow going on writing and do some painting and other home improvement stuff. And I’m just going to let the festival shuffle along for a full days, having things pretty much where I need them to be this month en route to pulling major trigger after July 4.

I have this dream of opening a stationers shop. I feel it’d be fun to have a bunch of beautiful things in stock, and to do classy printing and other such things, working with some kind of genius designer of that sort—possibly Emily; now that’s an idea—so that would entail looking for some backing all it’s own. Not sure. But I do like the idea of paper and tangible items. Perhaps doing jewelry and stationery simultaneously. Something modeled on those little black books I used each year during the 90s, they’re all down stairs filled with wide-eyed plans and fear of death. And of course telescopes, objets d’art, and so forth. I will miss not going to Kirstie Alley’s house this year, but Alaska should be pretty fun too.

Weightloss begins at the emotional level.

Among other things, I’m all caught up, pretty much, on my banking and so forth. I was intrigued by the notion of the golden visa in Portugal, but honestly I think I can do better. Not to say having an apartment in Lisbon or Porto wouldn’t be cool, but, truth be told, I could just focus on France for a couple of years, with a few side trips here and there. There is a small apartment available in “our neighborhood” which might do the trick for a bit. I wonder if we mightn’t be able to set ourselves up at Mrs. Ma’s, to be honest. That would make quite a splash I must say.

The thing about [sic.] is I cannot stand to make mistakes or break anything. I feel that all will go wrong if I accidentally smash an old coffee or tea cup; and then it usually does because the power of that weird belief. It’s about how I’m hard on myself. That’s a theme.

Newsletter Stories: The Grant for New England Artists. The New Glow Festival. The new name of the Oberon series and who is in it. This year’s roster. What we are aiming for with grants in terms of residency. The amping of the Sparkler program.

Paris is all I can think about. And to that point I think that I should make it a goal to have it be the one city. And if push came to shove the only place I live. It really is so doable. And we will be rather forceful in our bid for residency because why not. We can totally make this formula work. And indeed I have every intention of making it so.


 Action Items

(Leo) meditation : that you are the appointed to so that who you are and what you do is the most important thing. Everybody wishes they were you. Anecdote about the Dr. role in Streetcar. Or that commercial where the old lady physicist is a celebrity.

List: What are the top ten things about being you?

Biz

Wikipedia and IMBD

The Apothecary. G. K. D. F. Sexy metal containers. How to make essential oils, room energizers, dentefrice.

Letters to Editors starting with Michelle Promalayko.

Books

the notion to run Wheel as one would a magazine. March 2019 would be anniversary edition of Sextrology plus the book club of sorts for generating even more ideas. working backwards from March! Do the fortnight thing then?

Needing to put not one but two proposals into works.

Sidebars: Paradox, Color, Plant, Animal, Asteroid, Tree, Lesser Gods (smaller muscles), your place on the wheel, individual birthday? not for this book.

Revisit the Sabian Symbols as they relate to the BB of Ds.

A-scopes
The foreign world of books
Lectures, workshops

Social Media

Putting together a content Calendar. Morning S + C Tweet

re-merching magazines that have covered us, maybe Throwback Thursday?

Looking for blaggers with more than 25K followers—working out some kind of trade maybe.

Crosstalk. We could converse with each other, on Twitter. Instagram visiaul only

Today is the Day That X Happened.

Alias Corbett-Leone? Things we did in the past that are fabulous

The Weather Within….brought to you by As Above So Below, the fastest acting metaphysical alignment solution on the market!

Mantra Monday.

Fortnight work.

Sexy Wednesday : Hump Day? 3 Instagrams per day?

QC Twitter is Blague related.

Following the intro inserts, Blague will focus on the sic. It must revert to personal writing.

Afterglow

Performers: Falcone and Darlene.


Book

Libras make up words, sniglet
Geminis see life as a bargain they’re making.
Sidebars: Colors, Stones, Plants, Animal totems, Additional myth, Taro cards.
Scorpio mining the material Taurus
Talk about signs in terms of their placement on the wheel, before and aft?N’s sentences can com off of house rulership and keywords for the most part making it manifest in the third person, etc

Aries the most elemental female putting out signals, actiely wanting. grazing, grazing. Aries is all gimme gimme gimme

Shows and Songs

I remind myself there is a Lecture Worksheet
W.I.T. is about S + C evolution
Update the song file…You’ll go to Hell et al, en route to archiving all shows
The Friendly Fires song Paris
Nothing in this world can stop me thinking about….Kinks/The Shelters

Social Media

QC Twitter. Every individual performer plus key ones. Laura Linney Tony Goldwyn, SJP et al. QC folows personal friends and places around the world. More travel. And posting about things done as QC and WL

Travel writer Resume

S+C other metaphysicians, clientele, cool things of that sort.

Afterglow

Realtors, Hotels, Boston folks, Wharf people, Press release.

Social Media

Afterglow Twitter follows all our artists and local businesses. Glow fest follows all boston people, local

 Design

Magical Metallurgical D. Jewlery. D. Adornment
Power in symbols and shapes and colors
Stones as well as metals, alloys. Precious stones have power
Symbol for each degree. Esoterially empowered
Lockets, Amuluets Tannis route
Solid perfoume
Hans Jared? Josephine.


