The Niceman Cometh (Back)

Hey guys, I'm back, as promised. Mercury finally went direct this eve, so I have no more excuse not to post. Plus, I missed my cyber audience way too much :)

So, what have I been up to? Lots of intense personal stuff. Sessions with the new shrink aren't particularly easy. Not exactly a cake walk. And that's mostly because my ego always manages to sneak into the time spent with shrink lady behind my back. Once comfortably seated, it sort of yawns, stretches once or twice, then lazily flicks its non-existent wrist to crank up the frustration as the shrink proceeds to yank my chain.

No allowances for oh-so-sad personal narratives and no letting me spin out the latest angst or tale of doom or fury or self-hatred.

Nah. Not allowed. Shrink lady is there to leap into the fray, shut down the ego's rants by asking pointed (in criminal procedure they're called 'leading') questions about whether said rants denoted positive or negative thinking.

It's infuriating because, obviously, she's leading the session and I'm paying good money for her time so I don't want to waste it by not playing ball. But my ego hates it. Hates, hates, hates it. Really wants to bash away at her or, at least, fight back, using what it likes to remind me is my Superior Intellect. Because really, if we had met at some casual get-together or drinks or whatnot, says my ego, I'd have been eagerly trading views with her on Stuff (stuff esoteric, stuff psychological, stuff anthropological, stuff astrological, stuff theological and so on and so forth, ad infinitum ab nauseam, world without end, amen). And I'd have given as good as I got.

Now just to be perfectly clear: the shrink is not a heavy. I know I've made her sound like John Rambo in a dress, but she ain't - though given the over-active imagination, I profusely wish I hadn't gone there.

She is a very well-educated, obviously intelligent, experienced, strong and (unbelievably annoyingly positive) a person.

She has clients scheduled back-to-back, so she's obviously very competent. And, like I say, I suspect we'd get on if she weren't my shrink. But she is, and my ego hates how it loses whether or not I listen to her. If I pay heed to what's being said, the ego's manipulations, its strategies to keep me a victim and its steady flow of sabotaging self-doubt and anxiety get 86'd. If it doesn't listen and goes mano-a-mano with la shrinque, using intellectual snobbery (or just plain arrogance along the lines of "heard this all before baby, ain't yuh got nuthin' noo?") I waste my time and money.

Did I mention my ego hates this process? It hates it.

Nevertheless, I believe ma psychologue is worth the time, endurance, patience and the moolah. I believe she will help me get out of the negative rut I struggle to leave daily.

When my hackles haven't been rising at soul doc's modus operandi, I've been taking Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL - the British equivalent of TESOL) classes in the evenings, initiating production for a play end of May (more on that in future posts) and signing up to learn the Munay-Ki rites from a local healer/shaman.

In other words, there's been plenty to keep me busy. I even have a job to apply for tomorrow.

As for that upcoming full moon.... I'm hopin' the Virgo lunar eclipse on Wednesday won't rain too much on my parade - to mix my metaphors thoroughly. I'll keep all 'o yous in the loop.



The illustration was modified after being taken from this site.

Revisiting Solo, Or Freelancing the Mercury Rx in Aquarius Way...

There may be hiatuses ahead, good people, during which I may not be able to post some days.

Fact is, Mercury is now retrograde in Aquarius (ie. in my sixth house of, among other things, mundane, busy work), so, despite the good intentions, things like the blog - to which I dutifully try to post each evening - may be put on the backburner in lieu of more merc-in-ret activities: namely reflection, inner 'communication', meditation and a review of projects of yore (memo to self: re-read background materials on a real-live mercurial shapeshifter of the early 20th century, in prep for a future feature script).

Rest assured, the posts will pick up in consistency once the communication deity turns direct. We're talkin' as of February 19.

Meanwhile, I leave you with an article from Mother Jones by Kiera Butler, whose point - that despite its much-touted flexibility and freedom, freelancing from home is ultimately a poor substitute for the needful social stimulation and interaction of the more traditional office environment - I have recently found to be true for me, despite my hitherto staunch conviction that I was happy being a lone wolf forever.

Butler's opening paragraphs for "Practical Values: Works Well With Others" read thusly:

Last October, Rep. Frank Wolf wrote the White House with a radical proposal to promote "environmental stewardship, family values and energy independence." In asking President Bush to designate a National Telework Week, the Virginia Republican evoked the promise of a nation without two-hour commutes, veal-pen cubicles, petty workplace politics, or disgusting communal coffeepots. "Wouldn't it be great," he wrote, "if we could replace the evening rush hour commute with time spent with the family, or coaching little league or other important quality of life matters?"

