Virgo 16° (September 7)
So here we are, finally, at the official last day of the summer season and I’m going to be honest: I’m really happy about it. It was not just an isolated summer but an alienating one; and I definitely added some more bodies to the poubelle. In some ways I’ve never felt so focused as I do now. There are a lot of white people out there just trying to do things; but I’m so bored with all the self-promotion and the desperate lengths people go to. I’ve redacted the next thought because I actually can’t be assed to think it. I am going to keep magnetizing and unfolding and eliminating and reducing and consolidating and chucking and ditching/
The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of Blagues, nos. 806-810. 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 feels like the first hot day on the Cape. I made the mistake of going onto Facebook and seeing someone posting about this great old property in Provincetown, which I always dreamed of turning into a theater, which CVS wants to buy, but the town turned them down, so now CVS is suing the town.
One of Provincetown resident who fancies themselves an artist and an activist was urging people to sign a petition to stop CVS from doing whatever they’re doing while another resident, whom I believe has been in town way longer, was saying they wanted the cheaper meds that CVS would mean. Now, how much cheaper could CVS meds be than the existing Stop & Shop pharmacy and why do we need two pharmacies. But on the other hand, this person trying to “save” Provincetown from inauthenticity is someone who has never worked a day in their life and still had enough trust fund to buy a house and makes their money from renting to visitors who pay through the nose to be here in this increasingly gentrified landscape. Anyway, the irony was just ricocheting every which way.
The Spring is absolute bliss on Cape Cod and I always forget that fact until it gets horribly hot and there are people everywhere and the traffic is bumper to bumper and you can’t get on the beaches because all the lots are full. And so it goes. We hit the beach in the early morning or evening, especially, at low tides and walk and walk and walk and walk. I have in fact managed to learn to live life rather well, on not very much money I shoud say, enjoying certain luxuries other people have lived their whole lives for. I decided at thirty-years old, that I was going to live near the ocean and I haven’t not since.
After having been a homeowner for so many years, I gave that up nearly a decade ago. I’m ready to own again, I think. But the way of the world is that one is continually priced out of certain pictures. I really don’t want to be one of those people. And yet I’ve never really frontloaded material solvency so I can’t say, even, how possible that might be. I do know I can leave this neck of the woods and get a lot more for less; but there is something about this area that will forever be home and so I’m going to keep the vision of owning some groovy place here, by the sea, firmly in my minds eye.
I have so much on my plate these coming weeks. For one I’m trying to finish our Haute Astrology horoscope books for the coming year, and I have two festivals to plan and pull off and also a business plan to edit. And of course ye old fundraising for all that I do non-profit. That’s really just in the month ahead and I’m determined to make it fun and fabulous, even if it kills me.
I recently came across a bit of old, good, green pot I had stashed, no doubt, in a moment of paranoia or resolve. I cannot remember when it could be from, but, of course, I had to smoke some, though nervous it would backfire and I’d end up in the emergency room with maladies imaginaires. But that didn’t happen. Instead it created a sensation of calm and cushioning that took me over, like a wave, much in the way it did in my youth until, somewhere in my thirties, it started triggering spinning siren lights and wails inside my brain. It returned me to a late-teenage sense of élan, of salad days, and it made me realize how far I am from feeling that kind of chill on any given day. Unfortunately or fortunately, there wasn’t enough of the green stuff to keep testing this effect which I would have undertaken with scientific apblomb. By the same token, it might have been playing Russian roulette with my nervous state. So it was just as well it was short-lived.
And anyway, I took away from this experience the notion that calm is closer than I think; and that I needn’t live my life in some kind of heightened state. PTSD. I know I have it. How can I not given the way I was raised and the rollercoaster circumstances of my adult life, devoid as it has been, of any real kind of support system other than the beloved obvious.
In some ways I think that’s why I work primarily as a consultant. It helps me to no end to help other people through their challenges. It’s almost a selfish career choice on my part. But back to the sensation that the pot imparted.
I didn’t so much as flashback, which I think is more a mental thing, than I did throwback emotionally to, I’m going to pinpoint it as: the age of seventeen. At seventeen, the summer before going to college, I didn’t work, which was rare for me since I always worked, since I was a high-school sophomore. Not having had a childhood, I had never read The Chronicles of Narnia, and my close friend Ken who was off to RISD that year gave me his entire set to read, which I did, all in one go, sitting alone, on the beach, in my low striped chair; after which I read Salinger’s Franny and Zoey, Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction, and Nine Stories. I would go to the beach before 8am and return around 6pm, having quickly ran home, at lunch, to grab a something, as we lived just a block from the ocean.
It was a grand old house and I miss it. It was big and blue and had three floors and was set on a corner. We had a mullberry tree that was wonderful out front and a wrap-around porch. Of course my father “removed” the mullberry tree, I believe, because somebody in a car crashed into it and I suspect my father (lied and…?) said the tree was killed in the accident, probably for insurance money. He was that type about whom writing makes my arms and shoulders freeze up. I wouldn’t want to be smoking pot and thinking about the things my father did, or who he was, when I was growing up. That would surely impart the opposite sensation of that little bit of vegetal flavored pot which buffeted me so pristinely upon its finding last week.
The 4th of July. Another one of those amateur-hour holidays where people get too drunk and too crazy. For our part we will sneak in to enjoy some festivities then sneak out again ere long.
The world, and surely American society, is a polarized place. And living where we do surrounded by type-A individuals with more dogs than kids and lots of disposable income it can seem ridiculously disparate. The truth is so many of the people here latched on early to some rich, older person who gaven them their start. Sex always seems to play a part. Especially when it involves other people’s money. Funny that Sex and Other People’s Money are attributes of the astrological 8th house. As is Death.
Anyway it won’t last long. I tend to get depressed if surrounded by too conspicuous a form of consumption. Or when I see half the people I know waiting on the other half. I’m too empathetic by half. I hope I’m not getting into Holden Caulfield or Seymour Glass territory if I can help it, as, I vaguely alluded to this yesterday, that I am wont to do in summer. Let’s just say, if we were to hang out together today, you might find me intense. I have a lot on my plate. And I’ve put myself under pressure—it’s my own doing and I trust I do what I do for a reason. I think I’m just wearying of life lessons learned. And still holding on to certain hurts, aren’t we all, seemingly in endless supply. And we all do stupid things of which we’re not proud, too, as a result. And we can’t beat ourselves up over that either. It’s important to come clean and express yourself.
There are few places on earth where I truly feel comfortable and I think Paris is surely one of them. I like the anonymity which never feels lonely. The city is so interactive on an intimate level and yet has this natural formality contained in grey stone, often capped with grey clouds. The perfect solitude. Some days I think I’d like to live in Paris and have a cook and a housekeeper and a lovely large apartment and then choose different places to go in summer including back home here where I must always have a place.
To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°, for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360 degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.
Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go! Copyright 2020 Wheel Atelier Inc. All Rights Reserved.
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