This melted circus peanut does not represent me as an American citizen. The G-7 summit is like having your crazy, raged-filled addict, thug-mental father, whose abuses you’ve had to withstand behind close doors, suddenly flaring up at a graduation party or other such gathering of friends and their families, revealing what you’ve had to endure in the privacy of your own world. There is certain embarrassment, apology and shame; and yet a sense of relief that outsiders are witnessing first hand the type of environment in which you’ve had to live and try to endure. As the Congress of enablers sits back and lets it happen—both complicit Republicans and doormat Democrats—we find we have to take to the streets and to the airwaves and to social media to let the world know that we are being held hostage by this erratic blob of melted crayon nobody wants to color with. This is beyond flip-flopping. This is deliberate confusion and dysinformation on parade. The cringeworthy cretan showing up late, causing conflict, leaving early. This is the dysfunctional relative that ruins every family gathering because they have no real personal power but the bravado of their position to cause disorder and chaos. We need to disown this miscreant. This Grendel. This Gollum. This gargoyle mass of makeup and eyebags and grease and hair must be impeached and prosecuted and ultimately put a way in a cell where he belongs, mumbling to himself to the end of his days about his power of self pardoning. He has got to go now.

People say “someboday has to do something” and yes well I think that somebody is you and me and everyone we know and we have to do both those things. and we need to see some strong democrats who speak up with some fire, and rally crowds all their own, awake and emerge from this sleepy hollow of progressive idealism. the era of polite democratic politics is over. rolling up ones sleeves needs to be more than affectation. it has to be necessity and in small towns all over this nation people like you and me should be plopping down a soap box and starting to spew some love for this country because, like Cher and others said, this Gilead shit is real.

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. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

I’m Lucky

Scorpio 21° (November 13)

I was pretty much useless today. Couldn’t even be asked to cook anything. Thank goodness for tinned sardines.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1131-1135 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.

Our daily walks are the saving grace; and I need to embrace them all the more. I have over three weeks until my high school friends come to visit and the vanity in me is determined to get a little edge in the rest and exercise department. I’m weird I know. It’s been such a dark time in our country and I can’t help but feel really strung out by the bad baby sitter. People seem a bit crazy to me, which I know puts my own sanity in question. But I think when you have a bully running the show it gives license to other bullies. I want to get out in front of all these feelings, but it is terribly challenging. Two words: Nova Scotia.

Seriously the smartest thing to do might very well to figure out a way to get a house in our neighborly land to the north. I can’t believe we would go so far as to alienate that country of all countries. I’m not saying anything earth shattering here today I know. And I worry that I’ve lost my sense of humor. Everything feels like its happening in a dream, or rather a nightmare. This must be the last time I do certain things the way I’ve been doing them. I need to drum up more easeful support for my efforts or simply stop doing them.

I’m in a place where I am trusting very few people; and in regard to my visiting friends I think these two thought forms go together. I think I need to be around people who knew me when after spending far too long being around transient narcissists. There is that one narcissist nemesis who I despise with most fibers of my being. The one who infiltrated my world to meet and ultimately befriend my more influential cronies in the world of art and entertainment. And he’s done very well for himself, convincing them of his worth, showing only the bright colors (although he also offers them heroin, the fools) all the while playing (St)Eve Harrington. Someone should do a campy remake called All About Steve. There is a film of that name but it’s not the same story. Anyway…

There is something about the Taurus narcissist, especially. The sign ruled by Venus, rubs me, a Libra, also ruled by Venus the wrong way. Mine is masculine sign and rather objective and Taurus is subjective—look at me! I want to be looked at to, but more appreciated, and not so much for my talents as my ideals, I suppose. I can’t stand injustice I can tell you that much. And I can’t stand the feeling I’ve been or am being used. In the end I feel disdain for a character like Steve. But really I become so disappointed in my friends who fall for that sort of thing. Anyway, this phase of my life is ending as I embark on all new things. It’s like I tell clients: You really do have to let go of the vine you’re swing on sometimes in order to grab at a new one.

All I really want to do today is listen to full CDs. What is the best way to do that I wonder. I should ask Tony Grimaldi, he will know. I actually still can’t believe that my high school friends are coming to visit. What I realize we share is that we are all super savvy—we’re plain old smart that’s for sure, and we all have a ton of references, but we’re also kind of slick. Maybe it’s because we grew up on old movies with fast dialogue and all had parents that were determined, to varying degrees that we would make something of ourselves. I do hope Tony arrives a day early as, of all the fellows, he is the one I really know the least and could use some alone time with. We shall see.


I am at once really looking forward to getting back into the hot room and also dreading the hell out it. The dread is pretty real. Meaning, I’m actually scared I’ll keel over. I’m going to have to be so, so gentle in this process of reentry. And meanwhile, I have been walking about two-to-three miles in the sand which is great. But these are all just words. The fact is I feel as if I’ve lost a part of my spirituality. That might sound strange. But once upon a time, in my early twenties, I was the guy reading the Vedas and the Upanishads. I think my doorway into spirituality was ironically J.D. Salinger as I wanted to be one of the Glass family; and they were all spouting Buddhist and Hindu and Christian and other forms of mysticism.

