Believe in the power of love!
Pretty in Pink, the 80s teen classic of love beyond the classes...and this one is dedicated to my DuckMan, Shlomi Moto Wagner--love, love, love! XoXoXo
Showing posts with label 12th house. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 12th house. Show all posts
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
New Moon In Taurus, in natal 12th
A 12th-house-light-bulb-day.
It's a much more relaxing life when you believe in the greater good of humanity... and to feel good about yourself for half-a-second, spot the kitty!
It's a much more relaxing life when you believe in the greater good of humanity... and to feel good about yourself for half-a-second, spot the kitty!
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Mercury retrograde in my natal 12th house
Ahh! Argh! WTF!
Th
e craziest/stupidest thing happened to me today. I lost one of my tarot cards. I left my them by my window, which was barely open, but it was windy...and of all bizarro things, the card that jumped ship was the Knight of Wands, the card that represents departure!!!!!
I've had my cards for more than half my life, getting them at the mall back in my teen years one random evening after being oh-so curious about them for so long. My friend drove me and helped pick them out, of all uninteresting stories...but through the years they've had quite the adventure, traveling throughout the country, east coast, west coast, the south, to Canada, South America and over to Europe and Asia several times. They have met many and helped more than a few.
Since obviously they are tarot cards, I can't help but read into the fact that this card went missing. Do I have to leave something, is something leaving me, am I running from a responsibility of some sort, etc.?
Later in the evening a friend came by and over a bottle of Prosecco on my roof we pondered why this could be, all the while me trying to use my night vision to spot the lost card on some random rooftop...but no, and then my friend said something that struck a cord, "Maybe it's time to let it go."
He theorized maybe my cards were holding me back from responsibilities of some sort. He was a bit buzzed, so was I, so he kind of lost his train of thought after a while, but the message came in loud and clear. Not to say I don't do anything without asking my cards, because I don't. I hardly even remember the things I say to myself and would say overall they have been more of a help to others than me, but I love them like one of my dearest friends and can't even imagine not conversating with them every so often like a friend...but even the dearest of friends grow apart.
Anyway, I don't even know the point of this post, other than to complain and whine, but it's so the perils of the 12th house in Mercury Rx which plagues one with hidden messages and psychological twists, so I thought I would throw this onto a page. How annoying!!! I can't wait until this retrograde ends and I can get my sense of humor back.
*Note: Mercury retrograde officially ends on Tuesday, May 11th, @6:28 PM EST. However, Mercury won't return to the degree it was when the retrograde started until May 29th. Until then, good luck and don't count on anything!!!
Th
e craziest/stupidest thing happened to me today. I lost one of my tarot cards. I left my them by my window, which was barely open, but it was windy...and of all bizarro things, the card that jumped ship was the Knight of Wands, the card that represents departure!!!!! I've had my cards for more than half my life, getting them at the mall back in my teen years one random evening after being oh-so curious about them for so long. My friend drove me and helped pick them out, of all uninteresting stories...but through the years they've had quite the adventure, traveling throughout the country, east coast, west coast, the south, to Canada, South America and over to Europe and Asia several times. They have met many and helped more than a few.
Since obviously they are tarot cards, I can't help but read into the fact that this card went missing. Do I have to leave something, is something leaving me, am I running from a responsibility of some sort, etc.?
Later in the evening a friend came by and over a bottle of Prosecco on my roof we pondered why this could be, all the while me trying to use my night vision to spot the lost card on some random rooftop...but no, and then my friend said something that struck a cord, "Maybe it's time to let it go."
He theorized maybe my cards were holding me back from responsibilities of some sort. He was a bit buzzed, so was I, so he kind of lost his train of thought after a while, but the message came in loud and clear. Not to say I don't do anything without asking my cards, because I don't. I hardly even remember the things I say to myself and would say overall they have been more of a help to others than me, but I love them like one of my dearest friends and can't even imagine not conversating with them every so often like a friend...but even the dearest of friends grow apart.
Anyway, I don't even know the point of this post, other than to complain and whine, but it's so the perils of the 12th house in Mercury Rx which plagues one with hidden messages and psychological twists, so I thought I would throw this onto a page. How annoying!!! I can't wait until this retrograde ends and I can get my sense of humor back.
*Note: Mercury retrograde officially ends on Tuesday, May 11th, @6:28 PM EST. However, Mercury won't return to the degree it was when the retrograde started until May 29th. Until then, good luck and don't count on anything!!!
Monday, November 2, 2009
Full moon in Taurus
Happiness, comfort and love!
