ON A CELL PHONE, THE ADDED FEATURES (PLATFORMS, SHORT STORIES, YEAR AHEAD, ETC.) CAN BE ACCESSED FROM THE TOP LEFT HAND CORNER (STACKED LINES). ALSO, THE ‘TRANSLATE’ & WORLD CLOCK WILL APPEAR AT THE BOTTOM.

在手機上，添加的功能（平臺，短篇小說，提前一年等） 可以從左上角訪問（堆疊線）。

*** All times / dates: Please remember that all time references (e.g., “dawn”) are PDT – Pacific DAYLIGHT Time zone. You can refer to the World Clock in the sidebar for more listings or Google ‘time zone converter’.

Email: suningem@gmail.com

Tim’s YouTube links:  Unveiling Astrology
Unveiling Astrology Part 2)

START NOTHING: (ALL TIMES ARE PACIFIC DAYLIGHT):
10:21 pm Sun. to 8:07 am Mon., 11:42 am to 1:31 pm Wed., 3:13 am to 3:42 pm Fri., and after 3:11 pm Sat.

 

PREAMBLE:

ALL SIGNS: Start no new projects, relationships nor big purchases before July 23. Stick with the ongoing, or reprise past projects, connections.

***

What should you read? Your Sun sign for your drives, energy and desires. Your Moon sign for your emotional world. And your rising sign for your circumstances. (I recommend reading only 2 of the 3.)

***

I see John Bolton, the former National Security Director or whatever, in the U.S., has been convicted of storing and sharing classified documents with unauthorized individuals. He can be sentenced up to five years. My opinion: Bolton is a traitor to the U.S. and should have been tried for treason. In the middle (2017?) of talks between Trump and North Korean Kim, talks that were successful, in essence with Trump offering funds and expertise to turn N. K. into a tourist mecca, and Kim offering to diminish his nuclear programs — just as these talks were succeeding, Bolton told Kim that Trump was lying, and would suck him in, then betray him. The deal fell apart, and Kim resumed his anti-American stance and pursuit of nuclear ambitions. Bolton is responsible for the collapse of the truce, and of directly and knowingly betraying American interests, for three reasons: 1) he’s a war hawk; 2) he hates Trump, and 3) he’s a cement head.

***

If there is a quick way to determine if a woman is pregnant, or not, then the American birthright citizenship problem is easy to solve: simply deny entry to the US to any woman between the ages of 16 and 45, who is pregnant and not an American citizen.

***

Whenever I write “gentle love” I mean the kind of love that leads to weddings.

 

WEEKLY FORECAST:

 

  ARIES: March 21-April 19

You’re still focused on the home front, Aries (or your life is). But despite the present slow-down or tiredness, a few more social and restless threads wind their way through your temporary hibernation. Flirtations might be muted, but significant. During the year ahead, every single “major” planet (Jupiter to Pluto) will be “travelling” in your favour. This means the big stuff, the major trends and events, will go your way — sometimes through struggle when the minor influences “cross” you, sometimes with speed and luck, when the “minors” also align with the outer, or major, planets. (Generally, struggle January and every alternate month after, I.e., March, May, etc. And a nice boost every February and each even-numbered month thereafter, April, June, etc.) Probably the biggest event for single Aries in the next 12 months will be romance. For attached Aries, love of children, art, beauty, drama, vacation, adventure, re-ignition of spousal attraction, sports, games and a winning streak are among the lucky opportunities. Right now, you seem to be talkative and pushy; that’s okay. Start nothing new. Be quiet, restful Sunday, even Monday morning. Everything seems smooth, but beneath the surface, almost, something’s not working; something’s impractical. Before long Monday, you start to feel energetic and confident — you look around for another world to conquer. Get out and about — you can improve your life or situation. Monday best, though Wed. stirs some good desires. Midday Wed. to mid-afternoon Fri. (PDT) brings both good and adverse luck in money, possessions and casual intimacies Wed., but a workable easiness Thursday. Be active, communicate, travel, handle paperwork, Friday afternoon through Sat. — almost everything is good here! (But if you’re single, one you approach/speak to [or strongly envision meeting] Friday up to suppertime PDT [9 pm EDT] will never be your spouse.)

 

  TAURUS: April 20-May 20

The paperwork, errand and communication filled days keep on coming, Taurus. But within three weeks this trend will dissolve, as you begin to settle into yourself. The 12 months ahead feature great good luck in real estate, home/family, gardening, pruning some situations and beginning others. You’ll feel secure, and you have the best chance in a decade to find a “just right” home. (Except it will be a little larger than you anticipated.) Seven years of tension are “sliding off” you; the future is mellow. Past efforts in career zones will pay off now to 2032 in $ terms. You’ve been assertive, determined and sexually magnetic for the past 6 weeks — for the six ahead, money will flow to you in larger amounts — don’t spend; pay down debt or invest/bank it instead. Sunday’s social and happy, and fortunate money-wise, but otherwise impractical. Remember, start no new projects, relationships nor major purchases before July 23. Retreat Monday morning (PDT) to midday Wed. Rest, contemplate your past and how you got here, liaise with gov’t or head office — avoid competitive situations. Monday’s fortunate, but Tues./Wed. Are jumbled — with a good ending midday Wed. Your energy and charisma rise nicely Wed. afternoon to Friday afternoon — jumbled luck Wed., then good after. Chase money, pay bills, be open to casual intimacy, and/or learn by rote, Friday eve, Saturday — two successful days.

 

  GEMINI: May 21-June 20

The general accent is on money, buying/selling, physical satisfaction and structured learning, Gemini. Physical dangers have passed. Now to mid-August, you will be assertive, determined, optimistic and “ready to go!” Unfortunately, now to July 23, you have many niggling tasks still waiting to be finished, esp. the ones that relate to money, bills, etc. So work on finishing these rather than launching anything new, before the rush of events leaves these neglected chores in the past, but able to return and bite you. You will be a real ball of energy and pizzazz now into August. With determination, you will succeed. Thursday starts a few weeks of happiness and affection at home. Sunday’s lucky — someone admires your accomplishments or position. But it’s not a good day to obtain co-operation in any practical effort. Popularity, social delights, optimism, flirting and entertainment fill Monday to midday Wed. Good Monday, mixed Tues./Wed. Retreat Wed. afternoon to Fri. afternoon. Find a quiet place, rest and contemplate. Deal with gov’t, head office, advisors and charities. (DON’T make long-range plans.) Wed.’s news is a bit “unexpected,” co-operation slim, but he rest of this interval sails along well. Friday night, Sat., your energy and charisma rise nicely. Others notice you. If you’re single, be a show off — someone will like it!

 

  CANCER: June 21-July 22

You’re still on the top of your game, Cancer — fit, energetic, confident, and attractive enough that people will listen to you. But remember, start nothing new before July 23 — use all that energy and charm to push (and protect) ongoing projects, or to reprise something from the past. Old, lost letters or emails might appear now. You are just beginning a full year of buoyant money luck. (I just went through such a year, and my stock accounts — though I’m a terrible trader — rose 25 %.) Your career arena has changed: partnering and international or educational factors are crucial to success. Your skills as an analyst or manager will emerge during the years ahead. Until Aug. 12, avoid sketchy places and belligerent individuals. Sunday’s mellow, loving, and broad-minded — let your mind wander, but avoid approaching partnership zones. Monday to mid-afternoon Wed. (PDT) puts your skills in the spotlight — be ambitious, talk to the boss. Monday best. Wednesday afternoon to late afternoon Friday buoys your heart with social delights, flirtations, optimism, entertainment and wish fulfillment. Wed. might be slightly tricky, late. Retreat from the crowd Fri. eve through Sat. Contemplate, seek advice, liaise with gov’t or head office, All’s well!

 

  LEO: July 23-Aug. 22

Keep a low profile, Leo. Rest, examine, seek advice, be charitable, liaise with gov’t and head office — is there a task or obligation you’ve neglected? If so, grab it and finish it now and next week. Start no new relationships, projects nor major purchases before (late day) July 23. You might be down and tired for the next several weeks, but you have just entered one of the most fortunate years of your life, esp. if you’re single and looking for love, or planning international travel, a major media project, or entry to higher learning — this will be a banner year, to July 2027. (But remember, nothing brand new before July 23.) Again, despite your weariness, you remain “good-looking,” and your social life is actually perking up. One who “teaches” you will befriend you. Sunday’s mysterious but good — at least in relationships and gaining knowledge. But don’t try anything very practical. Your mind awakens, expands, Monday to afternoon Wed. (PDT). Lots of good feelings here, especially Monday, but some bumps in the road, and a final “good feeling” conclusion. Be ambitious Wed. afternoon to late Friday afternoon. Best Tuesday. A wish might come true Fri./Sat., as your popularity, optimism and future “light up” a wee bit.

 

  VIRGO: Aug. 23-Sept. 22

You’re still in celebratory mode, Virgo. Something is fulfilling a wish you had long ago. Big or small, depends on how big you wished. You’re popular for the next few weeks, so get out and about, join a group, flirt, talk about your ambitions, dreams. You’ll be happy. An old flame might return. Bosses are temperamental, impulsive. (Don’t fight them off with details or facts; listen to your intuition, follow its emotional cues.) A year of poor luck faces you in the outside world of competition and strain, but of good luck in background areas, management, responsibilities, and achievement. If you’re footloose, this year ahead could bring you a home, and is great for vacations, spas, and retreats. The 12 months ahead are a time to “redo” yourself. Now to August 11 bosses can be impatient, impulsive and critical. Smile, realize this will pass. Sunday and early Monday are great for relationships — but bad for financial and sexual relations — steer clear of these. (More correctly, delay these, as Monday to Wed. afternoon favour these very things: sex, investments, investigation — Monday’s best. Profound ideas, far travel, higher learning, law and social rituals are highlighted Wed. afternoon to mid-afternoon Friday. Thursday’s best for action. Be ambitious late Friday, and Sat. — higher-ups still favour you! (Their temperament appears later.)

 

  LIBRA: Sept. 23-Oct. 22

The accent remains on your ambitions, career, prestige relations, and worldly standing, Libra. Remember, start nothing brand new — protect ongoing projects, or reprise something from the past. (It’s likely you encountered — or created — a doorway to success in the last 12 months. If so, you might go back now to re-open it.) Strictly avoid lawsuits now to August. 11. Some Librans will wed, now through August. All of you are starting a whole year of buoyant hopes, wish fulfillment, flirting and friendly romance, entertainment and social popularity. Venus enters Virgo this week, indicating you’ll find some sweet peace alone. Tackle chores Sunday into early Monday morning (8 am PDT). Real success if you work alone. Monday morning to Wed. afternoon brings relationships, opportunities (some opposition) public appearances and relocation themes. Success Monday — a bit bumpy after that. Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon brings mysteries, heightened intuition, financial and sexual temptations — my advice, commit to nothing. (Don’t worry, no disasters.) Friday eve through Saturday lifts your mind to elevated levels, favours law, far travel, higher learning, media and gentle love — all’s well here!

 

  SCORPIO: Oct. 23-Nov. 21

Your thoughts, learning, and “vision of the world” will be accented until late July, Scorpio. This would usually be the time to buy cruise tix, start a lawsuit or publishing project, wed, or enter/apply for school. But this time, these are only workable and fortunate if they relate strongly to the past. E.g., you and your fiancé were supposed to marry months ago, but now a second chance comes. Or, you’re travelling to a place you’ve already visited, or to a former home. These are fine, but something brand new will fall into a hole of confusion, delay and mistakes. Don’t be impulsive in money or sex now to Aug. 11. Think twice. Your career and worldly standing are about to climb upward for a year — a pay raise is almost inevitable before Aug./27. Sunday and the wee hours of Monday are made for romance — but realize work, chemicals or too much talk can “crowd out” romance. Dive into chores Monday morning to Wednesday afternoon. You’ll get them done and finish on a positive note. Monday best. Wednesday afternoon to late afternoon Friday brings relationships, opportunities and opposition — a mixed bag. Secrets, intuition, large finances, lust for sex or power, medical and lifestyle decisions — these face you Friday eve and Saturday. Remember, nothing new. But if there’s someone or something from the past that you still want, make your bid now.

 

  SAGITTARIUS: Nov. 22-Dec. 21

Secrets, heightened intuition, large finances, lust for sex or power, medical and lifestyle decisions — these fill your days until July 22, Sage. And the “retro” period of confusion, delays and mistakes lasts until July 23. So if in these areas someone or something returns from the past — e.g., a former investment you missed buying, a former intimate partner, etc. — then grab it! For many of you the buying opportunity, the sexual opening, has already occurred in the past 12 months, and July is either a “wrap up,” or a second chance to jump in. (But don’t jump into anything brand new.) You’ve been intrigued lately by someone good-looking, but this is passing. Now to mid-August, someone can be quite assertive toward you. You might fall in love. If single, the whole 12 months ahead offer love — of the wedding kind. They also offer worldwide travel, higher learning, law, media, in a hugely fortunate way! Sunday’s domestic (early Monday, too). Hug the family, rest, have a “back porch” day. All’s well, but don’t pursue romantic love or a creative (money?) project. Romance looms large Monday morning to Wed. Afternoon. Monday’s best. Tackle chores Wed. afternoon to late Friday afternoon. Eat, dress sensibly. A bumpy but drivable road to accomplishment. Relationships, opportunities and public appearances arise Friday eve through Sat. — all’s well, fortunate!

 

  CAPRICORN: Dec. 22-Jan. 20

This month ends a year-long “lucky support” of relationships, Cap. You have faced more than usual, bigger than usual, opportunities — and opposition if you got into politics, religion, or such arguments. Now, July is a sort of “mopping up” month. There are no more great relationship opportunities, but this July will tend to call them back, to highlight those of the last 12 months, allowing you a second chance. But DO NOT start anything brand new before July 23. An old flame might return now. The 12 months ahead hold major “winnings” in finances, investments, sex and investigations. Watch your health, same 12 months — a minor problem can expand. Sunday, early Monday are for communicating, errands and paperwork — all’s good, but don’t involve (or speak of) family members. Then, suddenly, Monday morning to Wed. afternoon, your home becomes more important. Hug the family, garden, examine your relationships and situations — which are stale, not enriching your life anymore? Monday best. Romance, creative urges, happiness with kids, beauty, sports — these fill Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon. A bumpy but drivable path here. Tackle chores Friday eve, Saturday. You’ll get them done, easily. Thursday starts a few weeks of tender affection.

 

  AQUARIUS: Jan. 21-Feb. 18

The general emphasis remains on work, health, machines and dependents until July 22, Aquarius. Eat and dress sensibly. Simultaneously, to July 23, the Mercury retrograde brings confusion, delays and mistakes. Launch nothing new before that date — push ongoing projects, or reprise one from the past. A bad time to buy machinery. Your mood will be lifted by romance, intrigue, and friendly reactions by others. Romance can be hot, intense until August 11. The year ahead, just beginning now (so not powerful yet in most people’s lives) will bring hugely fortunate partnerships in love and business, relocation, opportunities and fresh horizons. The year ahead could be a turning point in your life, a big one. Handle money, buy/sell, hug a casual friend Sunday and early Monday morning. All’s well, but avoid too much talk, and DO NOT commit to anything. Monday to Wed. afternoon brings, in a productive way, travel, communications and paperwork. Monday brings best results. Steer toward home, family Wed. afternoon to late Fri. afternoon. Hug the kids, garden, upgrade security, etc. Thursday best. Lucky romance, creative surges, a winning streak, charming kids, sports — these fill Friday eve through Saturday.