I associate these early glimpses of burgeoning mysticism with alone time on the beach at the Jersey shore where I would take my beach chair and my slim Salinger novel and a course catalogue from B.U. for, even, the first year of school, and all the Chronicles of Narnia I borrowed from my friend Ken, as I had never read them. And that was my literary stash and my comfort, taking me through the day, wiggling my chair with my ass to face the sun all day long, until there was a sort of click in of said heat, light and sea spray, and the world all faded to a blue wash, blood pressure probably dipping below normal. I would just space out and not smoke cigarettes, which, unfortunately I had been doing since I’d been eleven (god help me). And I just felt a sort of peace in waves of spare sentence structure and childlike imagination and eastern religion all mingles together with the smells of Hawaiian Tropic oil and greasy hamburger smoke wafting from the nearby boardwalk grill.

There was a very bearable lightness of being at that age in any case. And I suppose I was naturally manorexic—that is to say I liked to go long hours without eating because it gave me a bit of a high, airy sensation. But it was just the sense of not having to be anywhere. I began working my first job at fourteen, but at seventeen, the year before college, I made the conscious decision that I wasn’t going to work that summer. I was going to walk the one block to the beach. I was going to space out in the sand and read. Sometimes I would wake at dawn and creep out of th house and swim in the bit of water that was like a cover, next to the jetty, all pink with the rising sun. Just me and the gulls and the occasional imaginary shark—Spielberg was truly a buzz kill. Then I would emerge, no towel, and tip-toe run back to the house, drop my wet things, wrap myself in a towel and eat fresh cut cantaloupe my mother would have in a bowl covered with foil in the side-by-side fridge.

I didn’t know then that so much of what I considered to be hopelessly middle class would be looked upon, in hindsight, as luxury. I doubt my parents ever made as much money as I do, by my wits, in a given year. But I can barely make ends meet, without kids, while they would have had plenty to spare, there, for awhile; that is before economics began trickling down. But more than that I had freedom and autonomy. And I don’t think it’s age but culture that has whittled those things down to a nub. Cellphones were the start. We can’t be anywhere where nobody knows where we are. Sometimes after the summer crowds leave I can walk out onto the beach in Provincetown and just stay there, no satellite to find me, for hours on end. But I don’t have whole summers to do that as lucky as I am, not having a job where I work for anyone or punch a clock. If I had to punch a clock I would surely punch a more than a few people out cold. I know myself. I don’t like to be told what to do and/or when to do it.


It’s Sunday and I’m wistful but also, maybe a little at my wit’s end? I truly have news fatigue and so I’m taking a major step back. I’m quite proud of the fact that I’ve put many major wheels in motion and my only wish now is to keep that momentum going because it is so key. I know that in just a matter of days I should be firing on many cylinders again, as is my custom. I don’t want to overdo it today, being Sunday. So I thought I’s put some inspiring words I recently encountered as part of an exhibit at the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, a town which is very much on the radar for me…

…but again, I must keep my head where me feet are, and not try to plan some inevitability that is impossible to fully shape…I need to get where I’m going, immediately, and then make the most of where my imagination might take me. This coming year might prove to be the most interesting of all, whereby we travel back and forth as needed. I will need a surrogate in Boston to work some magic. Brian King is actually the perfect character to step in and speak about how Afterglow was created by myself and a group of artist friends including John Cameron Mitchell, Justin Vivian Bond and Taylor Mac, all of whom sit on our Advisory Board. Like: “Hi I’m Brian King and I’m filling in for Quinn Cox who is in Paris…etc. Lay it on thick.

I’m looking forward to closing the loop a bit on the consultancey whilst taking it to the next level Anyway, here, a poem by TC Cannon whose art show was absolutely mind-blowing. More about how Salem can factor in, anon….


Money laundering is on my mind, because everything anybody is saying anywhere is going to amount to that in any case. It’s the disjointed, dysfunction, deconstructed reality that’s infiltrating my real and etheric body, making me feel crunched out to the core.

So I don’t feel like it makes sense to even be speaking in complete sentences as I am now. Instead feel the need to jumble, and so I shall:

This Blague consists of daily horoscopes. Then I insert a bit of writing from the recent past, things I want to bring forth and elucidate and expound upon. This would consist of my analysis, frankly. It is in a way a mechanism for writing.

I could do the same thing, reading Sextrology. Would be fun to do a Sextrology book club and expound upon what was mentioned therein, chapter for chapter. Great way to get new ideas. Also to discuss the fifteenth anniversary edition, which will be fun to do. It’s difficult to force oneself to do it but I think it really, but it would be the easiest thing.

I think we really are naturally good at branding. It’s just a matter of our having been derailed, and rightfully so; we had given it our all for quite a long time, and the spark necessarily went out. In some way, it felt like the last time I cared about looking telegenic; I don’t say that wistfully, only truthfully. It was time to live without that expectation that national exposure was just within reach—to be fair after so many years fielding so many producers and making so many reels and sizzles, it fizzled out.

I’m in my fourth year writing this Blague. I have untold material here. And shall continue to have, I guess. But we’ve been over this and over it. I’m on call tomorrow with two clients. There will be lentil soup and salmon and little else. Heard from Joe’s Pub today and am super excited we’ll be performing our Christmas show there again this year.

The theme is going to be all the ways we slay, all the signs, and what our divine powers for doing so are as per our star-sign

I remembered the transgender concept for Nextrology. Trans people of the sign explore the inner polarity between the male and female as embodiment or enactment of signs energy. Others are more about their opposite male or female character across the Zodiac, an external polarity.


