I’ve been thinking about “The Poseidon Adventure” a lot lately as a planetary metaphor, especially as the heavenly waters of Pisces have flooded over us the past ten days. Just a quick re-cap. “The Poseidon Adventure” was one of director Irwin Allen’s successful disaster flicks of the 70’s. Allen capitalized on the traumatized spirits of the silent generation and their depression era parents by offering up campy worst case scenario films like “Poseidon” and “Towering Inferno.” Those two, along with “Airport” and “Earthquake” created the disaster elemental quartet. Gotta fear? Don’t worry, we’ll find the right medium to play upon it and scare the hell out of you. Traveling via plane? No problem. We’ll just stick a desperate old salesman on board with a home made bomb and blow the shit out of it. To this day, whenever I board a jet, I remember people being hoovered out the side of a Boeing at 20,000 feet from “Airport.”
Irwin Allen was the “Master of Disaster.” He was also at the controls of the campy “Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea,” “Lost In Space” and “The Time Tunnel.” The Time Tunnel was remotely interesting. Rumor has it that it was based on the Philadelphia Experiment. But I digress.
Here’s a few ruminations on the symbolism of Poseidon from a meta-Piscean perspective. The ship is headed from New York to Greece. As it steams towards Greece, it won’t take on any ballast (debt?) and is engulfed by a giant wave caused by an undersea quake. Since the ship has no ballast, it literally flips over. The vacationers are now living in an upside down world, where they have to get to the bottom of the boat, which is ass up to get out. See where I’m going with all of this? They are even led by Gene Hackman who plays a Catholic priest struggling with his faith. I can’t think of anything more Piscean/Chironic than this. And of course there’s that good old sacrificial element that gets play. How can we have a Piscean disaster epic without an imitation of Christ? Allen is an interfaith martyr maker though. Shelly Winters plays Betty Rosen, on her way to Israel to see her grandson. She too dies in the service of saving the survivors, falling to a heart attack after freeing Hackman, trapped in a submerged engine room.
But the idea here, the metaphor is, is that we’re living in an upside down world; Lies are truth. Security is freedom. Fear is love. War is peace. We’ve been turned upside down, ass end up. The only way out is through the bottom, not the top.
FURTHER DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE
In my last post, I talked about the journey down the rabbit hole and the resultant shock and trauma that goes along with it. Well today, while half of the internet was rushing to the aid of Sandra Fluke, ready to stone and rack Rush Limbaugh, another, darker, more grim story emerges out of the crypt of certified child molestation.
In Ohio, an un-named man was arrested for molesting and pimping out his ten-year-old ADOPTED son, one of four children he had adopted. Two other men were named in this lurid tale of what appears to be covert enabling with an adoption center out of Texas. He was another pillar of the community type. Basketball coach, president of the Foster Parents Association. You get the drift. Amazing how they have not yet identified him, but they have outed two of his accomplices.
When Saturn moves into Scorpio, we’re going to see a lot more of this. A LOT. We’re getting a glimpse of it at the final degrees of Saturn in Libra; The ceremonial rape of innocence.
Go ahead, pile on Rush Limbaugh, whose Capricorn Sun is a more than able sacrificial goat, caught in the snares of today’s Cardinal T-Square. He’s a bully mashed in his pulpit, but as you vex and flex over the vain glories of a deeply misguided man, just remember, Jerry Sandusky is sitting at home, sipping the adult beverage of his choice while he faces over fifty counts of sexual abuse (when most of us would be behind bars) and is allowed to interact with children. . .freely.
The whole Limbaugh thing reminds me of the scene in Platoon where they find Manny, throat slashed and tied to a tree, down by the river. The maniacal Barnes, played menacingly well by Tom Berenger goes on a rampage in the nearby village and Charlie Company are desperate to take out their fury on someone, something, anything.
Its been three years since Obama was elected and the country has gone so far south that a lot of people need GPS to find their heads and pull them out of the collective asshole. Most people I know are unemployed or underemployed. These are whip smart people with college degrees and lots of solid, real world experience. They’re living on vapor and faith–an apt metaphor for the Piscean diet of etheric smoothies. Obama has done little to boost the dollar and bolster confidence. But that was the plan not necessarily his plan from the jump. The people that believed and trusted in him, his base, are really pissed, but they are simmering in a vat of denial. They’re angry at the Republican Party, the Tea Party, the Donner Party, you name it. They’re fucking pissed but they would never direct it at the party and the leadership that has brought them as much war as Bush and stepped on their personal rights and freedoms as much as any wretched ole republican would.
The two party dialectic has gone off like a time bomb inside of them, obliterating any loss of faith and utter disappointment. They want blood. They want a blood Rush.
Meanwhile, the right is just a little numb over the death of one of their stalwarts, a larger-then-life and “controversial” figure named “Andrew Breitbart.”