 

  PISCES: Feb. 19-March 20

Ah, sweet romance! The general emphasis for the next few weeks, Pisces, will lie on love, creativity, kids, a winning streak, games/sports. These have been extra lucky for the past 12 months, but that luck ended June 30. Now, you can reprise one of those lucky events/openings, or keep on with one that remains lucky — but you’ll meet frustration if you try to start a brand new romance, creative work, or anything brand new before July 23. So yes, resurrect past (12 months’) glories! Your home and family might be friction-prone now to Aug. 11. Be gentle, understanding. For the 12 months ahead, your workload will expand, you might buy a good new machine, and/or make a bit more money. Your energy and charisma shine Sunday and early Monday. Get things done! (But don’t mix money and creativity or romance.) Chase $, buy/sell, pay bills, hug a sometime lover Monday to Wed. afternoon. Monday’s best. Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon brings paperwork, errands, communications, and a restless feeling. Some minor frustrations, but you’ll succeed if patient. Friday eve through Saturday nudges you toward home and family, rest and contemplation, gardening and security. A benevolent, successful interval.

THE END.

 

AFTERAMBLE:

All improvement is a distortion. If every life is perfect, than every improvement is a further imperfection.

***

Well, I told you, right after Trump‘s last election victory, that the Democratic Party would have to split into two parties.
James Carville, the renowned Democratic strategist, is now saying the same thing.
Such a schism would, Inevitably, result in another Republican administration in 2028.

***

The FIFA World Cup might spell the death knell for the NFL.

***

There really is a reason for beginners luck. It’s allied to newness. Disruptors often have the advantage of surprise and confused response. Think about it this way: imagine four players sitting at a poker table. Three of them know each other well, have played for years, often with each other. They and their brains have formed certain trained responses, assumptions gained by long experience, and even some automatic reactions.
But the fourth player has hardly ever played poker, and is a newcomer to this group. So she sees things through a lens that is new and not available to the three old timers. Subconsciously she sees answers and directions that disrupt the habitual winning ways of the other three.

***

Marco Rubio, American Secretary of State, was born when the sun was in 6° Gemini. This degree brings high intelligence, but a cool heart. He earns respect and admiration, but not affection.
JD Vance, the vice president, is also intelligent, but also easily and smoothly slides into a charming self deprecation, or a joke, or a sincere but deeply thought out position. I don’t know if he’s acting or not, or if sometimes he is or not, but he’s very likable. He’s the only Republican male who has taken on the five sirens of The View and charmed them into liking him, even praising him.
His only knock, to me, is that he too “every man.”

***

War will actually benefit the North American economy from this summer to next. Perhaps through increased defence spending? Anyway, as I said before, the prospect of war will be with us for the next 13 years or so, especially naval wars. Iran was one of these. And the recent bombings of all the little drug boats in the Caribbean and Pacific is another example. From September 2027 to September 2028 war will simply be irrelevant to the US economy, but from autumn of ’28 to autumn of ’29, big things could burst out. Nothing nuclear, but big things.

***

THE NURSING

A Short Story by Tim

He lies in the room in the bright sunless twilight. The satin quilt won’t absorb the sweat on his hands. He hears her feet, pad, pad. He rises on one elbow. He says, “How are you?”
“Why do you say that?” she says, in a soft, careless tone.
He notices, flat on his back now, that his hand trembles as he draws it through his hair.
“I said, how are you?” he says.
“I’m here every day,” she says. “I’m here every day and you don’t know how I am?”
He can say, rising on one elbow, Oh, come on. I drove by the hospital today. I saw you. But he doesn’t, he merely rises, to watch her body. Her uniform drops to the floor, she steps from the coils. With a light, limp gesture, she drops her brassiere on the bed, on his ankles. He watches her breasts swing.
He hears the shower. He imagines her body, smooth, the beads rolling off it. The swaying puppies between her elbows as she rubs her face. Once she said, Rob, Rob, Rob, and he answered, awkwardly, Maureen. He sucks on this, like a stone picked up in the field. He remembers his last laugh, oily with self-fright.
Now she sits at the vanity, nude on her towel, rubbing something on her face and throat. He rises, the bed like a seismograph. He approaches the warm, wet slab of her back. To make up. With a sober movement, she rises, avoids him. He hasn’t. Unable. He stares at the mirror that a moment ago reflected her.
She’s dressing. She’s going out. Potato chips, mixers. He stares. She doesn’t like him staring. Embarrassed, he keeps silent, and keeps staring. She goes. He rolls over on the bed. He takes her discarded nurse’s uniform from the floor to feel the white, cool fabric. When she moves, it is as though a statue just stirred, sudden and eternal. He cannot make the statue move. The fading twilight. He’s ghostly in the mirror, grey. Do I affect you at all? What do you mean, affect? I don’t know what you mean by affect.
The ceiling light blossoms. It is like, when he killed someone, it would be that silent, lighting but not illuminating blossom in his mind; afterwards. Sometimes a second later, sometimes not for a minute, the car floating down the bright streets, or the next day — peace, like a slow ballet. But then he stops. He cannot make the statue move. When he approaches her from behind, lays an asking hand on her shoulder, only remains, just remains. It all remains.
Sometimes he is frozen. He waits, while his stomach hurts. Used to be his stomach hurt then, too. But then the peace, being driven away, the car dreaming through the obedient streets. Sometimes she moves, she teases, they wrestle on the floor, he tries to laugh, “Ahhh….heh, heh,” he pleads, stiff, an oily laugh. Stiff. Think everything through. Plan. Decide. Confusion. Used to be his feet knew which way to move, his eyes, without his help, knew what to see.
She works, she’s twenty-seven. He’s twenty-four. Maybe the government wanted him found. But now he lies on the bed. The streets bother him. He’s not sure of the streets anymore, not sure of his safety. He might meet Max, or Turd, or Lynn, asking where he’s been. Or maybe he’s made enemies. He doesn’t know. Enemies he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s Maureen who makes him lie on the bed. He doesn’t know if he changed his mind, or it was changed.
She didn’t respect the way he made money, though she didn’t know; she told him not to continue. I don’t like those people. Who? Them. He knows she doesn’t know exactly. Was that why he stopped? How did he arrive in this house? He wonders if the people he killed respected him. He wonders if they saw his movements, just a moment before, and thought, there’s an unusual young man, or: there’s horror. Maureen’s had a doctor. A lawyer. A newspaper man. Her picture in the paper. She’s never had a baby. The satin bed quilt won’t absorb the sweat in his hands.
He walks into the living room, perhaps to read. He doesn’t understand. Maureen reads, so he reads. Her books. Maureen lies in a thin film over the pages; their cryptic messages he takes for her soul. He searches and searches, but without depth, like a man who stares into the ocean and only sees the sky reflected. And today, he drove by the hospital where she works. Why, on the sidewalk as he passed, like a flower suddenly frozen, was she laughing in that doctors face? So he has stopped moving, can’t talk. Is that it? Has he found a nothing, where he should have been different?
They rent the house.
He hears her arrive, the staccato of her heels tacking down, what. His apprehension. He rises. He hovers. She enters the room, stops, stares at him, arms clasped around a bag. She speaks. He extracts a wet finger, rubbing guiltily on his pants. Nothing, he says. He waits for another clue, but she turns, walking towards the kitchen. No No Nnph, says the swinging door. His stomach hurts. He re-enters the bedroom, to sleep. The guests will arrive soon. He imagines her contempt for him, inviting all these strangers. He enters the kitchen. Help me, his eyes say. She does not notice, although she knows. She slices onions. Then he’s ashamed.
He re-enters the bedroom. He dozes, but a violent roar, internal, wakes him. The end of a laugh. Was she laughing? He goes to take a shower, surreptitiously to investigate. The telephone. Her voice stops. He passes, his stomach pushing against his chest. He showers, dries, sweats. Voices, on the other side of the door. He stops, one leg in his pants, to listen. He cannot understand them. The stereo booms. The Rolling Stones.
He fingers his glass, turning it slowly on his knee. He is sitting alone, politely watching a voluble group. A woman’s hand held in the air, long rigid fingers; high, protesting voice. Laughter. They are like the books, pretty things, thin and complicated things. His understanding glances off their sheen. Like the books, they tell stories. But he cannot understand the story, although he understands the stories. He cannot understand what he should say.
He knows stories too, but they are all – they are all — his mind shrugs, fluid. His hand, as though with memory, makes a movement. He thinks, it must be the drink, he hasn’t made that movement for so long, he hasn’t forgotten, or maybe there was no need to, and now, with the drink. He walks to the kitchen. He steps back. Maureen stares at him. He swallows, stares. Confused, thin, supple sadness. He retreats.
He laughs. He thinks of going around the party: have you seen it? About 3 pounds? For my hand, I need it for my hand.
“So you’re Maureen’s boyfriend! You’re so quiet! Why don’t you mix? Come on, mix.” A woman, gaudy and perfect as a bird. She takes his arm and propels him to a group. But he stands, shy, and leaves when he can. The sweat in his hands won’t absorb into his pants. His pants catch at his knees. His belt catches awful at his fingers. He stands around, waiting for instructions. Instructions won’t catch at his pants. Lips won’t twist glass into rubber. – She is there, Maureen’s there, half sitting, half on her back on the couch. He watches her through the dancers and the smoke, the dim red light. He thinks, he will drift, casually. Her thighs shine; he imagines, remembers, her moist privacy. He will exchange a deliberate, lazy, confident word. He circles, his eyes carefully averted. Or, they glance off her. But it’s not her. In the dark, the shifting smoke, he sees a blonde, a doppelganger; suddenly, surprisingly, not her. He sees two or three guests observing him. He walks away quickly, furtively, weightless legs.
He enters the bedroom, to consume time. Maureen is sitting on the bed like a wax flower, legs crossed, slim arms heavy as gold. A burly man in a grey suit, maybe a doctor, sits beside her, elbows on knees. The doctor raises his head, crinkles his brow. His eyes squint through thick glasses. This is a private conversation, the doctor says. Because he doesn’t know who I am, he thinks. “Would you like to die?” He says. But he doesn’t speak, he waits helplessly. But she doesn’t speak. He leaves the room, privacy like hypnotism swarming over, overwhelming him.
He decides to walk to the front door. He decides to take another shower. He decides to pick up a woman. He decides everyone is watching him. He has only to say, I’ve —that’s how it was with Maureen. He said, I’ve — and then the blank, the blank that intrigued her. But she’s not intrigued any more. Her swaying doves. That he cupped in his hand. Or did she merely never say no, months ago? For an instant he understands and he doesn’t understand. How he is trapped in this suppleness. How he waits. How he cannot pick up a woman, or this party will never end, or he could walk to the front door and back again, or anything, yes, no, the 3 pounds, the café, crack! : for an instant glory, rebellion, rise in him. He sits proudly, like a despondent king, in an armchair, surveying the citizens. He sips very deliberately, but to no avail: his glass is empty again.
He decides he sees her disappearing through a doorway. No, No, Nnph. Yes. So he’s alone with her, in the kitchen. Counter studded with bottles, rye, vodka. She is flushed and excited, but not by him. Like a schoolgirl on the bus, and he feels an envy for her youth and vitality. His eyes like mouths, sucking. He’s distracted; her attention is on the swinging door that muffles the sound of a sudden but eternal activity. Thieves plunder the house. He knows their movements, they are quick, like dancers. Supple. He watches her eyes. How was your drive today? she says, helping him, but without conviction, without caring. And he: Fine. How was the hospital? And she: hateful again. I stole some Valiums again. And he: I’m sorry. (For months she has lain in bed at night, clicking her nails.)
She looks at him, steadily. And suddenly animated, fluttering around him because he blocked her way. Saying, Why don’t you do something? Why don’t you do anything? Christ! Then she says in a new voice, hermetically sealed from the old one, a voice for the party, I need more cigarettes! Who has one? and she starts out the swinging door, and he says, Tell him I’m your lover. Who? she says. Who is that doctor? he says. What doctor? Is he a doctor? He stumbles, apologetic. Who? she says. I’m not a doctor, he says. I have, he says, he turns, not to see her, determined; that is, unable. I’m sorry, he remembers.
It’s the hospital, she says later, apologetic. It makes me smoke. He has come to stand beside her tentatively, like a married man, like strollers in the park, almost counting on her not noticing so she doesn’t react, rebel. The burly doctor pinches her in his passing, lurching. Her neck twists to the doctor’s flirting retreat, laughing, her eyes big as a cow, and charming, blinking. Robert, for one part second, thinks of destroying that thick neck; but turns also, pretends he hasn’t seen; he disappears among the dancers. Supple into the kitchen. He stares out the kitchen window.
He thinks of Lynn, who gave him his first street job. Who seemed bored by him after that. So he lived alone for a while, and then he lived with a girl who drank and stared out the window, and her teeth went grey and mossy, and then he lived alone again in a hotel room, rooms, rooms, and did his jobs, cities and flights and cities and at first it was okay in the dreaming cars, but then it was worse, and Max and Turd’s faces were strange, strangely unfamiliar, as though something else lived in them the fuck are this anyway, and he started staying alone, and he started reading his horoscope in the newspaper, and he was scared of the street, he didn’t know exactly why, like being scared of a shrill telephone. He thinks he hears Maureen behind him, or Lynn, but his mind is halfway out the window, he turns slowly, but anyway she is gone. He goes slowly through the swinging door. He hears her laughing, okay, okay.
She is laughing, twisted, kneeling on the carpet. It’s some game, with foot and hand prints, that you have to contort to. The doctor lunges in, pinches her, and jumps back spryly, deep, soft chuckles. Her friends stand around, hooting and clapping. He wonders what a doctor is, or a lawyer. He watches, fascinated by their bravery and ease, these perfect, egotistical beings. His woman, that man. Is their abandon a result of some subterranean cleverness? He turns so Maureen, whose breast has popped from her velvet dress, will not see him helpless. He thinks, she might scratch it on the carpet. Her head jerks back as she sits up. Her breast floats like a drunken dove. He sees her tuck it away, to modest laughter and oh’s.
He starts walking. He has a desire to walk to the front door. He has a desire to walk quickly to the kitchen. He stops, poised, as though to leap or run, a statue. The party surrounds him, sudden and eternal. His head on his neck. With its voices, clinking, music. He starts walking. Pardon me. Excuse me. He searches the party vigorously, for invisibility.
They’re banging on the door. He rises from the toilet seat, stops. The door’s locked, he remembers swiftly. They’re jiggling the knob. He sits again. The light is too bright; it cannot withstand their knocking. Hey, whatsa hold up? He turns to speak, but she is not perched on the bathtub’s edge. He sees a ghost in the mirror. Behind the ghost is himself, staring in fear at himself. Behind the house there’s a field. He lowers himself onto the gravel, hands first, his toes catching on the small window’s ledge.
Because his eyes don’t care, he closes them as he walks. Because after a while he doesn’t know where he is, he flops to his knees. He curls his hands into his chest as he lies, bent, on his side. Sticks, rocks, sharp leaf stems dig into him. He lies awake, lucidly, sharply awake, and begins to shiver. He sleeps. Then wakes, and cannot sleep. Holding himself, shivering in the unmoved night, searching, he remembers, just a fluke, what he had shouted out when leaving the barracks: “I’m not fully developed yet.” It’s all he has, so he keeps repeating, through the hours, “I’m not fully developed yet.” Lying rigid through the night.
Shivering, he watches the pink blue dawn. His feet itch. He turns to lie so he can see the house. It rises in the early sun, whiter. Gliding cars, guns, cash registers. He rises, walks, feeling his face jar with each step. She stands in the back doorway, in her pink quilted housecoat. One hand, white arm outstretched, cups the edge of the door behind her. He can hardly see the hand, though; the hot white wall stings his eyes.
“How are you?” he says.
“I said how are you,” he insists. He remains poised, unable to enter, to push forward. She retreats with a sleepy, thoughtful scowl. She’s left the door open. He sits in the kitchen, alone, waiting. He imagines he can hear whispering, but how can he hear whispering all the way from the bedroom? Maybe it’s the front hall. He decides merely to wait. He sees he must go a long way.
He sees he must wait forever. He’s glad there is no gun in the basement. He’s glad he’s forgotten all those telephone numbers. He thinks how he must go a long way, how he will make no progress, how he will wait anyway, sucking on the waiting like a stone.

