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I’ve spent the last three months composing an avant-garde suite for an all women’s chamber group, consisting of 2 violins, cello, orchestral bass, harp, and clarinet.  I added additional instruments, including glockenspiel, another cello, electric bass, and drums.

I should’ve known better than to mess with something that I thought was *fixed*.

The suite is a Zodiac Suite, which is currently 3 movements.  I started writing during Virgo (which was what I thought was during Virgo….keep reading, you’ll see), and assigned specific tones to the alphabet text of each Zodiac name.  The results are minimalistic, avant-garde, yet driven by some techno/dub-step like rhythms, so it’s pretty amazing, in my humble opinion.  Each movement includes 4 Zodiac themes.

Tonight, I am notating the Cancer parts, and as I am unwinding, decided to end with reading some poetry.  I opened the collected works book of Pablo Neruda (yummmm) and was reflecting on his poem, “The Star.” This led to some researching on the internet, and I end up finding myself on NASA’s blog stating

that

THE FLIPPING ZODIAC HAS CHANGED.

There’s no longer 12 mofo constellations.

In fact, according to NASA’s blog, there were 13 constellations in the times of the Babylonians…..and….there still are.

SO.

Now I must write a finale, nonetheless.

A finale, composed to the 13th zodiac: Ophiuchus

So, that’s my story today.

and the poem that led me to my need for a finale….and perhaps to a good reminder that I can’t run from my truths.  haha, which, according to NASA, the truth of my being an Aquarius, turns out to be a big lie my whole damn life.  I am actually a Capricorn.  To see what your changed sign is, see this article.   Thanks a lot.  😛

THE STAR

by Pablo Neruda, from The Winter Garden

Well, I never went back, I no longer suffer

from not going back, the sand willed it

and as part wave and part channel,

syllable of salt, leech of water,

I, sovereign, slave of the coast

surrendered, chained to my rock.

There is no freedom anymore for us

who are fragments of the mystery,

there is no way out for returning

to oneself, to the stone of oneself,

no other stars remain except the sea.