COSMIC PROFILE OF A RADICAL CONSERVATIVE
Its hard to get a read on Andrew Breitbart from a number of angles and perspectives. He was adopted. Irish by birth, he was raised Jewsih in a well off family in Brentwood. His father, Gerald, owned Fox and Hounds, a landmark Tudor-style Santa Monica restaurant that later became the punk rock club Madame Wong’s West. His mother, Arlene, was an executive at Bank of America in Beverly Hills and downtown L.A.
As a teen, he delivered pizza to the stars. Breitbart eventually wound up at Tulane University, where he stumbled through a degree in American Studies. His words, not mine. When Reagan was elected and Clarence Thomas did the perp walk, Breitbart had an epiphany of sorts, which led to the formation of a quasi-libertarian consciousness.
Being that he was adopted, getting the true birth time is nearly impossible. We know that he was born on 2/1/69. which would technically make him an Aquarian Monkey, which roughly translates into a world class shit disturber.
He shared his birth date with Brandon Lee, Rick James and Jani Lane, all three of whom now share death with Breitbart. Brandon Lee’s death, like his father’s (Bruce), is clouded with conspiracy. But there is another figure, who, like Breitbrart, also born on 2/1 that died a mysterious death at a very young age. That person is Jessica Savitch, America’s first, hard news reporter/anchorwoman.
In spite of her flashy. Farrah Fawcett-like looks, Savitch was a serious reporter. Her last assignment was interviewing the Italian banker, Roberto Calvi aka “God’s Banker” due to the fact that he did the books for The Vatican and some say, “The Priory Of Scion.” Shortly after his talk with Savitch, Calvi was found hanging by his neck underneath a bridge. This scene is played out by Heath Ledger in the film, “The Imaginarium Of Dr. Parnassus.”
Rumors have abounded for years that Calvi was a high level member of Freemasonry and the “Illuminati” and was going rogue. Savitch was one of the last people to talk with him. She and her boyfriend wound up in a canal after leaving a restaurant in their car. They both drowned.
It is rumored that Breibart has video of Obama from college that presents a very different picture of POTUS. In his words, “This time (election cycle) we’re going to vet him.” The caustic radio-talk-show host Michael Savage (not Savitch) has essentially said that “Breitbart” was killed by the Obama administration.
The Falstaffian (Sun trine Jupiter) new media pundit supposedly died from a “heart attack.” The latest coming out of the LA coroners office is that it will be weeks before they will release a cause of death. He was out for a night walk outside his house and that was it.
His last days were filled with irony and prophecy. Breitbart, Tucker Carlson and one of his buddies had dinner with Bill Ayers and Bernadine Dorn at their place on Super Bowl Sunday. There, over Korean short ribs and quinoa. Breitbart drank and joked with a silver-tailed-head of the hydra. He also alluded to 3/1 as the day that would set off some real fireworks. It was the day he died.
Astrologically, he literally had a killer Yod in his chart with the True Node in Aries at 1 degree and Chiron in Aries at 0 degrees, opposed by Jupiter and Uranus in Libra at 5 and 3 respectively. With his True Node in Aries at 1 degree, he wasn’t here for any sort of Libran supplication–that was the back end and in past lives. This life was about confrontation and will, With transiting Uranus sitting on both, he was ready to take some big risks–really big risks. Maybe too big for even a larger than life figure like him, especially with an explosive Uranus/Uranus opposition.
Not one to shy away from confrontation, he re-tweeted every single nasty tweet sent his way. He reveled in being reviled in a way that only someone with that Aries TN could handle and absorb the heat from.
In fact, his chart is marked by opposition(s) (nine in total). Venus (Pisces/29/Anaretic) opposed both Uranus and Pluto in Virgo. He was shocking and he had enemies on both sides of the left/right dialectic. While Breitbart was a red, white and blue conservative, he had a streak of pink running through him. He was on the advisory board of GOProud a GOP gay group. He also supported the “Homocons” at the American Conservative Union in 2011. Like a good, radical Aquarian, he delighted in yanking chains on both sides. He was a cosmic agent provocateur of sorts. I didn’t know him personally, but I know he had four kids that he loved dearly and I know that there are some liberals that have publicly delighted in his untimely demise; Bad form no matter how you slice it.
On the flip side I heard some conservative talking heads on the radio this morning, goading callers into labeling the troubled Nadia Lockyer a tramp, trollop, slut, you name it. Lockyer is the 30ish wife of 70ish Califiornia State treasurer and lifelong pol, John Lockyer. Nadia has the hundred-yard prison stare and harlequin grin in nearly every photo. Its the same kind of goofy, Stepford look that Sarah Palin, Clarissa Gingrich and Cindi McCain sport. She’s obviously unraveling from some kind of programming, flitting in and out of rehab, hooking up with an edgy tweaker. One moment they’re lionizing Breitbart, the next they’re sticking voodoo pins into Lockyer. This is why we’re hurtling like Mr. Toad across the ecliptic. People on both sides of the phony dialectic are pissed and they’re taking it out on each other. Oldest trick on the planet. Just remember what Yeats once said; “The worst are filled with passionate intensity, while the best lack all conviction.”
Say a prayer for the good folks in the cyclonic south and mideast. The New Madrid needs some rest.