...After staring at the amazing full moon last night on the corner of some random street in Brooklyn, headed to my friend's house to work on editing a video, stopping at the grocery first to scour for something to bring over...he's a Libra, so, think classy...At C-town, that would be ice cream with the word truffle on it...but unbeknownst to me, my attempt at graciousness turned me into a total hog that scarfed practically the whole container after just one taste shortly after arrival...
The point: If you want a one way ticket to heaven, Haagen-Dazs White Chocolate Raspberry Truffle is the express line...and Libras are so congenial they don't even think it's rude when you bring over something, then eat it all yourself.
...After staring at the amazing full moon last night on the corner of some random street in Brooklyn, headed to my friend's house to work on editing a video, stopping at the grocery first to scour for something to bring over...he's a Libra, so, think classy...At C-town, that would be ice cream with the word truffle on it...but unbeknownst to me, my attempt at graciousness turned me into a total hog that scarfed practically the whole container after just one taste shortly after arrival...
The point: If you want a one way ticket to heaven, Haagen-Dazs White Chocolate Raspberry Truffle is the express line...and Libras are so congenial they don't even think it's rude when you bring over something, then eat it all yourself.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Saturn enters Libra
The reality reformation begins.
I’m a peeper. As a kid, I totally snuck over to the Christmas tree when no one was around and carefully pulled back the taped corner to see what was inside. It wasn’t so much the knowing, as it was being in on a secret and ahead of something before it was suppose to happen that thrilled me. In my adult life, that curiosity transferred into an addiction to psychics.
Yes, I get I’m a lazy shit by doing things that way, but I can’t help myself. To think someone can just tell me what’s going to happen and then to let it happen sounds like a dream. After all, wouldn’t it be divine to just know and not have to get out of bed until I had to or wanted to? The idea of instant gratification and feeling prepared thrills me, but the irony is that I suck at going to psychics. As much as I want to believe, I rarely have ever had a reading that really floored me — except a few sporadic ones that happened magically…but I have kept trying nonetheless. My encounters are endless too, shamefully so, but fun, sort of. I’d say the worst one was driving with a friend and getting lost and taking over 5 hours to get to a normally 2 hour away destination after waiting 3 months for an appointment and having to end the reading after 10 minutes because I was TOTALLY getting racially profiled. I have no career in computers, brilliant math skills or crazy conservative parents I felt I had to rebel from. I wasn’t rude, but I wasn’t going to pay for that shit. I left, taking my friend with me; explaining to her that she would of probably been told her that she needs to stop chasing after her baby daddy and to get off welfare.
Another incident I had was after reading a book about mediums; so intrigued, I contacted the author and booked an appointment. I had to wait a few months for a phone reading, but it was going to be amazing, so I didn’t care…so I thought. She was an artist, so her thing was that she drew a portrait of whom she contacted. With a souvenir to boot, I didn’t even care I was going to fork over bigger cash for it, until I got an unimpressive reading and then a week later, a sketch of some random old white dude that in no way could resemble any grandfather in my family tree, no matter how hard you shook the branches. I was respectful of her and what she did despite it all, and sent her an email asking if psychics like doctors just can’t work for everyone and that you’d have to find your match. I also explained very diplomatically that the drawing wasn’t anyone I knew. She didn’t address any of my questions or statements and automatically sent me my money back — which I didn’t even ask for, but was totally happy to get.
Then there was Lily Dale. Two summers ago, a friend that happens to be a psychic told me about this town of spiritualists and that the mediums that practice there have to pass a test to prove his or her abilities. Sounded amazing, signed a friend up with me and then booked a flight to fly two hours north, then drive another hour to get there. Although it was the end of the season, we were able to get an appointment with someone considered one of the best. We were totally psyched. It got even more exciting when my friend who took the appointment before me came back saying unbelievable things — like how the psychic knew details of how she spent her morning!!!! Insane! Of course for me, it wasn’t quite that way.
The life he unfurled for me sounded like nothing I’d ever want, was headed for or even aspired to and it made me irritated at how general it seemed and how he asked questions to get information. Among the worst thing he told me that grated on my nerves was seeing me living in a starter home off the east coast of Florida — and not even Miami, somewhere in the middle. There was no way in hell I’d ever live in a starter home off the east coast of Florida!!! Why???? If I could afford an apartment in Manhattan, why would I choose a starter home in Florida? He then also made a lot of other off predictions, I guess assuming I was just out of college and confused. It aggravated me so; I went back after and asked for my money back. It was a rule of the town, so I enforced it.