Yeah, that would be great. Trouble is, when your home is your office, the boundaries between work and personal time dissolve. Distractions (cable, fridge, couch) lurk everywhere. But the biggest problem is social: Without the companionship of office mates—even the Dwight Schrutes of the world—telecommuters and freelancers can feel unmotivated and lonely. Which may explain why the virtual office remains largely hype. The telecommuting lobby claims that 100 million Americans will work remotely by 2010. But in 2004, only 13.7 million did. Of those, only 2 million were working full-time from home.

As shocking as it may sound, we may actually need the office, despite its reputation as a soul-sucking pit of conformity and monotony. In a recent analysis of 40 years of research, Stephen Humphrey, a professor of management at Florida State University's business school, found a strong correlation between the level of social interaction at work and job satisfaction and productivity. He also found that this correlation has strengthened over time—that now more than ever, the office has become a refuge of sorts. "It used to be that everyone could hang out around the watercooler—now we telecommute or spend two hours in our cars on the way to work," he says. "We suddenly start to realize, we miss socializing—and we need it."

I found the article particularly salient given that, wirelessly providing amanuensis-like/communications-type work, is particularly mercurial, and having to rethink the merits of such seemingly liberating (but isolated) labour is very Mercury-retrograde-in-Aquarius.

Indeed, as you continue to read (click here for the rest of the article), the solution to the conundrum is nothing less than a revolutionary re-evaluation of the freelancing set-up, based on reclaiming the benefits of human/societal interaction, albeit in a non-traditional way.

As I say... very Mercury Rx in the sign of the Water Bearer!



The illustration depicts a bust of Mercury and is taken from this site.

Dies Irae

SALIERI: Capisco! I know my fate. Now for the first time I feel my emptiness as Adam felt his nakedness ... [Slowly he rises to his feet.] Tonight at an inn somewhere in this city stands a giggling child who can put on paper, without actually setting down his billiard cue, casual notes which turn my most considered ones into lifeless scratches. Grazie, Signore! You gave me the desire to serve you - which most men do not have - then saw to it that the service was shameful in the ears of the server. Grazie! You gave me the desire to praise you - which most do not feel - then made me mute. Grazie tante! You put into me perception of the Incomparable - which most men never know! - then ensured that I would know myself forever mediocre. [His voice gains power.] Why? ... What is my fault? ... Until this day I have pursued virtue with vigour. I have labored long hours to serve my fellow men. I have worked and worked the talent you allowed me. [Calling up.] You know how hard I've worked! - solely that in the end, in the practice of the art which alone makes the world comprehensible to me, I might hear Your Voice! And now I do hear it - and it says only one name: MOZART! ... Spiteful, sniggering, conceited, infantine Mozart - who has never worked one minute to help another man! - shit-talking Mozart with his botty-smacking wife! - him you have chosen to be your sole conduct! And my only reward - my sublime privilege - is to be the sole man alive in this time who shall clearly recognize your Incarnation! [Savagely.] Grazie e grazie ancora! [Pause.] So be it! From this time we enemies, You and I! I'll not accept it from You - Do you hear? ... They say that God is not mocked, I tell you Man is not mocked! I am not mocked! ... They say the spirit bloweth where it listeth: I tell you NO! It must list to virtue, or not blow at all! [Yelling.] Dio Ingiusto! - You are the Enemy! I name Thee now - Nemico Eterno! And this I swear. To my last breath I shall block you on earth, as far as I am able! [He glares up at God. To the audience.] What use, after all, is man, if not to teach God His lessons?



From Peter Shaffer's Amadeus

Illustration taken from a poster for 30 Days of Night owned by Columbia pictures.

"And Cut..."

To his Leading Lady


I may not be much to look at,
at the trendier cocktail parties,
since wit is still no match for what,
despite political correctness.

But once you choose to speak
my lines, to occupy my frame,
you are intellectual property. Each
take is subject solely to my whim.

I cast you, wooed you, would you
move a little further to the left?
That’s nice, and now - repeat.
The lens records, adjust your feet.

How does it feel to know you’re played?

When this is done, and we part ways
if we should meet at yet more soulless
dos, ignore, embrace, gush, praise
or damn me to my face or others’,

we both know how you obeyed
my orders, let me tune you, put
your secrets on display. Laid
open, you were treasured

only inasmuch as your poor
beauty fleshed my dream.



Illustration by Tanner Morrow and can be found here.