Two thousand twelve started with such a bang (New Year's Day I took part in a poetry marathon; the following day I had a poem published in a well-respected literary magazine; then spent an Edenic weekend with my newish boyfriend), I might have known that just 10 days later I'd fall off a cliff..."coincidentally" with transiting Neptune conjunct my 6th-house cusp in the final degree of Aquarius.
In late March 2011, the first time Neptune entered 29 degrees of Aquarius and my 6th house, I came down with the flu. The second time, six months later, I was heartbroken in a dying relationship. And both of these situations seem like a gourmet picnic compared with what is now afoot (pun intended): a suddenly worsening upper-ankle (Aquarius) sprain (Uranus, ruler of Aquarius) caused by a near fall (Uranus again!) several weeks ago, which means I will need to see an orthopedist at the precise moment it will bring tears to my eyes to deal with a co-pay: the unexpected (yet more Aquarius/Uranus) loss of my part-time job (6th house), the nook of stability in which I resided for the past 13 months while continuing to freelance and write. Oh, and I have until the end of March, when my lease is up, to get my income back on relatively solid ground. No pressure there! Neptune is many things, but solid is not one of them.
Actually, I have gone through far worse situations, and without the benefit of an emotional support network (i.e., a few real friends). However, with the Moon transiting my natal Moon sign of Scorpio, I feel pretty damned lonely right now. I am writing this post on company time (it's not as if they can let me go; they already did that last week). If I were literally alone right now, perhaps I would not feel so isolated. But with Neptune once again poised on my 6th-house cusp, I feel like a fish (Neptune) out of water (all but the cusp of my 6th house falls in Pisces).
The idea of performing later this week, with the Moon in Sagittarius, seems a cruel joke. But if I wish to be a true performance poet and not a self-pitying overgrown baby, I must turn this sludgy, drudgy feeling into something vibrant and inspirational, and make my support network proud.
Back to the drawing board...and back to work.
The Planet That Wears Its Heart on Its Face
Showing posts with label poetry performance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry performance. Show all posts
Monday, January 16, 2012
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Notes on Thumbing My Nose at the Sun-Pluto Oppostion
The Sun-Uranus square this past Sunday morning brought me a a head cold (which was gone by Monday morning) and a huge case of stage fright, the result of my having raised the performance bar via memorization of four poems. Odd that since I perform regularly and have strongly aspected Mercury, Saturn, and Moon in my natal chart, I had never before recited my poetry in front of an audience "by heart." Anyhow, I was ready, although I was three-quarters convinced that I was going to choke.
At around 5 p.m. on Monday, still at work but beginning to wind down and plan to apply some sultry eye makeup in the office restroom, I got a rather distressing phone call from the videograper whom I'd booked to capture my virgin "by heart" featured performance: "I'm here early, T.C., but you should know that the place is locked, no sign of life inside, no one is responding to my knocks."
The venue (whose name I will not mention here because bad press is better than no press), a cafe in the EV/Noho that was like a time capsule of late '60s memorabilia, had been undergoing renovations this month, but I had been assured by the reading series' curators that we would still have use of the space -- worst-case scenario being the basement instead of the main room. Then I heard the renovations were supposed to be complete by the 24th.
Renovation is ruled both by Uranus and Pluto, and this renovation in particular sounded more Plutonian: excavation instead of knocking down walls and suchlike. Neither of the curators who had my phone number had called that day to inform me the show had been canceled, and there were no show's-off emails, either. I assured the videographer that most likely, someone would show up by 6 p.m., as the show was to start at 6:30.
My stage fright morphed into anger when I saw for myself that as of 6 p.m., the venue was still locked. The reading series' curators were sitting outside along with some other early birds for the evening. Phone calls were made. Messages were left. Knocks on the door brought forth no answer. In addition to excavation, Pluto rules locks, lockouts, and subterfuge, and with the opposition from the Sun, there was obviously gross miscommunication.