/30/

10:21 pm Sun. to 8:07 am Mon., 11:42 am to 1:31 pm Wed., 3:13 am to 3:42 pm Fri., and after 3:11 pm Sat.

PREAMBLE:

ALL SIGNS: Start no new projects, relationships nor big purchases before July 23. Stick with the ongoing, or reprise past projects, connections.

***

What should you read? Your Sun sign for your drives, energy and desires. Your Moon sign for your emotional world. And your rising sign for your circumstances. (I recommend reading only 2 of the 3.)

***

I see John Bolton, the former National Security Director or whatever, in the U.S., has been convicted of storing and sharing classified documents with unauthorized individuals. He can be sentenced up to five years. My opinion: Bolton is a traitor to the U.S. and should have been tried for treason. In the middle (2017?) of talks between Trump and North Korean Kim, talks that were successful, in essence with Trump offering funds and expertise to turn N. K. into a tourist mecca, and Kim offering to diminish his nuclear programs — just as these talks were succeeding, Bolton told Kim that Trump was lying, and would suck him in, then betray him. The deal fell apart, and Kim resumed his anti-American stance and pursuit of nuclear ambitions. Bolton is responsible for the collapse of the truce, and of directly and knowingly betraying American interests, for three reasons: 1) he’s a war hawk; 2) he hates Trump, and 3) he’s a cement head.

***

If there is a quick way to determine if a woman is pregnant, or not, then the American birthright citizenship problem is easy to solve: simply deny entry to the US to any woman between the ages of 16 and 45, who is pregnant and not an American citizen.

***

Whenever I write “gentle love” I mean the kind of love that leads to weddings.

WEEKLY FORECAST:

ARIES: March 21-April 19

You’re still focused on the home front, Aries (or your life is). But despite the present slow-down or tiredness, a few more social and restless threads wind their way through your temporary hibernation. Flirtations might be muted, but significant. During the year ahead, every single “major” planet (Jupiter to Pluto) will be “travelling” in your favour. This means the big stuff, the major trends and events, will go your way — sometimes through struggle when the minor influences “cross” you, sometimes with speed and luck, when the “minors” also align with the outer, or major, planets. (Generally, struggle January and every alternate month after, I.e., March, May, etc. And a nice boost every February and each even-numbered month thereafter, April, June, etc.) Probably the biggest event for single Aries in the next 12 months will be romance. For attached Aries, love of children, art, beauty, drama, vacation, adventure, re-ignition of spousal attraction, sports, games and a winning streak are among the lucky opportunities. Right now, you seem to be talkative and pushy; that’s okay. Start nothing new. Be quiet, restful Sunday, even Monday morning. Everything seems smooth, but beneath the surface, almost, something’s not working; something’s impractical. Before long Monday, you start to feel energetic and confident — you look around for another world to conquer. Get out and about — you can improve your life or situation. Monday best, though Wed. stirs some good desires. Midday Wed. to mid-afternoon Fri. (PDT) brings both good and adverse luck in money, possessions and casual intimacies Wed., but a workable easiness Thursday. Be active, communicate, travel, handle paperwork, Friday afternoon through Sat. — almost everything is good here! (But if you’re single, one you approach/speak to [or strongly envision meeting] Friday up to suppertime PDT [9 pm EDT] will never be your spouse.)

TAURUS: April 20-May 20

The paperwork, errand and communication filled days keep on coming, Taurus. But within three weeks this trend will dissolve, as you begin to settle into yourself. The 12 months ahead feature great good luck in real estate, home/family, gardening, pruning some situations and beginning others. You’ll feel secure, and you have the best chance in a decade to find a “just right” home. (Except it will be a little larger than you anticipated.) Seven years of tension are “sliding off” you; the future is mellow. Past efforts in career zones will pay off now to 2032 in $ terms. You’ve been assertive, determined and sexually magnetic for the past 6 weeks — for the six ahead, money will flow to you in larger amounts — don’t spend; pay down debt or invest/bank it instead. Sunday’s social and happy, and fortunate money-wise, but otherwise impractical. Remember, start no new projects, relationships nor major purchases before July 23. Retreat Monday morning (PDT) to midday Wed. Rest, contemplate your past and how you got here, liaise with gov’t or head office — avoid competitive situations. Monday’s fortunate, but Tues./Wed. Are jumbled — with a good ending midday Wed. Your energy and charisma rise nicely Wed. afternoon to Friday afternoon — jumbled luck Wed., then good after. Chase money, pay bills, be open to casual intimacy, and/or learn by rote, Friday eve, Saturday — two successful days.

GEMINI: May 21-June 20

The general accent is on money, buying/selling, physical satisfaction and structured learning, Gemini. Physical dangers have passed. Now to mid-August, you will be assertive, determined, optimistic and “ready to go!” Unfortunately, now to July 23, you have many niggling tasks still waiting to be finished, esp. the ones that relate to money, bills, etc. So work on finishing these rather than launching anything new, before the rush of events leaves these neglected chores in the past, but able to return and bite you. You will be a real ball of energy and pizzazz now into August. With determination, you will succeed. Thursday starts a few weeks of happiness and affection at home. Sunday’s lucky — someone admires your accomplishments or position. But it’s not a good day to obtain co-operation in any practical effort. Popularity, social delights, optimism, flirting and entertainment fill Monday to midday Wed. Good Monday, mixed Tues./Wed. Retreat Wed. afternoon to Fri. afternoon. Find a quiet place, rest and contemplate. Deal with gov’t, head office, advisors and charities. (DON’T make long-range plans.) Wed.’s news is a bit “unexpected,” co-operation slim, but he rest of this interval sails along well. Friday night, Sat., your energy and charisma rise nicely. Others notice you. If you’re single, be a show off — someone will like it!

CANCER: June 21-July 22

You’re still on the top of your game, Cancer — fit, energetic, confident, and attractive enough that people will listen to you. But remember, start nothing new before July 23 — use all that energy and charm to push (and protect) ongoing projects, or to reprise something from the past. Old, lost letters or emails might appear now. You are just beginning a full year of buoyant money luck. (I just went through such a year, and my stock accounts — though I’m a terrible trader — rose 25 %.) Your career arena has changed: partnering and international or educational factors are crucial to success. Your skills as an analyst or manager will emerge during the years ahead. Until Aug. 12, avoid sketchy places and belligerent individuals. Sunday’s mellow, loving, and broad-minded — let your mind wander, but avoid approaching partnership zones. Monday to mid-afternoon Wed. (PDT) puts your skills in the spotlight — be ambitious, talk to the boss. Monday best. Wednesday afternoon to late afternoon Friday buoys your heart with social delights, flirtations, optimism, entertainment and wish fulfillment. Wed. might be slightly tricky, late. Retreat from the crowd Fri. eve through Sat. Contemplate, seek advice, liaise with gov’t or head office, All’s well!

LEO: July 23-Aug. 22

Keep a low profile, Leo. Rest, examine, seek advice, be charitable, liaise with gov’t and head office — is there a task or obligation you’ve neglected? If so, grab it and finish it now and next week. Start no new relationships, projects nor major purchases before (late day) July 23. You might be down and tired for the next several weeks, but you have just entered one of the most fortunate years of your life, esp. if you’re single and looking for love, or planning international travel, a major media project, or entry to higher learning — this will be a banner year, to July 2027. (But remember, nothing brand new before July 23.) Again, despite your weariness, you remain “good-looking,” and your social life is actually perking up. One who “teaches” you will befriend you. Sunday’s mysterious but good — at least in relationships and gaining knowledge. But don’t try anything very practical. Your mind awakens, expands, Monday to afternoon Wed. (PDT). Lots of good feelings here, especially Monday, but some bumps in the road, and a final “good feeling” conclusion. Be ambitious Wed. afternoon to late Friday afternoon. Best Tuesday. A wish might come true Fri./Sat., as your popularity, optimism and future “light up” a wee bit.

VIRGO: Aug. 23-Sept. 22

You’re still in celebratory mode, Virgo. Something is fulfilling a wish you had long ago. Big or small, depends on how big you wished. You’re popular for the next few weeks, so get out and about, join a group, flirt, talk about your ambitions, dreams. You’ll be happy. An old flame might return. Bosses are temperamental, impulsive. (Don’t fight them off with details or facts; listen to your intuition, follow its emotional cues.) A year of poor luck faces you in the outside world of competition and strain, but of good luck in background areas, management, responsibilities, and achievement. If you’re footloose, this year ahead could bring you a home, and is great for vacations, spas, and retreats. The 12 months ahead are a time to “redo” yourself. Now to August 11 bosses can be impatient, impulsive and critical. Smile, realize this will pass. Sunday and early Monday are great for relationships — but bad for financial and sexual relations — steer clear of these. (More correctly, delay these, as Monday to Wed. afternoon favour these very things: sex, investments, investigation — Monday’s best. Profound ideas, far travel, higher learning, law and social rituals are highlighted Wed. afternoon to mid-afternoon Friday. Thursday’s best for action. Be ambitious late Friday, and Sat. — higher-ups still favour you! (Their temperament appears later.)

LIBRA: Sept. 23-Oct. 22

The accent remains on your ambitions, career, prestige relations, and worldly standing, Libra. Remember, start nothing brand new — protect ongoing projects, or reprise something from the past. (It’s likely you encountered — or created — a doorway to success in the last 12 months. If so, you might go back now to re-open it.) Strictly avoid lawsuits now to August. 11. Some Librans will wed, now through August. All of you are starting a whole year of buoyant hopes, wish fulfillment, flirting and friendly romance, entertainment and social popularity. Venus enters Virgo this week, indicating you’ll find some sweet peace alone. Tackle chores Sunday into early Monday morning (8 am PDT). Real success if you work alone. Monday morning to Wed. afternoon brings relationships, opportunities (some opposition) public appearances and relocation themes. Success Monday — a bit bumpy after that. Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon brings mysteries, heightened intuition, financial and sexual temptations — my advice, commit to nothing. (Don’t worry, no disasters.) Friday eve through Saturday lifts your mind to elevated levels, favours law, far travel, higher learning, media and gentle love — all’s well here!

SCORPIO: Oct. 23-Nov. 21

Your thoughts, learning, and “vision of the world” will be accented until late July, Scorpio. This would usually be the time to buy cruise tix, start a lawsuit or publishing project, wed, or enter/apply for school. But this time, these are only workable and fortunate if they relate strongly to the past. E.g., you and your fiancé were supposed to marry months ago, but now a second chance comes. Or, you’re travelling to a place you’ve already visited, or to a former home. These are fine, but something brand new will fall into a hole of confusion, delay and mistakes. Don’t be impulsive in money or sex now to Aug. 11. Think twice. Your career and worldly standing are about to climb upward for a year — a pay raise is almost inevitable before Aug./27. Sunday and the wee hours of Monday are made for romance — but realize work, chemicals or too much talk can “crowd out” romance. Dive into chores Monday morning to Wednesday afternoon. You’ll get them done and finish on a positive note. Monday best. Wednesday afternoon to late afternoon Friday brings relationships, opportunities and opposition — a mixed bag. Secrets, intuition, large finances, lust for sex or power, medical and lifestyle decisions — these face you Friday eve and Saturday. Remember, nothing new. But if there’s someone or something from the past that you still want, make your bid now.

SAGITTARIUS: Nov. 22-Dec. 21

Secrets, heightened intuition, large finances, lust for sex or power, medical and lifestyle decisions — these fill your days until July 22, Sage. And the “retro” period of confusion, delays and mistakes lasts until July 23. So if in these areas someone or something returns from the past — e.g., a former investment you missed buying, a former intimate partner, etc. — then grab it! For many of you the buying opportunity, the sexual opening, has already occurred in the past 12 months, and July is either a “wrap up,” or a second chance to jump in. (But don’t jump into anything brand new.) You’ve been intrigued lately by someone good-looking, but this is passing. Now to mid-August, someone can be quite assertive toward you. You might fall in love. If single, the whole 12 months ahead offer love — of the wedding kind. They also offer worldwide travel, higher learning, law, media, in a hugely fortunate way! Sunday’s domestic (early Monday, too). Hug the family, rest, have a “back porch” day. All’s well, but don’t pursue romantic love or a creative (money?) project. Romance looms large Monday morning to Wed. Afternoon. Monday’s best. Tackle chores Wed. afternoon to late Friday afternoon. Eat, dress sensibly. A bumpy but drivable road to accomplishment. Relationships, opportunities and public appearances arise Friday eve through Sat. — all’s well, fortunate!

CAPRICORN: Dec. 22-Jan. 20

This month ends a year-long “lucky support” of relationships, Cap. You have faced more than usual, bigger than usual, opportunities — and opposition if you got into politics, religion, or such arguments. Now, July is a sort of “mopping up” month. There are no more great relationship opportunities, but this July will tend to call them back, to highlight those of the last 12 months, allowing you a second chance. But DO NOT start anything brand new before July 23. An old flame might return now. The 12 months ahead hold major “winnings” in finances, investments, sex and investigations. Watch your health, same 12 months — a minor problem can expand. Sunday, early Monday are for communicating, errands and paperwork — all’s good, but don’t involve (or speak of) family members. Then, suddenly, Monday morning to Wed. afternoon, your home becomes more important. Hug the family, garden, examine your relationships and situations — which are stale, not enriching your life anymore? Monday best. Romance, creative urges, happiness with kids, beauty, sports — these fill Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon. A bumpy but drivable path here. Tackle chores Friday eve, Saturday. You’ll get them done, easily. Thursday starts a few weeks of tender affection.

AQUARIUS: Jan. 21-Feb. 18

The general emphasis remains on work, health, machines and dependents until July 22, Aquarius. Eat and dress sensibly. Simultaneously, to July 23, the Mercury retrograde brings confusion, delays and mistakes. Launch nothing new before that date — push ongoing projects, or reprise one from the past. A bad time to buy machinery. Your mood will be lifted by romance, intrigue, and friendly reactions by others. Romance can be hot, intense until August 11. The year ahead, just beginning now (so not powerful yet in most people’s lives) will bring hugely fortunate partnerships in love and business, relocation, opportunities and fresh horizons. The year ahead could be a turning point in your life, a big one. Handle money, buy/sell, hug a casual friend Sunday and early Monday morning. All’s well, but avoid too much talk, and DO NOT commit to anything. Monday to Wed. afternoon brings, in a productive way, travel, communications and paperwork. Monday brings best results. Steer toward home, family Wed. afternoon to late Fri. afternoon. Hug the kids, garden, upgrade security, etc. Thursday best. Lucky romance, creative surges, a winning streak, charming kids, sports — these fill Friday eve through Saturday.

