I'm not inclined to take astrology very seriously. I actually have many characteristics that people identify with my sign, and i tend to identify myself as Virgo, but i really don't give a crap about it. It seems like an awful waste of time and energy for people to go and consult some supposed intuitive expert about who or what one ought to be.

I do think it makes a difference when you were born and where. I was born in early fall, and i find that time of year exhilerating. Not so much here in Florida, -- It has to do with the change of the seasons. I realize that I was probably concieved around christmas or new years and that does something for me too.

I used to read Tarot cards, and I found that it didnot work well for people who believed that they were intiuitive of psychic.I did great readings for people who didn't belive in the occult, because i told them what the face value of the cards meant and then asked them how they felt about that. To me It was bsically a Rorscharc. The system behind the cards  made it possible to project a  wide variety of experiences and beliefs onto a  small set of symbols.

I tend to think of astrology as a timekeeping method. I was always  interested in the stars as a child.  My parents taught celestial navigation, and  i realize that it is possible to uses the stars as a map and a calendar.
I think that we could make better use of the ephemeris if we used it to record dates in our journals.You don't have to worry about what the planets mean, just record what sign they are in in your journal and write about what is going on in your life. You can organize it according to the area of life that each planet rules, --Venus rules love,-- but try and be open minded. Don't let the planets tell you what is going on. Just use them to mark down the days and acknowlege cycles like the moon.

The calendar does tell us what day it is, and any one can extrapolate what was going on astrologically but why not get an ephemeris and record the data yourself. After a while you will begin to notice your own patterns, in emeotions and activities, and the astrological data will be there along side you journal.
Being aware of where the tars nd planets is a way of being in touch with the world.
In 1999 there was an amazing conjunction, which was visible in the western sky at sunset, and a visible comet just a year or two before.  I was very aware of these things. I could look up any day and see this spectacle changing. I mentioned this to some of my colleages and they were dismissive. they didn't seem to believe that the stars we were looking at were jupiter, venus, saturn and mars. To them it was impossible that you could see those in the sky and know for sure what you were seeing.

discipline is not denying your self, but choosing the time and place.

"Don't like that at all," says Jill.

"Neither do I," say Jab.

"I like the one about the little soulworms that fly out of the nest for the resurrection. Jill's got one inside her too... it's sprouting and sprouting. Can't stop it. Yesterday it was a tadpole, tomorrow it'll be a honey-suckle vine. Can't tell what it's going to be yet... not eventually. It dies in the nest every day and the next day it's born again. Put your ear on her belly... you can hear the whirring of its wings. Whirrrr... whirrrr. Without a motor. Wonderful! She's got millions of them inside her and they're all whirring around in there dying to get out. Whirrr... whirrrr. And if you just put a needle inside and punctured the bag they'd all come whirring out... imagine it... a great cloud of soul-worms... millions of them... and so thick the swarm that we wouldn't be able to see each other... A fact! No need to write about China.Write about that! About what's inside of you... the great vertiginous vertebration... the zoospores and the leucocytes... the wamroths and the holenlindens... every one's a poem.

"The jellyfish is a poem too _ the finest kind of poem. You poke him here, you poke him there, he slithers and slathers, he's dithy and clabberous, he has a colon and intestines, he's vermiform and ubisquishous. And Mowgli in the garden whistling for the rent, he's a poem too, a poem with big ears, a wambly bretzular poem with logamundiddy of the goo-goo. He has round, auricular daedali, round robin-breasted ruches that open up like an open barouche. He wambles in the wambhorst whilst the whelkin winkles... he wabbles through the wendish wikes whirking his worstish wights... Mowgli... owgli... whist and wurst...."

"He's losing his mind," says Jill.

"Wrong again," says Jabber. "I've just found my mind, only it's different sort of mind than you imagined.

From Black Spring by Henry Miller

I read this bit on David Brin's Blog. I actually agree with the the idea of paying taxes responsibly.

Just a month after the birth of my first child*, I began a yearly practice that I recommend to all Americans, who both love their country and want to see the next generation less-burdened by the wastefulness of ours.  Beyond honestly and carefully paying whatever taxes that I owe, I also send a small and entirely separate donation to the U.S. Treasury, to be applied against the National Debt.  It isn’t much - a gesture - but it seems a good way to express not only faith and commitment, but also rejection of the Cult of Selfishness that got us into this mess.  If you feel as I do, then look for the address and instructions, below.

If interested in helping promote this tradition, send your check (made out to US Treasury) to the Treasure Dept: Bureau of Public Debt, PO Box 2188, Parkersburg WV, 26106-2188.  Send enough so that their time logging it and sending a thank you note isn’t a net loss to our kids, okay?  And feel free to use this, next time some ranting flag-waver fool tries to “out-patriot” you.  (Of course, tutoring at a homework club accomplishes much more...)

Ideally we would be able to direct our money to the appropriate 'agency'

O you, who hears in scattered verse the sound
Of all those sighs with which my heart I fed,
When I, by youthful error was misled,
Unlike my present self in passion drowned;
Who hears the woes, the pleadings that abound
Throughout my song, by hopes and vain griefs bred;
If ever true love its influence over you shed,
Oh ! let your pity be with pardon crowned.
But now full well I see how to the crowd
For a long time I proved a public jest:
E'ven by myself my folly is allowed:
And of my vanity what's left is shame,
Repentance, and a knowledge deep impressed,
That worldly pleasure is a passing dream.

Francesco Petrarch

Sonnet 1 To Laura in Life

Translated by the Rev. Nott

People really suck.
  Don't you think?  Maybe one out of a hundred are actually worth talking to. What's your opinion?

pɹoɥɔ ɹouıɯ ɐ uo
ƃuıpuǝ ɹɐǝʎ ɹǝɥʇouɐ
˙uoısıʌ ʎɯ ɟo ɹǝuɹoɔ ǝɥʇ ʞɔıu
ǝɔɐɟ ɹnoʎ ɟo sǝıɹoɯǝɯ ɟɟo ɹɐɟ
˙ʇuǝs-un ʇɟǝl pɹɐɔ ǝuo
˙uǝʇʇıɹʍ-un ʇɟǝl ɹǝʇʇǝl ǝuo
˙pǝlʇʇǝsun suıɐɯǝɹ
ʇɹɐǝɥ ʎɯ uı ƃuıɥʇǝɯos
˙ɹɐʇs ʇsɹıɟ ǝɥʇ ǝʞıl ʇɥƃıɹq
˙ʇsɐǝ ɥʇnos ǝɥʇ uı ʍol sƃuıʍs snuǝʌ
˙ɹǝuuıp ɹoɟ sʇıɐʍ puɐ
ʇǝǝɟ sıɥ punoɹɐ lıɐʇ sıɥ slɹnɔ
ʇɐɔ ǝʇıɥʍ puɐ ʞɔɐlq ɐ
˙ƃuıuǝʌǝ ɐpıɹolɟ looɔ ǝɥʇ uı
ɹǝɯɯıɥs uılopuɐɯ ɐ uo sllıɹʇ