Aries 2° (March 22)


Well another night where we awoke at two thirty in the morning and then stayed up. The jet lag will cease and in the meantime it matters little as there is no place to go. I did my best garde manger of the pantry, fridge and freezer, and we have enough in house to stretch out over the next ten days probably. That’s all I’m going to say about that as I don’t feel that the constant narrative is helping anybody right now. So: Of all the people I know I am the fastest to reacclimate post travel. I have fully unpacked and am prepared to start my work day tomorrow; by the same token I have shopped and cleaned and will spend the afternoon setting up meals (soups and stews, mainly) for the week ahead. I am concerned about creative projects and there is surely no way to begin fundraising while we are in this situation. I actually had an artist whom I was planning on presenting reach out to me to try to pin me down on dates and their demands. I found it rather unbelievable. People are literally dying and this individual wants firm assurances. It is mind boggling. Anyway here I am still talking about it. Hard to turn the corner when the corner hasn’t been turned. And when you live in a country where the leadership no longer cares about the well-being of its people? That was my argument for staying put in France; the only thing is we are not their people. So, despite the fact this government has abandoned the safety and welfare of its populations, at least I live in Massachusetts where, despite there being a Republican governor, the state institution itself does value the health of its people. I will be the corner and the turn I suppose. I just want to help other people, now that I’m settled (and safe? I dunno) here at home. Stepping up the contributions as best we can being there for the other folks. Making sure the people reach out and ask any questions they might want or need. Maybe set up a day a week where people can send chart info or some such. Whatever we can help with. Doing a little Cosmic Clinic of sorts. We will be talking about pod casts in any case as the days unfold.


 The following blocks of texs are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 11-15. I am reading through all my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, but the time I get to my seventh, I will have through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize:


Seven years before Graydon Carter and Vanity Fair published the storyon Scientology’s search for a wife for Tom Cruise, the magazine included us in their “L.A. Intelligence Report” in the Vanities section in the front of the book. To be fair, it is a tongue-in-cheek page that mixes fact with fiction. Although, in our case, it was mostly fiction. First of all we don’t live in Los Angeles. Anyway, we were deemed “Psychics to the Stars” and one category in the chart-format piece was “Skeleton in Closet”. They said that ours was “Scientology referral swaps”. This immediately made us uneasy. And then came the questions all on the theme of “is this true?”; and despite putting out a statement that none of it was, our business is built upon a real consultancy with real paying clients, most of whom would not be comfortable if we were actually in bed with that awful cult.

I wrote Graydon Carter a letter pointing out the problem. He refused to print any kind of apology or retraction which, to be honest, I didn’t expect. His editors were vaguely sorry, especially Matt Tyrnauer who actually availed himself of guidance from Starsky + Cox on a regular basis, and yet, as often happens in this situation, we seemed to be personae non grata for speaking up about it. As if we should be so lucky to have any mention at all by Vanity Fair. But I do think the magazine was concerned with the legality of the situation, printing something not only untrue but potentially damaging. I then received a letter from Graydon’s office barely apologizing for any distress this had caused and how they planned to make it up to us with the publishing of our next book, which they would champion. They never did. In fact, they pretty much cut off all communication with us. Scientology calls it: To Disconnect. As a Ruler of a Nation, in this case a sensational magazine which is indispensable on long flights, Graydon Carter is well aware of his power, but perhaps he understimates the abuses thereof. When he raised the ire of Scientology, himself, I thought there was something karmic in it. The cult of celebrity vs. the cult to end all cults. If only.

I was thinking this morning, after seeing a familiar character on social media go off on the notion of celebrity that: My sense is that the down-and-out characters that are always complaining about the famous would leap at the opportunity to be a revolting celebrity themselves given half the chance. Ego is ego. Whether you’re a bubble-headed (booby) booby like pick-a-Kardashian-any-Kardashian or a poverty-loving misanthrope whose always pooh-poohing these people, you’re basically the same thing in my book: not a wild goose. The goose isn’t silly, it’s the emblem of constancy, something I find is pretty rare in people in a larger social context but also in intimate bonds. The upshot being that the true gooses really distinguish themselves. Those are the companions in life whom we should value and emulate.

Venus is the planet of union, its energy being attractive. I like to imagine those geese in the sky giving us a V for that planet of love. When we are unified, in romantic, familial, fraternal, brotherly or sisterly love, in that V-formation, we are equals and in the proverbial It together, whatever obstacles or hardships may come. Indeed we are more able and even willing to accept what comes our way because it would be for no lack of love or protection. It’s only when we feel abandoned that we might act out in an abandoned way. Life is a journey and it sucks thinking you’re always having to be on it alone or worse, in competition with others. Besides a single year in little league, I never played on a team; I went to a huge college and mainly lived off campus; I haven’t worked more than probably a total of two years, my whole life, in an office, on a team; and those who know me will tell you. I have no family to speak of. So this aspect of life is something I really have to work at as it doesn’t come easy. I do tend to isolate and I have a morbid fear of cliques let alone cults. It is nice to have a V-formation of loyal loved ones in your life, but it really isn’t something you can manufacture—it is something which comes naturally, if we are fortunate enough to have found true birds of a feather with which to flock.

Ten years ago when Stella and I would perform shows and describe, with tongue in cheek, how it is we descend from a long line of mystics who were forever antithetical to the Lizard Kings who’ve controlled everything for eons, from the banks, to governments, to all the media, people would laugh in that sort of-you-guys-are-so-wacky type of way. Fast forward to the present and those same jokes aren’t as ha-ha funny because they ring more absolutely true. So, why does the bomb go unexploded? Fear. Fear that a motorcade of shiny black American made cars all being driven by Hugo Weaving with an earpiece is going pull up outside your house and you’ll be gently but firmly escorted away. It’s not going to happen. Probably. But, just a hair’s breadth of possibility of something like that happening is enough to keep most people’s revolutionary spirits in a perpetual state of nondetonation. Thus the metaphor of social protest isn’t just a metaphor at all, but let’s take a closer, personal look at today’s oracle:

Oftentimes, when we want to break out and break down our own old orders, such urges are often accompanied by visions of dancing on the table tops in a Parisian restaurant, well past closing with a bacchanal of wildly imaginative artists and intellectuals and fashion models and a winning football team, and of course Bryan Ferry is there, paying the tab, and hailing us cabs to whisk us off to a club privé for more dancing or to a gleaming all-night Champs Élysées brasserie for tiered platters of lobster, crab, oysters and assorted winkles . Okay maybe that’s just my vision but, when we get itching for a new order, we don’t often experience our desire for change as a safe, slow, barely perceptible shifting of a paradigm; we envision it as explosive and entailing a good blow out to mark our revolutionary change. That is how Dionysus archetypally lives in us. And this is why the detonation is thwarted. Our revolutionary motives are wildly inspiring, and they will inevitably surface in establishing a new order, but it does have to happen slowly over time, in fact. A violent reactionary move against the present order we’ve set up for ourselves would be retaliated upon by the police-state part of our own psyche, and it might actually set back our cause. The explosion is an adolescent bucking of our own inner authority; we don’t need it; we have more mature ways of instituting change, even the radical kind.

Oh and do remind me to tell you the stories, sometime, of when I was whisked off, on separate occasions, by different football teams, one Italian and one French, to some crazy doings at some wild establishments, both of which were on the Champs Élysées!



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


Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
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