PISCES: Feb. 19-March 20

Ah, sweet romance! The general emphasis for the next few weeks, Pisces, will lie on love, creativity, kids, a winning streak, games/sports. These have been extra lucky for the past 12 months, but that luck ended June 30. Now, you can reprise one of those lucky events/openings, or keep on with one that remains lucky — but you’ll meet frustration if you try to start a brand new romance, creative work, or anything brand new before July 23. So yes, resurrect past (12 months’) glories! Your home and family might be friction-prone now to Aug. 11. Be gentle, understanding. For the 12 months ahead, your workload will expand, you might buy a good new machine, and/or make a bit more money. Your energy and charisma shine Sunday and early Monday. Get things done! (But don’t mix money and creativity or romance.) Chase $, buy/sell, pay bills, hug a sometime lover Monday to Wed. afternoon. Monday’s best. Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon brings paperwork, errands, communications, and a restless feeling. Some minor frustrations, but you’ll succeed if patient. Friday eve through Saturday nudges you toward home and family, rest and contemplation, gardening and security. A benevolent, successful interval.

THE END.

AFTERAMBLE:

All improvement is a distortion. If every life is perfect, than every improvement is a further imperfection.

***

Well, I told you, right after Trump‘s last election victory, that the Democratic Party would have to split into two parties.
James Carville, the renowned Democratic strategist, is now saying the same thing.
Such a schism would, Inevitably, result in another Republican administration in 2028.

***

The FIFA World Cup might spell the death knell for the NFL.

***

There really is a reason for beginners luck. It’s allied to newness. Disruptors often have the advantage of surprise and confused response. Think about it this way: imagine four players sitting at a poker table. Three of them know each other well, have played for years, often with each other. They and their brains have formed certain trained responses, assumptions gained by long experience, and even some automatic reactions.
But the fourth player has hardly ever played poker, and is a newcomer to this group. So she sees things through a lens that is new and not available to the three old timers. Subconsciously she sees answers and directions that disrupt the habitual winning ways of the other three.

***

Marco Rubio, American Secretary of State, was born when the sun was in 6° Gemini. This degree brings high intelligence, but a cool heart. He earns respect and admiration, but not affection.
JD Vance, the vice president, is also intelligent, but also easily and smoothly slides into a charming self deprecation, or a joke, or a sincere but deeply thought out position. I don’t know if he’s acting or not, or if sometimes he is or not, but he’s very likable. He’s the only Republican male who has taken on the five sirens of The View and charmed them into liking him, even praising him.
His only knock, to me, is that he too “every man.”

***

War will actually benefit the North American economy from this summer to next. Perhaps through increased defence spending? Anyway, as I said before, the prospect of war will be with us for the next 13 years or so, especially naval wars. Iran was one of these. And the recent bombings of all the little drug boats in the Caribbean and Pacific is another example. From September 2027 to September 2028 war will simply be irrelevant to the US economy, but from autumn of ’28 to autumn of ’29, big things could burst out. Nothing nuclear, but big things.

***

THE NURSING

A Short Story by Tim

He lies in the room in the bright sunless twilight. The satin quilt won’t absorb the sweat on his hands. He hears her feet, pad, pad. He rises on one elbow. He says, “How are you?”
“Why do you say that?” she says, in a soft, careless tone.
He notices, flat on his back now, that his hand trembles as he draws it through his hair.
“I said, how are you?” he says.
“I’m here every day,” she says. “I’m here every day and you don’t know how I am?”
He can say, rising on one elbow, Oh, come on. I drove by the hospital today. I saw you. But he doesn’t, he merely rises, to watch her body. Her uniform drops to the floor, she steps from the coils. With a light, limp gesture, she drops her brassiere on the bed, on his ankles. He watches her breasts swing.
He hears the shower. He imagines her body, smooth, the beads rolling off it. The swaying puppies between her elbows as she rubs her face. Once she said, Rob, Rob, Rob, and he answered, awkwardly, Maureen. He sucks on this, like a stone picked up in the field. He remembers his last laugh, oily with self-fright.
Now she sits at the vanity, nude on her towel, rubbing something on her face and throat. He rises, the bed like a seismograph. He approaches the warm, wet slab of her back. To make up. With a sober movement, she rises, avoids him. He hasn’t. Unable. He stares at the mirror that a moment ago reflected her.
She’s dressing. She’s going out. Potato chips, mixers. He stares. She doesn’t like him staring. Embarrassed, he keeps silent, and keeps staring. She goes. He rolls over on the bed. He takes her discarded nurse’s uniform from the floor to feel the white, cool fabric. When she moves, it is as though a statue just stirred, sudden and eternal. He cannot make the statue move. The fading twilight. He’s ghostly in the mirror, grey. Do I affect you at all? What do you mean, affect? I don’t know what you mean by affect.
The ceiling light blossoms. It is like, when he killed someone, it would be that silent, lighting but not illuminating blossom in his mind; afterwards. Sometimes a second later, sometimes not for a minute, the car floating down the bright streets, or the next day — peace, like a slow ballet. But then he stops. He cannot make the statue move. When he approaches her from behind, lays an asking hand on her shoulder, only remains, just remains. It all remains.
Sometimes he is frozen. He waits, while his stomach hurts. Used to be his stomach hurt then, too. But then the peace, being driven away, the car dreaming through the obedient streets. Sometimes she moves, she teases, they wrestle on the floor, he tries to laugh, “Ahhh….heh, heh,” he pleads, stiff, an oily laugh. Stiff. Think everything through. Plan. Decide. Confusion. Used to be his feet knew which way to move, his eyes, without his help, knew what to see.
She works, she’s twenty-seven. He’s twenty-four. Maybe the government wanted him found. But now he lies on the bed. The streets bother him. He’s not sure of the streets anymore, not sure of his safety. He might meet Max, or Turd, or Lynn, asking where he’s been. Or maybe he’s made enemies. He doesn’t know. Enemies he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s Maureen who makes him lie on the bed. He doesn’t know if he changed his mind, or it was changed.
She didn’t respect the way he made money, though she didn’t know; she told him not to continue. I don’t like those people. Who? Them. He knows she doesn’t know exactly. Was that why he stopped? How did he arrive in this house? He wonders if the people he killed respected him. He wonders if they saw his movements, just a moment before, and thought, there’s an unusual young man, or: there’s horror. Maureen’s had a doctor. A lawyer. A newspaper man. Her picture in the paper. She’s never had a baby. The satin bed quilt won’t absorb the sweat in his hands.
He walks into the living room, perhaps to read. He doesn’t understand. Maureen reads, so he reads. Her books. Maureen lies in a thin film over the pages; their cryptic messages he takes for her soul. He searches and searches, but without depth, like a man who stares into the ocean and only sees the sky reflected. And today, he drove by the hospital where she works. Why, on the sidewalk as he passed, like a flower suddenly frozen, was she laughing in that doctors face? So he has stopped moving, can’t talk. Is that it? Has he found a nothing, where he should have been different?
They rent the house.
He hears her arrive, the staccato of her heels tacking down, what. His apprehension. He rises. He hovers. She enters the room, stops, stares at him, arms clasped around a bag. She speaks. He extracts a wet finger, rubbing guiltily on his pants. Nothing, he says. He waits for another clue, but she turns, walking towards the kitchen. No No Nnph, says the swinging door. His stomach hurts. He re-enters the bedroom, to sleep. The guests will arrive soon. He imagines her contempt for him, inviting all these strangers. He enters the kitchen. Help me, his eyes say. She does not notice, although she knows. She slices onions. Then he’s ashamed.
He re-enters the bedroom. He dozes, but a violent roar, internal, wakes him. The end of a laugh. Was she laughing? He goes to take a shower, surreptitiously to investigate. The telephone. Her voice stops. He passes, his stomach pushing against his chest. He showers, dries, sweats. Voices, on the other side of the door. He stops, one leg in his pants, to listen. He cannot understand them. The stereo booms. The Rolling Stones.
He fingers his glass, turning it slowly on his knee. He is sitting alone, politely watching a voluble group. A woman’s hand held in the air, long rigid fingers; high, protesting voice. Laughter. They are like the books, pretty things, thin and complicated things. His understanding glances off their sheen. Like the books, they tell stories. But he cannot understand the story, although he understands the stories. He cannot understand what he should say.
He knows stories too, but they are all – they are all — his mind shrugs, fluid. His hand, as though with memory, makes a movement. He thinks, it must be the drink, he hasn’t made that movement for so long, he hasn’t forgotten, or maybe there was no need to, and now, with the drink. He walks to the kitchen. He steps back. Maureen stares at him. He swallows, stares. Confused, thin, supple sadness. He retreats.
He laughs. He thinks of going around the party: have you seen it? About 3 pounds? For my hand, I need it for my hand.
“So you’re Maureen’s boyfriend! You’re so quiet! Why don’t you mix? Come on, mix.” A woman, gaudy and perfect as a bird. She takes his arm and propels him to a group. But he stands, shy, and leaves when he can. The sweat in his hands won’t absorb into his pants. His pants catch at his knees. His belt catches awful at his fingers. He stands around, waiting for instructions. Instructions won’t catch at his pants. Lips won’t twist glass into rubber. – She is there, Maureen’s there, half sitting, half on her back on the couch. He watches her through the dancers and the smoke, the dim red light. He thinks, he will drift, casually. Her thighs shine; he imagines, remembers, her moist privacy. He will exchange a deliberate, lazy, confident word. He circles, his eyes carefully averted. Or, they glance off her. But it’s not her. In the dark, the shifting smoke, he sees a blonde, a doppelganger; suddenly, surprisingly, not her. He sees two or three guests observing him. He walks away quickly, furtively, weightless legs.
He enters the bedroom, to consume time. Maureen is sitting on the bed like a wax flower, legs crossed, slim arms heavy as gold. A burly man in a grey suit, maybe a doctor, sits beside her, elbows on knees. The doctor raises his head, crinkles his brow. His eyes squint through thick glasses. This is a private conversation, the doctor says. Because he doesn’t know who I am, he thinks. “Would you like to die?” He says. But he doesn’t speak, he waits helplessly. But she doesn’t speak. He leaves the room, privacy like hypnotism swarming over, overwhelming him.
He decides to walk to the front door. He decides to take another shower. He decides to pick up a woman. He decides everyone is watching him. He has only to say, I’ve —that’s how it was with Maureen. He said, I’ve — and then the blank, the blank that intrigued her. But she’s not intrigued any more. Her swaying doves. That he cupped in his hand. Or did she merely never say no, months ago? For an instant he understands and he doesn’t understand. How he is trapped in this suppleness. How he waits. How he cannot pick up a woman, or this party will never end, or he could walk to the front door and back again, or anything, yes, no, the 3 pounds, the café, crack! : for an instant glory, rebellion, rise in him. He sits proudly, like a despondent king, in an armchair, surveying the citizens. He sips very deliberately, but to no avail: his glass is empty again.
He decides he sees her disappearing through a doorway. No, No, Nnph. Yes. So he’s alone with her, in the kitchen. Counter studded with bottles, rye, vodka. She is flushed and excited, but not by him. Like a schoolgirl on the bus, and he feels an envy for her youth and vitality. His eyes like mouths, sucking. He’s distracted; her attention is on the swinging door that muffles the sound of a sudden but eternal activity. Thieves plunder the house. He knows their movements, they are quick, like dancers. Supple. He watches her eyes. How was your drive today? she says, helping him, but without conviction, without caring. And he: Fine. How was the hospital? And she: hateful again. I stole some Valiums again. And he: I’m sorry. (For months she has lain in bed at night, clicking her nails.)
She looks at him, steadily. And suddenly animated, fluttering around him because he blocked her way. Saying, Why don’t you do something? Why don’t you do anything? Christ! Then she says in a new voice, hermetically sealed from the old one, a voice for the party, I need more cigarettes! Who has one? and she starts out the swinging door, and he says, Tell him I’m your lover. Who? she says. Who is that doctor? he says. What doctor? Is he a doctor? He stumbles, apologetic. Who? she says. I’m not a doctor, he says. I have, he says, he turns, not to see her, determined; that is, unable. I’m sorry, he remembers.
It’s the hospital, she says later, apologetic. It makes me smoke. He has come to stand beside her tentatively, like a married man, like strollers in the park, almost counting on her not noticing so she doesn’t react, rebel. The burly doctor pinches her in his passing, lurching. Her neck twists to the doctor’s flirting retreat, laughing, her eyes big as a cow, and charming, blinking. Robert, for one part second, thinks of destroying that thick neck; but turns also, pretends he hasn’t seen; he disappears among the dancers. Supple into the kitchen. He stares out the kitchen window.
He thinks of Lynn, who gave him his first street job. Who seemed bored by him after that. So he lived alone for a while, and then he lived with a girl who drank and stared out the window, and her teeth went grey and mossy, and then he lived alone again in a hotel room, rooms, rooms, and did his jobs, cities and flights and cities and at first it was okay in the dreaming cars, but then it was worse, and Max and Turd’s faces were strange, strangely unfamiliar, as though something else lived in them the fuck are this anyway, and he started staying alone, and he started reading his horoscope in the newspaper, and he was scared of the street, he didn’t know exactly why, like being scared of a shrill telephone. He thinks he hears Maureen behind him, or Lynn, but his mind is halfway out the window, he turns slowly, but anyway she is gone. He goes slowly through the swinging door. He hears her laughing, okay, okay.
She is laughing, twisted, kneeling on the carpet. It’s some game, with foot and hand prints, that you have to contort to. The doctor lunges in, pinches her, and jumps back spryly, deep, soft chuckles. Her friends stand around, hooting and clapping. He wonders what a doctor is, or a lawyer. He watches, fascinated by their bravery and ease, these perfect, egotistical beings. His woman, that man. Is their abandon a result of some subterranean cleverness? He turns so Maureen, whose breast has popped from her velvet dress, will not see him helpless. He thinks, she might scratch it on the carpet. Her head jerks back as she sits up. Her breast floats like a drunken dove. He sees her tuck it away, to modest laughter and oh’s.
He starts walking. He has a desire to walk to the front door. He has a desire to walk quickly to the kitchen. He stops, poised, as though to leap or run, a statue. The party surrounds him, sudden and eternal. His head on his neck. With its voices, clinking, music. He starts walking. Pardon me. Excuse me. He searches the party vigorously, for invisibility.
They’re banging on the door. He rises from the toilet seat, stops. The door’s locked, he remembers swiftly. They’re jiggling the knob. He sits again. The light is too bright; it cannot withstand their knocking. Hey, whatsa hold up? He turns to speak, but she is not perched on the bathtub’s edge. He sees a ghost in the mirror. Behind the ghost is himself, staring in fear at himself. Behind the house there’s a field. He lowers himself onto the gravel, hands first, his toes catching on the small window’s ledge.
Because his eyes don’t care, he closes them as he walks. Because after a while he doesn’t know where he is, he flops to his knees. He curls his hands into his chest as he lies, bent, on his side. Sticks, rocks, sharp leaf stems dig into him. He lies awake, lucidly, sharply awake, and begins to shiver. He sleeps. Then wakes, and cannot sleep. Holding himself, shivering in the unmoved night, searching, he remembers, just a fluke, what he had shouted out when leaving the barracks: “I’m not fully developed yet.” It’s all he has, so he keeps repeating, through the hours, “I’m not fully developed yet.” Lying rigid through the night.
Shivering, he watches the pink blue dawn. His feet itch. He turns to lie so he can see the house. It rises in the early sun, whiter. Gliding cars, guns, cash registers. He rises, walks, feeling his face jar with each step. She stands in the back doorway, in her pink quilted housecoat. One hand, white arm outstretched, cups the edge of the door behind her. He can hardly see the hand, though; the hot white wall stings his eyes.
“How are you?” he says.
“I said how are you,” he insists. He remains poised, unable to enter, to push forward. She retreats with a sleepy, thoughtful scowl. She’s left the door open. He sits in the kitchen, alone, waiting. He imagines he can hear whispering, but how can he hear whispering all the way from the bedroom? Maybe it’s the front hall. He decides merely to wait. He sees he must go a long way.
He sees he must wait forever. He’s glad there is no gun in the basement. He’s glad he’s forgotten all those telephone numbers. He thinks how he must go a long way, how he will make no progress, how he will wait anyway, sucking on the waiting like a stone.