I feel the weight of a thousand broken relationship and the interconnectedness between them, imaginary though it may be, banging some kind of drum, plotting my undoing. Yeah that’s not a real thought. It’s just dread of any kind put into words mayge. I don’t know really. This is the day I do have two clients by phone and spoke to Dave. And nearly turned a corner, but not quite. And then there will be a day to come that will be even more a burst of extinction. I’m gearing up to win some things. And I always win some things. I have a dream and it would be super nifty if it actually came true. When did I buy Priorat, or was this something else? I think it was, actually; and that I had some leftover for during the week. It’s possible that I did. It might even have been the following day.

I do believe I can start marrying this with some thoughts that need generating in any case. I believe I’ll do that tomorrow. Today was a day for meditating and releasing all the pain and tension in my body. I lay on the sofa in the living room for what seemed three or four hours, lost in the psychic surgery I sensed my body needed. I spoke with Dave.

It is soon time to tell the artists: Dear X As the Afterglow Festival in Provincetown celebrates its eighth year, and we enter our fourth year presenting our autumn-to-spring Afterglow-at-Oberon series at the American Repertory Theater in Cambridge, we are making plans to create a circuit of venues in New England and throught the Northeast.

 Simply called Glow, and tag-lined A Moveable Festival, we hope to create tours for artists through this would be circuit of venues, such that dozens of artists can move through dozens of performances spaces, cultivating audiences in smaller cultural cities and towns, while providing artists with bookings and the ability to connect more widely and more intimately with these audiences. All with Afterglow in Provincetown at the core, continuing to be an incubator of progressive works from emerging and evolving stage artists.

 This year, we received a tour-planning grant to do just that for a New England-based artist—there is a subsequent grant we’ll apply for next year to help with the actual tour; and we will apply for another planning grant for a second New England-based artist, and so forth. This has provided a motor for us to reach out to influential theaters, universities, museums, arts centers throughout New England in establishing these tours and to open up the larger dialogue about touring any and all artists who have performed under our auspices in Provincetown and Cambridge.

 Honestly, I have been pleasantly shocked at how many venues already knew of Afterglow and its work; and what I imagined might be pie-in-the-sky places have enthusastically welcomed the notion of our creating programming for them as we would for other venues, bringing a sensational string of artists through their doors on a steady basis…..

It trailed off there. Oh well.

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. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Half Dozen Of Another

Scorpio 20° (November 12)

I have some reading of the existing chapters to do today. And I will draft the front of book matter as well. Or at least place it in some kind of order. S. will head out in an hour and I will do a wee toilette, then I’ll drop off the carbage around 9, back at 9:30, and ready for my day by 10:30. I have a pretty stocked fridge. There isn’t too too much to say nor should there be. 

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1126-1130 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.

Was a wonderfully lazy day. I lay in bed and watched a pretty bad movie, Game Night. Formulaic. And anyway, in the midst of Jason Bateman backlash, his schtick is wearing a bit thin. I do love me some Rachel McAdams though I must say. Anyway, I was wondering how the Jersey boys would feel today and it seems everyone is still up for it; even though I imagined the whole thing unraveling. But for now it is still on which is cool. My mind starts to race about whether or not I’ll be judged by folks for my lifestyle or for my house which is really weird because in the end I could live in a cave and it would still end up exhibiting an enviable aesthetic. I am sort of recovering today. It is a holiday weekend and I know I’ll end up working tomorrow; so for now I’m just doing lists in my head, really.

I need to schedule day to scan all our press to date and start getting rid of hard copies we don’t need. I drafted a letter of agreement for Brian which I need to finalize. I need, in the coming days, to focus on an artist or two per day getting all their materials sorted and onto the website and such. And I have to update the sponsor bit on website too as I bring in funds. I want to contact Preservation hall and speak to David Drake about our tour. Also the cotuit Art Center. I had a thought about Sandra Bernhard and asking Mitch for her contact in a way that wasn’t cringey but I’ll hve to re-remember it. It was a similar formula to dealing with Andy Cohen I think.

I’m glad Diane Borger was able to come see Fauxnique. I tried to wipe a little bit of slate clean but I wasn’t convinced it happened, if yo kow what I man. But I will write to all the A.R.T. folks and let them know they are invited to Afterglow. I just need ten columns of ten people to make up a hundred hundred dollar sponsors. I do still need to get a good letter going to venues. And it was funny looking at the Czars site how so many PR are looking for writers; I need to know what that means exactly. I should really make it a focus of mine to work the mens magazine angle.

This is a letter of agreement between Afterglow and Brian King (& What Time Is It, Mr. Fox?) as concerns the piece “Gravitational Fool”, in the execution of a NEFA planning grant and showcase, and subsequent tour, with or without the receipt of a subsequent NEFA grant. Afterglow will pay a total guarantee of $1500 to Brian King and company as “artist fee” for their rehearsal time and performance of the showcase; and keep an additional $1500 in reserve from which Brian King and company can draw for the purposes of reimbursement for work conducted or expenses incurred by Brian King and company, as per Brian King’s discretion. Invoices and/or receipts will be provided for reimbursement…..

That’s a start anyway.


Up and Comer!

I’m in love with Jodie Comer which means she’s probably pretty butch. Though I married a statuesque brunette, as a child I was continually attracted to blond tomboys. Jodie Foster was the basic model of all the girls to whom I was attracted, from Jennie Hoey as a young child growing up in Jersey City—she swung perilously on the swings and hung upside down on the monkey bars and did all sorts of fearless non femmy things. The there was a string of blonds, fourth grade: Martha Bader; fifth grade: Diane Arpert; sixth grade DeDe Bartley; Moo Quackenbush and Audrey Smith in high school; and that girl Lisa who played lacrosse, hackeysack, ultimate frisbee and the like at University.

