Telling the Houses Vol. 1
- Joey Cannizzaro
- Jul 24
- 15 min read
Updated: Aug 4
Featuring the work of Karina Alonso, Dede Boyd, Mary Tiana Harris, Melody Hutchins, Maxine Margaritis, Goose McCarthy, Avenue Waters, and Susheela Willis.
This past spring semester, I taught a class at Kepler College called Telling the Houses: Building Narrative Through House Delineation. The approach of the course is to learn ancient astrological techniques and principles and then explore their narrative potential with creative writing. It was incredible to see the depth of astrological knowledge and richness of interpretation that student were able to access, drawing profound insights about the houses from their own creative investigations.
The compelling and original work that came out of these writing workshops was too good to keep to ourselves, so thankfully each student has contributed a short piece of writing to this collection: Telling the Houses Vol. 1. By the third session of class, we realized how much it felt like waiting for a magazine to come out each Wednesday when students would post their new work to the online forum. I hope this class zine will be. away to share some of that excitement with each of you who read it.
I've selected works from three different writing prompts that were assigned over the course of the semester. The actual prompts are much more elaborate, but I've tried to give the briefest possible summation under the title of each prompt. I also note which houses each piece is engaging with (you can go here to learn more of their basic qualities, topics, and significations). While the writers were working with different charts depending on the prompt, I've only posted the charts for the prompt on worldbuilding with the mundane houses since they form the foundation of the societies depicted.
I'm incredibly grateful to have had the privilege to spend time with these brilliant astrologers and writers who dedicated so much of their attention and creativity to both crafting their own writing and workshopping the work of others, peeling back layer after layer of meaning and nuance.
If you've been wanting to tap into the true richness of the astrological houses in a way that's intuitive, relatable, and metaphysically deep, this is a fabulous place to start.
Session 1: Introduction to the Houses in Hellenistic Astrology.
An entry in a fictional dream journal inspired by the Hellenistic topics and qualities of the 1st, 2nd, or 3rd house (written in the matching POV: first, second, or third person perspective)
Home Awakened (1st house), Goose McCarthy
In. Out. In, out. In — I enliven my breathing as the taste of metallic touches my tongue. Saliva gathers in my mouth as I sit up from my slumber. I shake my body, awakening it from its deep, deep sleep. My muscles are tight, but they are not weary.
Cold, cold, cold, my feet hit the stone ground and all at once I remember. I have been reborn.
I walk through this house of memories, flicking on each room's light with intention, that I may find the answers that lie there, for I already built this house. It wants to give me the answers.
Stairs! Of course, I remember there being stairs. I begin to silently bound up them, skipping steps as I leap expectantly to dare the light illuminate my path - what awaits me in these humble halls?
Something slows me. I look back to where I have come from - where have I come from? I look back and see nothing. The hand of God moves through me, calling my attention - as if I were the ocean, and he too, blended as one – moving as the tides. I feel the wooden boards beneath my feet, I remember my ancestors. I feel the air run up my spine - did I leave a window open? My mind catches on the rooms yet to be lit by my presence.
"Be still."
I stop. I feel a trembling in my body that does not feel like my own. Wait, not a trembling – a rocking. Like being held by your dad after you fell and hurt your knee. Fizzing with feelings, he rocks me. He brushes off my dusty feet.
"You are home."
I remember it all.
I am home.
I need water.
- out.
Moonwashing (3rd house), Dede Boyd
There was a sense of wonder and nervousness in her belly, like bees reaching the honeysuckle bush trying to suck the sweetness in all at once. A nest of possibilities awaited her while birds wondered who the new human was. The forest felt like the landscapes she saw in picture books she often visited. She pranced around pretending to be a horse , running to and fro, while grownups lounged lazily sipping sweet tea catching up on family gossip. She believed in magic and saw colors around her friends' faces, read fortunes by looking at their palms because she said she remembered doing it in another world. She knew, deep in her bones, that Selene was a name that reflected light and found joy in this space. She felt Artemis and Hekate and imagined wildlings circling the place as those goddesses protected the hearth with strength and love. At night, she would sneak outside to bear witness to herself through the memories of the star people. Moonwashing is like bringing your memories to get bathed in the night sky. She wrote stories about these moments, pretending she lived amongst the original people. In the hidden village she and her sister created, was a place to dry plants for medicines , bows and arrows to hunt the mythical creatures she had seen in the dream time. Junebugs in mason jars would be her light. Green was the color of this place. It reminded her of the fresh mowed grass, of Mrs. McCains daffodils, which she would pick for her mother without permission. It was the everyday life on her bike as she rode to and fro, with Poquita (her familiar), that made her happy and carefree. She loved the nights when neighbors sat on the front stoop, telling stories while laughter echoed in the night sky.