/30/

10:21 pm Sun. to 8:07 am Mon., 11:42 am to 1:31 pm Wed., 3:13 am to 3:42 pm Fri., and after 3:11 pm Sat.

PREAMBLE:

ALL SIGNS: Start no new projects, relationships nor big purchases before July 23. Stick with the ongoing, or reprise past projects, connections.

***

What should you read? Your Sun sign for your drives, energy and desires. Your Moon sign for your emotional world. And your rising sign for your circumstances. (I recommend reading only 2 of the 3.)

***

I see John Bolton, the former National Security Director or whatever, in the U.S., has been convicted of storing and sharing classified documents with unauthorized individuals. He can be sentenced up to five years. My opinion: Bolton is a traitor to the U.S. and should have been tried for treason. In the middle (2017?) of talks between Trump and North Korean Kim, talks that were successful, in essence with Trump offering funds and expertise to turn N. K. into a tourist mecca, and Kim offering to diminish his nuclear programs — just as these talks were succeeding, Bolton told Kim that Trump was lying, and would suck him in, then betray him. The deal fell apart, and Kim resumed his anti-American stance and pursuit of nuclear ambitions. Bolton is responsible for the collapse of the truce, and of directly and knowingly betraying American interests, for three reasons: 1) he’s a war hawk; 2) he hates Trump, and 3) he’s a cement head.

***

If there is a quick way to determine if a woman is pregnant, or not, then the American birthright citizenship problem is easy to solve: simply deny entry to the US to any woman between the ages of 16 and 45, who is pregnant and not an American citizen.

***

Whenever I write “gentle love” I mean the kind of love that leads to weddings.

WEEKLY FORECAST:

ARIES: March 21-April 19

You’re still focused on the home front, Aries (or your life is). But despite the present slow-down or tiredness, a few more social and restless threads wind their way through your temporary hibernation. Flirtations might be muted, but significant. During the year ahead, every single “major” planet (Jupiter to Pluto) will be “travelling” in your favour. This means the big stuff, the major trends and events, will go your way — sometimes through struggle when the minor influences “cross” you, sometimes with speed and luck, when the “minors” also align with the outer, or major, planets. (Generally, struggle January and every alternate month after, I.e., March, May, etc. And a nice boost every February and each even-numbered month thereafter, April, June, etc.) Probably the biggest event for single Aries in the next 12 months will be romance. For attached Aries, love of children, art, beauty, drama, vacation, adventure, re-ignition of spousal attraction, sports, games and a winning streak are among the lucky opportunities. Right now, you seem to be talkative and pushy; that’s okay. Start nothing new. Be quiet, restful Sunday, even Monday morning. Everything seems smooth, but beneath the surface, almost, something’s not working; something’s impractical. Before long Monday, you start to feel energetic and confident — you look around for another world to conquer. Get out and about — you can improve your life or situation. Monday best, though Wed. stirs some good desires. Midday Wed. to mid-afternoon Fri. (PDT) brings both good and adverse luck in money, possessions and casual intimacies Wed., but a workable easiness Thursday. Be active, communicate, travel, handle paperwork, Friday afternoon through Sat. — almost everything is good here! (But if you’re single, one you approach/speak to [or strongly envision meeting] Friday up to suppertime PDT [9 pm EDT] will never be your spouse.)

TAURUS: April 20-May 20

The paperwork, errand and communication filled days keep on coming, Taurus. But within three weeks this trend will dissolve, as you begin to settle into yourself. The 12 months ahead feature great good luck in real estate, home/family, gardening, pruning some situations and beginning others. You’ll feel secure, and you have the best chance in a decade to find a “just right” home. (Except it will be a little larger than you anticipated.) Seven years of tension are “sliding off” you; the future is mellow. Past efforts in career zones will pay off now to 2032 in $ terms. You’ve been assertive, determined and sexually magnetic for the past 6 weeks — for the six ahead, money will flow to you in larger amounts — don’t spend; pay down debt or invest/bank it instead. Sunday’s social and happy, and fortunate money-wise, but otherwise impractical. Remember, start no new projects, relationships nor major purchases before July 23. Retreat Monday morning (PDT) to midday Wed. Rest, contemplate your past and how you got here, liaise with gov’t or head office — avoid competitive situations. Monday’s fortunate, but Tues./Wed. Are jumbled — with a good ending midday Wed. Your energy and charisma rise nicely Wed. afternoon to Friday afternoon — jumbled luck Wed., then good after. Chase money, pay bills, be open to casual intimacy, and/or learn by rote, Friday eve, Saturday — two successful days.

GEMINI: May 21-June 20

The general accent is on money, buying/selling, physical satisfaction and structured learning, Gemini. Physical dangers have passed. Now to mid-August, you will be assertive, determined, optimistic and “ready to go!” Unfortunately, now to July 23, you have many niggling tasks still waiting to be finished, esp. the ones that relate to money, bills, etc. So work on finishing these rather than launching anything new, before the rush of events leaves these neglected chores in the past, but able to return and bite you. You will be a real ball of energy and pizzazz now into August. With determination, you will succeed. Thursday starts a few weeks of happiness and affection at home. Sunday’s lucky — someone admires your accomplishments or position. But it’s not a good day to obtain co-operation in any practical effort. Popularity, social delights, optimism, flirting and entertainment fill Monday to midday Wed. Good Monday, mixed Tues./Wed. Retreat Wed. afternoon to Fri. afternoon. Find a quiet place, rest and contemplate. Deal with gov’t, head office, advisors and charities. (DON’T make long-range plans.) Wed.’s news is a bit “unexpected,” co-operation slim, but he rest of this interval sails along well. Friday night, Sat., your energy and charisma rise nicely. Others notice you. If you’re single, be a show off — someone will like it!

CANCER: June 21-July 22

You’re still on the top of your game, Cancer — fit, energetic, confident, and attractive enough that people will listen to you. But remember, start nothing new before July 23 — use all that energy and charm to push (and protect) ongoing projects, or to reprise something from the past. Old, lost letters or emails might appear now. You are just beginning a full year of buoyant money luck. (I just went through such a year, and my stock accounts — though I’m a terrible trader — rose 25 %.) Your career arena has changed: partnering and international or educational factors are crucial to success. Your skills as an analyst or manager will emerge during the years ahead. Until Aug. 12, avoid sketchy places and belligerent individuals. Sunday’s mellow, loving, and broad-minded — let your mind wander, but avoid approaching partnership zones. Monday to mid-afternoon Wed. (PDT) puts your skills in the spotlight — be ambitious, talk to the boss. Monday best. Wednesday afternoon to late afternoon Friday buoys your heart with social delights, flirtations, optimism, entertainment and wish fulfillment. Wed. might be slightly tricky, late. Retreat from the crowd Fri. eve through Sat. Contemplate, seek advice, liaise with gov’t or head office, All’s well!

LEO: July 23-Aug. 22

Keep a low profile, Leo. Rest, examine, seek advice, be charitable, liaise with gov’t and head office — is there a task or obligation you’ve neglected? If so, grab it and finish it now and next week. Start no new relationships, projects nor major purchases before (late day) July 23. You might be down and tired for the next several weeks, but you have just entered one of the most fortunate years of your life, esp. if you’re single and looking for love, or planning international travel, a major media project, or entry to higher learning — this will be a banner year, to July 2027. (But remember, nothing brand new before July 23.) Again, despite your weariness, you remain “good-looking,” and your social life is actually perking up. One who “teaches” you will befriend you. Sunday’s mysterious but good — at least in relationships and gaining knowledge. But don’t try anything very practical. Your mind awakens, expands, Monday to afternoon Wed. (PDT). Lots of good feelings here, especially Monday, but some bumps in the road, and a final “good feeling” conclusion. Be ambitious Wed. afternoon to late Friday afternoon. Best Tuesday. A wish might come true Fri./Sat., as your popularity, optimism and future “light up” a wee bit.

VIRGO: Aug. 23-Sept. 22

You’re still in celebratory mode, Virgo. Something is fulfilling a wish you had long ago. Big or small, depends on how big you wished. You’re popular for the next few weeks, so get out and about, join a group, flirt, talk about your ambitions, dreams. You’ll be happy. An old flame might return. Bosses are temperamental, impulsive. (Don’t fight them off with details or facts; listen to your intuition, follow its emotional cues.) A year of poor luck faces you in the outside world of competition and strain, but of good luck in background areas, management, responsibilities, and achievement. If you’re footloose, this year ahead could bring you a home, and is great for vacations, spas, and retreats. The 12 months ahead are a time to “redo” yourself. Now to August 11 bosses can be impatient, impulsive and critical. Smile, realize this will pass. Sunday and early Monday are great for relationships — but bad for financial and sexual relations — steer clear of these. (More correctly, delay these, as Monday to Wed. afternoon favour these very things: sex, investments, investigation — Monday’s best. Profound ideas, far travel, higher learning, law and social rituals are highlighted Wed. afternoon to mid-afternoon Friday. Thursday’s best for action. Be ambitious late Friday, and Sat. — higher-ups still favour you! (Their temperament appears later.)

LIBRA: Sept. 23-Oct. 22

The accent remains on your ambitions, career, prestige relations, and worldly standing, Libra. Remember, start nothing brand new — protect ongoing projects, or reprise something from the past. (It’s likely you encountered — or created — a doorway to success in the last 12 months. If so, you might go back now to re-open it.) Strictly avoid lawsuits now to August. 11. Some Librans will wed, now through August. All of you are starting a whole year of buoyant hopes, wish fulfillment, flirting and friendly romance, entertainment and social popularity. Venus enters Virgo this week, indicating you’ll find some sweet peace alone. Tackle chores Sunday into early Monday morning (8 am PDT). Real success if you work alone. Monday morning to Wed. afternoon brings relationships, opportunities (some opposition) public appearances and relocation themes. Success Monday — a bit bumpy after that. Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon brings mysteries, heightened intuition, financial and sexual temptations — my advice, commit to nothing. (Don’t worry, no disasters.) Friday eve through Saturday lifts your mind to elevated levels, favours law, far travel, higher learning, media and gentle love — all’s well here!

SCORPIO: Oct. 23-Nov. 21

Your thoughts, learning, and “vision of the world” will be accented until late July, Scorpio. This would usually be the time to buy cruise tix, start a lawsuit or publishing project, wed, or enter/apply for school. But this time, these are only workable and fortunate if they relate strongly to the past. E.g., you and your fiancé were supposed to marry months ago, but now a second chance comes. Or, you’re travelling to a place you’ve already visited, or to a former home. These are fine, but something brand new will fall into a hole of confusion, delay and mistakes. Don’t be impulsive in money or sex now to Aug. 11. Think twice. Your career and worldly standing are about to climb upward for a year — a pay raise is almost inevitable before Aug./27. Sunday and the wee hours of Monday are made for romance — but realize work, chemicals or too much talk can “crowd out” romance. Dive into chores Monday morning to Wednesday afternoon. You’ll get them done and finish on a positive note. Monday best. Wednesday afternoon to late afternoon Friday brings relationships, opportunities and opposition — a mixed bag. Secrets, intuition, large finances, lust for sex or power, medical and lifestyle decisions — these face you Friday eve and Saturday. Remember, nothing new. But if there’s someone or something from the past that you still want, make your bid now.

SAGITTARIUS: Nov. 22-Dec. 21

Secrets, heightened intuition, large finances, lust for sex or power, medical and lifestyle decisions — these fill your days until July 22, Sage. And the “retro” period of confusion, delays and mistakes lasts until July 23. So if in these areas someone or something returns from the past — e.g., a former investment you missed buying, a former intimate partner, etc. — then grab it! For many of you the buying opportunity, the sexual opening, has already occurred in the past 12 months, and July is either a “wrap up,” or a second chance to jump in. (But don’t jump into anything brand new.) You’ve been intrigued lately by someone good-looking, but this is passing. Now to mid-August, someone can be quite assertive toward you. You might fall in love. If single, the whole 12 months ahead offer love — of the wedding kind. They also offer worldwide travel, higher learning, law, media, in a hugely fortunate way! Sunday’s domestic (early Monday, too). Hug the family, rest, have a “back porch” day. All’s well, but don’t pursue romantic love or a creative (money?) project. Romance looms large Monday morning to Wed. Afternoon. Monday’s best. Tackle chores Wed. afternoon to late Friday afternoon. Eat, dress sensibly. A bumpy but drivable road to accomplishment. Relationships, opportunities and public appearances arise Friday eve through Sat. — all’s well, fortunate!

CAPRICORN: Dec. 22-Jan. 20

This month ends a year-long “lucky support” of relationships, Cap. You have faced more than usual, bigger than usual, opportunities — and opposition if you got into politics, religion, or such arguments. Now, July is a sort of “mopping up” month. There are no more great relationship opportunities, but this July will tend to call them back, to highlight those of the last 12 months, allowing you a second chance. But DO NOT start anything brand new before July 23. An old flame might return now. The 12 months ahead hold major “winnings” in finances, investments, sex and investigations. Watch your health, same 12 months — a minor problem can expand. Sunday, early Monday are for communicating, errands and paperwork — all’s good, but don’t involve (or speak of) family members. Then, suddenly, Monday morning to Wed. afternoon, your home becomes more important. Hug the family, garden, examine your relationships and situations — which are stale, not enriching your life anymore? Monday best. Romance, creative urges, happiness with kids, beauty, sports — these fill Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon. A bumpy but drivable path here. Tackle chores Friday eve, Saturday. You’ll get them done, easily. Thursday starts a few weeks of tender affection.

AQUARIUS: Jan. 21-Feb. 18

The general emphasis remains on work, health, machines and dependents until July 22, Aquarius. Eat and dress sensibly. Simultaneously, to July 23, the Mercury retrograde brings confusion, delays and mistakes. Launch nothing new before that date — push ongoing projects, or reprise one from the past. A bad time to buy machinery. Your mood will be lifted by romance, intrigue, and friendly reactions by others. Romance can be hot, intense until August 11. The year ahead, just beginning now (so not powerful yet in most people’s lives) will bring hugely fortunate partnerships in love and business, relocation, opportunities and fresh horizons. The year ahead could be a turning point in your life, a big one. Handle money, buy/sell, hug a casual friend Sunday and early Monday morning. All’s well, but avoid too much talk, and DO NOT commit to anything. Monday to Wed. afternoon brings, in a productive way, travel, communications and paperwork. Monday brings best results. Steer toward home, family Wed. afternoon to late Fri. afternoon. Hug the kids, garden, upgrade security, etc. Thursday best. Lucky romance, creative surges, a winning streak, charming kids, sports — these fill Friday eve through Saturday.

PISCES: Feb. 19-March 20

Ah, sweet romance! The general emphasis for the next few weeks, Pisces, will lie on love, creativity, kids, a winning streak, games/sports. These have been extra lucky for the past 12 months, but that luck ended June 30. Now, you can reprise one of those lucky events/openings, or keep on with one that remains lucky — but you’ll meet frustration if you try to start a brand new romance, creative work, or anything brand new before July 23. So yes, resurrect past (12 months’) glories! Your home and family might be friction-prone now to Aug. 11. Be gentle, understanding. For the 12 months ahead, your workload will expand, you might buy a good new machine, and/or make a bit more money. Your energy and charisma shine Sunday and early Monday. Get things done! (But don’t mix money and creativity or romance.) Chase $, buy/sell, pay bills, hug a sometime lover Monday to Wed. afternoon. Monday’s best. Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon brings paperwork, errands, communications, and a restless feeling. Some minor frustrations, but you’ll succeed if patient. Friday eve through Saturday nudges you toward home and family, rest and contemplation, gardening and security. A benevolent, successful interval.