I’m a bit obsessed with Calabria right now, which is weird I know. It seems there are some fairly spectacular beaches there and I do trace my family from there so…for sure we are going to take a trip there next year, likely in keeping with our thirtieth wedding anniversary. Thirtieth, wow. We were meant to go to Venice on our honey moon—we actually might just make it this time. Anyway I’m going to keep researching the places and get a handle on what’s what. None to shabby to be able to get to Rome on a whim too. If I have to be in America then this part of the world is great. If I don’t have to be in America, there are so many places to discover and explore.


I keep trying to add pictures from my voyages to the Blague but they don’t seem to want to play a part in their present format; I will go back and beautify these installments as the fancy strikes. Today being Tuesday post Memorial Day we had a great meeting and really got cooking on weekly minutes. It will take through the weekend probably to execute all we have put in motion but we are doing a-ok. I am currently on a pause from writing next year’s weekly horoscopes while topic number one today was putting this year’s books on sale since we are five months in already. That coupled with an announcement of our summer consultancy should make a nice mailer this week on the Starsky + Cox side of things.

Robert Duffy, Bryan Rafanelli, Marlo Fogelman, Heather Wells, Andrew Joseph are running through my mind. As are which magazine editors to contact, which bridges into Paris Consultancy.

I will never get to balancing my checkbook. Not this week, anyway. We had a lovely donation from the Nelson Trust whom I will have to thank on Monday. I am admittedly spread quite thin but I believe myself to be hitting all marks, as well as being preventative. I’ve let my writing slip a bit again but I’m already catching myself up. There are so many books to read and so much minutiae to dig through. And yet it’s getting to the point where the story is writing itself…and I am the story. It’s a place I’ve been wanting to get to. But I have to be careful not to become over elated.

I am looking back on words and pictures and seeing there was a rather specific time I felt at my happiest. I believe it might have been four years ago, the winter of 2014, when we were in L.A.. I think it was one of S.’s favorite times too. We were on a super health kick that I remember. In some ways I’m still there and in some ways I’ve lost it completely. I’m so tentative when I write here and yet I’m quite aware nobody is ever reading this—can you believe I do this everyday? Well I suppose there are others who do the same. As a matter of fact I know there are.

We have on client this afternoon so my mind is a bit divided, but we are getting our brains around consistent exercise and I’ve been tearing my way through clutter, getting all cylinders ungooked in preparation for some seriously determined and diligent dilletantism—my way of saying that letting myself be spread thin is often a choice whereby I prep each spoke of the wheel of my experience and then pull the mult-trigger all at once knocking several large projects out of the mark en meme temps. I’m so fortunate that I get to have Paris in my life whenever I want it; and someone there to help me navigate the residential aspect of the city. Next year Venice. That is one thing for sure.

When our clients listen to us they do tend to succeed. Does that sound like hubris on my part. Maybe. Oh right I had a dream about Ken Horgan owner of the Pilgrim House in Provincetown and also tennis pro. I’m going to visit upon him for various reasons.

Honestly that feels like enough for today.


It being Wednesday today is a big client day. It is in many ways the diaspora day as each of our clients today have Central American roots. I felt really empowered speaking with all of them. One of our clients who has been struggling in the attempting of some very big things seems mega balanced. Others are raw and others are ready. All are both. I’m slightly wondering if I’m testing the boundaries of client-counselor privilege. No I’m not! That is a total joke.

I actually like the blurred lines that exist between clients/friends. It doesn’t upset me in the least—au contraire—I’ve always been able to mix business with pleasure. But it’s funny I do feel like swooping in and making things happen in a big way for some of our clients. I know this has been on S.’s mind but we might ask for a good deal more in retainter and really dig into people’s businesses and visit them and go through their day with them and really deconstruct them. Ut oh. This is the TV show.

Been talking with the boys about their visit:Me: Didn’t we used to call weed beige

Tony: Mostly it was Beans  Beanage

Me: Beans yes i do remember that term especially before first period Art lol we sort of just slipped out a back door in the 500 wing and I think we created a lot of cigarette smoke (I did) to mask but you me and ken were baked most first periods

whatshis face hated me. ms. nelson and ms. serra loved me tho

Oh, hi. I do have a family of regret. Want to hear it? I regret not having that ultimate preppy boyhood experience. I regret not being totally relaxed and having a father who was confident in his own skin and connected to his community. I was lucky I moved where I did as a kid, but I feel like I barely did. Like we found some nice suburb where we had good friends and perched ourselves in a newly built house in 1972 right on the highway so that it was easy for Him to travel to work and back. There was no safety to begin with. Not the kind of safety that is purchased through generations of staying put.


I was looking forward to a little alone time today and honesty, though the daily constitutionals have been fantastic, I lack the basic feeling of the suburban man, tooling around in his car, going to the bank, the post office, the hardware store. So I did that this morming for two hours; I could have done it for two days.

I got the bug in my ear do do some stuff like buy some paint and lighting and be all sort of proactive about my abode. I bought a whole bunch of colorful paints, in pints, and I’m going to thus experiment as I go. As a signpost I saw Tim of TimScapes who always calls me “power neutral” and i was wearing a light grey shirt with white jeans and charcoal grey sneakers so whatever but I was buying paints in the following colors: bright grass green, teaberry pink, navy blue. vivid lilac, as close to Hermes orange as I could muster (so it was more bright) and some chalkboard black!

