Pisces 17° (March 7)

Awoke at 3:33 like in the days of yore. And yet I don’t feel too too tired. Rather I feel that I am making some progress at least and I know if I hit my marks today and get about five pages in the can, then tomorrow will be bringing it all home and that can feel pretty awesome and still on schedule which is the most important thing really. It isn’t all the much to ask. Trying to understand where my head is. Today is my first of ninety days detoxing,which will bring me to June I can only imagine that the following six weeks will be about a bit of fun and sun. I want to feel as well as I can before heading to Italy. There is a certain amout of pleasure in writing this book that hasn’t happened with the previous ones. That is to say I can be pretty relaxed about saying whatever I want and I don’t have to focus on sex which is a real relief. I’m interestedin the roll-outs. I want to make good on and with what I’m doing. So far we have a nice rapport going and, even with the change in pub date (so much better) there was no agita in that process. 

Okay going to do a bit more drafting….

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my Blagues, nos. 1696-1700. 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.

Up at five o’clock and in an Uber by six to get to Euston station to catch the train to Edinburgh. That was fine although one had the sense that the “first class” service wasn’t exactly up to its usual speed; still, each time I travel anywhere in Europe or in the U.K. I am reminded of just how disfunctional American life, and its so-called private and social services, truly is. Euston Station compared with the horrific Penn Station; Heathrow vs. JFK. Please. Did a bunch of writing and scheming and such and by the time we got to Edinburgh we were ready to get off the train. Only to have to get on another one in just over an hour’s time. It was rainy outside so just as well that we stayed inside Waverly; but the train from there up to Pitlochry was seriously unfun. I see where Jo might have got her idea for the mean trolley lady. We were starving and tried to get to the café car, or rather S. did; only the trolley lady was already heading our way and wouldn’t let her of any othe passengers get by, which made no sense because there were plenty of spaces/opportunities to let a person pass. S. and the other passengers gave up thinking that they would get to the café car once trolley crunt had passed. But troll-y, who wasn’t Scottish but some kind of eastern European with snail blood was determined to block anybody. Finally, finally, when the journey was nearly over she went passed and S. got to the café car, but by then it had run out of food. This was a bad sitcom episode. We bought some crisps and other sundries and grumbled it down. We got off at Pitlochry where the taxi awaited us and drove us about twenty minutes to Aberfeldy. The reception was one and same with the restaurant bar; we checked in and asked if the LLBs had yet to arrive. They just had. We got to our room and I saw a text beckoning us to come to them for a drink. We wore our coats thinking we would stop by and then go for the walk we planned to take. Well that didn’t happen. They poured me a gin tonic and I went down to get S. a wine. Our room seemed fine but the LLB’s had something more of a suite, so we inquired about moving but the hotel was fully committed. We drank and then decided not to wait for our seven forty five reservation, but to instead go down and have an early bird special which our advancing age now affords us.

The food was surprisingly good. Laurence orded an Argentinian Malbec much to my consternation. Not so fast. I explored oher options on he menu and decided to concede which turned out to be a wise thing because we ended up drinking several bottles of the stuff and (spoiler alert) walk up feeling fine the next day. I had a beef madras and S. had the bang bang chicken. We had some kind of starter which excapes me now writing this days on. After dinner the shenanigans really began. We sent back to the LLB suite and spent another four hours talking, laughing, recalling and bringing up showtunes to which we could sing along in turn. I had no idea that the LLB’s were wont to go there, so it was so fun and expressive and such a laugh. I went down for another bottle. We have video of singing numbers Evita, Ricky Horror, Cabaret, Hair and there were surely more that we didn’t catch on “film.” I am struck by how easy it is to be with these two. They have always been exactly this, which means to say that, at twenty, they were comparatively grand delusional (because we didn’t know what they knew: that they were going to fulfill the destiny of being household names, for starters). I truly love them. And I suppose it might be considered ironic, in the end, that they are in fact the most authentic, genuine people I know. They have a grandson now who is three and whom they love so much. They live on a sort of family compound out in the country and it sounds so wonderful. As the non-breeders in the troop, there are times when tales of family dynamics and so forth really do impart a kind of sadness—not too, too often thus far in life, still more and more as time goes on. But any pangs of jealousy aside (because it’s not really that, never that) it just sounds so grand and scruffy all at that same time to be living with two daughters and their partners and a grandchild (with more to come) and cats and dogs and chickens and whatever other kind of livestock they might have floating around them. And in the end, I think Laurence has emerged as the most menschlike of us all, despite his fame and flights of fancy. I do truly love these people I must say. Even more so now I know that we can fall into home karaoke at the drop of a jazz hand.


