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CHRIS REPPUCCI

212 Barker Rd. 

Troy, ME

04987

(207)-930-5404

GLASSFACE@hotmail.com

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I write my astrology forecasts for the magically operative and creatively active, so benefic influences can be harvested and also turbulent energies can be processed and put to good use, rather than being ducked, dodged or taken with a wincing restraint. 

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November 11, 2019

-Monday 11/11/19: 10:20am: Inferior Conjunction of Mercury

-Tuesday 11/12/19:  8am: Full Moon in Taurus

          noon: Sun into Scorpio 3

          1pm: Mars sextile Jupiter

-Wednesday 11/13/19:  9am: MercuryRX sextile Saturn

          5pm: MercuryRX trine Neptune

-Thursday 11/14/19:  noon: Venus square Neptune

-Sunday 11/17/19:  Venus into Sagittarius 3

          Behind the mirror is another mirror, but one of shiny bootblack and beetle wings, empty irises and oily stones.  There's always another mirror.  Theres always more until there isn't.  With the line cut, with the coin flipped, with the other face forward, where you turn so fast you try to glimpse your own vis...

November 4, 2019

Monday November 4th to Sunday November 10th

-Tuesday 11/5/19: 5am: Mars square Pluto

-Friday November 8th: noon: Sun sextile Saturn

          1pm: Sun trine Neptune

          6pm: Saturn sextile Neptune

-Saturday November 9th: 5pm: Venus into Sag 2

          9pm: MercuryRX sextile Pluto

          There is a place close to the center of the room, but back along the spine of the floor toward the wall, but its not a hard wall, instead a bay of curtains, constantly lifting and pulling apart, to reveal more fabric beneath.  On it he stands, rugged but elegantly dressed, disheveled but handsome in a slept in suit, fragrant with last weeks debauch like the memory of night lo...

November 1, 2019

          Upon the edge of the balcony crouched like a cat in spring pounce position, coiled cobralike and in a huddle with a few other similarly clad companions passing around a vial of belladonna to drop upon our retinas and dilate our eyes.  Night vision, spectral green and violet, haunting the world we look at, the cobwebbed and haunted ballroom moaning under dragging chains and sexy screams and cherry red nails raking across chalkboards leaving tracks of flame ripped down the slate surface, like the cold flat cheek of Golem; an onyx obelisk creaks and falls onto a feather bed and waits for its lover to arrive, but they never come and the shrieking begins in silence at first and then in full owl screech out the wind...

October 28, 2019

Monday Oct 28

midnight (morn): New Moon In Scorpio

4am: Sun opposite Uranus

-Tuesday Oct 29

6pm: Moon in Sag

-Wednesday Oct 30

6pm: Venus Conjunct Mercury

-Thursday Oct 31

10am: Moon conjunct Jupiter

8pm: Mercury stations RX

-Friday Nov 1

5pm: Venus ingress Sagittarius

-Saturday Nov 2

2pm: Sun into Scorpio 2

-Sunday Nov 3

8pm: Mars into Libra 3

          There was once a series of vivid images, like blazon beasts crossing forefield through the darkness, heavily laden in signifiers of unknown ideas, like weighty jewelry that pulls upon your nape, and presses with its pendent like a palm mid breast, and wrapped around each finger to the quick as if it means gnaw its way in and fuse with the knuckle bone, and fifty pounds of silver flashe...

October 1, 2019

        A small volcano in miniature pierces the center of the table, and despite the extreme effort to ignore it or remove it by rendering it obsolete to the conversation it remains throughout the entirety of the meeting, oozing with cool blue gel, resembling a forbidden confection, and up from its slow eruptions which ooze over the edge of its protrusion in slow and beckoning emissions of rolling folds, the sweet sounds of singing unwrap in circling flights of singing voices as paper candles drip with black wax ink and splotch the table in rhythmic rorschach from which arms outstretch and puppets play in shadows against the flow of powerpoints projected crisscrossing askance heated debate in the civil chamber, the hea...

September 1, 2019

          The many pods across the littered landscape open slightly to reveal the cream center within, soft gas wafting from the aperture and sweet must perfume seeping from the slit accompanying delightfully muffled whimpers.  Listening closely four separate pitches can be discerned from the cries, one sounds like the source of wind, a kind of primeval squeal or porpoise thoughts lifting through a silent gale in white night; another the result of winds in the local environment, such as rustling leaves and tustling grass or sifting sand, the next a ball of bees mid-nest in the central crack of winter, and finally the gooseneck glide that woodwind instruments imitate.  Teased out as such a lot of information about nutrit...

August 1, 2019

          All the skeletons mashed into the storage closet and crammed tight then closed shut subject to maceration and marrow unguent emulsifiers to massage the moist inner medium out, bleaching the bones and rendering the material into mush, a thick off grey paste of coagulated mummy mire as obligated ejected out the hatch on the other side and flushed into the time wracked sewer system burst out the sidewall into the streets and exposed itself like an ectoplasmic epidemic episode, smearing the scarred and burned skins of tender July’s crab flesh free of shell, vulnerable and open to the elements like a nest of bald chicks in a hail of gravel, the stony hand of Time spanking our wounds maliciously like boulder clappin...

July 1, 2019

          Milky liquid is the glass which flows in place of panes forming the skin within which pots hold the medium from which sprouts the fruits of our labors.  Gently throbbing tubes supply the serum, the precious juice that feeds the fruit budding within soft nests resting upon the surface of the substance.  With the slow and steady tides the whole place swells and then drains out and dries enough to take a brief breath before the  pools refill with healthy fluid, everything rocks soothingly to the motion.  Restored by sleep and sung songs by dream the kind a lute coos into oblivion, and streams of wistful weird amble over mossy beds and funnel to silent spots where concentric circles ripple out to meet the edges, e...

June 1, 2019

          The tomb chamber, pregnant with bone, fills the void to unknown extant, the lid stone rolls shut with a satisfying click and all within is immersed in darkness, or so we believe but do not know.  The slabs of stone descend as stairs, level that reach into caverns below, the walls around the vast space chiseled from soft volcanic rock into rectangular reliefs, inset with busts of those great few that came before and set down the corner stones from which our history has been stacked.  The beauty of their features static, stays in cold, dry wait for a time that never comes.  Kissed by black air and caressed by the absence of breeze, only the slow and silent drafts of exhaling crypts which softly lift to keep some...

May 1, 2019

                    She fills bottles and spent light bulbs with paint.  Bold hues, deep vermillions, dark magentas, olive green, royal blue, burnt orange.  Like grenades she pitches them at the walls, the chamber dripping with chromatic viscera until all the blankness is smothered.  The chemical smell is pleasant, but not enough.  She marches out to the shed and splashes solvents into a bucket and inhales the sharp fumes, the acrid old manure livens as it saturates.  In a shard of broken mirror she catches her reflection.  Her coat looks too new.  She takes some shears and cuts off the sleeves.  Her phone rings.  17 messages.  She gets in the car.  At the crossroads she falters, almost bears right but hits the breaks a...

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