Resource: Autonomy (2nd house, sun in Capricorn), Avenue Waters
You lay there under covers draped
loosely with the weight of
security. Security, security,
twisted has been your comfort with discomfort.
The one whom you first judged
full of power is sitting
at the foot of your bed. Your
heart is newly lightweight with
recognition of no threat,“Is everything okay?
”He says, “I married your sister,”
he did not speak her name.
Her image flashes through your entirety
as if you’ve traded bodies with her then
traded back again. If
there had been envy, if
there had been comparison
where you deemed yourself unworthy in
the house of no one’s joy, self-dismissal
no longer crawled over your skin.
Ruled by Master of Limitations,
Borders, Time, you sense
how far you’ve come
in and through this house. Comparison
has softened, a gentle
depth of value which knows no
bounds emerges filling
you and her.
“She can be a lot,” you say
from the soft compassion of wanting
nothing.
His eye drift to an unfocused
gaze looking nowhere and you
see him all inside
himself. The choices we make are the
choices we make.
Suddenly you find yourself alone,
standing at the gateway of your
former darkness. Time, old master,
now encourages you to
simply
be.
Week 2. Tension, Ease, and Overcoming: Aspects between the houses
A person chosen from one house visits a physical place ruled by another house. Describe a photograph taken during this encounter. The whole sign aspect between those two houses is the source of narrative tension or driving motive in the piece.
6 * 8, Susheela Willis
The framed photograph of Marina and her grandmother, Rhea, sits on her desk at work. Her mother thinks it’s morbid, but it’s Marina’s favourite photo of the two of them. It was taken a few hours before her grandmother died, but she doesn’t think she’s ever laughed as hard as she did when that picture was taken, and she can’t remember a time her grandmother had either.
In the picture, they’re in the bedroom of her grandmother’s home. Rhea is tucked under the covers in bed, propped up by an array of crisp white pillows. A cascade of beautiful, loose grey curls falls over Rhea’s shoulder. Marina sits in a green armchair beside the bed, gripping Rhea’s gaunt hand. Their heads are thrown back as they laugh, eyes on each other, but half closed. Dark tears roll down Rhea’s cheeks, while Marina’s can only be made out by the broken rivulets of light reflecting off her face. Rhea’s ancient schnoodle, Lionel, is asleep on her lap, unperturbed by their raucous laughter.
In preparation for this day, Rhea had made two requests of Marina: First, that Marina do her grandmother’s hair and makeup for the occasion, and second, that she be the one to assist Rhea in self-administering the drugs her physician had prescribed.
When Marina’s younger brother entered the room to begin the long process of goodbyes, Rhea’s eyes started to stream right away, and Marina immediately realized her mistake. Not only was Rhea going to die, but this proud and put-together woman was going to die with mascara all over her face. When her grandmother realized what was going on with her makeup, they both began weeping. But then the weeps turned into chuckles, the chuckles turned into cackles, and the cackles into hysterical peals of laughter. Marina’s brother took the photo through his own sob-ridden giggles, loosing a “You guys are crazy,” as he pulled out his phone, pointed it at them and tapped the screen.
Sitting in her cubicle, Marina looks at this photo daily and revisits that moment of joy, delirium and grief. She thinks about how her proud and put-together grandmother did die, but that there was another moment when she got to tenderly wipe the smeared makeup off of Rhea’s face for her. She thinks about Rhea’s ravaged lungs and the air she pushed through them as she laughed wildly that day. She thinks about her grandmother arriving at death’s door and knocking, and how honoured she was to be holding her other hand as she did it.
The Square that Broke Tradition (4th house [Pisces] square 7th house [Gemini]), Karina Alonso
The picture I am looking at has so much deep meaning and it hits the depths of my heart. It is a picture of a father watching his daughter get married to a person he does not approve of.
In this picture you can see at a far distance a couple getting married, their wedding is very small with only a handful of attendees, there are no decorations, no fancy dress, heck there are not even rings involved, just two young people in love with long, beautiful vows to exchange.
Maria was her name, she had just celebrated her 15th birthday a couple years back, her father came from a long line of farmers, tradition and religion was of high importance in their culture and home. Maria knew that every eldest daughter was to be married to a person of her father’s choice and liking, the idea was to better the family’s position through union. She followed tradition closely as it was expected of her, she had her “quince” which is a celebration in the Mexican culture that marks going from a young girl into womanhood at 15 years of age. She knew the moment was approaching when her father would give her away, she was the key that would bring her family security. But she refused, as she was in love with a boy from her hometown who had no money to offer her father, but he was smart, he made Maria laugh, he was curious and stimulated her in a way no one else could.