Not to say all my experiences were awful. I’ve had totally magical experiences that have happened at the most fated times too. Like just this summer at the beach I met a palm reader that was amazing. He even knew how many homes I had lived in and the tarot readings I got from a friend that foretold a predicament I would be in with two people and how it would go down — even with me swearing up and down it would never happen like that… The most insane of all psychic experiences thou happened on one of my worst days ever, from this girl I barely knew that I wound up talking to at a holiday lunch party I had to go to for a rag I was freelancing for at the time. I was fresh off being blindsided by a break-up I never thought would of happened and couldn’t have been more of a wreck. Plus, the weather was the worst — dark, cold and wet and my vision was so blurry from crying, I don’t even know how I found my way to the restaurant.
As soon as she started talking to me I knew she knew things, from all the crazy things she was saying. After lunch, we went back to my place and for 7 hours she told me things I never thought anyone could know, totally blowing my mind and giving me a direction to be able to move ahead again. It was a miracle. Subsequently, exact time frames and predictions she made were accurate and even details of the past were dead on. It was so freaky; it even crept her out — after all, her job was as an editor, not Miss Cleo. However, not everything said happened and ultimately I chose a different option than what she predicted, but only after making major and possibly too many time-consuming fruitless efforts to keep my “fate.”
As of today, if I had to give a statistic, I would say for every 10 bad readings there is one that stands out, but even so, no one has spelled it out for me. There have been foibles in all readings and all too many false positives. Obviously, the correct comment to make after that is, “Duh, only I can know the real answers, etc., etc.,” but if only it were that simple.
Of course, through sorting it out and seeing the cause and lazy effect on me, I do wonder why I attempt to leave my fate in the hands of strangers so often — especially since I am a bit of a curmudgeon at heart. While parallels with predictions have happened, I get that at best, a psychic only can see a path I can take, but that there are endless possibilities and until I get there, see the situation, feel what I need to feel and do what I have to, nothing is a given…. But how do I stop the control freak in me and realize the uselessness in trying to gauge what lies ahead, so I can zone out in la la land instead? Can reality ever be as exciting as my daydreams in which I never have to take responsibility in? I guess now is the time I’ll be finding out.
I’m a peeper. As a kid, I totally snuck over to the Christmas tree when no one was around and carefully pulled back the taped corner to see what was inside. It wasn’t so much the knowing, as it was being in on a secret and ahead of something before it was suppose to happen that thrilled me. In my adult life, that curiosity transferred into an addiction to psychics.
Yes, I get I’m a lazy shit by doing things that way, but I can’t help myself. To think someone can just tell me what’s going to happen and then to let it happen sounds like a dream. After all, wouldn’t it be divine to just know and not have to get out of bed until I had to or wanted to? The idea of instant gratification and feeling prepared thrills me, but the irony is that I suck at going to psychics. As much as I want to believe, I rarely have ever had a reading that really floored me — except a few sporadic ones that happened magically…but I have kept trying nonetheless. My encounters are endless too, shamefully so, but fun, sort of. I’d say the worst one was driving with a friend and getting lost and taking over 5 hours to get to a normally 2 hour away destination after waiting 3 months for an appointment and having to end the reading after 10 minutes because I was TOTALLY getting racially profiled. I have no career in computers, brilliant math skills or crazy conservative parents I felt I had to rebel from. I wasn’t rude, but I wasn’t going to pay for that shit. I left, taking my friend with me; explaining to her that she would of probably been told her that she needs to stop chasing after her baby daddy and to get off welfare.
Another incident I had was after reading a book about mediums; so intrigued, I contacted the author and booked an appointment. I had to wait a few months for a phone reading, but it was going to be amazing, so I didn’t care…so I thought. She was an artist, so her thing was that she drew a portrait of whom she contacted. With a souvenir to boot, I didn’t even care I was going to fork over bigger cash for it, until I got an unimpressive reading and then a week later, a sketch of some random old white dude that in no way could resemble any grandfather in my family tree, no matter how hard you shook the branches. I was respectful of her and what she did despite it all, and sent her an email asking if psychics like doctors just can’t work for everyone and that you’d have to find your match. I also explained very diplomatically that the drawing wasn’t anyone I knew. She didn’t address any of my questions or statements and automatically sent me my money back — which I didn’t even ask for, but was totally happy to get.
Then there was Lily Dale. Two summers ago, a friend that happens to be a psychic told me about this town of spiritualists and that the mediums that practice there have to pass a test to prove his or her abilities. Sounded amazing, signed a friend up with me and then booked a flight to fly two hours north, then drive another hour to get there. Although it was the end of the season, we were able to get an appointment with someone considered one of the best. We were totally psyched. It got even more exciting when my friend who took the appointment before me came back saying unbelievable things — like how the psychic knew details of how she spent her morning!!!! Insane! Of course for me, it wasn’t quite that way.
