Tag Archives: Astrology

Outer life — Secret life exchange rates and trade deficits

Somewhere tucked in a few pasts I promised myself I’d keep the flow between inner life and outer life on even exchange; no embargos, no insider trading, just express and express;  sometimes outer life feels like it’s nonsense and sometimes, given the fact that I am a walking hydroelectric plant, the inner life spews out raging dialogue about people I’ve never met and I get full of turn of the century bitters and coals and unusable ores that pile up in the belly of the soul and sometimes the blabbering steam that rises reflects the pile it comes from and sometimes it’s just energy that needs to find a boxing bag before it leaks into more vital parts of the brain, the ones that control the mouth and other basic motor functions. And sometimes the Inner/Secret Sanctum Life and the OUter Life behave differently and both are real and you have to balance your heart leaking fluid in one hand and the great fortune of connection with ex-strangers in the other;  today falls into that latter category.  I had a good long conversation with an astrologer at Cocoa Bar and the baristas and I needed it because the core of this earth is filled with dirt that hurt; I also did what a good capitalist boy does when hitting the blue slicks, BUY!  I got an external monitor for my camera so when Frenemies trailer films, we can tell it’s in focus.

I deactivated my Twitter account; it depressed the hell out of me as I had no followers and yet was tweeting to no one sans one person who knows how to reach me anyway;  I might as well had been dressed in my teenage corduroys talking to a banana peel in Prospect Park;  it’s love hate with social media; when life has been a little lonesome it amplifies it so Connecticut says Nay!

Inner life report:  feel a little busted like an edited character out of a Tom Waits album;  I need to re-build a social life; How the hell I ended up playing gin rummy with my vacuum cleaner on a Saturday night is beyond me; I’m easy to slide towards solitude;  I look around and sometimes I can hear voices in iother people’s heads and they sound like jukeboxes from a lonesome bar right off the Texas border; the tunes are ones that remind you that you can dance so you can realize there’s no one around; or the one fellow may notice you but you left your lipstick in the car under an old box of Chinese food and getting it would have been worth it twenty minutes ago. One of those deals.

Silence is a pause sometimes between us and sometimes it feels like a that golden cord has been tied in knots and I do not recognize the hands;  are they newly or do they belong to someone else?   I don’t know what truth is and I don’t care; it’s mulch for the moment; 


Regifting a planet

My birthday’s coming on the 29th and that means my Solar Return; when I moved to New York nine years ago from San Francisco as a platter of plasma with ID, one of the first things I did was to find an astrology teacher so that I could not only figure out what the hell happened to me out in California but master the art of measuring the skies inside my soul so that senseless tragedies like what I endured need never occur again.

I studied two years intensely and over the years intermittently; I’m a triple Capricorn (sun moon and rising) with a gum wad of Scorpio planets; between the two I’m picked dry (or wet).  Every year I feel a little less Saturn (Capricorn’s ruling planet – the planet of anxiety, wisdom and late bloomers) and a little more Mars (Scorpio’s ruling planet –the planet of energy, war, competition, SEX, massive intensity): every year I can hear louder and louder pacing of symphonies waiting to be written; large engulfing projects that boil and then explode in spontaneous exotic and sexual floral arrangements; but you don’t fuck with these flowers; I have a saying with Scorpios that you don’t cross one; if you do, carry a basket around so you have somewhere to put your head when it gets lopped off;

We all have the same planets and same houses; it’s soul DNA, is astrology; it reminds me we all share the same ingredients;  and my chart is run by Saturn and Mars like two mob bosses fighting with each other and stalking other planets; Mars is starting to win the turf war; that’s why when I go to bed at times it’s just sort of a gesture, not really something that  leads to sleep;  in short, I am a fanatic (in the words of my teacher);

So every year I look at my Solar Return, an annual forecast we all have base don our Sun’s position; and this year is going to be one to burn holes in  The Secret, at least that’s the intent. Tonight where i take singing class (@BQCM) I saw a pianist and violist play several selections of modern composers, a couple I knew and a couple I didn’t. the violist, during one, snapped a string in an intense moment which I loved;  he was in fervor and during all of their pieces my mind turns on and I asked myself what I felt the greatest piece of American music ever written was and immediately I came back with George Gershwin’s  Rhapsody in Blue. Nothing else dropped by to claim the stake and I stick with that.  Of course Katy Perry’s Extraterrestrial is a close second;  something about being love addicted to an emotionally unresponsive alien makes me wonder if the feeder tube from American Soul to American Psyche needs a good cleaning;  I would not know the song if I wasn’t fond of conspiracy theories and watched the video for signs of Illuminati symbolism which one can turn into a drinking game or for me a chocolate game;  and every time I go into a thrift shop the song played;  I don’t know what’s going on with popular music;  I just think if I ever have a daughter and she came home singing lyrics about a love addicted girl who wants to be turned into a liquid drug so she could be shot into the veins of her boyfriend so he could shoot himself and bleed her all over his penis and then get orally pleasured by rabid sex starved aline monkeys or cause him to rectally bleed so she would know what it’s like to be eliminated while he’s having sex with her best friend whatever shit  I see hints of in some of these lyrics; I know I exaggerate but addiction is not something you want to peddle on teenage girls; that’s the sad flavor I get with some of these tunes when I energy scan;  black is black; 

I’m rambling with intent, on creating an exotic garden that reminds me what home smells like;  walls made of crushed petals, clay and shattered mirrors attached to certain reflections;


‘Marry the emotional movement, Horatio, into the madness with the silliness and all the other spokes of the magic pinwheel; spokes of the magic pinwheel, dicing and slicing pieces of life into something such a mess it’s like sitting in a big pile of confusing confetti; a party that is life and every little piece matters and nothing is random; to the naked eye it looks like a piece of confetti; to the naked soul it’s Picasso.’


The elegance and fervor of a full moon in autumn

I’m a triple Capricorn (sun, moon and rising sign all in Capricorn).  That means my moon sits right on the cusp of my first house, the house of me so I am a moon man; I’m a casual werewolf with a body foliage disorder. When the moon gets the shakes, so do I. When it leaks, it dribbles right through me; as I stated many times, I am an oil pan for when the moon leaks and my imagination is boot legged from the stars.

Sometimes it gets a little too much, especially when all the Scorpio in my chart gets soaked with the crazy moon juice. Then it’s like I’m a walking rabid orgasm scarecrow.  This full moon coming feels especially vital, given we’re heading towards 2012 and all of the galactic alignment and so forth;  tonight I’ll put down my wishes and meditate and offer them to our haunting satellite with little secrets on its dark side; most times my mind tries to find reasons for heartache and sometimes there’s a solid match; but most times, it feels like the resonance of the tussle between the earth and the moon;

I do feel something today, more focus, a bit more empathic urgency and reality towards getting back on stage. Manifestation Madness sale, 80% off and no money down, we’ll give you $500 cash on your trade in….that’s my career and somewhere out there there’s an agent-werewolf type waiting for me to howl.

On another strange note, one person knows it has been most recently my dream to play Eleanor Roosevelt in a one man-woman show.   It popped into my head tonight so I plan to jot some notes down; what better than to have a thin white man portray such an elegant and pioneering lady?  I am Eleanor!  with special appearance by Gammpo the Sasquatch.