What I gleaned from the meeting with Steve is that people generally get to the point of having a buisness plan like ours when they already have some money people lined up; so as we move the whole operation back another six months, we have to speed up our process of finding investment. We have to be clever an unapologetic about it and speak the truth in reaching out in this first friends and family round. As far as the next conversation went this is what I had to say about that:

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. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Six Of One

Scorpio 19° (November 11)

It is Ed’s birthday today and we shall give him a jingle around 10. It’s now 7:30 and I’ve been up since 5 but didn’t fall asleep until 12:30, so yeah It’s going to be a bit of one of those days. There will be room in the schedule once I get cooking, so I’m not going to worry at all. I need to produce about four to five pages a day on average to keep this party going. And I need to lean and relax into it in the process so to play the long game. Look, larger works of art or whatever have been created in less time. It is all about focus and really nothing more. There is enough work under my belt to let this flow and be creative, and still enough time in any given day to accomplish what needs accomplishing. So I will get my brain around some of that today and spend the next hour or so organizing my pages for the day. And then I might just focus on a structure for the intro in the afternoon. Going to make a lovely egg drop soup for lunch. And roast some cauliflower and sweet potato (to mash together) and stir-fry a packet of cabbage and co. that is typically meant for slaw. A bit of Asia today. S. off tomorrow to Boston which brings trepidation on a number of levels. But one cannot live fearfully right now because it is already a fright. I will get some crazy glue. That was a non sequitur in a sea of them. I used to have time to play Bananagrams. Now I don’t even want to. I wonder how The Queen’s Gambit is affecting the sales of chessboards. I will spend four hours today on the next chapter, proper, and then an hour or so on the introductory words. 

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1121-1125 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.

Awoke at the Merchant in Salem, dreaming some demon was trying to have sex with me. Actually a little something might have gone down, but I definitely woke myself up before full possession ensued. I think. We’ll see. But it was a spooky house in a spooky town. Remind me to tell you the story about my first trip to Salem, freshman year. We sat on the terrace but there were windows which were people’s rooms and we can actually sense them shuffling around so we went downstairs and there was a breakfasty type thing like a frittata and yoghurt and it was nice. Coffee was eh but coffee is always eh and I love the place. But I was buzzing about yesterday’s meeting and wanted to get some thoughts down and here they are…

Great to see you yesterday as always and I think that it was all in all a productive meeting. I trust that, should we come to terms with Endicott, it can tick some boxes in the planning process for the tour itself. I am going to raise some red flags here in this note but don’t be afraid LOL. It is all designed to be preventative, efficient and to keep this train on track.

This grant of 6K is for the planning of a tour to include at least three New England venues. One has the option of presenting a showcase in the planning as part of the process but the showcase shouldn’t be overstated for a number of reasons. Ideally, it is designed to be something to which one can invite venues that would be part of the tour. And of course in most cases it would be the first iteration of a piece—not the case with Gravitational Fool—so we shall continue to hone our own unique reasons for doing this, some of which we’ve already unearthed.

Though in the presentation of a showcase we are open to ancillary elements (workshops, talk-backs) we must be very careful that the showcase be part of speeding our process and not become a cul de sac wherein we waste time and energy. We must remain efficient and precise and preservation of time and energy which both equal money. You said upon parting yesterday that you need to check that “presenting at schools” isn’t frowned upon by NEFA. Do that straight away!

Several red flags inevitably went up for me yesterday all on the theme of what we all can do for E.C. and what is a suggestively a disaffected student body; also, and this is because B is N’s boss, the meeting ended with him directing us to immediately jump through hoops to get stuff to Becca. Whoa Nelly. Cart Before Horse. I am sensitive to her being his boss, and I also see my way through that for Afterglow. First, WE must be clear: This showcase is about furthering GF’s development and, yes, in so doing, we are happy to interface with students, etc. But that can’t be our primary focus, even if it is Endicott’s. And I dare say that this sort of thing will need to be funded by them. 

The showcase itself will need to be ticketed in any case and we must go into it as a means of extending the lifeblood of the planning process, and I will work that out. Though we are not bound by the “artist fee” as per Adrienne: As mentioned, I am still keeping that amount earmarked as such: as remuneration for the artists in the “production” of a showcase. The rest of the money, which is NOT a lot (we have to keep reminding ourselves of that) will go to Afterglow’s planning of the tour and the administration, meetings, travel, promotion thereof. Every moment Afterglow puts into this is on the clock; so we want to be preventative of how long conversations are, how much time is spent on things that are not germane to this particular process which must be streamlined to work for us.

Remember, at risk of sounding like a broken record, Afterglow doesn’t spend time writing grants because we don’t have the bandwidth. Likewise, the work needed to be done in the execution of a grant received must also be afforded by said grant. That’s why ticketing will be important, we realize, in so far as AF’s take will continue to allow us to keep this process going until it takes off and becomes both artistically and financially fertile.

Again, not being alarmist but in the spirit of being surgical in this process, this is how we propose we proceed.  (Consider this my own workshop in Arts Administration entitled Horse Before Cart!