The life he unfurled for me sounded like nothing I’d ever want, was headed for or even aspired to and it made me irritated at how general it seemed and how he asked questions to get information. Among the worst thing he told me that grated on my nerves was seeing me living in a starter home off the east coast of Florida — and not even Miami, somewhere in the middle. There was no way in hell I’d ever live in a starter home off the east coast of Florida!!! Why???? If I could afford an apartment in Manhattan, why would I choose a starter home in Florida? He then also made a lot of other off predictions, I guess assuming I was just out of college and confused. It aggravated me so; I went back after and asked for my money back. It was a rule of the town, so I enforced it.
Not to say all my experiences were awful. I’ve had totally magical experiences that have happened at the most fated times too. Like just this summer at the beach I met a palm reader that was amazing. He even knew how many homes I had lived in and the tarot readings I got from a friend that foretold a predicament I would be in with two people and how it would go down — even with me swearing up and down it would never happen like that… The most insane of all psychic experiences thou happened on one of my worst days ever, from this girl I barely knew that I wound up talking to at a holiday lunch party I had to go to for a rag I was freelancing for at the time. I was fresh off being blindsided by a break-up I never thought would of happened and couldn’t have been more of a wreck. Plus, the weather was the worst — dark, cold and wet and my vision was so blurry from crying, I don’t even know how I found my way to the restaurant.
As soon as she started talking to me I knew she knew things, from all the crazy things she was saying. After lunch, we went back to my place and for 7 hours she told me things I never thought anyone could know, totally blowing my mind and giving me a direction to be able to move ahead again. It was a miracle. Subsequently, exact time frames and predictions she made were accurate and even details of the past were dead on. It was so freaky; it even crept her out — after all, her job was as an editor, not Miss Cleo. However, not everything said happened and ultimately I chose a different option than what she predicted, but only after making major and possibly too many time-consuming fruitless efforts to keep my “fate.”
As of today, if I had to give a statistic, I would say for every 10 bad readings there is one that stands out, but even so, no one has spelled it out for me. There have been foibles in all readings and all too many false positives. Obviously, the correct comment to make after that is, “Duh, only I can know the real answers, etc., etc.,” but if only it were that simple.
Of course, through sorting it out and seeing the cause and lazy effect on me, I do wonder why I attempt to leave my fate in the hands of strangers so often — especially since I am a bit of a curmudgeon at heart. While parallels with predictions have happened, I get that at best, a psychic only can see a path I can take, but that there are endless possibilities and until I get there, see the situation, feel what I need to feel and do what I have to, nothing is a given…. But how do I stop the control freak in me and realize the uselessness in trying to gauge what lies ahead, so I can zone out in la la land instead? Can reality ever be as exciting as my daydreams in which I never have to take responsibility in? I guess now is the time I’ll be finding out.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Mercury re-enters Libra, my solar 12th and trines my natal 1st
Decisions, decisions, decisions....
Late afternoon...
With anything serious, I hate making decisions. I like when things are so obvious, they make me giggle. With anything in the 12th house, especially Mercury, it's all about introspection and thinking in terms of your legacy — which makes choosing what to do seem soo much more dire, and of course, this makes me crazy, as I've got a perfectionist streak in me and realize it takes a helleva lot of effort to get it all wrapped up in a pretty and perfectly glamorous bow...and to add to that, I am also extremely lazy, and would prefer it all just happen around me and to just have to nod my head in agreement when necessary and then do as little as required...that is why I hate making decisions. It stalls everything, as my brain jumps all over the place and I can get lost in the options, possibilities, etc. If I just don't know, it must not be good — as in too many choices, too many booby traps.
Late evening...
If it doesn't make me feel good, fuck it...
Later evening...
But what if being torn feels good? It's better to feel something than nothing, right?
Next afternoon, 11 hours of sleep later...
Apathy answers all.
Late afternoon...
With anything serious, I hate making decisions. I like when things are so obvious, they make me giggle. With anything in the 12th house, especially Mercury, it's all about introspection and thinking in terms of your legacy — which makes choosing what to do seem soo much more dire, and of course, this makes me crazy, as I've got a perfectionist streak in me and realize it takes a helleva lot of effort to get it all wrapped up in a pretty and perfectly glamorous bow...and to add to that, I am also extremely lazy, and would prefer it all just happen around me and to just have to nod my head in agreement when necessary and then do as little as required...that is why I hate making decisions. It stalls everything, as my brain jumps all over the place and I can get lost in the options, possibilities, etc. If I just don't know, it must not be good — as in too many choices, too many booby traps.