THE END.

AFTERAMBLE:

All improvement is a distortion. If every life is perfect, than every improvement is a further imperfection.

***

Well, I told you, right after Trump‘s last election victory, that the Democratic Party would have to split into two parties.
James Carville, the renowned Democratic strategist, is now saying the same thing.
Such a schism would, Inevitably, result in another Republican administration in 2028.

***

The FIFA World Cup might spell the death knell for the NFL.

***

There really is a reason for beginners luck. It’s allied to newness. Disruptors often have the advantage of surprise and confused response. Think about it this way: imagine four players sitting at a poker table. Three of them know each other well, have played for years, often with each other. They and their brains have formed certain trained responses, assumptions gained by long experience, and even some automatic reactions.
But the fourth player has hardly ever played poker, and is a newcomer to this group. So she sees things through a lens that is new and not available to the three old timers. Subconsciously she sees answers and directions that disrupt the habitual winning ways of the other three.

***

Marco Rubio, American Secretary of State, was born when the sun was in 6° Gemini. This degree brings high intelligence, but a cool heart. He earns respect and admiration, but not affection.
JD Vance, the vice president, is also intelligent, but also easily and smoothly slides into a charming self deprecation, or a joke, or a sincere but deeply thought out position. I don’t know if he’s acting or not, or if sometimes he is or not, but he’s very likable. He’s the only Republican male who has taken on the five sirens of The View and charmed them into liking him, even praising him.
His only knock, to me, is that he too “every man.”

***

War will actually benefit the North American economy from this summer to next. Perhaps through increased defence spending? Anyway, as I said before, the prospect of war will be with us for the next 13 years or so, especially naval wars. Iran was one of these. And the recent bombings of all the little drug boats in the Caribbean and Pacific is another example. From September 2027 to September 2028 war will simply be irrelevant to the US economy, but from autumn of ’28 to autumn of ’29, big things could burst out. Nothing nuclear, but big things.

***

THE NURSING

A Short Story by Tim

He lies in the room in the bright sunless twilight. The satin quilt won’t absorb the sweat on his hands. He hears her feet, pad, pad. He rises on one elbow. He says, “How are you?”
“Why do you say that?” she says, in a soft, careless tone.
He notices, flat on his back now, that his hand trembles as he draws it through his hair.
“I said, how are you?” he says.
“I’m here every day,” she says. “I’m here every day and you don’t know how I am?”
He can say, rising on one elbow, Oh, come on. I drove by the hospital today. I saw you. But he doesn’t, he merely rises, to watch her body. Her uniform drops to the floor, she steps from the coils. With a light, limp gesture, she drops her brassiere on the bed, on his ankles. He watches her breasts swing.
He hears the shower. He imagines her body, smooth, the beads rolling off it. The swaying puppies between her elbows as she rubs her face. Once she said, Rob, Rob, Rob, and he answered, awkwardly, Maureen. He sucks on this, like a stone picked up in the field. He remembers his last laugh, oily with self-fright.
Now she sits at the vanity, nude on her towel, rubbing something on her face and throat. He rises, the bed like a seismograph. He approaches the warm, wet slab of her back. To make up. With a sober movement, she rises, avoids him. He hasn’t. Unable. He stares at the mirror that a moment ago reflected her.
She’s dressing. She’s going out. Potato chips, mixers. He stares. She doesn’t like him staring. Embarrassed, he keeps silent, and keeps staring. She goes. He rolls over on the bed. He takes her discarded nurse’s uniform from the floor to feel the white, cool fabric. When she moves, it is as though a statue just stirred, sudden and eternal. He cannot make the statue move. The fading twilight. He’s ghostly in the mirror, grey. Do I affect you at all? What do you mean, affect? I don’t know what you mean by affect.
The ceiling light blossoms. It is like, when he killed someone, it would be that silent, lighting but not illuminating blossom in his mind; afterwards. Sometimes a second later, sometimes not for a minute, the car floating down the bright streets, or the next day — peace, like a slow ballet. But then he stops. He cannot make the statue move. When he approaches her from behind, lays an asking hand on her shoulder, only remains, just remains. It all remains.
Sometimes he is frozen. He waits, while his stomach hurts. Used to be his stomach hurt then, too. But then the peace, being driven away, the car dreaming through the obedient streets. Sometimes she moves, she teases, they wrestle on the floor, he tries to laugh, “Ahhh….heh, heh,” he pleads, stiff, an oily laugh. Stiff. Think everything through. Plan. Decide. Confusion. Used to be his feet knew which way to move, his eyes, without his help, knew what to see.
She works, she’s twenty-seven. He’s twenty-four. Maybe the government wanted him found. But now he lies on the bed. The streets bother him. He’s not sure of the streets anymore, not sure of his safety. He might meet Max, or Turd, or Lynn, asking where he’s been. Or maybe he’s made enemies. He doesn’t know. Enemies he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s Maureen who makes him lie on the bed. He doesn’t know if he changed his mind, or it was changed.
She didn’t respect the way he made money, though she didn’t know; she told him not to continue. I don’t like those people. Who? Them. He knows she doesn’t know exactly. Was that why he stopped? How did he arrive in this house? He wonders if the people he killed respected him. He wonders if they saw his movements, just a moment before, and thought, there’s an unusual young man, or: there’s horror. Maureen’s had a doctor. A lawyer. A newspaper man. Her picture in the paper. She’s never had a baby. The satin bed quilt won’t absorb the sweat in his hands.
He walks into the living room, perhaps to read. He doesn’t understand. Maureen reads, so he reads. Her books. Maureen lies in a thin film over the pages; their cryptic messages he takes for her soul. He searches and searches, but without depth, like a man who stares into the ocean and only sees the sky reflected. And today, he drove by the hospital where she works. Why, on the sidewalk as he passed, like a flower suddenly frozen, was she laughing in that doctors face? So he has stopped moving, can’t talk. Is that it? Has he found a nothing, where he should have been different?
They rent the house.
He hears her arrive, the staccato of her heels tacking down, what. His apprehension. He rises. He hovers. She enters the room, stops, stares at him, arms clasped around a bag. She speaks. He extracts a wet finger, rubbing guiltily on his pants. Nothing, he says. He waits for another clue, but she turns, walking towards the kitchen. No No Nnph, says the swinging door. His stomach hurts. He re-enters the bedroom, to sleep. The guests will arrive soon. He imagines her contempt for him, inviting all these strangers. He enters the kitchen. Help me, his eyes say. She does not notice, although she knows. She slices onions. Then he’s ashamed.
He re-enters the bedroom. He dozes, but a violent roar, internal, wakes him. The end of a laugh. Was she laughing? He goes to take a shower, surreptitiously to investigate. The telephone. Her voice stops. He passes, his stomach pushing against his chest. He showers, dries, sweats. Voices, on the other side of the door. He stops, one leg in his pants, to listen. He cannot understand them. The stereo booms. The Rolling Stones.
He fingers his glass, turning it slowly on his knee. He is sitting alone, politely watching a voluble group. A woman’s hand held in the air, long rigid fingers; high, protesting voice. Laughter. They are like the books, pretty things, thin and complicated things. His understanding glances off their sheen. Like the books, they tell stories. But he cannot understand the story, although he understands the stories. He cannot understand what he should say.
He knows stories too, but they are all – they are all — his mind shrugs, fluid. His hand, as though with memory, makes a movement. He thinks, it must be the drink, he hasn’t made that movement for so long, he hasn’t forgotten, or maybe there was no need to, and now, with the drink. He walks to the kitchen. He steps back. Maureen stares at him. He swallows, stares. Confused, thin, supple sadness. He retreats.
He laughs. He thinks of going around the party: have you seen it? About 3 pounds? For my hand, I need it for my hand.
“So you’re Maureen’s boyfriend! You’re so quiet! Why don’t you mix? Come on, mix.” A woman, gaudy and perfect as a bird. She takes his arm and propels him to a group. But he stands, shy, and leaves when he can. The sweat in his hands won’t absorb into his pants. His pants catch at his knees. His belt catches awful at his fingers. He stands around, waiting for instructions. Instructions won’t catch at his pants. Lips won’t twist glass into rubber. – She is there, Maureen’s there, half sitting, half on her back on the couch. He watches her through the dancers and the smoke, the dim red light. He thinks, he will drift, casually. Her thighs shine; he imagines, remembers, her moist privacy. He will exchange a deliberate, lazy, confident word. He circles, his eyes carefully averted. Or, they glance off her. But it’s not her. In the dark, the shifting smoke, he sees a blonde, a doppelganger; suddenly, surprisingly, not her. He sees two or three guests observing him. He walks away quickly, furtively, weightless legs.
He enters the bedroom, to consume time. Maureen is sitting on the bed like a wax flower, legs crossed, slim arms heavy as gold. A burly man in a grey suit, maybe a doctor, sits beside her, elbows on knees. The doctor raises his head, crinkles his brow. His eyes squint through thick glasses. This is a private conversation, the doctor says. Because he doesn’t know who I am, he thinks. “Would you like to die?” He says. But he doesn’t speak, he waits helplessly. But she doesn’t speak. He leaves the room, privacy like hypnotism swarming over, overwhelming him.
He decides to walk to the front door. He decides to take another shower. He decides to pick up a woman. He decides everyone is watching him. He has only to say, I’ve —that’s how it was with Maureen. He said, I’ve — and then the blank, the blank that intrigued her. But she’s not intrigued any more. Her swaying doves. That he cupped in his hand. Or did she merely never say no, months ago? For an instant he understands and he doesn’t understand. How he is trapped in this suppleness. How he waits. How he cannot pick up a woman, or this party will never end, or he could walk to the front door and back again, or anything, yes, no, the 3 pounds, the café, crack! : for an instant glory, rebellion, rise in him. He sits proudly, like a despondent king, in an armchair, surveying the citizens. He sips very deliberately, but to no avail: his glass is empty again.
He decides he sees her disappearing through a doorway. No, No, Nnph. Yes. So he’s alone with her, in the kitchen. Counter studded with bottles, rye, vodka. She is flushed and excited, but not by him. Like a schoolgirl on the bus, and he feels an envy for her youth and vitality. His eyes like mouths, sucking. He’s distracted; her attention is on the swinging door that muffles the sound of a sudden but eternal activity. Thieves plunder the house. He knows their movements, they are quick, like dancers. Supple. He watches her eyes. How was your drive today? she says, helping him, but without conviction, without caring. And he: Fine. How was the hospital? And she: hateful again. I stole some Valiums again. And he: I’m sorry. (For months she has lain in bed at night, clicking her nails.)
She looks at him, steadily. And suddenly animated, fluttering around him because he blocked her way. Saying, Why don’t you do something? Why don’t you do anything? Christ! Then she says in a new voice, hermetically sealed from the old one, a voice for the party, I need more cigarettes! Who has one? and she starts out the swinging door, and he says, Tell him I’m your lover. Who? she says. Who is that doctor? he says. What doctor? Is he a doctor? He stumbles, apologetic. Who? she says. I’m not a doctor, he says. I have, he says, he turns, not to see her, determined; that is, unable. I’m sorry, he remembers.
It’s the hospital, she says later, apologetic. It makes me smoke. He has come to stand beside her tentatively, like a married man, like strollers in the park, almost counting on her not noticing so she doesn’t react, rebel. The burly doctor pinches her in his passing, lurching. Her neck twists to the doctor’s flirting retreat, laughing, her eyes big as a cow, and charming, blinking. Robert, for one part second, thinks of destroying that thick neck; but turns also, pretends he hasn’t seen; he disappears among the dancers. Supple into the kitchen. He stares out the kitchen window.
He thinks of Lynn, who gave him his first street job. Who seemed bored by him after that. So he lived alone for a while, and then he lived with a girl who drank and stared out the window, and her teeth went grey and mossy, and then he lived alone again in a hotel room, rooms, rooms, and did his jobs, cities and flights and cities and at first it was okay in the dreaming cars, but then it was worse, and Max and Turd’s faces were strange, strangely unfamiliar, as though something else lived in them the fuck are this anyway, and he started staying alone, and he started reading his horoscope in the newspaper, and he was scared of the street, he didn’t know exactly why, like being scared of a shrill telephone. He thinks he hears Maureen behind him, or Lynn, but his mind is halfway out the window, he turns slowly, but anyway she is gone. He goes slowly through the swinging door. He hears her laughing, okay, okay.
She is laughing, twisted, kneeling on the carpet. It’s some game, with foot and hand prints, that you have to contort to. The doctor lunges in, pinches her, and jumps back spryly, deep, soft chuckles. Her friends stand around, hooting and clapping. He wonders what a doctor is, or a lawyer. He watches, fascinated by their bravery and ease, these perfect, egotistical beings. His woman, that man. Is their abandon a result of some subterranean cleverness? He turns so Maureen, whose breast has popped from her velvet dress, will not see him helpless. He thinks, she might scratch it on the carpet. Her head jerks back as she sits up. Her breast floats like a drunken dove. He sees her tuck it away, to modest laughter and oh’s.
He starts walking. He has a desire to walk to the front door. He has a desire to walk quickly to the kitchen. He stops, poised, as though to leap or run, a statue. The party surrounds him, sudden and eternal. His head on his neck. With its voices, clinking, music. He starts walking. Pardon me. Excuse me. He searches the party vigorously, for invisibility.
They’re banging on the door. He rises from the toilet seat, stops. The door’s locked, he remembers swiftly. They’re jiggling the knob. He sits again. The light is too bright; it cannot withstand their knocking. Hey, whatsa hold up? He turns to speak, but she is not perched on the bathtub’s edge. He sees a ghost in the mirror. Behind the ghost is himself, staring in fear at himself. Behind the house there’s a field. He lowers himself onto the gravel, hands first, his toes catching on the small window’s ledge.
Because his eyes don’t care, he closes them as he walks. Because after a while he doesn’t know where he is, he flops to his knees. He curls his hands into his chest as he lies, bent, on his side. Sticks, rocks, sharp leaf stems dig into him. He lies awake, lucidly, sharply awake, and begins to shiver. He sleeps. Then wakes, and cannot sleep. Holding himself, shivering in the unmoved night, searching, he remembers, just a fluke, what he had shouted out when leaving the barracks: “I’m not fully developed yet.” It’s all he has, so he keeps repeating, through the hours, “I’m not fully developed yet.” Lying rigid through the night.
Shivering, he watches the pink blue dawn. His feet itch. He turns to lie so he can see the house. It rises in the early sun, whiter. Gliding cars, guns, cash registers. He rises, walks, feeling his face jar with each step. She stands in the back doorway, in her pink quilted housecoat. One hand, white arm outstretched, cups the edge of the door behind her. He can hardly see the hand, though; the hot white wall stings his eyes.
“How are you?” he says.
“I said how are you,” he insists. He remains poised, unable to enter, to push forward. She retreats with a sleepy, thoughtful scowl. She’s left the door open. He sits in the kitchen, alone, waiting. He imagines he can hear whispering, but how can he hear whispering all the way from the bedroom? Maybe it’s the front hall. He decides merely to wait. He sees he must go a long way.
He sees he must wait forever. He’s glad there is no gun in the basement. He’s glad he’s forgotten all those telephone numbers. He thinks how he must go a long way, how he will make no progress, how he will wait anyway, sucking on the waiting like a stone.

