Virgo 5° (August 27)

I’m still reeling from the events with the farmer which will come round to two weeks this Sunday. I fell asleep late and woke early from a dream wherein I was with a bunch of people and we were attending an outdoor football game. JD was there and there was this sense that we were repairing. We all started running down this grass path inside the outdoor stadium if you will, such that the path was like the main circular hallway tier of an indoor stadium. I was running faster and faster and I was thinking I’m fitter than I thought I was—that I could run like this for a long time. And then the grassiness turned to asphalt with these kind of thin speed bump type things and I was leaping and it became a nearly flying dream and I was so far ahead of everyone that I stopped to see where others were behind me, especially S.. She was nowhere in sight and I asked JD where she was and he said solitary confinement. And I woke up. It was too early and I’d only slept a few hours. I watched some news then began to fall asleep again when S. woke up so I stayed up and I’m still up. And I’m taking inventory this morning before sitting down to write my five pages a day which is pretty much plan from here on in.

To that end I am relaxing into a little cooking right now, roasting potatoes to serve for Thursday brunch with leftover ratatouille and eggs and maybe some first fresh tomatoes from the garden. I’m saddened by the fact I have to feel the way I do now about living here after the abusive treatment by the farmer, but it has clarified things and I’m tired of walking on eggshells. For that matter his chickens sadden me. Every time I walk to the compost outpost they follow me and whine for company. He is really a sick man and we will no longer tolerate the treatment at his bullying hands. Anyway, getting my brain around the day. Im going to start putting drafts into a large loose-leaf and I’m going to muse about archetype and other ideas for the next chapter and then take those notes and try to mold them into something. I realize that I don’t necessarily need to print out all the deconstructed chapters in S’ology, but really only really read what notes I have and make a bullet point list of ideas I haven’t incorporated and notes, too, on what might be repeats. I will do that at some point today or this evening. Meanwhile I want to keep all the notes in one place which I will do with the help of a little paperclip action.

I don’t want to say that today feels hard, although I did pull the Knight of Pentacles (following the Page of Swords which signaled more ease these past few days). As I write this I’m getting a weird wave of sisterliness—I wonder if it is a tremor in the force. Nothing to do about that I’m afraid. Anyway I just need to make a little bit of a word jumble for the new chapter today at least. That just might end up being enough. I will probably accomplish more than that. I need to include some finger painting in the process today, that much is for sure. I have organized my office once again down to a nub, and there is no more “productinating” to be done (my word for when you procrastinate on the thing you are meant to do whilst still being quite productive. I’m happy to have a clear head even though I’m tired. I’ve balanced all my books and booked all my appointments, and now I’m getting down to the nitty gritty but before that I shall have lunch!

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 751-755. 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.  

First memory: My sister leaning over my crib. Also Barrel of Monkeys holding hands and tails from the sealing to just over my face. I think there was something about them I didn’t like, the Monkeys—something to do with the sharp thin plastic from which they were made. I think perhaps one fell and poked me in the eye. I can see different colors—red, brown, yellow, blue—and I can see their expression. Of course the second after I write this I’m going Google Barrel of Monkeys and I know I’ll recognize their simean grins.

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Second memory: The painters are painting the apartment. I’m young—I don’t go to school yet (and I started school, “play school” at three); yes, my mother wanted someone else taking care of me until I could take care of myself, completely, by the age of 5. I remember my mother’s friend Joan coming down to check on the apartment. Later, I remember seeing photos of her visiting and I really was still a baby. Like a baby baby. And if this is my second memory than that crib one goes way back. I remember everything was one color. The walls, the painter himself, his clothes, the drop clothes. I don’t know why I look back on the painter as someone very kind and who I wish would have kidnapped me. He was a Norman Rockwell painter, a television sitcom painter, a kindly American fellow. I remember that much.

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Third memory: Driving my Fisher Price car around the apartment. We lived in a small flat in Jersey City; two bedrooms, a bathroom a hallway a kitchen and a combined dining living room. I would drive my little wagon—it really wasn’t a car—around it and when I say drive I mean sit in it and move my feet. I remember the horn the most. It was in the middle of the “steering wheel” slash wagon pull and it beeped for a while. Soon it sort of was permanently caved in and out of air to create a beep. This was around the time when I would go into completely other worlds via duvet covers but I think I spoke about that in a previous Blague.

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Fourth memory: Going to see Mary Poppins which was made a year after I was born so I suppose I would have saw it at age two. My mother’s mother’s sister, who looked like my grandmother but excactly, only taller, took me and maybe my sister. Although I do feel that my sister was already becoming my sworn enemy, through the warped machinations of her own mind; in fact I remember some drama that day but can’t put my finger on it. My sense is that it involved jealousy and the giving of presents. Me thinks she might have been judging love and loyalty via the quality of a present and perhaps I got a better one that day than she did from aunt Kate. I wasn’t alive when Darby O’Gill and the Little People first came out in 1959, but I know for some reason that it was in theaters in the sixties because I saw it around the same time as I saw Mary Poppins. I think I had lots of Mary Poppins paraphenalia—and I’m also sure that I couldn’t sit through the whole film, especially the cartoon parts, because, quite simply, they sucked. I might have napped or spent some time in the lobby with an adult feeding me candy. It was the same some years later with Bedknobs and Broomsticks when they merged with cartoon characters and backgrounds. I hated that. Give me real live flesh. Darboy O’Gill spoke to me. I had already been to those places where the little people live. And because it was probably at Radio City or something and we saw it at Christmas (we probably saw all the above mentioned movies at Radio City during Christmas—Bedknobs for sure, along with Oliver and other such films like Charlie Brown movies, although, they might have been at Easter not Christmas)—I was saying: because it was probably at Radio City and there was merch I had Darby O’Gill “rub ons” which were sort of decals on wax-y paper that you placed against things—in my case my shared (with my sister) bureau—and you rubbed, typically with a nickle against the wax-y paper that held the decal on the other side until it transferred to, in this case, the furniture. I don’t know what they put in those things but they never came off.

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.

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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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