Late evening...
If it doesn't make me feel good, fuck it...
Later evening...
But what if being torn feels good? It's better to feel something than nothing, right?
Next afternoon, 11 hours of sleep later...
Apathy answers all.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Mercury retrograde in the natal 12th
Retracing footsteps.
Any place I am forbidden makes me want to go. Last year, that place was Belvedere Castle, a guesthouse exclusively for men on Fire Island. Like a white monstrosity from the heavens it dominated in the middle of the walk between the Pines and Cherry Grove. The first time I passed it, I couldn't help but get sucked into its grandeur, just gazing from behind and squishing my head into the "Venetian" wrought iron gates, wondering what was inside that glamorous paradise, like a peasant upon the gates of Versailles....
Enter my second visit to Fire Island, brought on spontaneously and auspiciously. There were we, my two friends Shlomi and Gil and me, just at the right place at the right time to randomly meet two friendly drunken strangers on our way home that night, soon resulting in them becoming our houseguests. From there, they went on to explain the horrors of their accommodations and much to my excitement, it was Belvedere Castle. No women, no luxury and nothing but sleaze in sight. OMG, get me there STAT!!
...This led to that and soon enough, I was changing into Gil's clothes to assume the identity of his drunken boyfriend, propped onto his side and hidden under my hoodie drawn as tight as possible to look as sexually ambiguous as possible — followed by the the four boys giving me a lesson on how to be a "dude." After midnight, we infiltrated. However, warned that if my true identity was discovered there would be hell to pay, like a lamb being eaten by a rabid pack of coyotes...I felt just like Woodword and Bernstein, but with only one set of balls...
Findings:
Belvedere Castle only has two channels: CNN and porn.
This is the most expensive room in the place — the "Baroque" (broke) room. The headboard may have been painted onto the wall. If not, it was nailed closely to it. All other furniture, busted.
Unrivaled elegance to jerk off in.
Upon entering, guests are greeted by this picture of the owner and someone he no longer likes — the paint just sprayed over the glass. Love it!
Overall, the rush of secrecy was the hottest part of the night. Unfortunately, the tower, which is the ultimate cruising spot, was already closed. Otherwise, this could of been just a little more of a hot rocking XXX post. Oh well...but today, today at Fire Island, the water was so cold it only took ten minutes to chill my can of pear juice and that felt almost as exciting too.
Any place I am forbidden makes me want to go. Last year, that place was Belvedere Castle, a guesthouse exclusively for men on Fire Island. Like a white monstrosity from the heavens it dominated in the middle of the walk between the Pines and Cherry Grove. The first time I passed it, I couldn't help but get sucked into its grandeur, just gazing from behind and squishing my head into the "Venetian" wrought iron gates, wondering what was inside that glamorous paradise, like a peasant upon the gates of Versailles....
Enter my second visit to Fire Island, brought on spontaneously and auspiciously. There were we, my two friends Shlomi and Gil and me, just at the right place at the right time to randomly meet two friendly drunken strangers on our way home that night, soon resulting in them becoming our houseguests. From there, they went on to explain the horrors of their accommodations and much to my excitement, it was Belvedere Castle. No women, no luxury and nothing but sleaze in sight. OMG, get me there STAT!!
...This led to that and soon enough, I was changing into Gil's clothes to assume the identity of his drunken boyfriend, propped onto his side and hidden under my hoodie drawn as tight as possible to look as sexually ambiguous as possible — followed by the the four boys giving me a lesson on how to be a "dude." After midnight, we infiltrated. However, warned that if my true identity was discovered there would be hell to pay, like a lamb being eaten by a rabid pack of coyotes...I felt just like Woodword and Bernstein, but with only one set of balls...
Findings:
Belvedere Castle only has two channels: CNN and porn.
This is the most expensive room in the place — the "Baroque" (broke) room. The headboard may have been painted onto the wall. If not, it was nailed closely to it. All other furniture, busted.
Unrivaled elegance to jerk off in.
Upon entering, guests are greeted by this picture of the owner and someone he no longer likes — the paint just sprayed over the glass. Love it!
Overall, the rush of secrecy was the hottest part of the night. Unfortunately, the tower, which is the ultimate cruising spot, was already closed. Otherwise, this could of been just a little more of a hot rocking XXX post. Oh well...but today, today at Fire Island, the water was so cold it only took ten minutes to chill my can of pear juice and that felt almost as exciting too.
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