As I said before, gentle reader, during this Saturn retro, I write what You want. Like how in Francis ford Coppolas epic Dracula, Prince Drakul says to Mina Harker on a London street,( in a thick Romanian accent)…....”I am your servant”! My topics take the colour of your feedbacks/ expectations. At least while Saturn Retro lasts. So when you call me up, like my friend ‘Egghead’ did today, I end up writing somewhat personalized, customised posts. Like this post custom designed for friend “egghead’..
36 days of Rising/increasing Saturn over, and 1 month, 5 days left. Day by day, Saturn’s retrograde velocity (relative to earth) increases. Sun ruled people, moving forwards faster. Almost in fast forward motion. Us, Saturn ruled are falling backwards. Going backwards faster in tandem to Saturn’s increasing Retro velocity. Hurtling deeper into the swamp. The backwaters. Residues. Dream echoes. Long gone ghosts resurrected. From LONG crossed over pasts. Memories of love and death. Things left unsaid. Stuff left undone. Itching regrets lurking in our hearts, groins and tailbones. Karma/ mojo left incomplete. Dreams trampled in life’s forward march. In the rush to forge ahead. Arjuna is tired, and lays down his bow. The battle is postponed, on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. After all, it’s Saturn retrograde. Today my friend GRB, was reading his poetry to me. Dedicated to his beloved, now gone-baby-gone. GRB’s eyes have the expression of a retired ninja. The last person you’d expected to compose poetry. Such is the sheer power of increasin’ Retro velocity. It’s ability to move even the most grounded, Saturnine souls. Backward in time. Today’s list on my winamp: “80’s Love”. Tunes, stuck somewhere between the throat and the brain. Stuck somewhere in time. This is Saturn retrograde. Time for the Saturn ruled to resurrect their ghosts. To bring to life, the ghosts between their eyes. Collect the dead mist in plastic bowls. For the forgotten flavours/ of childhood breakfasts. Have you noticed my style today, gentle reader. It’s made to order. A “eggehead” crush/blend of information and emotion. Instead of Architecture, I should have studied poetry design. Under Marquez. I could have my own channel/ stream… Love on demand!
Once when a crush of mine got engaged to be married, I made truce. By an informal present/ gift, of a dead crow. I found lying between two fragrant bushes. Later, I escaped home at night. Walking around with my accomplice, my mad friend. Looking at our beloveds houses. Wondering what they dreamed. Behind, their cosy, dark walls. Could we, implant dreams of our love thoughts into their minds? By our night wishes. My friend Egghead had a dream once. All his lost tennis balls. Returning to him, in a magical drain out of nowhere. Once eggheads wife told me a great dream she had. I listened in great attention. I noted it in a red book with feathers of unknown birds. Later as her dream memory faded, her dream became mine. By the Lost echoes, finally I got promoted to Dream Stealer. I hope, at least ONE reader, attempts to write a line of bad poetry after this post. Who will get impressed, you ask? The answer is, dear reader, ghosts. Yes, they love such stuff. Living or dead. Ghosts around us. Still undecided, as to what to do. Where to go. Whom to possess. Whom to console.
Phil Collins hums beside me: One More Night. Where’s all the juice gone now? I could have written a great love novel. But here I am. Jaded Forrester reaching nowhere fast. Reaching out to you, gente reader. I’m your phone call away for.. Love on demand! At least, while Saturn Retro lasts… ;)