With still some other Blague entries left undone, I have four to do to catch up on so to coincide with the present day. This will be a difficult challenge but I have decided to be up to it and get right up to speed. There is much to do in the new year; even more so there is much to be. I will find out that a friend who always comes to see our show at Joe’s was disappointed that we didn’t perform this year so she bought tickets to Sandra Bernhard instead only to report back that the show was boring and didn’t hold a candle to ours in terms of entertainment. In the past I might find a comment like that to be rather hard to believe but I am now of the mind to accept comments like this as truisms. I think the apologies I have made for myself are indeed now a thing of he past. I must turn the corner on so much of it. I will reach out to that guy Peter M. in coming days because he and I do have some overlap, being that he also produces artists. But things like this often prove to be disappointing. There is always that little bit of ego that crops in. Well not always but most often. After spending days with lovely friends the last thing I need is attitude from competitive strangers and the grandstanding that characterizes the underconfident. Boring. I am remembering the good and loving and supportive energy that I am blessed to enjoy in this life and I am not letting the rest of it get me down, so help me. So back to the story at hand on this day…

Okay so last night was fine-ish. But around five a.m. I was awakened from a dead sleep thinking S. was up and about doing this and that. Turned out the people in the next room, with whom we shared a paper wall, decided to unleash a bull that richocheted around there room. It was awful and after last night it was the last thing I needed. It happened again around seven then again around nine, not that we fell back from five because we did not. S. was having none of it and beelined downstairs to demand a different room only to return deflated because they didn’t have one. Being the New Year, people had rooms booked for months if not from a year ago. We said we would meet for a late breakfast that goes until ten so we headed down at nine forty five and Jax had said that Larry was still snoring so I expected her. Instead he came down looking highly reluctant and made shaking motions to signal his nerves were a bit shot from last night’s fun. I had the meatiest, greasiest breakfast I could order. Jax didn’t surface–something about her hair. L. brought her up a giant eggs Benedicte. Despite S. being shot down I managed to convince the staff to let us change rooms. So I spent the morning bathing and packing. I think S. had some appointment. We then met up again with the LLBs for lunch—we put our name down at three lemons—and went for a walk. People stopped to ask me to take pictures of LLB of course. There was some shoe shopping. And we all had to get bits and bobs and the pharmacy; and LLB needed more gin for his room. At lunch we ran into friends we would have expected to meet. And we talked about going to Venice together as the LLBs are regulars on that scene and we have never been.

I really didn’t intend to drink at lunch but all bets seem to be off and I followed Larry and had a stout. And then another. The girls shared a bottle of wine. We then went to our rooms to dress for the evening. I thought I said this but we met up with the mythological other couple attending the party (obviously they were in costumes) and all shared a car. The party itself was really fun. Stomp and Queen (with Adam Lambert) performed. I stayed pretty sober most of the evening but toward the end, when it was time to do some dancing, I let loose a bit. I always seem to encounter Neil B and his wife toward the end of these parties and I mentioned I was leaving my whole kit at the party which I did. Earlier on D. N. hung around with us and I honestly couldn’t understand anything he was saying. He seemed totally together but was obviously really quite drunk. No physical change in his behavior but his words were just so random. The whole theme worked well (being inside an H.G. Wells novel, really); and to be honest I don’t remember much of the ride home although I do remember giving my critique of the whole concept of repackaging Queen. Like you wouldn’t recast John Lennon and George Harrison and call it The Beatles featuring, oh I dunno, Chris Martin and Thom Yorke.


