Virgo 11° (September 2)
Stayed in all morning and got a ton, I mean a ton of busy work done. Today, first thing I will make copies of Surrender and Angie so I can practice them over the next three nights and right myself little notes on what to play in the right hand. I will get the tech stuff to Erica. And then I was about to sit and write and just couldn’t without a little break—the devil made me do it—and then a note back from those two menaces. I decided to reach out to Penny and we ended up talking for about two hours or more. It was very helpful and I emerged feeling super empowered. I don’t know but I’m going through some shite:
And not only that but I am stalled too because I’ve found myself with just six days to write this show that it became four days as I was triggering myself and suddenly writing to Midge Hurst things like I did The delivery of which is just so cringey and embarrassing but I hope so devoid of guile that it will be received in the spirit it was sent. I seem this year to be in confessional mode telling all my friends with whom I grew up in high school that this thing happened to me and also it is why to this day I hold up the B. And why it is that my best friend all through junior high and high school was also well, you get the idea. His name I will not name but somehow, some way, this kid with whom I became close friends in sixth grade and who was thus my best friend during this summer of 1975, did I tell him? I didn’t tell him? somehow he knew? These mysteries of life at these innocent, lost times in our life where, you know what?, everything was magic, they become the occult, the personal occult we explore. Occult simply means hidden. And at a time when life is accelerating so fast and all the first adult things happen too soon we hide them. We crush them down into our subconscious. They become the occult, hidden. Exploring our own occult is one and the same with exploring the occult, it is shot through with the same intrigue and latent power. I have no idea where I’m going with this. I was meant to speed the plow, in my premier autobiographical show, from eleven to adulthood, at this point of the show but I can’t seem to get out of neutral; and at the same time being this hurricane stalled over the Bahamas, I am raining down, I am broken, I am exposed and seriously stalled and I think I am forever in this place.
I don’t think that’s the way to go
Actually it’s fine that I got stuck in the summer of my eleventh year because I’m going to very quickly employ another device here, a sort of equivalent of the movie montage—let’s call it the Encapsulation technicque—and I’m going to use it to speed us from seventh grade to college, ready? We begin with me being a social outcast as I start junior high, low man on the totem pole, the usual name-calling of the faggot sort suddenly cutting me deeply now. I kept to myself. I continued my mythological and metaphysical studies. I dove into chorus and theater which I didn’t know at that time shared an origin with ritual magic and earliest religious rites but it does all fit together. I had a bright singing voice before puberty hit and I always had the solos. I was Randolf in Bye Bye Birdie so the first words I ever sang in a musical were Ed Sullivan, Ed Sullivan, which is kind of cool since we share the same birthday and are both impressarios. I played all the lead roles in eighth grade. And all through high school I was being groomed for a theater career, taken under the wing of older students, and for brief shining moments when plays were running I experienced brief waves of, well I won’t say popularity, but a reprieve from the tormentors who continued to attack me, and yes the stranger things. I would get flashes, future glimpses of these individuals, as if the fear, or adrenalin I suppose, that they triggered in me would surge and manifest in these images in my mind; I’d see these bullies driving away staring out of the rear car window or falling down a flight of stairs or being, themselves ridiculed and red-faced crying, things like that. Then these images would bear out. Bullies who would threaten to beat me up after school would that day break a limb or one psycho kid who pledged to kill me before the start of a new year moved away. Once, and really only once, a redhead kid Peter Reynolds, who looked like that pugnose puppet on Pee Wee Herman, Randy, remember him? Well this kid jumped me and pinned me and started pummeling me and all I could do was warn him which made him laugh. I don’t know why I knew to warn him, but he just kept it up, and then he spit in my face and then I don’t really remember much except a full body adrenalin sweep and springing to my feet flinging him off me as if he was blown back by an explosion then jumping on to him and pinning him down so hard his wrists were disappearing into the grassy soil. And though I never punched him or spit on him or anything he was screaming and crying and yelling get him off me get him off me with this wild trapped animal look in his eye. And people pulled me off and I continued home where I puked my guts out.
To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree pointof the Sabian Symbol will be one degree higher than the one listed for today. 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 or 6 days per year—so they near 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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