/30/

10:21 pm Sun. to 8:07 am Mon., 11:42 am to 1:31 pm Wed., 3:13 am to 3:42 pm Fri., and after 3:11 pm Sat.

PREAMBLE:

ALL SIGNS: Start no new projects, relationships nor big purchases before July 23. Stick with the ongoing, or reprise past projects, connections.

***

What should you read? Your Sun sign for your drives, energy and desires. Your Moon sign for your emotional world. And your rising sign for your circumstances. (I recommend reading only 2 of the 3.)

***

I see John Bolton, the former National Security Director or whatever, in the U.S., has been convicted of storing and sharing classified documents with unauthorized individuals. He can be sentenced up to five years. My opinion: Bolton is a traitor to the U.S. and should have been tried for treason. In the middle (2017?) of talks between Trump and North Korean Kim, talks that were successful, in essence with Trump offering funds and expertise to turn N. K. into a tourist mecca, and Kim offering to diminish his nuclear programs — just as these talks were succeeding, Bolton told Kim that Trump was lying, and would suck him in, then betray him. The deal fell apart, and Kim resumed his anti-American stance and pursuit of nuclear ambitions. Bolton is responsible for the collapse of the truce, and of directly and knowingly betraying American interests, for three reasons: 1) he’s a war hawk; 2) he hates Trump, and 3) he’s a cement head.

***

If there is a quick way to determine if a woman is pregnant, or not, then the American birthright citizenship problem is easy to solve: simply deny entry to the US to any woman between the ages of 16 and 45, who is pregnant and not an American citizen.

***

Whenever I write “gentle love” I mean the kind of love that leads to weddings.

WEEKLY FORECAST:

ARIES: March 21-April 19

You’re still focused on the home front, Aries (or your life is). But despite the present slow-down or tiredness, a few more social and restless threads wind their way through your temporary hibernation. Flirtations might be muted, but significant. During the year ahead, every single “major” planet (Jupiter to Pluto) will be “travelling” in your favour. This means the big stuff, the major trends and events, will go your way — sometimes through struggle when the minor influences “cross” you, sometimes with speed and luck, when the “minors” also align with the outer, or major, planets. (Generally, struggle January and every alternate month after, I.e., March, May, etc. And a nice boost every February and each even-numbered month thereafter, April, June, etc.) Probably the biggest event for single Aries in the next 12 months will be romance. For attached Aries, love of children, art, beauty, drama, vacation, adventure, re-ignition of spousal attraction, sports, games and a winning streak are among the lucky opportunities. Right now, you seem to be talkative and pushy; that’s okay. Start nothing new. Be quiet, restful Sunday, even Monday morning. Everything seems smooth, but beneath the surface, almost, something’s not working; something’s impractical. Before long Monday, you start to feel energetic and confident — you look around for another world to conquer. Get out and about — you can improve your life or situation. Monday best, though Wed. stirs some good desires. Midday Wed. to mid-afternoon Fri. (PDT) brings both good and adverse luck in money, possessions and casual intimacies Wed., but a workable easiness Thursday. Be active, communicate, travel, handle paperwork, Friday afternoon through Sat. — almost everything is good here! (But if you’re single, one you approach/speak to [or strongly envision meeting] Friday up to suppertime PDT [9 pm EDT] will never be your spouse.)

TAURUS: April 20-May 20

The paperwork, errand and communication filled days keep on coming, Taurus. But within three weeks this trend will dissolve, as you begin to settle into yourself. The 12 months ahead feature great good luck in real estate, home/family, gardening, pruning some situations and beginning others. You’ll feel secure, and you have the best chance in a decade to find a “just right” home. (Except it will be a little larger than you anticipated.) Seven years of tension are “sliding off” you; the future is mellow. Past efforts in career zones will pay off now to 2032 in $ terms. You’ve been assertive, determined and sexually magnetic for the past 6 weeks — for the six ahead, money will flow to you in larger amounts — don’t spend; pay down debt or invest/bank it instead. Sunday’s social and happy, and fortunate money-wise, but otherwise impractical. Remember, start no new projects, relationships nor major purchases before July 23. Retreat Monday morning (PDT) to midday Wed. Rest, contemplate your past and how you got here, liaise with gov’t or head office — avoid competitive situations. Monday’s fortunate, but Tues./Wed. Are jumbled — with a good ending midday Wed. Your energy and charisma rise nicely Wed. afternoon to Friday afternoon — jumbled luck Wed., then good after. Chase money, pay bills, be open to casual intimacy, and/or learn by rote, Friday eve, Saturday — two successful days.

GEMINI: May 21-June 20

The general accent is on money, buying/selling, physical satisfaction and structured learning, Gemini. Physical dangers have passed. Now to mid-August, you will be assertive, determined, optimistic and “ready to go!” Unfortunately, now to July 23, you have many niggling tasks still waiting to be finished, esp. the ones that relate to money, bills, etc. So work on finishing these rather than launching anything new, before the rush of events leaves these neglected chores in the past, but able to return and bite you. You will be a real ball of energy and pizzazz now into August. With determination, you will succeed. Thursday starts a few weeks of happiness and affection at home. Sunday’s lucky — someone admires your accomplishments or position. But it’s not a good day to obtain co-operation in any practical effort. Popularity, social delights, optimism, flirting and entertainment fill Monday to midday Wed. Good Monday, mixed Tues./Wed. Retreat Wed. afternoon to Fri. afternoon. Find a quiet place, rest and contemplate. Deal with gov’t, head office, advisors and charities. (DON’T make long-range plans.) Wed.’s news is a bit “unexpected,” co-operation slim, but he rest of this interval sails along well. Friday night, Sat., your energy and charisma rise nicely. Others notice you. If you’re single, be a show off — someone will like it!

CANCER: June 21-July 22

You’re still on the top of your game, Cancer — fit, energetic, confident, and attractive enough that people will listen to you. But remember, start nothing new before July 23 — use all that energy and charm to push (and protect) ongoing projects, or to reprise something from the past. Old, lost letters or emails might appear now. You are just beginning a full year of buoyant money luck. (I just went through such a year, and my stock accounts — though I’m a terrible trader — rose 25 %.) Your career arena has changed: partnering and international or educational factors are crucial to success. Your skills as an analyst or manager will emerge during the years ahead. Until Aug. 12, avoid sketchy places and belligerent individuals. Sunday’s mellow, loving, and broad-minded — let your mind wander, but avoid approaching partnership zones. Monday to mid-afternoon Wed. (PDT) puts your skills in the spotlight — be ambitious, talk to the boss. Monday best. Wednesday afternoon to late afternoon Friday buoys your heart with social delights, flirtations, optimism, entertainment and wish fulfillment. Wed. might be slightly tricky, late. Retreat from the crowd Fri. eve through Sat. Contemplate, seek advice, liaise with gov’t or head office, All’s well!

LEO: July 23-Aug. 22

Keep a low profile, Leo. Rest, examine, seek advice, be charitable, liaise with gov’t and head office — is there a task or obligation you’ve neglected? If so, grab it and finish it now and next week. Start no new relationships, projects nor major purchases before (late day) July 23. You might be down and tired for the next several weeks, but you have just entered one of the most fortunate years of your life, esp. if you’re single and looking for love, or planning international travel, a major media project, or entry to higher learning — this will be a banner year, to July 2027. (But remember, nothing brand new before July 23.) Again, despite your weariness, you remain “good-looking,” and your social life is actually perking up. One who “teaches” you will befriend you. Sunday’s mysterious but good — at least in relationships and gaining knowledge. But don’t try anything very practical. Your mind awakens, expands, Monday to afternoon Wed. (PDT). Lots of good feelings here, especially Monday, but some bumps in the road, and a final “good feeling” conclusion. Be ambitious Wed. afternoon to late Friday afternoon. Best Tuesday. A wish might come true Fri./Sat., as your popularity, optimism and future “light up” a wee bit.

VIRGO: Aug. 23-Sept. 22

You’re still in celebratory mode, Virgo. Something is fulfilling a wish you had long ago. Big or small, depends on how big you wished. You’re popular for the next few weeks, so get out and about, join a group, flirt, talk about your ambitions, dreams. You’ll be happy. An old flame might return. Bosses are temperamental, impulsive. (Don’t fight them off with details or facts; listen to your intuition, follow its emotional cues.) A year of poor luck faces you in the outside world of competition and strain, but of good luck in background areas, management, responsibilities, and achievement. If you’re footloose, this year ahead could bring you a home, and is great for vacations, spas, and retreats. The 12 months ahead are a time to “redo” yourself. Now to August 11 bosses can be impatient, impulsive and critical. Smile, realize this will pass. Sunday and early Monday are great for relationships — but bad for financial and sexual relations — steer clear of these. (More correctly, delay these, as Monday to Wed. afternoon favour these very things: sex, investments, investigation — Monday’s best. Profound ideas, far travel, higher learning, law and social rituals are highlighted Wed. afternoon to mid-afternoon Friday. Thursday’s best for action. Be ambitious late Friday, and Sat. — higher-ups still favour you! (Their temperament appears later.)

LIBRA: Sept. 23-Oct. 22

The accent remains on your ambitions, career, prestige relations, and worldly standing, Libra. Remember, start nothing brand new — protect ongoing projects, or reprise something from the past. (It’s likely you encountered — or created — a doorway to success in the last 12 months. If so, you might go back now to re-open it.) Strictly avoid lawsuits now to August. 11. Some Librans will wed, now through August. All of you are starting a whole year of buoyant hopes, wish fulfillment, flirting and friendly romance, entertainment and social popularity. Venus enters Virgo this week, indicating you’ll find some sweet peace alone. Tackle chores Sunday into early Monday morning (8 am PDT). Real success if you work alone. Monday morning to Wed. afternoon brings relationships, opportunities (some opposition) public appearances and relocation themes. Success Monday — a bit bumpy after that. Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon brings mysteries, heightened intuition, financial and sexual temptations — my advice, commit to nothing. (Don’t worry, no disasters.) Friday eve through Saturday lifts your mind to elevated levels, favours law, far travel, higher learning, media and gentle love — all’s well here!

SCORPIO: Oct. 23-Nov. 21

Your thoughts, learning, and “vision of the world” will be accented until late July, Scorpio. This would usually be the time to buy cruise tix, start a lawsuit or publishing project, wed, or enter/apply for school. But this time, these are only workable and fortunate if they relate strongly to the past. E.g., you and your fiancé were supposed to marry months ago, but now a second chance comes. Or, you’re travelling to a place you’ve already visited, or to a former home. These are fine, but something brand new will fall into a hole of confusion, delay and mistakes. Don’t be impulsive in money or sex now to Aug. 11. Think twice. Your career and worldly standing are about to climb upward for a year — a pay raise is almost inevitable before Aug./27. Sunday and the wee hours of Monday are made for romance — but realize work, chemicals or too much talk can “crowd out” romance. Dive into chores Monday morning to Wednesday afternoon. You’ll get them done and finish on a positive note. Monday best. Wednesday afternoon to late afternoon Friday brings relationships, opportunities and opposition — a mixed bag. Secrets, intuition, large finances, lust for sex or power, medical and lifestyle decisions — these face you Friday eve and Saturday. Remember, nothing new. But if there’s someone or something from the past that you still want, make your bid now.

SAGITTARIUS: Nov. 22-Dec. 21

Secrets, heightened intuition, large finances, lust for sex or power, medical and lifestyle decisions — these fill your days until July 22, Sage. And the “retro” period of confusion, delays and mistakes lasts until July 23. So if in these areas someone or something returns from the past — e.g., a former investment you missed buying, a former intimate partner, etc. — then grab it! For many of you the buying opportunity, the sexual opening, has already occurred in the past 12 months, and July is either a “wrap up,” or a second chance to jump in. (But don’t jump into anything brand new.) You’ve been intrigued lately by someone good-looking, but this is passing. Now to mid-August, someone can be quite assertive toward you. You might fall in love. If single, the whole 12 months ahead offer love — of the wedding kind. They also offer worldwide travel, higher learning, law, media, in a hugely fortunate way! Sunday’s domestic (early Monday, too). Hug the family, rest, have a “back porch” day. All’s well, but don’t pursue romantic love or a creative (money?) project. Romance looms large Monday morning to Wed. Afternoon. Monday’s best. Tackle chores Wed. afternoon to late Friday afternoon. Eat, dress sensibly. A bumpy but drivable road to accomplishment. Relationships, opportunities and public appearances arise Friday eve through Sat. — all’s well, fortunate!

CAPRICORN: Dec. 22-Jan. 20

This month ends a year-long “lucky support” of relationships, Cap. You have faced more than usual, bigger than usual, opportunities — and opposition if you got into politics, religion, or such arguments. Now, July is a sort of “mopping up” month. There are no more great relationship opportunities, but this July will tend to call them back, to highlight those of the last 12 months, allowing you a second chance. But DO NOT start anything brand new before July 23. An old flame might return now. The 12 months ahead hold major “winnings” in finances, investments, sex and investigations. Watch your health, same 12 months — a minor problem can expand. Sunday, early Monday are for communicating, errands and paperwork — all’s good, but don’t involve (or speak of) family members. Then, suddenly, Monday morning to Wed. afternoon, your home becomes more important. Hug the family, garden, examine your relationships and situations — which are stale, not enriching your life anymore? Monday best. Romance, creative urges, happiness with kids, beauty, sports — these fill Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon. A bumpy but drivable path here. Tackle chores Friday eve, Saturday. You’ll get them done, easily. Thursday starts a few weeks of tender affection.

AQUARIUS: Jan. 21-Feb. 18

The general emphasis remains on work, health, machines and dependents until July 22, Aquarius. Eat and dress sensibly. Simultaneously, to July 23, the Mercury retrograde brings confusion, delays and mistakes. Launch nothing new before that date — push ongoing projects, or reprise one from the past. A bad time to buy machinery. Your mood will be lifted by romance, intrigue, and friendly reactions by others. Romance can be hot, intense until August 11. The year ahead, just beginning now (so not powerful yet in most people’s lives) will bring hugely fortunate partnerships in love and business, relocation, opportunities and fresh horizons. The year ahead could be a turning point in your life, a big one. Handle money, buy/sell, hug a casual friend Sunday and early Monday morning. All’s well, but avoid too much talk, and DO NOT commit to anything. Monday to Wed. afternoon brings, in a productive way, travel, communications and paperwork. Monday brings best results. Steer toward home, family Wed. afternoon to late Fri. afternoon. Hug the kids, garden, upgrade security, etc. Thursday best. Lucky romance, creative surges, a winning streak, charming kids, sports — these fill Friday eve through Saturday.

PISCES: Feb. 19-March 20

Ah, sweet romance! The general emphasis for the next few weeks, Pisces, will lie on love, creativity, kids, a winning streak, games/sports. These have been extra lucky for the past 12 months, but that luck ended June 30. Now, you can reprise one of those lucky events/openings, or keep on with one that remains lucky — but you’ll meet frustration if you try to start a brand new romance, creative work, or anything brand new before July 23. So yes, resurrect past (12 months’) glories! Your home and family might be friction-prone now to Aug. 11. Be gentle, understanding. For the 12 months ahead, your workload will expand, you might buy a good new machine, and/or make a bit more money. Your energy and charisma shine Sunday and early Monday. Get things done! (But don’t mix money and creativity or romance.) Chase $, buy/sell, pay bills, hug a sometime lover Monday to Wed. afternoon. Monday’s best. Wednesday afternoon to late Friday afternoon brings paperwork, errands, communications, and a restless feeling. Some minor frustrations, but you’ll succeed if patient. Friday eve through Saturday nudges you toward home and family, rest and contemplation, gardening and security. A benevolent, successful interval.

