The Vonnegut Voice: Tragi-Comic Outrage

Nobody wrote like Kurt Vonnegut. He was a literary stylist of the fine line, the quick-sketch artist, the ad man, the hard-boiled reporter, the outraged voice of common decency overlooking the charnel house of Battle-Field Earth from the vantage point of a zoo on an unknown planet. Vonnegut had a way of front-loading his stories like a news reporter who gives you the 5-w's in the first graph and starts as close to the end as possible so you get the scoop in a few seconds.

Then he drew it out with one-line paragraphs that were the modern artistry of the advertising trade, paragraphs that sang like the music of angels -- crying angels -- looking down on this poor, pitiful species we like to call human and wisecracking their way through tears.

To read Kurt Vonnegut was to hurt, to hurt bad, and to be exalted at the same time, and to want to run out and change the world so these senseless wars would never happen again.

Vonnegut was a force to be reckoned with, as was the generation he inspired. That generation had recently taken to the streets and had put an end to the senseless tragedy of Vietnam. Finally, the Washington Post had come on board with the Pentagon Papers and it was all she wrote for Trickie Dickie.

We thought, just for a golden moment, that the world had changed and that the senseless mayhem of war might never happen again. If they gave a war, we could just say no.

And you know what? It worked. At least once, it worked.

Vonnegut was part of the Zeitgeist of the '70's and he is a hero to the generation whose dads were turning toward the bullying bigotry of Archie Bunkerism in foolish and desperate attempts to maintain control of their youngsters who were rising up against the war. Many of those righteously rebellious youngsters wished they had dads like Kurt Vonnegut, Noam Chomsky, Howard Zinn, and Dr. Spock: those were some of more famous names who helped to restore a bit of sanity to the planet for a short time.

Those names were among the enlightened dads, the dads who were a little more honest and more than a little smarter than the Archie Bunker dads (which is not meant to slight anybody's opinion, sacrifice or honorable intentions). Many of those enlightened dads were themselves WWII veterans who courageously confessed to the gratuitous atrocities that lie at the heart of all war.

The atrocities of My Lai were in the news, and a young John Kerry was an unlikely witness for peace as he told Congress in no-uncertain terms that war crimes against civilians were the order of the day in Viet Nam.

Vonnegut et al were the dads who were an integral part of ending the slaughter -- the dads who marched in the streets to put an end to the shameful war in Viet Nam.

Yes, we knew full well that World War II was not the same as Viet Nam. We had recently been through the political theater of the Nuremburg Trials and we knew there was a difference between self-defense and a war of aggression, and we knew we were being commandeered and bamboozled into a war of aggression, the same way children have historically been press-ganged into war.

That painful awakening to reality was the difference then, and it is the difference today between the bamboozle of the "noble cause" and the reality of the dishonorable fiasco of Iraq, a crime against humanity that will stain the reputation of the USA in the history books for centuries to come.

It won't be long before Kurt Vonnegut undergoes apotheosis and takes his well-deserved place in the American literary canon, but while we're waiting to see the smoke rise as a sign of his ascendency to the land of the Beatitudes, let us take a quick peek at his chart.

And, as a special treat, at the end of this piece, I've included a bit of vintage Vonnegut, from In These Times.

Note: the astologically-impaired or impervious can just skip over the following starry-eyed falderal and get to the good stuff at the end of this piece called Custodians of Chaos, by Kurt Vonnegut. Saint Vonnegut.

Back to the Astro Boogie-Woogie.

Vonnegut's voice, the crying angel, who is incidentallly mad as hell, can be seen in the water grand trine (emotion) and the Scorpio/Leo square (outraged anger). The Venus in Sagittarius rising is the angel voice itself, making beautiful music with Mars in Aquarius in the second, to the tune of "Never Again." Said Angel is getting along also quite well with Saturn in Libra in the eleventh, who is insisiting on the ideal of some justice in this world.

Since we're looking for angels, is there a Yod? Yes, by God, there is a heliocentic Yod with Uranus in Pisces at the focal point, playing that harp!

That Uranus in Pisces in the third house of communications is the tearful, awakening angel and transiting Uranus has just passed him there for Vonnegut's Uranus return, tuning the strings of the wake-up call from Saturn in Libra and Neptune in Leo.

Oh, of course: it's that Saturn/Neptune delusion about war again, the message we can't help but hear again at the time of Vonnegut's passing. Angel Gabriel is blowing that horn and waking up the deluded earthlings once again.

"Wake up, You Idiots! Quit killing each other! We need some justice here. Can't you see your leaders are delusional?"

The Sun at the 19th degree of Scorpio is the angel of transformation, opening the curtain to the land beyond after this travail through the carnage of Battlefield Earth. It's the angel of evolution.

Will we ever learn?

Well, if not, we're all going the same way in the end.

Po-Tee-Weet.

Okay, that's enough of that metaphysical mumbo-jumbo.

Let's read the piece already.

Article: Custodians of Chaos, by Kurt Vonnegut

And for all of us Asto-Tin Hats, here's the chart. Many thanks to astrologer Phil Brown for providing the birth time in his recent blog.

Article: Link to Natal Chart for Kurt Vonnegut