Well I felt better this morning than I truly had a right to. The LLBs met us for breakfast and I had the same greasy meat. We were meant to be back at Jo’s for brunch anytime after 11:30 or something. When we got there we were really the last to arrive. The guy that plays the detective character was there (I realized it was him later). And all the boat people were there. And Willy who was at the party last night of course and with whom I really had a lovely time (reverse foreshadowing) despite the fact the last time I saw her she sort of came for me which was unfortunate. She’s sort of done it before and I really do need to ignore it. Was lovely to see the kids of course and John and David and the whole lot. I had a bagel and some smoked salmon and then we went for a lovely long walk in the wet and green. I had a lovely chat with Aine whom I really hadn’t gotten to connect with much yet on the trip. The LLBs didn’t join on the walk as they threatened they wouldn’t due to footwear issues or just the fact they didn’t want to. Willy was overheard saying that she hates walking outside or something. So more foreshadowing. Scotland really is the most magical place on the planet I must say. We got back to the house and I texted LLBs to “come back,” and learned that Larry had invited the peeps from the hotel, Karen and Kenny to dinner with us (he is a political journalist like the other boat guys), and also J. and F. which was really great as we hadn’t really seen them much. J. was definitely one of the more in cups of the partygoers last night but she seemend perfectly fine today. I really love them and enjoy their company immensely. We were asked if we wanted hot toddies which, you know what, I never knew what went into one. Pretty much everybody had them. I couldn’t believe the Edinburgh crowd drove home last night after the party and then back again today for the brunch. The plan was to then seem them tomorrow when we ourselves get to town. I told Laurence that we had to invite Aine which of course we did, so now we were going to be nine peeps instead of eight which would be fine; but much to my delight and surprise J said she’d like to join with N of course and also Willy and her new fellow. How to explain to the hotel that we would now be thirteen for dinner.

We arrived back at the Townhouse and went straight to break the news in hopes of hearing it would be no problem. It wasn’t not a problem. It took a lot of cajoling and convincing. Finally it came down to furniture and we said we’d bring tables and chairs from our rooms. We got a reluctant yes. The LLBs had already been set up in the bar while we were out for our long country constitutional. Larry had some Guinness and champagne going—a black velvet it is apparently called. I could retch just thinking about it; but of course Jax didn’t have anything because apparently in Scotland they throw the book at you for even the slightest bit of alcohol in your system, which must come from being a very alcoholic culture to begin (and end) with. Anywig, we never even made it upstairs but instead sat in the lounge, the couples, on sofas, facing one another, whilst Karen (half of the other couple, with Kenny) sat in an armchair diagonally facing us. For nearly four hours she sat and listened to us like she was binge-watching a series. The four of us recounted our stories, sort of at, one another, filling in the gaps on stories, reminding each other of things that never made it to longterm memory. Finally Karen said we should all write a book together, which is something I can imagine easily happening. It is difficult for me to sustain a thought right now as I am writing this from about two weeks out, trying to play catch up once again. There is a pattern here: when I encounter any kind of mini trauma or setback my work tends to go out the window. I am sitting here right now in a flat we’ve rented in London and the upstairs neighbors are so loud it’s hard to concentrate. We had a lousy couple of days at the end of last week, leading into the weekend, and it has been hard to recover. I am going to spend as much of this day just sitting here writing and doing little else so that I can pick up what pieces are still available to me. So many have been lost. It is the way it goes I suppose. I am trying not to hang on but instead to move forward. I still have my health which sometimes I think is a miracle. Anyway back to what I was saying. So this went, as I said, for about four hours, and we went up to change and refreshen as best as we could. When we arrived back down Kenny had emerged and we sat down to a new bottle of wine they were now serving (Karen had the benefit of ours the whole time). Not long after J and N and guests arrived and we all settled down to a lovely dinner. The food is wonderful in this place. I was seated across from Willy who at one point said “Hillary Clinton really fucked up.” Knowing she is something of a Bernie Bros. and that she has baited me in the past over stuff (not to mention that she is a good friend to a good friend of mine) I said politely that, well, actually she won the popular vote against all odds—corruption, voter booth tampering, rolls purging, hacking, and the larger insidiousness of foreign, Russian interference. But, truly, it is misogyny that was the main weapon used against her. This was argued for awhile. Then I said that women in all cultures are really the most maligned and disenfranchised of people and made the mistake of saying (because I thought we would beyond the question of my being able to say this or not) that “woman is the n-word of the world,” a valid prospect to be discussed. Forgettaboutit. W said that we can’t talk about the oppression of women without discussing the notion of race; I said I disagreed: that we can certainly talk about the oppression of women in its own right as it is to varying degrees a problem in all cultures, including our own. It was a rabbit hole and we were both terriers digging into it, for too long, neither one of us conceding. Until finally I moved to the other end of the table where the topic was no lighter: the notion of transgenderism in the face of newest wave feminism and the shadowside of terfism. The night did not end on the cheeriest of notes I must say. And I was told in coming days that I told the same story of our (friends) meeting in the course of twenty minutes without knowing it. The multiple nights (and days) of partying had indeed caught up to me.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go! Copyright 2021 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved. Get your HAUTE ASTROLOGY 2021 Weekly Horoscope ebooks by Starsky + Cox.