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The thing about being confronted with a rage addict or to use the more colloquial term, and the perp’s own words, hothead, is that you second guess your own role in what goes down. Did I do something to make so and so so angry? He showed up and it was tense; and then he desperately apologized which was such a relief; he was holding a large tool box in one hand and buckets in another so he couldn’t prevent my hugging him, something I’m sure he had never experienced with a man before, probably not even his own son. He also apologized to S. and pressed the issue…you’re sure you accept my apology. Absoultely yes.

I was writing and sitting outside in the haze and was chatting simultaneously with high school friends Mike and Tony. I was musing about a boys weekend here on the Cape when S. came to announce she’s going to Toronto for several days at the end of June; so I impulsively swung that information into my conversations with these guys and they were like let’s do it—so they’ll come, along with two other friends, Dave and Ken, hopefully while she’s in Canada. Fun.

It felt like a day off though more of a derailing as, even though we were now okay, the run-in with the rageful really shook out some things. I think because I didn’t react it pressed a reset button on what would be my typical (outmoded) behavior in situations like this a/k/a father and/or authority issues. I feel different. I feel tired and sad and vulnerable but also real and unapologetic and strangely free.

After more than ones fair share of wine this Saturday night, what else to do but sing aroun the piano. I was deep into Baracuda and some other songs I’ve not sung before. I’m wistful about so much and yet I don’t feel at all as if the rug has been pulled out from under me. Typically this sensation is more bitter than sweet for me but not today and not this evening.

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. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

Woopsie

Scorpio 18° (November 10)

Power hypnotizes and power handcuffs. This is such a strange day politically. I am feeling stronger today than I did yesterday. A bit more sleep than the night before. I bit healthier feeling. Leftovers for lunch. Scorpions in a bowl. I don’t think anything will materialize this week, nor should it. I should be the biggest ever grownup in the room. I was perusing pictures of myself from just this past summer and I was seeing the return of my yoga body—also though I love my hair long, it really does overpower my small stature and erode any semblance of facial structure I might pretend to have. The freaking Republicans are enabling the orange toddler keeping a peaceful of transfer of power from happening. I think it’s going to get very ugly and I think Barr has been laying low because he has been plotting behind the scenes. Biden is playing the game, much like I am in my little word with my mini dictator, who has no power here and will soon learn the fact. I am using this as an opportunity to own my power. I have let people take it too much in the past. But I am not longer in that place. I will take a nap today, something I haven’t done in I can’t remember how long. Soon I won’t have to manufacture thoughts for this. They will be flowing through the work at hand. I wrote out a check to Ed Morehouse and put it in a Scorpio card that S. had in her desk. I will be losing the garden hose by this weekend. Thinking ahead it shouldn’t be all that difficult for us to renew stickers and I can always find a way to work that out. You have no idea what I’m talking about. Then again you’re not even reading this.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 1116-1120. 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.

Drove up to Boston had hardly any traffic at all; and I dropped Stella on Newbury Street and made my way to Cambridge and parked in the hotel’s underground lot. It was only about 10AM still so I had to wait to get into my room—though not very long. Grabbed a bit of sushi for lunch and a beer and then took a nice nap because, for whatever reason, the insomnia is back. Was pretty well refreshed and was looking forward to meeting our friends Heather and Barry for a pre-show dinner at Waypoint in Cambridge. They are also sponsors of the festival so it was a nice opportunity to take them out and see the show together. Another friend, Gabriela, met us there.

Fauxnique really is one of the most spectacular performers and creatures on the planet. She really is so ridiculously good and unique. She dances on point, she changes looks before your eyes, she dances and lipsynchs and now sings so amazingly beautifull; and on top of everything else she is such a good person and such a good friend. We went back to Waypoint and I think the waitress was a little tipsy. Anyway, it felt a little like that. She was pretty effusive. It really was oodles of fun.

At some point this will all be a memory and I won’t have to worry about the quality of my content. Neither should I . All those years ago, in Nice, walking around, spending whole days on my own, having fun, going the rocky beach, wearing practically nothing, drinking beers from a man who passed by, making friendly connections. Going to dinner with a stranger, a missed connection I recall. I was too tired—remember when you were in your twenties and when you were tired you couldn’t push through—and I couldn’t show up for what would have been perhaps a date. Oh, well. Everything happens for a reason. That was Marc who worked at the Pas de Pot. I wonder if it’s still there. Or, indeed, if he still is. So many years of disease in between.

I don’t remember my Swedish friend’s name who was going to write me notes and postcard which he said he’d sign with a frog drawing, his signature stamp. Nothing ever came. No he’s just a no-color haircut, a vague shape in my memory. Square teeth. Flat stomach. That’s all I can, or probably should, recall.

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Stella had appointments back on Newbury Street and I had a lazy morning and an early ridiculously fattening lunch and beer. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately but I’m so gluttonous. I think it’s like denial that summer is basically here and I’m supposed to be a certain weight? Like I’m piling on a bunch of lbs as a sort of act of defiance. I have a feeling that all this chowing down is going to come back to bite me right in the giant belly. Needless to say, I was the passenger in the car today and was happy to arrive at Nan C.’s. It was just she and Vie and we had a blast. B. was away and he’s this great beer afficianando, now, and gets deliveries of craft beers, of which I never partake…but now, being on this beer binge, I had one of his tall cans. Honestly it made me more high than drunk and that was all I had all night long if you can believe it. I can’t.