In this picture you see her father’s backside just looking from a far at what his rebellious daughter was about to do to his lineage, behind him you see a huge crowd of ancestors standing proudly, not in solidarity but rather offering him love and support as the chains of karmic trauma were being dissolved by his courageous daughters’ doings.
The day this picture was taken, Maria’s father felt as if he had failed his family, he felt as if Maria was his enemy. Not knowing that what Maria did not only for him, her siblings, her mother, and their entire ancestral line was liberating them from an accumulation of karma and limited beliefs.
Photographer Shoots the Dead (5th house square 8th), Maxine Margaritis
A friend asked my young nephew Michael to take a photo of her beloved Great Grandfather Robert when he died. Since he’d never been to a funeral before let alone seen a dead person, Michael reluctantly agreed – but only if I accompanied him and took a picture of him doing his work. Michael is a gifted photographer. He felt lucky to get this gig. Last Saturday, just three days after Robert’s death, Michael went to shoot the dead. And I went to shoot Michael.
The backdrop of the photo captured the back corner of a rather large dimly lit room and a portion of tinted floor to ceiling windows on the left. The windows were covered in goldenrod lacey drapes that were likely purchased and hung in the 1970s. They contrasted nicely with the olive-green carpet. A funeral standing spray of white roses and blue Forget-Me-Nots stood in front of the curtains. On the right side an American flag stood straight, and next to it, part of a black upright organ, with only it’s bass keys visible.
Dead center is what looked to be a mahogany casket with silver decorative handles. The casket rested on top of an ornate, metal gurney with too small black wheels. The lid was open; the blue ruffled chiffon lining visible against the dark wood.
Blocking the view of Grandpa Robert, Michael stood at a 90-degree angle behind his tripod and camera. He was bent forward as though he were a Danseur making him look much shorter in spite of wearing his highest heeled cowboy boots. His outstretched arms rested on the camera in front of him. His bejeweled jacket slid up over his new Gucci denims. His blond hair fell forward. Covering his nose was a bright, colorful Bandit Bandana. He was poised to shoot.
Week 3: Worldbuilding with the Mundane Houses
A journalistic study of a speculative future world using any future date as the founding chart of that society.
OR
A journalistic study of a speculative future world using your own natal chart as the founding chart of that society.
The Day The Gardens Overflowed in Myrenith, Mary Tiana Harris
Hey Liza,
I’ve attached the final draft of tomorrow’s front-page editorial. It’s set to run at dawn, but I’d feel better if you gave it one last read tonight. I want to make sure it reflects the heart of Arkael without losing any of the truth. Maybe I’m being overly cautious after the backlash from the last coverage, but…well, you know how it is. Call me if anything feels off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yesterday was an inspiring occasion. The deaths of our beloved leaders—Aetheris and Venessaire—our friends—has left the air and our hearts tender. We have been shaken to our marrow, but grief is not new to us. It does not panic or paralyze the people of Myrenith. Life continues.
The rallying call came from Saela, mother to Aetheris. The Head Healer retreated to the easternmost cavernous cliffs many years ago to study the viability of the land. Outside of her written findings, we have not heard from her in years. But yesterday, she returned.
She stepped into the square at first light when the laborers usually started towards the fields. No speech was given. Just a gesture by the wave of her hand. The city followed.
We are a people sculpted by hardship. We’ve long learned to live through what was never meant to sustain life. The floods left our healing fields warped—soil waterlogged, roots bitter with rot. Many of the plants we once gathered for sustenance and remedy now carry the memory of that poisoned tide.
And still we gathered them.
Petals of marigold and honeysuckle, leaves of nettle plucked not for tinctures or tea, but for what remained within them: the story.
Through the ruined city paths, we wove them into murals. Murals made from wilted blossoms, bark-stained bricks, and flood-rinsed linen scraps. Calendula paste became pigment and dead roots became framework. The city bloomed again, not in function, but in memory.
All day, we marked the alleys and entrances with who Aetheris and Venessaire were. They weren’t monarchs; they were among us. They harvested and stitched and boiled like the rest of us. Their home on the city’s edge was never guarded—only visited.
From poisoned land, we offered tribute. From tainted roots, we shaped monuments.
And now, without them, we do what we’ve always done. We gather. We build. We keep the flame.
Venice May 27, 2027 12:01 AM, Melody Hutchins
I found the notebook in a little curiosity shop. The cover had what appeared to be a bloody fingerprint in the lower right-hand corner. Inside was an astrology chart for a date 2 years in the future and some cryptic notes. A secret society forged through the bonds of death, communicating through and with the dead, necromancy? What brought them together? This alliance of equals, committed to their secret goal. Follow the chart. The handwriting looked familiar - it was my own.
