Sun, Uranus, Pluto, Attention/Tension Exorcism, Delta T-Square–Free Your Signal

Art-official-intelligence

The compass needle seems to be drifting south. The true north is descending past the cities and the urbanization of my modern mind. I’m gravitating back towards the untamed possibilities of jazz, listening to Lester and Roscoe whistle, honk, blast and wail all the way back to Amenhotep, with a stop at Beale Street along the way. Jazz, true jazz is the unfettered voice of liberation, pushing outwards at the boundaries of form.

As we dissolve into the early moments of the 30th of March, the planets tug and strain in a complex passion play of eternal sky. The Sun, Moon and Pluto are triangulated and tense. So many needs and wants, so many demanding points of agreement and negotiated supplication.

In the Moon, we want complete and utter empathy, to be in the embrace of another that needs no explaining, no preamble or backstory, just the eternal, pure acceptance that is the unconditional surrender of loving and being loved.

Cancer brings familial overtones and currents of legacy, generations that multiply far into the future, seeding stars from the blue green ovum of our shared dream.

On the other side, in harsh opposition to this embryonic urge to re-populate the stars, is the dominant theme of our post-911 world. Pluto. Capricorn. Its tempering us, making us street-wise and galactically hip. We’re getting good at sniffing out cons and clones. The same type of steel-willed and hoary esotericism that’s been leaking down through the ages, ever since the first blood sacrifices were spilled in Babylon is changing us. Hardening. Tempering. We are not unaware of the great crimes of our time and as more eyes open, more hearts expand, more minds stretch, we’ll be able to handle incremental doses of the horror and fouled stench of our so-called history. Only, if only, we can resist the temptation to lash out and find the most immediate wicker man to burn at a moments notice.

Beware the passionate and dammed up indignation, to address the litany of wrongs done onto you. The men in the stove-top hats are counting on you getting your cords plucked and tweaked at every new social crisis, till you’re playing far out of tune. From Syria to Sanford they’re spinning our attention like a yo-yo in a cats cradle.

The much talked about resistance isn’t the kind you’ll find clogging streets or hammering the air with fists, its far more subtle and penetrating. Its a call to resist the most obscene manipulation of your emotions and ultimately your mind. Pluto and Capricorn are making us far stronger in this regard. We’re in the masters program now. All of us.

Then there’s the Sun and Uranus, the apex of the pyramid, the third eye, blood shot and bleary, horus, whore-us, trick us, turn us out and turn our desires upside-down. These two giants have no patience. None. There’s a rising sense of bloodlust in the air. Its blood red Air Jordans and Mars Blackmons, the black and the red, a checkered past. Buffalo nation and buffalo soldiers–America’s heavy cross to bear, where the trail of tears is littered with tragedy all the way to the Watts Towers.

The irony is, is that we’re getting closer and closer in the ranks of oppression. Just take a stroll through any TSA screening line and you’ll see the one-sized-totaltiarianism fitting all. While we’re busy passing judgment and flexing the jaw muscles of the vox populi via social media, at the urging of paid shills and professional shit disturbers, the walls are getting closer and closer and closer.

The Sun and Uranus are flaming red, an impetuous duo that wants action, justice, the settling of karmic debts and it wants it now, now, now.

If there was an indicator of the immediacy and urgency of whats in the air, it would be Fukushima. Reports are coming out of there that the radiation levels are just off the charts. Reactors 1, 2 and 3 are cranking out 73 sieverts per hour. Want to know how bad that is? Without any water to cool the damaged reactors, 73 sieverts would cripple the robots built to go in and do things that humans cannot. 73 sieverts is deadly to fucking robots. That’s the manifestation of Uranus (uranium) and Pluto (plutonium) afflicting the Moon (cancer).

On the winds of the gulf stream, “revolution” takes place first in an assault on our thyroids, making us edgier and edgier. That’s why its important, really important to allow the eternal witness to gain more access to observing, simply observing the affairs of man. The good news is, is that the scales are falling away, and something else is circulating through the body electric. There’s a new current you can tap into. It’s called IC or “internal current” as opposed to “direct” or “alternate.” The internal current will light your ass up like a christmas tree and the best way to access it, is to unplug from the mainstream sockets that keep you locked into a dirty flow of static charge.

Jupiter is moving outwards now from the blessed love triangle its been a part of the past few weeks. I hope you’ve been banking the grounded nature and all around solid vibes of that trine, really packing them in and storing them in the hermetically sealed chambers of your cellular memory, because we’re gonna need that grounded application of earthy wisdom in the days ahead.

Mars is doing double time. While its building networks of constancy, its checking Neptune/Pisces in its earliest stages, making sure that we get the feel good buzz of pure unity load with a serious filter. That’s why Kony 2012 failed. It was utterly false. Mars shook it down hard. Mars Virgo Retrograde don’t tolerate no religious spirit scammers and attention temple thieves. Jason Russell’s programming went haywire under the scrutiny of hard Mars.

The Art Ensemble are summoning chaos from Paris in the 70s. Some might call it cacophonous self-indulgence. I see them as exorcising demons in the cyclotron of improvisation, performing a public service for the collective soul. Its voodoo jazz at its finest. Famadou Don Moye summons Shango in the circle of a snare while Lester Bowie is Gabriel, blowing his horn from the sidewalks of Bourbon St. And then there’s these moments of stasis, calm, clarity and cohesion, a brief respite from splitting the atomic center of the soul.

The true magnetic north has moved further south than Atlanta, past even the equator. Its migrated beyond Tierra Del Fuego and has entered into the inner earth of Antarctica where the mystery of our Hyperborean ascent into space awaits us. Have a happy Friday.