However, despite the Sun-Pluto opposition (with the Sun in my sign), the Moon in Taurus, approaching a trine to my natal Pluto and Ascendant in Virgo and a conjunction to my progressed Moon, salvaged the evening. The videographer had every right to take off, but he waited long enough for the tide to turn, which happened around 6:45. A woman living upstairs eventually let us in, after receiving a phone call from someone associated with the venue, and after one of the curators assumed liability in case anyone got electrocuted or died of cat-piss inhalation.
I learned that night that this show was number 13 in the series, which had begun on a monthly basis just over a year ago. Not surprisingly, 13 is a Pluto number (anyone who doubts that can check out the 13th card in the tarot's major arcana: Death). Fortunately, 13 is my lucky number (as I was born on the 13th).
Everyone performed amazingly well given the weird circumstances, plus the fact that turnout was relatively low (especially compared to last month's show). My darling read a new poem that was both sweet and sexy. And not only did I not choke during my performance, it may have been my best one so far. Because there were fewer people in attendance, and fewer open-mikers, I went on pretty much on schedule. Two of my awesome girl friends, who rarely if ever miss a show I am featured in, showed up and we all went out afterward for a delicious dinner.
So take that, Sun-Pluto opposition! Nyah, nyah, nyah!!!
At around 5 p.m. on Monday, still at work but beginning to wind down and plan to apply some sultry eye makeup in the office restroom, I got a rather distressing phone call from the videograper whom I'd booked to capture my virgin "by heart" featured performance: "I'm here early, T.C., but you should know that the place is locked, no sign of life inside, no one is responding to my knocks."
The venue (whose name I will not mention here because bad press is better than no press), a cafe in the EV/Noho that was like a time capsule of late '60s memorabilia, had been undergoing renovations this month, but I had been assured by the reading series' curators that we would still have use of the space -- worst-case scenario being the basement instead of the main room. Then I heard the renovations were supposed to be complete by the 24th.
Renovation is ruled both by Uranus and Pluto, and this renovation in particular sounded more Plutonian: excavation instead of knocking down walls and suchlike. Neither of the curators who had my phone number had called that day to inform me the show had been canceled, and there were no show's-off emails, either. I assured the videographer that most likely, someone would show up by 6 p.m., as the show was to start at 6:30.
My stage fright morphed into anger when I saw for myself that as of 6 p.m., the venue was still locked. The reading series' curators were sitting outside along with some other early birds for the evening. Phone calls were made. Messages were left. Knocks on the door brought forth no answer. In addition to excavation, Pluto rules locks, lockouts, and subterfuge, and with the opposition from the Sun, there was obviously gross miscommunication.
However, despite the Sun-Pluto opposition (with the Sun in my sign), the Moon in Taurus, approaching a trine to my natal Pluto and Ascendant in Virgo and a conjunction to my progressed Moon, salvaged the evening. The videographer had every right to take off, but he waited long enough for the tide to turn, which happened around 6:45. A woman living upstairs eventually let us in, after receiving a phone call from someone associated with the venue, and after one of the curators assumed liability in case anyone got electrocuted or died of cat-piss inhalation.
I learned that night that this show was number 13 in the series, which had begun on a monthly basis just over a year ago. Not surprisingly, 13 is a Pluto number (anyone who doubts that can check out the 13th card in the tarot's major arcana: Death). Fortunately, 13 is my lucky number (as I was born on the 13th).
Everyone performed amazingly well given the weird circumstances, plus the fact that turnout was relatively low (especially compared to last month's show). My darling read a new poem that was both sweet and sexy. And not only did I not choke during my performance, it may have been my best one so far. Because there were fewer people in attendance, and fewer open-mikers, I went on pretty much on schedule. Two of my awesome girl friends, who rarely if ever miss a show I am featured in, showed up and we all went out afterward for a delicious dinner.
So take that, Sun-Pluto opposition! Nyah, nyah, nyah!!!
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
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.
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.
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