We all four of us watched The Sound of Music and Vie had seen it before. Last summer I did a solo rendition of So Long, Farewell, sort of playing all the children at once, to entertain her when we were in Islesboro. I do love that house in Islesboro I must say. But even if they were to get it again from their friend (Kirstie Alley) we wouldn’t be able to go because we are off to Alaska and British Columbia. I am so super psyched about that you’ve no idea. Anyway we watched the movie and editorialized to our hearts’ content; and then I did a bit of a comedy act with my partner Siri, asking her all sorts of questions.

I asked her…Hey Siri, what color of your eyes? To which she responded: Quinn, I don’t have eyes, but if I did I’d be rolling them.

Went to Andover which is a magical place (not). It has that creepy sleepy nowhere Massachusetts town feeling. But there’s a Whole Foods of course, and we were making dinner for the larger arriving family. Chickens, Caesar, Rice, Veg. Nothing fancy. Of course we forgot a cake for S.’s mother because we don’t eat cake and never think in terms of cake—but we did buy two cases of wine for ourselves because we’re selfless.

It was a fairly easy day until a sudden arrival sent me down a spiral. I have a lot of trauma surrounding certain individuals and this guy is one of them. He doesn’t always trigger me—if I’m prepared—but nobody gave me a heads up so I reacted viscerally. But I managed to keep it together…ish.

The conversation turned toward Israel. Why? As we know it’s not an easy conversation to have but the number of Palestinians killed at the border these last few days might at least loosen the expected, usual rhetoric, but no. The combination of those organic reds I bought and the fatigue and a certain know it all tone and I was this side of losing it, literally, for argument’s sake. Oh well.

The elders are always fun. They are the best part in fact. They say really funny things that the only pretend have been blurted out innocently. Yeah. No.

These sorts of buildings, all grey and beige and greige, and the little-boxes-on-the-hillside feel just adds a generic flavor to the already suburban spookiness of the environment. Everybody is so close. All the “backyards” merge; and yet there is none of that neighborhood feel one had growing up in the suburbs in the seventies when kids were just let loose to wander and live or die. Even in Jersey City, before the great white witch exodus of 1972, we just went outside and came back when we felt that sinking feeling in our stomach that the sun was already setting.

Now it’s a world of play dates and kids otherwise living the way they did in and around Park Avenue, always; only now that isolated and by-appointment-only funtime is everywhere throughout the land. I suppose it’s worth not losing children to kidnappers and the like—no more milk cartoons out there are there? Then again…maybe sacrificing a few tots to the larger sense of freedom wasn’t so bad. I’m kidding; oh shut the ef up.

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The topic is gluten a little bit to much for my taste today, but I smile and nod and agree we should try to back off it. I’ve been in this suburban land three days and now I must head to the North Shore as we have a meeting today at Endicott College. I worked a super good deal for a hotel we stayed in a year or so ago in Salem—the Merchant. It’s near the historic district and we love walking around and seeing the houses. It really is a best kept secret. As are some of the restaurants and surely the museum, which we’ll hit tomorrow morning. We tried to do something other than the obvious for lunch but realized we shouldn’t avoid it. So we went to Live Alive or whatever the place is called.

After buying some tarot cards and books at the Haus Witch we went for a number of strolls, taking breaks, back at the hotel in between, before setting off north to Beverly. It wasn’t very far at all. Something about the North Shore reminds me a bit of New Jersey and the area around Cannes at the same time. And the campus at Endicott was nice. We received a grant to produce a tour for Brian King and his band—of the show that premiered at Afterglow many moons ago. The meeting went well—the person at Endicott was really nice—and it was something quite unusual for me to do. I am not much of a visitor or outreach person despite the fact I produce and fundraise. That sounds ironic even to me.

The fact is I stay probably too much in my lane. In truth it’s all I have bandwidth to do. If anything I’m trying to figure out ways to limit multitasking while still hitting all my marks. I think I’m getting good at it. Anyway the conversation veered a bit and got a little cart before horse and by the end I felt like I was being tasked to do things I don’t want to do. Like share in Google chat. I share what I want when I want; but not in Google chat. I think what I learned today is that I am not only not a team player but I so don’t want to be. I felt a bit ambushed I must add, as the conversation was all about what we can do for the school, but I bided my time and let moments pass. Then, on leaving, Brian said something like I’m not sure we can do certain stuff with schools. (Which turned out to be true.) Now you tell me.

Anyway, S. was surprised that I wasn’t walking on air because on the surface the meeting seemed so positive, which it mostly was; but you know how certain people (Taurus people) assert their agenda through passivity, letting scenarios they’ve arranged play out, pretending guilelessness, well….I’m actually not sure Brian did this because he really does seem guileless and he is one of the kindest people I know. Still it’s sort of like letting other people hammer out whatever the issues might be. “I’m too important to be captured.” I wonder if anybody knows where that comes from. Well I’m not going to tell you.

Anyway, my mind was already arranging words into phrases to get the horse in front of the cart where it belong. But mainly I was thinking about food and wine (what else is new). We had plans to go to our favorite restaurant in Salem (and really the only one we know), this little Italian place (with a Serbian? chef…who used to work in Boston) called Firenze. The owner was in Seattle and it was a bit amateur night on the service; still we managed to find a decent wine and we had pastas for primi and a whole sea bass, kicking it old school. It was better than okay.

Our room was on the top floor of the hotel and was considered a suite; but it didn’t have any windows, just a skylite. But it had a giant soaking tub I was too tired to use until the morning.


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. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2020 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.

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