A Not-So-Fond Fare-Thee-Well to February: Musings on Getting Personal in My Posts, Rembrandt, and Some Poetry if You Read Till the End (or Just Scroll Down)

T. S. Eliot wrote that "April is the cruellest month." Though the poet was on to something there, as two-thirds of that month is ruled by Mars (the god of war) -- and if you suffer from spring allergies to boot, as I do, it's nothing to sneeze at -- I believe the true Waste Land, especially this year, is February. Here is an unfunny joke: "Why is February so short?" "Because if it were any longer, nobody would make it to March."

I already complained about the Siberian Express in my last post, which received so few hits it made me wonder if I should keep weather talk out of my astrologizing. Which further made me ponder my entire philosophy of discussing on this site pretty much everything except what most astro-curious souls trawling the web are searching for: their horoscopes. Writing horoscopes is the one thing I pointedly refuse to do, because I think sun-sign astrology is the equivalent of knowing what country someone is from: it can be helpful in terms of understanding what language that someone speaks (though that actually has more to do with Mercury's placement than the Sun), but it only gives the tip of the iceberg, to use a cliche apropos for this brutally cold month.

So I wind up ranting about various components of my own natal chart and major-league transits (in the case of the born-in-2012, still-very-much-with-us Uranus-Pluto square, so frequently I feel like a recording) and how they seem to tie in to various political, economic, and social injustices. A few years ago, an irate reader put the smackdown on me for getting "too political" in my posts, which pissed me off, but at least someone cared enough to try to pin back my ears. Around the same time, I received from another reader some very encouraging comments that I should write a book about Pluto, since I seemed to know so much about all matters Plutonian.

Now, despite the fact that I have nearly 800 followers on Twitter, I mostly feel like a forgotten child on this site...a drop in the bucket of astrology blogs. There are just so many of them out there. Some of them are truly inspired (hello, Donna Cunningham!). It's too daunting to try to "keep up." (Gee, should I try to write about Leonard Nimoy's chart while everyone is still talking about his death? #LiveLongAndProsper, indeed!) It's hard to feel "original" writing about aspects, signs, etc. when it's all been written before, countless times, sometimes brilliantly. It's the kind of feeling I sometimes have as a writer in other genres, that all the stories have already been told, that there are a set number of themes 'n' variations, that all the archetypes have already been explored to the nth degree. Then I snap out of it and write anyway.

Sometimes I wonder why someone with my particular chart would get not just political but personal on this site. Then I think about Rembrandt, one of the greatest artists who ever lived. Like me, he was a Cancer Sun with a Scorpio Moon, and he was known for his endless self-portraits. I wonder if anyone ever said to him, "Hey, Van Rijn, what's up with all the selfies? It's not as if you're pretty enough to be on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or nothin'." I wonder if he was confident enough not to reply at all but instead ask aloud where he'd put that fly-swatter, or if he got embarrassed (and then promptly made a self-portrait of himself blushing) or defensive. I cannot, of course, answer for the master -- that would be beyond presumptuous, and this is not a blue-book midterm essay for an art history class.

But I know how looking at Rembrandt's self-portraits makes me feel. It's as if I'm peering into his private peep show; I see the unmistakable intensity and resolve in his eyes, yet cannot say for sure what color they are due his love of chiaroscuro, the interplay of light and shadow. (Rembrandt would have made one hell of a film noir director.) I doubt he was "just" lazy or self-centered to be his own go-to model; and as much as he showed, he kept plenty about his visage (as a portal to his whole self) a mystery. (In that vein, readers of this blog and of my fiction and poetry may see me as an open book, but I have more than one book, so to speak.) I have no idea how confident Rembrandt truly was in his abilities, but he believed in himself enough to stay in Holland instead of going to Italy, and he wound up immortalizing himself in paint. If getting so personal in his art enabled him know himself better -- in a time when psychotherapy did not yet exist -- so much the better, yet who knows how self-aware Rembrandt really was. He might have painted like a god, but he was, in the end, just human.

Sometimes I like to think that by painting myself on this site as a highly fallible human being filled with various worries, crotchets, and obsessions that go into living as a non-hermit in a town without pity in the early 21st century, I might be helping someone who lives halfway across the world, or down the street, feel less alone in his or her pain...maybe even help more by not posing as a one-way mirror, as some mystical astrology oracle preaching from a place far removed from all the noise and mess of living. There are more astrology blogs out there than ever, and with people buying online chart interpretations for much less money than a face-to-face reading would cost, all I can do is keep on being myself, warts and all. I may never enter the astrology pantheon the way Rembrandt did with his art, but oh well -- at least I have a cute button nose and good teeth.

But this was supposed to be a post about bidding adieu to the coldest damn month in NYC since 1934 (not too coincidentally, the last Uranus-Pluto square era). To that end, I will therefore share with you this poem I wrote on the subway last week. (I am thinking of compiling a collection of poems I wrote while in transit, to be titled When I Get a Seat on the Subway.)

February Lunation

In the darkest part
of the dark of the moon,
the subway whines
a death's-head tune.
My phone then rings
like a drowning loon;
it's HR from LA--
rejection's a goon.

Good riddance
to Aquarius!
My mind's a mess,
my soul can't dance.
In subzero stress
there is no success;
I haven't a chance.

Now the moon is new
though it's still 4 degrees
and I'm still on a train,
cut off at the knees.

Crossing the bridge,
I spot the Statue of Liberty
and pray to her icy greenness
at the mouth of the cold city.

Entering the Scorpio Zone

It happens every October 23nd (sometimes on the 22nd), but trust me, you ain't seen anything like this particular Sun-in-Scorpio ingress. If you are susceptible to motion sickness, grab the Dramamine; if you are susceptible to jet lag, break out them melatonin pills.

We're not talking about subtlety here. When you went to bed last night, the Sun, Moon, and Venus were all in Libra. As of this writing, the Sun has entered Scorpio, Venus is in the last gasp of Libra, and the Moon is just behind Venus in very late Libra. So right now, we are straddling the astrological equivalent of the International Date Line. Within three hours Venus and the Moon enter Scorpio, almost instantly come together in a conjunction (5:12 p.m. ET), and the Solar Eclipse occurs just before 6 p.m.

This very rare stellium at 0 degrees of Scorpio may serve as a much-needed renewal trigger for water-sign individuals (or those who have many planets in the water element), as Scorpio is all about transformation and regeneration, the phoenix rising from the ashes. Since Venus is involved (and catches up with the Sun this Saturday at 3:31 a.m.), this need for renewal specifically focuses on love and sex -- the latter, of course, is a Scorpio specialty, but the former can be tricky to handle in the sign of the Scorpion, as jealousy and possessiveness can get in the way. The main challenge is to allow yourself to love and desire intensely without trying to own or control the object of your love...if you freak out, your love is sure to object. However, this could be a great time to experiment with BDSM or roleplay in a safe, intimate environment.

Libra can never decide what it truly wants; it swings back and forth on its scales. Scorpio, by contrast, tends toward a starkly black-and-white philosophy and cranks its amp to 11 (that's a Spinal Tap reference, in case you didn't know). For Scorpio, it's yes or no -- "maybe" is for suckers. It's good or bad, right or wrong, stay or go, now or never -- not "it depends." It's all or nothing -- there are no half measures. As you might imagine, this attitude runs into a lot of trouble in situations where compromise and conflict resolution are called for (school, work, family, relationships, friendships, politics -- am I leaving anything out?) and just like shit, ambivalence happens.

Scorpio is a paradox in that it is so stealthy yet also tends to apply its desires with a Vulcan grip; it is perceptive and far more sensitive than its badass rep would suggest, yet its will to not merely survive, but to come out on top cannot be denied. However, the way Scorpio rolls can come in very handy in competition, war, and survival-oriented shit. Scorpio is indeed a survivor (as is the sign Cancer, albeit using a very different tactic).

Such dramatic, whole-hog intensity can also shine through in the arts: think of Pablo Picasso and art nouveau master Theophile Steinlen (both Suns in Scorpio) and Rembrandt (Moon in Scorpio); Maya Plisetskaya, considered one of the best ballerinas of the 20th century; John Keats, Dylan Thomas, Anne Sexton, Sylvia Plath, Fydor Dostoyevsky, and Kurt Vonnegut. On a personal level, I credit William Steig (Scorpio, Moon in Pisces) perhaps most of all for my deciding at a very tender age to become a writer and artist. It reached me on that primal a level. (Primal is another Scorpio domain.) And the first time I heard Scorpio Grace Slick of the Jefferson Airplane sing in her piercing, challenging voice:

When the truth is found
To be lies
And all the joy
Within you dies
Don't you want somebody to love?
Don't you need somebody to love?
Wouldn't you love somebody to love?
You've got to find somebody to love...

It wormed its way inside my angst-filled, Moon-in-Scorpio teen soul and drowned out all the '80s pop pap that I had been ingesting every time I watched MTV or tuned my "box" to Z100 or WPLJ (including, sorry to say, recent offerings from the Jefferson Starship -- "We Built This City on Rock and Roll" and "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" both made me want to vomit). The late 1960s-era Jefferson Airplane was packed with talent, but it simply could not have flown so high, nor delved so deep, without Gracie.

Just to make life more interesting, the dramatic shift from Libra to Scorpio is occuring with Mercury stationing direct and Mars at the end of Sagittarius -- so two more shifts are in store for us. When Mercury appears from Earth's perspective to be stationery, this is an excellent time to meditate, focus, and also to find things, people, and feelings you'd lost over the past month, especially in mid-September. Don't overthink it -- chances are very likely these lost things will turn up unexpectedly.

As for Mars leaving Sagittarius and entering Capricorn in a few days -- stay tuned for that; I think I've given you Dear Readers quite enough food for thought for one post. Now go out and find somebody to love -- starting with yourself.

Hard Progression for U.S. 'Splains a Few Things

Hello lovelies and uglies,

Been disinclined to astrologize during the Sun-in-Scorpio period, not because there hasn't been anything going on, but the opposite. It's been an overwhelming month, especially with a Solar Eclipse in Scorpio, and Mercury retrograde in Scorpio till 11/10 only served to confuse matters. Here in the U.S., there has been a sizeable kerfuffle regarding the ACA (aka Obamacare) rollout and various presidentially applied "I promise that you can really, truly keep your insurance if you like it" Band-Aids and "it's about politics" votes by 39 House Democrats to extend substandard health insurances till the Sun goes supernova. Also this month, the new American Heart Association guidelines for diabetes and heart-disease risk are coming under fire -- even among doctors, not just the millions of patients who are now suddenly prime candidates for a statin prescription.

Finally, it occurred to me to peruse the progressions in the U.S. chart to see what the hell was going on.

To backtrack just a bit, it has always bothered me that the U.S. is so backward concerning health care for all its citizens, as the U.S. Sun is in Cancer, the most maternal sign of the zodiac! U.S. also has a truly beautiful Venus-Jupiter conjunction in Cancer, which is even more significant because the U.S. has Sagittarius Rising, which makes Jupiter its chart ruler, and Venus-ruled Taurus is on the U.S. 6th-House (work and health) cusp. However, the U.S. also has a prominent Mars-Neptune square from Gemini in the 7th House of relationships and contracts to Virgo (the sign of health and work) in the 9th House of philosophy and law. The U.S. may talk the talk (Gemini), but can't walk the walk, and this square gives an extremely inflated sense of its abilities and a distorted sense of self. Indeed, the U.S. is so "exceptional" that it still cannot manage to give every citizen national health care (in the form of public option or Medicare for all). Even now, with improvements made such as not turning away people with pre-existing conditions, it is still about health insurance, not real care as is the case for virtually every other first-world nation! Interestingly, Medicare was introduced in the mid-1960s, when the Uranus-Pluto conjunction in Virgo was sextile U.S. Sun (indicating a positive opportunity that ultimately succeeded because, unlike ACA, it was given a chance despite all the opposition).

What stands out like a malignant tumor in U.S.'s progressed chart is the Moon-Saturn conjunction in early Scorpio -- it is exact at 3 Scorpio (considered to be the degree of the Moon's "fall," or worst possible placement) in approximately one week (Happy Thanksgiving!). Of extreme significance is the fact that Mercury turned direct earlier this month exactly on U.S. progressed Moon at 2 Scorpio, which is precisely when the floodgates opened on how horrible the ACA website is, and how millions of people were getting screwed over with health insurance cancellations, and how Obamacare is a disaster that will kill the spirit of the U.S., et cetera, ad nauseum.

Obviously, this progressed Moon-Saturn conjunction trining Obama's Venus at 1 Cancer (yes, the president's Venus is very close to U.S. Venus!) and also trine transiting Neptune at 2 Pisces has just not been enough to override all the bad PR, nor has it somehow forced otherwise intelligent people to understand that in terms of health insurance, if everyone covers everyone else for everything, instead of only covering their own selfish, "I've got mine so screw you!" asses, everyone wins -- or at the very least, no one will lose their house over a serious illness or accident (both of which can strike anyone of any age at any time). And in this era of instant gratification, the glitches, snafus, and downright fuckups to be expected in a major plan like ACA are simply unforgivable.

Just last month, transiting Saturn took a metaphoric poop on my natal Moon in Scorpio, which literally made me sick; now that this aspect has passed, and I have had altogether too many doctor appointments, I must start taking better care of myself if I want to keep ranting and raving. I would like to think that this aspect will also serve as a wake-up call for the U.S., and that as this rigid, black-and-white aspect passes, sanity will prevail. Perhaps next year, once individuals with their old health insurance see firsthand how little they're getting compared with those on the state exchanges, and people living in states that cruelly refused to expand Medicaid will get angry enough to vote accordingly in next year's midterm elections, this will all come out in the wash, and be a crucial first step toward true health care for all in the U.S., and the U.S. will finally live out its Venus-Jupiter conjunction beyond "Mom, apple pie, and the girl-next-door."

Ode to Transiting Saturn Conjunct Natal Moon in Scorpio

They say if it ain't broke, don't fix it
but what if all the gears are jammed?
How do I start rebuilding my psyche
when I am sitting at my own desk
and feel a million miles away from home?

Fever brings clarity,
Kindness feels like charity,
Politeness a formality,
My libido beaten by austerity.

I needed my mother.
I just spoke to her on the phone
and now I feel like one of those lab monkeys
trying to get nurturing from a pile of twisted wire
rigged with electroshocks.

Fever brings clarity,
Kindness feels like charity,
Politeness a formality,
By now I should be used to my unpopularity.

There's a weight pressing down on my soul
that's giving me a major headache.
Getting sick can force one to stop and rest,
but watching DVDs only offer temporary escape;
then all I can do is worry.

Fever brings clarity,
Kindness feels like charity,
Politeness a formality,
On sabbatical's my hilarity.

The child I could've had ten years ago
visited me today while I was shivering on my sofa.
She was lovely, with long brown hair.
She said she forgave me.
She looked almost exactly like me.

Fever brings clarity,
Kindness feels like charity,
Politeness a formality,
Will I create something brilliant for posterity?

Pluto Ricin: R.I.P. Walter White

May I propose this epitaph for Walter White's gravestone? “I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. And I was really...I was alive.”

While I normally pride myself on being somewhat detached from U.S. pop culture (I couldn't identify any of the Kardashians in a line-up and have not seen a single episode of American Idol), and normally refuse to allow myself to be manipulated by the machinations of art in any medium, I had to surrender to Breaking Bad like any self-respecting meth-head would surrender to Heisenberg's finest.

And now that "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue," I decided that while Walter White's corpse was still warm, I would attempt to rectify his birth chart based on the September 7, 1959, date given in the divorce papers -- and also examine how it lines up with the chart of actor Bryan Cranston, who has acknowledged that playing this character was "the role of a lifetime."

Small surprise that no matter what time of day Walter White was born, he had a Scorpio Moon. And hell hath no fury like a Scorpio Moon scorned, for the Moon represents one's deepest emotions and truest feelings and needs; in Scorpio, the need is for validation of its stunning perception and absolute, unlimited power both at home and in the world. Jupiter is also placed in Scorpio, which magnifies the effect of the Moon.

When we first meet Mr. White, he's what his student/partner/stand-in son/enemy/fellow soldier Jesse Pinkman would term a total "bee-yatch" -- at everyone's beck and call except his own, someone who never even attained has-been status, because he took himself out of the big time so soon with Gray Matter Technologies that he was herewith reduced to an also-ran. Whatever time of day Walter White took his first breath, it was only a matter of time before he "broke bad," for his Moon, in the sign of its fall, was within range of squaring Uranus in Leo, also placed in the sign of its fall, representing the last of the baby boomers (born 1955 - 1961), also called "Generation Jones," a group known for its high rate of crime and addictive behavior.

I like to think of Pluto Rising as the Superman/Clark Kent position, for no one seems to notice that Clark Kent is Superman. It seems that if you put on a pair of dorky glasses and act like a hopelessly unhip egghead, people do not see you as someone who is capable of doing anything spectacularly good or bad; you are reduced to a worker bee who doesn't get no respect. I believe this is particularly the case when Pluto Rises in Virgo (1957 - 1972), for Virgo is considered an "omega" sign compared with the likes of, say, Leo or Aries. Virgo is given short shrift in astrology; its characteristics sound pretty dreary (organized, clean, detail oriented, service oriented, finicky). Therefore, I believe that Walter White was born at about 6 a.m. (most likely in L.A., as that is where his mother lives) with Pluto just behind the Ascendant, conjunct from the 12th house (to better conceal his disguise) and also exactly conjunct Venus and Mercury at 4 Virgo, a critical degree.

This critical-degree stellium defines Walter White's complexity, intelligence, and multiple personas. Venus-Pluto points to Walter White's attraction (Venus) to the underworld (Pluto) as well as the sexual charge he receives from it, plus his simmering resentment in his marriage (Venus) that periodically blows up, though despite all the shit that hits the fan, he and Skyler never make a clean, definite break. It is worth keeping in mind that Walt's Venus is in the sign of its fall, and Skyler (represented by Venus) briefly becomes "Mrs. Heisenberg." Mercury-Pluto highlights Walt's ability to use his mind (Mercury) and extensive knowledge of chemistry to make the purest meth on the planet (Virgo strives for purity) and get out of tight spots through ingenuity, and murder (Pluto) anyone standing in his way, most impressively via ricin -- poison being represented by Walt's strongly aspected Neptune in Scorpio.

"Say my name," he says menacingly to some badass cartel hombres while rocking the now-iconic black wide-brimmed porkpie hat in season 5A. Names are ruled by Mercury; take a Mercury-Pluto conjunction exactly sextile Pluto's despositor, Neptune in Scorpio (drugs) in the 3rd house (also ruling names), and voila: we have Heisenberg, a persona that was brought out by Walt's death sentence of cancer (Pluto) at the beginning of season 1.

Walter White's Virgo stellium exactly squares his Midheaven (MC) at 4 Gemini (also a critical degree). The MC indicates one's career path, and in the mutuable sign Gemini it's not a surprise that when we meet Walter White, he has two jobs: high school chemistry teacher and area carwash drudge. Pluto square MC indicates trouble with authority; Mercury square MC points to poor communication skills with the powers that be and poor judgment concerning public standing; Venus square MC shows Walt's ability to put up a supposedly benign front -- he successfully hides his Heisenberg identity from his wife and family, most notably his macho DEA brother-in-law, for an impressively long time. Interestingly, Hank finds the incriminating evidence in the form of poet Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass in Walt's bathroom (Pluto) while taking a shit (more Pluto) -- and the original "WW" himself had Pluto Rising! Pluto can manifest in self-sabotage; Walter White left the inscribed volume of verse for Hank to find instead of sensibly stashing it in his bookcase or burning the damned thing altogether. "Say my name," indeed. In a deep-rooted Plutonian way, Walt wanted to be found out -- and no matter what pain resulted, as least Hank would never again view his brother-in-law as an insignificant, nerdy milquetoast.

Walt's 5th-house cusp is 7 Capricorn; the ruler, Saturn, is in the 4th house at 0 Capricorn -- another critical degree. Such a placement indicates challenges and downright disappointments concerning children; Walt's oldest child, named after him, has CP and ultimately rejects his father, calling the cops on him and asking, in their last heartrending phone conversation, why he is even still alive when Walt tries to arrange to send him money from his hideout. (If you're reading this and haven't yet seen the series finale, please stop!) Still, Walt perseveres (Saturn) and manages to arrange an eventual trust for his son (symbolized by Jupiter in Scorpio) via his former business partners from Gray Matter who have publicly distanced themselves from him on Charlie Rose, using some classically Heisenberg ingenuity and intimidation without actually resorting to violence. As for baby Holly, whose name has Christmastime (early Capricorn) overtones, she will never know her father as anything but a criminal mastermind. At least Walt got to bid her, and his wife, a tender farewell before going off to the neo-Nazi compound to finish some unfinished business -- and "accidentally on purpose" finish himself off as well.

I count myself among the relatively few who were still rooting for Walt despite all the death and destruction he unleashed; as reprehensible and unforgivable as his actions were, he refused to lie down and die without trying to leave behind a legacy, albeit a dubious, death-filled one. Even though at the eleventh hour he admits to his wife (and to the vast TV audience who were glued to their sets) that he truly did it for himself, if he had not had a family (symbolized by Sagittarius at the IC exactly squaring his Virgo stellium), he might not have had the literal spur digging into his side to do it at all.

Actor Bryan Cranston's exact chart is unknown, but his Pisces Sun falls in Walter White's 7th house of partnership, his exalted Mercury in Aquarius (which lends itself well to science) in Walt's 6th house of work, and his Saturn falls at the bottom of Walt's chart, acting at the IC as a solid anchor and foundation for his character. Arguably, the only Moon sign that rivals Scorpio in its will to power is Capricorn -- which Cranston has, placed in Walter White's 5th house of creativity. Interestingly, Cranston's Jupiter-Pluto conjunction in late Leo is placed in Walt's 12th house -- there was much gold (Leo) to mine on an unconscious, collective level, and with outer planets acting so strongly in the 12th house, Cranston's portrayal of Walter White is truly iconic, providing a perfect catharsis for our Uranus-Pluto square era, a time of massive collective crisis, a time when so many of us Waltesque "losers" have been squashed down and hemmed in by a few bad choices plus a huge dose of bad luck.

And I firmly believe that long after the last Uranus-Pluto square occurs in 2015, Breaking Bad will continue to inspire obsessive, Pluto-driven passion in viewers -- the same planet that drove Walter White to break bad, transform his self-identity, rise from his own ashes, and irretrievably change his world as well as the worlds of everyone who came into contact with him.

What Happens When I Take My Eye off the Astrology Ball

Short answer: It's not pretty.

Long answer: Because I was unusually harried and pressed for time on Saturday afternoon, I failed to look ahead on my trusty astrology software program for the exact timing of two doozies headed my way: transiting Neptune opposing my natal Venus and transiting Mars conjuncting my natal Moon. I knew they were coming; I just didn't know how soon. Like, on Monday. And I was away from my 'pooter for the rest of the weekend.

Oops.

Part I: So Venus Walks into a Bar and Spills Her Drink on Neptune...

I raised a sensitive issue with my sweetie ca. noon yesterday instead of holding my water till the next time we got together. Pobody's nerfect, and a few hours later I made an effort to set things right by articulating myself better, and I think I succeeded. But try telling that to my mortified Venus in Virgo as Neptune exactly opposed it. It was a perfect storm of bad timing, hurt feelings, and yes, opposition. At the very least, I should've taken the Moon in Cancer into account before saying anything; emotions run pretty high during this lunar transit.

Part II: Moon-Mars Meltdown

The Moon may soothe an angry Mars, but the reverse just ain't so. As a Lunar Scorpion, I have no halfway feelings: I am either scaling the heights of ecstasy or plumbing the depths of despair; Zenning out or really pissed off; in hard-core downtime mode or wanting not just to connect, but to merge. Scorpio is an emotional Water sign, yet its Fixed quality makes it far more stubborn than its cousins Pisces and Cancer, and its ruler, Pluto, is a tough negotiator that dwells in the realm of extremes: birth, death, sex, taxes. It's the power behind the throne, not the performer in the spotlight. Mars in Scorpio is all about power and magnetism, and its capacity for getting shit done is truly amazing -- but when it's under stress, front and center is the last place it should be.

So what did I do when, upon returning home and perusing my astro software, I clearly saw that Mars was due to cross over my Moon shortly after 9 p.m.? Under the fog of Neptune still opposing my Venus, I went ahead with my plans to read at a performance series that I already had plenty good reason to think was no longer working out for my particular set of sensibilities -- in fact, with these misgivings in mind, I had already discouraged my sweetie from attending the show. I did not want to attend either, yet I decided that it would be a chicken-poop move to cancel unless I were truly ill, and feeling sad and worried did not count as such in my book. As my little crew of friends were not going to show up till later in the show, when the curator of the show asked me when I wanted to go on, I requested a late slot (which meant very, very close to the exact conjunction between Mars and my Moon). Most of the show went fine; unlike last month, most performers stuck around after their slot to shine; the venue was even air-conditioned (though it wasn't necessary, as NYC had cooled down considerably by sunset).

Then a dyed-redheaded woman, who looked to be smack in the middle of middle age, got up there and sang, then flat-out yelled, incoherent verses while banging a wooden spoon on the table closest to the stage. She reminded me of a mental Ethel Merman (Menthal Merman? Ethal Mental?). Like the Journey song "Don't Stop Believing," she went on, and on, and on, and on...till she managed to clear most of the room. With her bright red hair and headache-inducing racket, she may have been a manifestation of Mars on my Moon; my reaction was quite unusual for performance-mode me. When people understandably began jumping ship, I hot-footed it over to the back of the room to ask the curator of the show if he was planning on yanking this woman off The Gong Show anytime soon. He pointed out that I'd asked to be put on late; I thought, but did not reply, that this preference had nothing to do with the fact that Menthal Merman was causing a mass exodus. I myself nearly fled the venue without reading, but stuck it out and seethed during the next performance. I was most assuredly not "feeling it" when I was finally standing at the mic and peering out at several rows of empty tables and chairs. I apologized to the curator for my Moon-Mars meltdown, but I don't think I sounded too convincing.

And I think I know why.

Plutonian Profile: Etan Patz

Just one day shy of the 33rd anniversary of Etan Patz's disappearance on May 25, 1979, which occurred during his first solo walk between his SoHo home and his school bus stop a block and a half away, 51-year-old Pedro Hernandez confessed to having strangled the six-year-old boy in the basement of the bodega where he worked, then tossing Etan's lifeless body into the garbage.

I remember the vanishing of Etan Patz vividly, being just a couple of years older than Etan and growing up in a suburb of New York City. I also remember all of the kids at school being fingerprinted soon afterward. Kids surely were abducted throughout the 1970s, but somehow, this one struck a chord in the hearts of parents across the United States. Suddenly, missing kids were appearing on milk cartons, and non-missing kids were being warned of "stranger danger."

In my hometown, parental supervision did not seem to increase suddenly or dramatically post-Etan Patz, but perhaps it was just that I and my 1970-born classmates managed to stay one step ahead of a generational clamp-down as the freewheeling '70s ended and the more conservative '80s got under way. The majority of kids my age did not have hands-on baby boomer parents; more common were the distracted, divorcing, laissez-faire Silent generation parents. Throughout middle school I had to walk a relatively long distance--perhaps half a mile--to my bus stop every morning. I was probably less safe in the emptiness of early-morning suburban streets than I would've been in a city environment: no other pedestrians, very little traffic. At any time, a car could've pulled up and whisked me away forever. My own confession: sometimes I wished that exactly such a thing would happen, except that it would not end for me in sexual abuse and death, but a brand-new family.

It occurred to me to look at Etan Patz's natal chart, though his time of birth is unknown, and study it alongside the chart of his disappearance (approximately 8:02 a.m.) and finally against yesterday's confession. What I found was chilling -- and also that Etan was a Plutonian, having been born with the Moon in Scorpio. It seems more likely that a child with Sagittarius Rising would seek early independence than any other Ascendant, and Etan was born on a Sun-Uranus conjunction, adding a dose of rebellion uncommon to his Sun sign of Libra. Etan's appearance combined an all-American sportiness (Sagittarius Rising) with Sun-in-Libra charm (that lovely smile). His eyes, however, were purely Plutonian: an intense, penetrating, precocious gaze, as if his most essental, Moon-in-Scorpio self had already seen everything and knew what it was all about.

I have rectified Etan's chart to about 12:20 p.m., in order to place transiting Neptune at 19 Sagittarius on the day of his disappearance exactly conjunct his Ascendant; Neptune rules the act of vanishing, and the Ascendant is the physical body. Also, Etan's father, Stanley Patz, was a professional photographer (Neptune), and the photos he'd taken of his highly photogenic son wound up not only on milk cartons, but on posters and even a billboard in Times Square years after his disappearance. Also, with 19 degrees of Sagittarius Rising, Etan's natal Saturn in Gemini (in its worst manifestation, a youthful grim reaper) would conjunct his 7th-house cusp of Others.

On the morning of May 25, 1979, there was a Moon-Mercury conjunction in effect at 28 Taurus. The Moon rules young children; Mercury rules the hands; Taurus, the throat. This aspect alone would not indicate an innocent boy's being choked to death by a disturbed young man still in his teens, but two much heavier and disturbing aspects were at work that day: transiting Sun at 3 Gemini was just past the opposition to Etan's Neptune (another "gone missing" motif); also, and far more threatening, transiting Pluto at 16 Libra was retrograding over Etan's Sun, which literally pulled the boy into the underworld (in the form of a basement murder, most likely involving molestation since Pluto rules all aspects of sex, as well as death). Indeed, the fact that both Neptune and Pluto were Retrograde at the time of Etan's disappearance indicates a strong possibility that this boy had been targeted for some time. The abductor (whether it was Pedro Hernadez or Antonio Ramos, an incarcerated pedophile who had dated Etan's babysitter and admitted to seeing Etan that day, but claimed not to have anything to do with his demise) saw his chance and literally snatched it.

Although Etan was declared dead in 2001 (around the time of his Saturn Return), the case of the most famous missing child in New York City was reopened in 2010; last month Mars turned direct at 3 Virgo, and as it passed over Etan Patz's critical-degree Venus at 4 Virgo, a nearby basement belonging to a carpenter who had known the Patz family was excavated -- only to yield nothing. I do find it highly significant that Hernadez's confession occurred on the Solar Return of Etan Patz's disappearance, with the Sun at 3 Gemini. Venus Retrograde is approaching Etan Patz's Saturn, which may bring some form of belated justice -- just as transiting Jupiter in Taurus is approaching the Moon-Mercury conjuction that occurred on this day in 1979. Interestingly, transiting Neptune at 3 Pisces is within range of forming a T-square between Etan's Neptune and the Sun on the day of his vanishing. Perhaps Hernadez had been starting to feel so guilty and tormented over his heinous crime of over three decades ago that he had to confess -- though oddly, he had already confessed long ago to relatives about killing a boy in New York.

The full truth of this tragic case may not ever be unearthed, but today, which is officially Missing Children's Day, is certainly throwing the spotlight on an issue that has been at the forefront of national consciousness for the past three decades: how to care for and protect one's children. Unfortunately, as with so many things in the United States, we seem incapable of moderation, of striking a healthy balance. My "X" generation was mostly left alone to fend for ourselves; most of us survived, some of us have thrived, and some of us are scarred. Yet it seems that today's generation of American children are smothered to the extent that I worry if they will be able to think and act for themselves when they come of age -- and also if they, in turn, will wind up underprotecting if not downright neglecting their own children a few decades down the road.

Sun in Taurus + Moon in Scorpio = Buddha Moon

This may be my favorite Full Moon of the year, as it is the same Sun-Moon combo as Siddhartha Gautama, aka the Buddha, was born under. Born into luxury and privilege (as represented by the Sun in Taurus), Siddy chose to kick himself out of a sheltered, edenic existence and live out to the fullest his Scorpio Moon, an intense placement full of angst, challenges, and pitfalls (indeed, the Moon is traditionally held to be in the sign of its "fall" in Scorpio)...but with the greatest potential out of the entire zodiac for enlightenment, transformation, and ecstasy.

Just for fun a couple of years ago, I took a test on "OKStupid" to see which religious founder I most resembled, and the answer was none other than Buddha. I took that as the ultimate cyber-compliment, even as I realized that I am "detachment challenged."

Taurus and Scorpio are both Fixed signs and therefore are loath to let go of anything or anyone, out of fear of losing control or appearing weak. The paradox, of course, is that by letting go, you are more likely to have your heart's desire fall into your lap and never let go of you.

Lunar Scorpion Corner: In Honor of My Grandpa

This installment of the Lunar Scorpion Corner is in honor of my paternal grandfather, who was born 101 years ago today but unfortunately died nearly 30 years ago.

That I know anything at all about unconditional love is in large part thanks to this wonderful man, a Pisces born with Moon in Scorpio (as well as Jupiter in Scorpio). He was a GP doctor, undoubtedly one with immense healing abilities given his Sun-Moon combination.

As far as I know, Grandpa was the only other member of my family with a Scorpio Moon. Perhaps it is the sort of placement that skips a generation? All I know was our shared Moon sign gave us a very special emotional connection.

I am truly fortunate to have had him for the first 12 years of my life. I still remember his gentleness, his humor, and the walks we took on Lido Beach, where my grandparents had a summer place. He always seemed happy to see me, whatever we did.

Lunar Scorpions often have tumultuous love lives; in my grandfather's case, he was married to a harsh, heartless woman for over 40 years. I am half convinced that he would've lived a much longer life if it hadn't been for my EG (evil granny). Then again, I would not be here had he married someone else...or perhaps I would, but in a vastly different package. Right after he died, EG informed me that he was the one who wanted to visit my little sister and me on Sundays, not her; it was only because of his insistence that they were in our lives (as well as the lives of our parents).

Thus I found myself at the tender age of 11 3/4 having this very guilt-inducing thought for the first (but far from last) time: "Why couldn't Grandpa have lived, and Granny have died instead?"

When I lived within walking distance of Brooklyn Heights, I would walk down Henry Street, where he was born, and pay silent tribute to this man. I am definitely a better person for having known him. Thanks, Grandpa.

Pluto Profile #1: Liz Taylor, Lunar Scorpion

For quite a while I have been thinking of creating a regular feature within this blog, to be called "Pluto Profiles," which would explore the charts of various Biggies (and Not-So-Biggies) who would qualify in any astrologer's book as Plutonian -- someone born with a strongly aspected Pluto and/or Scorpio placements. The passing of Elizabeth Taylor two days ago has finally motivated me to get said feature off the ground and into cyberspace.

Elizabeth Taylor was, in many ways, a classic Piscean; she was born with a stellim (i.e., three or more planets conjunct) that included the Sun in the first decanate of Pisces (which adds an additional Pisces vibe), and the stellium opposed its despositor, Neptune. Pisces/Neptune rules film, and Taylor began appearing movies at an early age.

Her breakthrough role as Velvet Brown in National Velvet was made possible by the fact that she started horseback riding at age three, which is less than shocking when you consider that she was born with Sagittarius (which rules horses) on the Ascendant (which rules persona, the physical body, and the individual's temperament). Taylor's ruling planet was therefore Jupiter, placed in the sign Leo and trine that Asc. I believe it was this trine, in these particular signs, that stamped her in a highly visible manner: her exotic violet eyes. (Purple is a color associated with the sign Sagittarius and its ruling planet, Jupiter.) The eyes are ruled by the sign Aries, and Taylor was born with an exact Venus/Uranus conjunction in Aries -- this conjunction completed a grand trine in the Fire element.

Taylor certainly embodied many Jupiter in Leo characteristics: glamour, wealth, fame, a love of opulence (e.g., her jewelry collection), and a regal vibe. Even onscreen, she was cast as royalty in Cleopatra. "I've been lucky all my life," Taylor said in an interview. "But I've paid for that luck with disasters...I'm like a living example of what people can go through and survive...I'm not like anyone. I'm me." Jupiter is known as the "lucky" planet, and had it only trined Taylor's Asc. and Venus/Uranus conjunction, she may very well have sailed through life unscathed (although with these aspects, she probably still would have married a nearly unbelievable number of times). However, Jupiter's square to her Scorpio Moon ensured that not only would this movie star receive an abundance of good luck, but also go through near-death experiences that might've put out the flame of a non-Plutonian, including an emergency tracheotomy and brain surgery. Her Moon/Jupiter square in fixed signs also contributed toward her addictive nature as much as her Pisces placements did. She also had to deal with the early loss of a spouse (Jupiter is placed in the Pluto-ruled 8th House of death and partner's resources.)

Taylor's Scorpio Moon was strengthened by its trine to Pluto (which, like Jupiter, fell in her 8th House), and helped her pull through serious illness and other setbacks. Although Taylor's Fire placements may have led her to crave the spotlight, her Scorpio Moon must have had to psych itself out big-time in order to pass through the media's ring of fire. Because her Moon fell in the 11th House of friends, groups, and ideals, she surely could not keep her most private self (as symbolized by the Moon) private, as she might have been able to do had it fallen in her 12th or 4th House. And she became a scandal (a Scorpio/Pluto specialty) many times over.

How apropos that when Pluto transited Scorpio (1984-95), Taylor became an outspoken advocate (11th House) for AIDS awareness (this illness is a frighteningly perfect manifestation of Pluto in Scorpio). She also developed a perfume with the perfectly Plutonian name of Poison and became friends with a highly controversial person: Michael Jackson.

Elizabeth Taylor died of congestive heart failure (Moon in Scorpio square Jupiter in Leo) with the transiting Moon in Scorpio. Although 79 is no longer considered an advanced age to die, especially for women, Taylor's seven decades spent in the public eye, coupled with seven men, may well have made her feel at least a century old. She may very well be remembered as a "celebrity," as opposed to a movie star, by younger generations who did not watch her grow up, and grow older, on the silver screen. Yet as an intriguing blend of Water and Fire, it is safe to state that very few people actually knew this woman. If you happen to be a Lunar Scorpion, or have one in your orbit, you will know exactly what I mean.

The Perfectionism and Self-Loathing of the Lunar Scorpion

Astrology famously has it that Virgo is the ultimate perfectionist of the zodiac, but Scorpio can't be too far behind -- this sign is "all or nothing" in its approach to everything in life, and has serious control issues (i.e., has to have it at all costs).

The Moon placed in Scorpio indicates all of the above, plus extreme emotional sensitivity and volatility added to the brew. Combine a Scorpio Moon with important placements in Virgo, and any venture that falls short of what the Lunar Scorpion perceives to be perfect will unleash a torrent of blame and self-loathing.

Specifically, I gave a mediocre poetry performance last night, with the Moon in early Scorpio. At first, I blamed everything that was out of my control: a microphone that barely worked, an introduction that did not use my preferred "T.C." moniker because my sweetie, having arrived at the venue first, signed me up and he forgot about the nom de plume thing, and the malevolent guy behind the cafe counter (possibly the owner of the venue) put me on guard straightaway; he'd hissed unpleasantries at me for not immediately forking over the $2 donation while I was scribbling some last-minute changes to my brand-new poem before the show began. (This is the same charmer, by the way, who snarled at me for accidentally bumping into him en route to the restroom back in January, so I felt within my rights to prioritize poetry revising over donation giving.)

But the truth was that part of the mediocrity was because of things that were within my control. I barely practiced one of the two poems I performed, and the other one was fresh out of the oven of my brainpan; the Sun/Uranus conjunction yesterday morning had inspired me to breathe new life into a poem I'd abandoned years ago. It is very unlike me to come to a reading so ill-prepared, but just as the Sun/Uranus conjunction brings creative inspiration, it also brings carelessness and cockiness. In the past year, most of my performances, both featured and open-mic, were strong; I counted on the same magic happening without putting in the necessary work.

Playing the blame game (both outer and inner) ensured that I would be tossing and turning all night, and wide awake at 4:30 a.m., possibly the worst of the wee hours.

Now I feel sorry that I wasted all that energy bitching and moaning and lashing out instead of doing something either more constructive or more fun on a Scorpio Moon. Oh well, there's always tonight...at the very least, I think I will be able to sleep.

Pluto Blushes for the Camera

(Photo copyright NASA, ESA, and M. Buie, Southwest Research Institute)

In a neat little bit of what Jung, who also practiced astrology, would term "synchronicity," NASA has just released 350 amazing close-up photos of Pluto; the Moon (which rules, among many other things, the public) is currently transiting Scorpio, the sign ruled by Pluto.

Apparently Pluto has been growing redder and brighter during the two-year span of these photos (2002 and 2003). No official reason has yet been determined.

My feeling is that Pluto is either camera-shy and blushing at having its privacy invaded via Hubble Space Telescope, or it is prophetically pissed off, knowing that by the time these photos were released, its stature in our solar system would have been demoted to "dwarf planet" and would suffer such headlines as: "Pluto, Former Planet, Ready for Its Close-Up."

More than any other planet, Pluto needs good PR. I hope these photos will help reintegrate this planet into our collective psyche, for Pluto will not go gently into that good night. Demoting or belittling its energy is like trying to close Pandora's box, or put a skeleton back in the closet. Attempting such a thing has already enabled the negative aspects of Pluto--manipulation (also known as power-tripping), repression, oppression, resentment, and yes, plutocracy--to dominate Pluto's positive traits of transformation, mediumship, literal and figurative X-ray vision, healing at the root level.

It is heartening to learn that some members of NASA who are involved in another Pluto project, which involves a robotic spacecraft (carrying the ashes of Pluto's discover, Clyde Tombaugh!), believe that Pluto should still be categorized as a bone fide planet.

PS: My late-to-the-party Groundhog Day predictions: we'll be getting the first signs of spring on March 11, when Mars turns direct...yet we'll also be dealing with the effects of Mars retrograde until mid-May. I still wish I could crawl into a burrow and hibernate for the next five weeks instead of having to pretend it's business as usual in the Borough of Kings.

Mercury Retrograde Meandering

During my "sick" weekend, I managed to get out of the city for a day and a half by visiting my parents. That I'd managed to convince myself I'd get some real rest out there is proof that tonsillitis can also infect the brain.

The one bright spot was visiting the cemetery with my father, as it was my dearly departed grandfather's yahrzeit (i.e. anniversary of death). Grandpa died on May 25, 1982, while I was on a weeklong school trip. It wasn't until I'd returned home from it that I was told he'd died earlier that week. Grandpa was my favorite relative, the one who taught me about unconditional love. Not too coincidentally, he was a fellow Moon in Scorpio, although with his birth time unknown, I don't know the exact degree. What I do know is that if I hadn't basked in this man's affection for my first twelve years, I would've turned out to be a much nastier strain of Plutonian toting an even bigger chip on my shoulder. Truth be told, I'm still pissed off at my parents for not coming to get me or have my teacher put me on the next bus; I was a few hours away in the Catskills, after all, not Togo. It's not as though attending a loved one's funeral is fun by any stretch of the imagination, but by being left out of the loop, I was denied something important: an official chance to grieve and cry with my family and with all those who recognized my grandfather's compassion. He'd been a doctor, a GP, and I don't doubt that a Pisces with Moon in Scorpio would have had quite a bedside manner, and healing abilities that went way beyond allopathic medicine. But like many healers, he did not take such good care of himself.

As you might expect from a Plutonian, I like cemeteries. They're quiet and well organized, unlike life, and I can pick up on a strangely soothing kind of energy. It occurred to me to jot down birth dates of other relatives who are buried there. After returning home, I pulled up my great-grandfather Samuel's chart. Samuel was the patriarch of my father's side of the family, the one who came to America as a teenager, studied (and later taught) at Cooper Union, and established himself as an architect who had worked on one of the most famous housing projects in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, during the (last) Depression; the design was considered revolutionary at the time because it allowed actual sunlight to stream through the windows. The Sun sign of this "patriarchitect" was not Capricorn, as an astrologer might more than half expect (in fact, it was his wife, who died before my birth, who was a Cappy), but Gemini. When I perused Samuel's chart, I found a wide-but-approaching Sun/Saturn conjunction; the latter planet's influence certainly contributed weight and purpose to a typically lighthearted, insouciant sign, but what really stood out was a tight Sun/Pluto conjunction, which was exact at 11 a.m. in Hamburg. Another point of interest: Samuel was born with Mercury Rx conjunct Neptune in Taurus and trine Uranus in Virgo; not only was he an extremely intelligent visionary, but left-handed. My father, who was also born with a Mercury/Neptune conjunction and is also left-handed, recalled that Samuel wrote with his right hand, as most people were switched at school in those days, but drew with his left. I myself was born with an exact Mercury/Neptune trine, an aspect that informs my own left-handedness, as well as my vivid imagination, intuition, empathy, and capacity for visualization--all of which, thanks to the trine, I flow into naturally.

Yesterday afternoon I felt well enough to walk into Brooklyn Heights, where I paused in front of the building where Samuel set up his practice in 1920, according to the "Special Index Issue" of The American Architect, July-December 1920. (God bless Google.) It was situated on a junky stretch of Court Street, much of it covered in scaffolding, but it was right across the street from the courthouse, which impressed me. I zeroed in on the somber gray number 26, the only thing about the building that seemed apropos for an architect; now it was a New York Sports Club. Its next-door neighbors? A bank that will probably fold or merge with a bigger bank within the next six months, and a crappy-looking little deli that had probably not been operating since 1920.

I tried to avoid being jostled by all the people whose mission on Court Street was most assuredly not rooted in nostalgia but in present-day errands and business, and wondered if Samuel would have approved of me. He lived to ninety-three, an extremely old age by 1970s standards. I have a few early memories of him; my main impression was of a quiet, stern old man who radiated power and control, the farthest thing from a doddering, incontinent victim of senility. I imagine that even if he'd recognized a fellow Plutonian in wee me, I had not yet reached the so-called age of reason, and was therefore too young to bother instructing. What would the patriarchitect have taught me, anyway? "Hey kid, don't worry if you start to feel alienated by the age of nine, and don't get separated from your luggage?"

My heavily aspected Neptune is Retrograde in the Third (Mercury) House, and when I walk around my local environment, I often drift into waking reveries to the degree that it's probably safer for everyone that I'm usually a pedestrian. I definitely feel like I'm communing with my grandfather whenever I'm in Brooklyn Heights, particularly on Henry Street, where he was born; had he been born on Clinton Street, perhaps my grandpa would've been named Clinton instead of Henry. Especially with Mercury still Rx, such strolls make me feel as if I'm walking into the past. Yet I'm not sure that I managed to commune with Samuel yesterday. The man put his Plutonian nature to use by moving across an ocean at the same age that I was a self-styled nihilist disgusted with my high school--hell, make that my entire home town, and much of society except for that which occurred below Fourteenth Street in Manhattan. (Sigh.) Samuel came from admired, successful artisans, and upped the ante by becoming an admired, successful architect and establishing a family many of whom entered the medical profession (though my father's younger sister became an architect). As for me, I am on a decidedly downwardly mobile slope, and my friends, the majority of whom are struggling freelancers and/or kooky creatives, are my family.

I like to say that writers are architects, using words instead of bricks, literary stories instead of literal stories, character studies and plot lines instead of blueprints. Both writers and architects reflect as well as challenge the collective soul, the collective dream. Yet people will enter the same building countless times without a second thought, while rereading a book is a big deal. (Well, not to me, or to most writers, but most people don't bother unless it's something like the Bible.) Even if my great-grandfather would smile at my comparison, something tells me that he'd frown at my mystical tendencies, dismiss them as part of the Old World that he apparently left behind without a backward glance.

It is easy to forget that just as Pluto deals with transformation and cutting one's ties and burning one's bridges, it also has to do with repression and simmering resentment. As much as Pluto personifies the old Groucho Marx joke that it would never want to belong to a club that would have someone like itself for a member (which is exactly why Pluto doesn't give a shit that it's been demoted from planethood), as much as Pluto wants to wear the pants and dominate (preferably behind the scenes, so that it can be the puppet master instead of the sitting-duck puppet), perhaps the most significant paradox of Pluto is that power can be mined in its very vulnerability as an outcast, or outlier.

Whatever Samuel may think of that statement, I feel unconditional love still pouring in from his younger son, my grandfather. It's real. I would bet my left hand on it.