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Mars and Me Enraged

March 25, 2018 in Age Matters, Astro Matters, Cat Lady Matters, City Matters, Essays, Feminist Matters, Sabboytical

I just came home from a bad night a bad week a bad year so far, who am I kidding? Stopped at the bar at the corner before I came back because I had no booze in the house and it seemed wise to take the edge off all the pistons misfiring–the fight I had tonight, the hot-hot-hot flamenco to which I bore witness, the revelation that my burning love for someone had been a tiny subplot in his burning love for someone else. So yes tequila tequila before entering my house. (Don’t want to scare Grace.) Continue Reading →

Mercury Retrograde Rehab

March 22, 2018 in Astro Matters, Spirit Matters

Mercury retrograde, Mercury retrograde, Mercury retrograde! Sing it to the tune of “Marcia Marcia Marcia!” because we all feel like high-strung Jan Brady when the planet of travel and communication travels backward. The truth, of course, is all astrological transits have strengths and challenges, and this one–beginning today and lasting until April 15– is no exception.

Back up your electronics and release any attachments to business as usual. (Exhibit A: Today’s urine snow-soaked commute.) Choose your words carefully and listen especially well, since this retrograde takes place in hot-headed Aries. And expect a lot of tension, since Mars, the god of war and the ruler of Aries, prefers to forge forward, and this is a better time to revisit old patterns and projects than begin new ones. But Aries is about self-empowerment and personal identity, so these three weeks will offer a very useful crash course in getting out of own way. It may feel like ripping off a Band-Aid, but there’s nothing so gratifying as unveiling a healed wound.

Sweet Sweet Fascism

March 20, 2018 in Age Matters, Country Matters, Food Matters

I woke craving chocolate cake, as I do when PMSing despite having quit refined sugar or dessert of any kind more than three years ago. It’s miraculous that I gave it up, really, given my passion for sweetening things up literally. Am I utterly vice-free? Goddess no; I’m still more of an isolationist than is healthy, I still drink “adult sugar” as a goddaughter once called wine, I’m still waiting for that last sweet-faced narcissist to leave my bloodstream. But the more I detox my family’s favorite drug–and apparently it takes years to do so–the more I recognize it as one of the most odious and culturally accepted tools of end-stage capitalism. Keep them loggy, keep them sick, and fill their spiritual voids with empty calories. People will swallow the worst kind of shit with a spoonful of sugar, and no one rises to fight from the throes of sugar coma.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy