Naming the Names (Piers)

Dear Little Pup,
° Today, at last, you are old enough to vote, to drink a martini, to be drafted and sent to rot in Viet Nam. At least you are if I’ve properly understood the nonlinearity of time in What the %?! Do We Know?! starring Marlee Matlin and Buffy’s most weaselly principal.
° Yes, another birthday, what will the new year bring?
° Well I have been telling you for three months at least and do not hesitate to do so again.
° Piers is in the ascendant, no stopping you.
° How do I know what I know? Because, unlike Gualtiero the Psychic, who parried my dull witticism with "I’m a psychic, not a mindreader," I, Giac, can foretell the future.
° I shall prove it.
° Next week the Pisces horoscope will read: "Fortune smiles upon you; if you know where to look, you can find a premasticated chaw of tobacco."
° Next week Libra will read: "You will get a surprise phone call from your greatuncle’s lawyer informing you that you have just inherited controlling interest in Microsoft."
° The following week Pisces will be: "Fortune frowns upon you, the Surgeon General has determined that sucking on used chaws of tobacco is hazardous to one’s health and, moreover, stains the teeth."
° While Libra, and Virgo, and Capricorn, and Taurus--just Love and Money and Acclaim and crisp curly frenchfries raining down from Heaven.
° For every astrologer, even Brezsny, gets tired toward the bottom of the list.

§

Each of us has a name given by God and given by our parents.
Each of us has a name given by our sins and by our longing.
Each of us has a name given by our enemies and by our love.
Each of us has a name given by our celebrations and by our work.
Each of us has a name given by the sea and by the stars.
--Zelda Mishkovsky--

° To which Brezsny adds, "Your homework for the coming week, Libra, is to figure out all ten names . . . . your sense of self is ready to bloom."
° Well, Little Pup, I know very well that you are presently engaged in the struggle to convince your choristers that when Duruflé writes A he means A and not A- nor, improbably, A+. Just because a Requiem is for the Dead doesn’t mean nobody’s listening.
° So I shall help you with your homework.

Iddio ti regalò il nome "Orfeo."
I tuoi genitori ti regalarono il nome "Capace."
I tuoi peccati, che, secondo me, non esisteranno, ti nominò "F-----o."
Il tuo desiderio ti chiama "Calvin H. Rutter."
I tuoi nemici t’hanno chiamato, nel mio sentire, "Junior."
Iddia Venere abitualmente ti chiama "Montecchino."
Alle celebrazioni sei "Maestro."
Il tuo lavoro, secondo Vittoria, ti conosce come "Signor J----."
Il mare (nel quale nuotano i Pesci) . . . . ?
Gli astri ti acclamano "Il Violinista," cioè di nuovo, "Orfeo," perchè sei tu attorno a cui noi tutti ci congreghiamo, noi Lupi (io, Nathan, Cugino Zingaro, Bastien, Richmond, il Tush Hog), loro Pecora (chi sarà, sarà).

For, as you must have seen at once, I misinterpreted the figure on the rim of the cup, I blame Coz for not reading my mind and correcting me.
° And so, happy birthday, Little Pup.
° Vote, imbibe, dodge.

§§§§§

° Poor Father Ferret, poor Bishop Weasel, Wo sollen sie fliehen hin?
° Apologise, demandeth the Anglican Council of Binitarian Bishops (for they all deny the effective existence of the Holy Spirit), for elevating Bishop Robinson, resign your bishopricks and priesthoods and pensions (or at least "your official positions"), then sign a bloodoath supporting the 3000yearold JudaeoChristianIslamick genocide against the Venusian people.
° Poor Father Ferret, poor Bishop Weasel, wo sollen sie fliehen hin?

° Slavering all over my long sharp teeth, I am

° Your Giac.

P.S. You understand, of course, the good fortune that the Black Cat dwelling under Romaine Chapel promises to one and all? Ask Coz. And yet there are those who wish her ill. Not Vittoria, one of the littlest of these thy charges. She actually got the gorgeous feral Shecat into her van, where Kitty scratched the daylights out of her arm and bit her on the face. Vittoria loves Kitty just the same. The threat to Kitty’s wellbeing, and to the Good Fortune of Assumption, is from the overthirties. Isn’t that always the way!