SHE LEFT IN A BLAZE OF GLORY; A Country Mourns its Leader, Avenue Waters
The death of President Jaqualine Pentatribute has rocked the very young nation of Validation Island. She was only the third leader since the birth of this nation. Her death was as exaggerated as her life. She died of asphyxiation, choking on paraffin while performing firebreathing at the opening of this year’s Carnal Fun and Games, formally known as The Carnal Gladiator Games.
Pentatribute made headlines, often shocking ones, around the world during her 29 year long tenure in office. Beloved by the people of this country of paradoxes, President Pentatribute is pictured above dancing in her provocative Rule-Over-You Inaugural Gown that would “make Tom Ford blush,” a phrase of flattery make popular by Pentatribute. Sources say that if she met you and said, “Honey, I love you. You’d make TF blush,” you knew you’d be welcome at her famous parties, Delight in Delirium, held annually at her not-so-private beachfront estate.
The economy of Validation Island, population 15,721, has always been volatile. This small nation located in the Gulf of Alaska was founded in 2965. Their main export has been entertainment. What is still considered by most of the world to be too racy, Validation Island’s arts and culture of overtly competitive sexuality garners more attention on a global scale then their technological advances in generation of electricity. On Validation Island, the war of the sexes has been replaced by the war of sex. The war of sex is for all to view and vote on. Valuing all people equally, and heavily valuing uniqueness of body as a sign of beauty and sensuality, those individuals with natural and cultivated sex appeal “fight” in the arena of their national games. These are very games where Pentatribute first gained national power and, ultimately, lost her life.
As irony would have it, this Sex Goddess In Chief presided over a country that values marriage. Pentatribute had been married six times. Since there are no laws delineating divorce proceedings on Validation Island, upon her death she was still married to all of her spouses. Global ENQUIRER readers will remember Charlie Redoubt, first of the First Wildmen, and his imprisonment on charges of Denial of Pleasure. While in prison, Redoubt wrote a book, published by the Virgin Nuns, titled: The Manservant's Tale. Sources say that on their honeymoon, President Pentatribute and the second First Wildman, Brian "Bandwidth" Brewster read Redoubt's book out loud to one another. It has been rumored, but not verified, that Redoubt moved in with Pentatribute and Bandwidth once he was released from prison on fantastic behaviour.
The Right of Pleasure is the law of the land, as is ethical nonmonogamy. The term “spouse” is shared between individuals as public and state recognition of matrimony. It is announced by individuals who take ongoing pleasure in one another’s company. Defined by the individual involved, “marriage” takes the shape that is most pleasing to those involved. In the 75 years of this nation’s existence, there is a complicated and unpredictably changing set of tax laws, especially around “spousal benefits.”
Pentatribute’s early life was typical of youth in her country. She attending public education under the care of The Virgin Nuns, a group of rebels that refrain from engaging in sexual pleasure for themselves. The V. Nuns’ pleasure comes through raising youngsters capable of maturing into autonomous individuals. According to the V. Nuns, autonomy is the natural outcome of receiving enough personal validation and is necessary in order to fully participate fully in both marriage and the national Carnal Fun and Games while still maintaining equanimity and peace on their island nation.
Sources say that Pentatribute initially felt a call to become a Virgin Nun during her elementary school training. When her talents and all-round sex appeal was noticed by the V. Nuns, little Jaqualine Pentatribute was groomed for the games. Flaunting her round shape and oozing with raw sensuality, she was a favorite of the Games for years. By the spring of 3045, at age 25, Pentatribute rose to the highest level of the competition and won The Carnal Fun and Games. She dominated not only each opponent/partner but the crowds as well. With her last exhilarating thrust, the crowd shuddered as if one organism as people disrobed and masturbated in the stands. The cries and howls of orgasm from the crowd overtaken by Pentatribute’s power became the call beckoning her to start her presidential campaign.
Death calls out quite a different side of this nation. The belief in this country is that not only is death the great liberator it is the primary humanizer. The wide view of a person’s life and value in this country allows little moral judgment surfaces. The motto on the State Monument to the Dead reads, “We are each holy, even as we are mere mortals, holier because we are mere mortals.” All burials take place at sea. Most burials are quite private affairs, for heads of state the affair is public.
Petatribute’s casket, advocated for by the V. Nuns, was of stainless steel polished to a mirror finish. The stainless casket reflected each citizen who walked up to it during the public viewing. That each individual saw themselves and not their celebrated leader, emphasized this nation’s support for individuation. Though raucous parties are rumored to follow, today’s funeral was utterly silent. No speeches were given and none were asked for. The beloved and crazy-sexy Pentatribute was buried at sea as a nation watched from the shores. One unnamed individual dressed in a copy of the Rule-Over-You inaugural gown was seen drawing a message in the sand visible from the sky reading: "See you at the Games, Honey, I love you."
