Pisces 18° (March 8)


With a heady Pisces man encounter and the watching of the Mr. Rogers special on PBS I am awash in masculine-fish understanding. Well, I should preface by saying that Pisces man is probably the most truly unknowable character in the human zodiacal Pantheon. Typing that triggered a dream. Something about not using upper case in something that called for it. Not a very impactful dream. We once had a contest amongst friends whereby we recounted our most boring dream ever. One friend had what seemed like an epic dream in which she was just vaccuming. She might have wond the contest or I did. My contribution: I once dreamed that I was asleep and not dreaming.

I love the fact that Mr. Rogers (whom I really didn’t watch much as a kid) had Margaret Hamilton the Wicked Witch on. I actually do remember that episode. I think she was also already Cora who sold coffee. I suppose she was so universally frightening to children that it warranted an episode on demystifying the witch thing. But he didn’t have to go and write a song about it called, or deliver the message that, “Witches are Never Real”, because, hello, here I am. And look I know that many of my downtown East Village friends and performers and defacto social crowd consider themselves witches and talk about it and say blessed be and all that…but they don’t have my abilities. Nor do they even know (or actually care to know) that I possess the actual thing of which they wrap themselves in a cartoon-cloak version.

It’s just one of the many reveals about me which have yet to happen. I am and have done more things than most who get praised, obsessively, by those who love to worship. I hope that made sense. Not all talent is gods-given. There are acutely cultivated people out there (many of whom just happen to be born under the sign of Taurus) who have worked so hard on their persona and on little bits of ability, blowing them out to extreme proportion, that it disguises the fact they might not really be very singers or writers or actors or comedians. And yet they succeed via their decades long cultivation and I think that is as important if not more important than natural talent. Those who have both the natural sort and the genius for self-cultivation really make true stars. But they aren’t necessarily also witches. It’s just a little fairy dust thrown on top, an affectation, like a love for Stevie Nicks. Don’t get me wrong—Stevie is fabulous—but we really shouldn’t label her a genius.

As often happens, as I’m writing this, a dream I had last night bubbles to the surface. I think I was in a van or a bus as would travel a band or performance troupe and the conversation swung to what a true genius Christine McVie is; (in the dream) how she was a unique composer who innovatively pieced together compositions. In reality her songs are very simple but surely among the most best-selling ones in Fleetwood Mac. They were catchy. And she’s a bigger Mac than her husband in the equation of the musical group. But she’s an Ethel, a Bea Benadaret, the beta female in the mix, by virtue of Stevie’s love of the limelight, surely, but also her recklessness. I remember friends seeing the band during the Tusk tour while I was still in high school and reporting back that Stevie just sat on the edge of the stage staring into space all during the show. It was when they were on the wane, for sure, seeming corny and tired compared to Squeeze and Elvis Costello and other pop entities coming onto the scene. But I do believe that Stevie just might be a witch. Grace Slick called her a white witch. I’m going to say gray, brown, tan beige or putty.

Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
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