On Friday, September 16, the moon was waxing full in Pisces (rules the feet), and my progressed Saturn was crossing my progressed ascendant (bones). Natal Saturn lumbered quietly towards natal ascendant (more bones) and something gnarly was going on between Mars and Uranus (accidents). Kaboom! I broke my ankle and my fifth metatarcal. Now the fun begins.Friends and neighbors have been loving and helpful--even strangers on NYC's mean streets have offered to hail me a cab, open doors and help me jump steps. Anyone who thinks New Yorkers are nasty should go break a leg just to see what sweethearts we really are. But like, why does everyone have to know every lurid detail of how I broke my bones? You can see the morbid fascination mount as each helpful, friendly person I encounter inquires, eyes fixed on my wounded paw, "How did it happen?"
Why do you care????? Is this schadenfreund---getting some perverse delight in anothers misfortune? Or is it a new discourse----extreme sports sex talk? Do you think I like to feel you creeping up on me, smiling, all the while knowing you only want me for my crutch porn?
Well, I know you all want to know, so here it is; No, it wasn't a surfing accident, it was a girlie-girl thing. It was balmy outside that night. I was wearing green. Alone, fearless, I walked down the steps at All Saint's Episcopal Church for a bible study class in addiction. As I pondered the simple pleasures of weak coffee and stale cookies, my right ankle turned in. The chunky gummy souls of my green Danko platform chunkys caught the cement and I went down--Crunch!
OK? Now can we please get back to saving CBGB's, keeping the Ramones legacy alive, and exploring the cultural landscape of the Apocalypse?
*photo montage "JesusCrutch" by Mr. Tongue Blaccard, CorpseGrinders. www.punklegends.com
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