THE END.

AFTERAMBLE:

All improvement is a distortion. If every life is perfect, than every improvement is a further imperfection.

***

Well, I told you, right after Trump‘s last election victory, that the Democratic Party would have to split into two parties.
James Carville, the renowned Democratic strategist, is now saying the same thing.
Such a schism would, Inevitably, result in another Republican administration in 2028.

***

The FIFA World Cup might spell the death knell for the NFL.

***

There really is a reason for beginners luck. It’s allied to newness. Disruptors often have the advantage of surprise and confused response. Think about it this way: imagine four players sitting at a poker table. Three of them know each other well, have played for years, often with each other. They and their brains have formed certain trained responses, assumptions gained by long experience, and even some automatic reactions.
But the fourth player has hardly ever played poker, and is a newcomer to this group. So she sees things through a lens that is new and not available to the three old timers. Subconsciously she sees answers and directions that disrupt the habitual winning ways of the other three.

***

Marco Rubio, American Secretary of State, was born when the sun was in 6° Gemini. This degree brings high intelligence, but a cool heart. He earns respect and admiration, but not affection.
JD Vance, the vice president, is also intelligent, but also easily and smoothly slides into a charming self deprecation, or a joke, or a sincere but deeply thought out position. I don’t know if he’s acting or not, or if sometimes he is or not, but he’s very likable. He’s the only Republican male who has taken on the five sirens of The View and charmed them into liking him, even praising him.
His only knock, to me, is that he too “every man.”

***

War will actually benefit the North American economy from this summer to next. Perhaps through increased defence spending? Anyway, as I said before, the prospect of war will be with us for the next 13 years or so, especially naval wars. Iran was one of these. And the recent bombings of all the little drug boats in the Caribbean and Pacific is another example. From September 2027 to September 2028 war will simply be irrelevant to the US economy, but from autumn of ’28 to autumn of ’29, big things could burst out. Nothing nuclear, but big things.

***

THE NURSING

A Short Story by Tim

He lies in the room in the bright sunless twilight. The satin quilt won’t absorb the sweat on his hands. He hears her feet, pad, pad. He rises on one elbow. He says, “How are you?”
“Why do you say that?” she says, in a soft, careless tone.
He notices, flat on his back now, that his hand trembles as he draws it through his hair.
“I said, how are you?” he says.
“I’m here every day,” she says. “I’m here every day and you don’t know how I am?”
He can say, rising on one elbow, Oh, come on. I drove by the hospital today. I saw you. But he doesn’t, he merely rises, to watch her body. Her uniform drops to the floor, she steps from the coils. With a light, limp gesture, she drops her brassiere on the bed, on his ankles. He watches her breasts swing.
He hears the shower. He imagines her body, smooth, the beads rolling off it. The swaying puppies between her elbows as she rubs her face. Once she said, Rob, Rob, Rob, and he answered, awkwardly, Maureen. He sucks on this, like a stone picked up in the field. He remembers his last laugh, oily with self-fright.
Now she sits at the vanity, nude on her towel, rubbing something on her face and throat. He rises, the bed like a seismograph. He approaches the warm, wet slab of her back. To make up. With a sober movement, she rises, avoids him. He hasn’t. Unable. He stares at the mirror that a moment ago reflected her.
She’s dressing. She’s going out. Potato chips, mixers. He stares. She doesn’t like him staring. Embarrassed, he keeps silent, and keeps staring. She goes. He rolls over on the bed. He takes her discarded nurse’s uniform from the floor to feel the white, cool fabric. When she moves, it is as though a statue just stirred, sudden and eternal. He cannot make the statue move. The fading twilight. He’s ghostly in the mirror, grey. Do I affect you at all? What do you mean, affect? I don’t know what you mean by affect.
The ceiling light blossoms. It is like, when he killed someone, it would be that silent, lighting but not illuminating blossom in his mind; afterwards. Sometimes a second later, sometimes not for a minute, the car floating down the bright streets, or the next day — peace, like a slow ballet. But then he stops. He cannot make the statue move. When he approaches her from behind, lays an asking hand on her shoulder, only remains, just remains. It all remains.
Sometimes he is frozen. He waits, while his stomach hurts. Used to be his stomach hurt then, too. But then the peace, being driven away, the car dreaming through the obedient streets. Sometimes she moves, she teases, they wrestle on the floor, he tries to laugh, “Ahhh….heh, heh,” he pleads, stiff, an oily laugh. Stiff. Think everything through. Plan. Decide. Confusion. Used to be his feet knew which way to move, his eyes, without his help, knew what to see.
She works, she’s twenty-seven. He’s twenty-four. Maybe the government wanted him found. But now he lies on the bed. The streets bother him. He’s not sure of the streets anymore, not sure of his safety. He might meet Max, or Turd, or Lynn, asking where he’s been. Or maybe he’s made enemies. He doesn’t know. Enemies he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s Maureen who makes him lie on the bed. He doesn’t know if he changed his mind, or it was changed.
She didn’t respect the way he made money, though she didn’t know; she told him not to continue. I don’t like those people. Who? Them. He knows she doesn’t know exactly. Was that why he stopped? How did he arrive in this house? He wonders if the people he killed respected him. He wonders if they saw his movements, just a moment before, and thought, there’s an unusual young man, or: there’s horror. Maureen’s had a doctor. A lawyer. A newspaper man. Her picture in the paper. She’s never had a baby. The satin bed quilt won’t absorb the sweat in his hands.
He walks into the living room, perhaps to read. He doesn’t understand. Maureen reads, so he reads. Her books. Maureen lies in a thin film over the pages; their cryptic messages he takes for her soul. He searches and searches, but without depth, like a man who stares into the ocean and only sees the sky reflected. And today, he drove by the hospital where she works. Why, on the sidewalk as he passed, like a flower suddenly frozen, was she laughing in that doctors face? So he has stopped moving, can’t talk. Is that it? Has he found a nothing, where he should have been different?
They rent the house.
He hears her arrive, the staccato of her heels tacking down, what. His apprehension. He rises. He hovers. She enters the room, stops, stares at him, arms clasped around a bag. She speaks. He extracts a wet finger, rubbing guiltily on his pants. Nothing, he says. He waits for another clue, but she turns, walking towards the kitchen. No No Nnph, says the swinging door. His stomach hurts. He re-enters the bedroom, to sleep. The guests will arrive soon. He imagines her contempt for him, inviting all these strangers. He enters the kitchen. Help me, his eyes say. She does not notice, although she knows. She slices onions. Then he’s ashamed.
He re-enters the bedroom. He dozes, but a violent roar, internal, wakes him. The end of a laugh. Was she laughing? He goes to take a shower, surreptitiously to investigate. The telephone. Her voice stops. He passes, his stomach pushing against his chest. He showers, dries, sweats. Voices, on the other side of the door. He stops, one leg in his pants, to listen. He cannot understand them. The stereo booms. The Rolling Stones.
He fingers his glass, turning it slowly on his knee. He is sitting alone, politely watching a voluble group. A woman’s hand held in the air, long rigid fingers; high, protesting voice. Laughter. They are like the books, pretty things, thin and complicated things. His understanding glances off their sheen. Like the books, they tell stories. But he cannot understand the story, although he understands the stories. He cannot understand what he should say.
He knows stories too, but they are all – they are all — his mind shrugs, fluid. His hand, as though with memory, makes a movement. He thinks, it must be the drink, he hasn’t made that movement for so long, he hasn’t forgotten, or maybe there was no need to, and now, with the drink. He walks to the kitchen. He steps back. Maureen stares at him. He swallows, stares. Confused, thin, supple sadness. He retreats.
He laughs. He thinks of going around the party: have you seen it? About 3 pounds? For my hand, I need it for my hand.
“So you’re Maureen’s boyfriend! You’re so quiet! Why don’t you mix? Come on, mix.” A woman, gaudy and perfect as a bird. She takes his arm and propels him to a group. But he stands, shy, and leaves when he can. The sweat in his hands won’t absorb into his pants. His pants catch at his knees. His belt catches awful at his fingers. He stands around, waiting for instructions. Instructions won’t catch at his pants. Lips won’t twist glass into rubber. – She is there, Maureen’s there, half sitting, half on her back on the couch. He watches her through the dancers and the smoke, the dim red light. He thinks, he will drift, casually. Her thighs shine; he imagines, remembers, her moist privacy. He will exchange a deliberate, lazy, confident word. He circles, his eyes carefully averted. Or, they glance off her. But it’s not her. In the dark, the shifting smoke, he sees a blonde, a doppelganger; suddenly, surprisingly, not her. He sees two or three guests observing him. He walks away quickly, furtively, weightless legs.
He enters the bedroom, to consume time. Maureen is sitting on the bed like a wax flower, legs crossed, slim arms heavy as gold. A burly man in a grey suit, maybe a doctor, sits beside her, elbows on knees. The doctor raises his head, crinkles his brow. His eyes squint through thick glasses. This is a private conversation, the doctor says. Because he doesn’t know who I am, he thinks. “Would you like to die?” He says. But he doesn’t speak, he waits helplessly. But she doesn’t speak. He leaves the room, privacy like hypnotism swarming over, overwhelming him.
He decides to walk to the front door. He decides to take another shower. He decides to pick up a woman. He decides everyone is watching him. He has only to say, I’ve —that’s how it was with Maureen. He said, I’ve — and then the blank, the blank that intrigued her. But she’s not intrigued any more. Her swaying doves. That he cupped in his hand. Or did she merely never say no, months ago? For an instant he understands and he doesn’t understand. How he is trapped in this suppleness. How he waits. How he cannot pick up a woman, or this party will never end, or he could walk to the front door and back again, or anything, yes, no, the 3 pounds, the café, crack! : for an instant glory, rebellion, rise in him. He sits proudly, like a despondent king, in an armchair, surveying the citizens. He sips very deliberately, but to no avail: his glass is empty again.
He decides he sees her disappearing through a doorway. No, No, Nnph. Yes. So he’s alone with her, in the kitchen. Counter studded with bottles, rye, vodka. She is flushed and excited, but not by him. Like a schoolgirl on the bus, and he feels an envy for her youth and vitality. His eyes like mouths, sucking. He’s distracted; her attention is on the swinging door that muffles the sound of a sudden but eternal activity. Thieves plunder the house. He knows their movements, they are quick, like dancers. Supple. He watches her eyes. How was your drive today? she says, helping him, but without conviction, without caring. And he: Fine. How was the hospital? And she: hateful again. I stole some Valiums again. And he: I’m sorry. (For months she has lain in bed at night, clicking her nails.)
She looks at him, steadily. And suddenly animated, fluttering around him because he blocked her way. Saying, Why don’t you do something? Why don’t you do anything? Christ! Then she says in a new voice, hermetically sealed from the old one, a voice for the party, I need more cigarettes! Who has one? and she starts out the swinging door, and he says, Tell him I’m your lover. Who? she says. Who is that doctor? he says. What doctor? Is he a doctor? He stumbles, apologetic. Who? she says. I’m not a doctor, he says. I have, he says, he turns, not to see her, determined; that is, unable. I’m sorry, he remembers.
It’s the hospital, she says later, apologetic. It makes me smoke. He has come to stand beside her tentatively, like a married man, like strollers in the park, almost counting on her not noticing so she doesn’t react, rebel. The burly doctor pinches her in his passing, lurching. Her neck twists to the doctor’s flirting retreat, laughing, her eyes big as a cow, and charming, blinking. Robert, for one part second, thinks of destroying that thick neck; but turns also, pretends he hasn’t seen; he disappears among the dancers. Supple into the kitchen. He stares out the kitchen window.
He thinks of Lynn, who gave him his first street job. Who seemed bored by him after that. So he lived alone for a while, and then he lived with a girl who drank and stared out the window, and her teeth went grey and mossy, and then he lived alone again in a hotel room, rooms, rooms, and did his jobs, cities and flights and cities and at first it was okay in the dreaming cars, but then it was worse, and Max and Turd’s faces were strange, strangely unfamiliar, as though something else lived in them the fuck are this anyway, and he started staying alone, and he started reading his horoscope in the newspaper, and he was scared of the street, he didn’t know exactly why, like being scared of a shrill telephone. He thinks he hears Maureen behind him, or Lynn, but his mind is halfway out the window, he turns slowly, but anyway she is gone. He goes slowly through the swinging door. He hears her laughing, okay, okay.
She is laughing, twisted, kneeling on the carpet. It’s some game, with foot and hand prints, that you have to contort to. The doctor lunges in, pinches her, and jumps back spryly, deep, soft chuckles. Her friends stand around, hooting and clapping. He wonders what a doctor is, or a lawyer. He watches, fascinated by their bravery and ease, these perfect, egotistical beings. His woman, that man. Is their abandon a result of some subterranean cleverness? He turns so Maureen, whose breast has popped from her velvet dress, will not see him helpless. He thinks, she might scratch it on the carpet. Her head jerks back as she sits up. Her breast floats like a drunken dove. He sees her tuck it away, to modest laughter and oh’s.
He starts walking. He has a desire to walk to the front door. He has a desire to walk quickly to the kitchen. He stops, poised, as though to leap or run, a statue. The party surrounds him, sudden and eternal. His head on his neck. With its voices, clinking, music. He starts walking. Pardon me. Excuse me. He searches the party vigorously, for invisibility.
They’re banging on the door. He rises from the toilet seat, stops. The door’s locked, he remembers swiftly. They’re jiggling the knob. He sits again. The light is too bright; it cannot withstand their knocking. Hey, whatsa hold up? He turns to speak, but she is not perched on the bathtub’s edge. He sees a ghost in the mirror. Behind the ghost is himself, staring in fear at himself. Behind the house there’s a field. He lowers himself onto the gravel, hands first, his toes catching on the small window’s ledge.
Because his eyes don’t care, he closes them as he walks. Because after a while he doesn’t know where he is, he flops to his knees. He curls his hands into his chest as he lies, bent, on his side. Sticks, rocks, sharp leaf stems dig into him. He lies awake, lucidly, sharply awake, and begins to shiver. He sleeps. Then wakes, and cannot sleep. Holding himself, shivering in the unmoved night, searching, he remembers, just a fluke, what he had shouted out when leaving the barracks: “I’m not fully developed yet.” It’s all he has, so he keeps repeating, through the hours, “I’m not fully developed yet.” Lying rigid through the night.
Shivering, he watches the pink blue dawn. His feet itch. He turns to lie so he can see the house. It rises in the early sun, whiter. Gliding cars, guns, cash registers. He rises, walks, feeling his face jar with each step. She stands in the back doorway, in her pink quilted housecoat. One hand, white arm outstretched, cups the edge of the door behind her. He can hardly see the hand, though; the hot white wall stings his eyes.
“How are you?” he says.
“I said how are you,” he insists. He remains poised, unable to enter, to push forward. She retreats with a sleepy, thoughtful scowl. She’s left the door open. He sits in the kitchen, alone, waiting. He imagines he can hear whispering, but how can he hear whispering all the way from the bedroom? Maybe it’s the front hall. He decides merely to wait. He sees he must go a long way.
He sees he must wait forever. He’s glad there is no gun in the basement. He’s glad he’s forgotten all those telephone numbers. He thinks how he must go a long way, how he will make no progress, how he will wait anyway, sucking on the waiting like a stone.

/30/