Contact

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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January 1, 2020

         

          The needles jump and twitch as the paper streams through like a ribbon of dry milk electrified by a frozen bolt of graphite static coursing cross parallel lines, the thin solid strips of time that host the erratic rise and fall of everything contained between eon ends.  Outside the mile thick solid stone walls are lead wires that tap through the bare crust and pierce down into the bedrock, boring nearly to the mantle, where sensitive nodules operate on the seismic vibrations like the sound sensitive mandible ends of serpents jawbone hinges, the early evolutionary ear.  The data fills an array which in many millions of stone slab steps is represented upon the expanse of an empty des...

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...

January 3, 2019

                   Cracks in the old foundations over the past year have demanded our attention; the tower strenuously lifted by necessary means and the slipping fissures fixed and reset.  For some this required disassembly and the mastering of stone craft to put the fortress back upon firm footing, while for others it was more an exaggerated episode of routine maintenance.  For some slick, black salamanders slipped through the thin portals and swarmed their basements, stirring the darkness into a fearful froth, scampering over forgotten bones and unearthing  corroding corpses exposed to the dim and dusty light and flash of torch glow.  We were banished to this place to toil in exile until the faults were fused and trip...

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