Not y'all confusing Flonase for poppers...
Not y'all confusing Flonase for poppers...
It's (almost) 10:22 PST, on March 21st, and there's (almost) a New Moon in Aries
Dear F@guettes,
Low-key, I can’t stand the Collective Reading Industrial Complex. Call it healthy skepticism. Call it my pentecostal/charismatic upbringing. Call it a “woo—woo practice I just can’t get behind.” I know some of y’all are reputable. I know some of y’all are——. Anyway chile, the closest I can get is . . . drum roll please . . . mundane astrology. No channeling here. Just good old “when that ball of gas is burning over there, shit pops off down here.” By tweaking the spring equinox chart to the U.S. capital, I can see an astrological reflection of the country’s year ahead. Buckle up, bitches, we’re flying straight into the future.
With Virgo rising, my attention is immediately drawn to Mercury in Aries. The wing-footed, wand-carrying twink slays and betrays trade/commerce, transportation, the news industry, literature, and publishing. A bit too close to the Sun, Mercury swishes their hips under literal fire. I can’t help but side-eye America’s shadiest reads: the New York Times trans coverage debacle, the train derailment in East Palestine, Ohio, DeSantis’ ban on race, gender, and sexuality in Flordia classrooms, Tennesse’s chilling anti-drag bill, and the staggering wave of anti-trans legislation. Look at our mischievous little envoy go.
With Mars the rabble-rouser egging Mercury on, I wonder if we’ll experience labor strikes, cyber-attacks, civil unrest, international fisticuffs, and or an assault on American praxis——a deeply white supremacist, capitalist, patriarchal affair. Or, in other words, more mess. I anticipate the Let God Be True Quickly Interfaith Association will start seeking/creating members-only digital spaces to hold their spirited meetings. You know what they say: when the enemy comes knocking, close ranks. As Mercury skinnies on over to Jupiter’s Bear-like embrace, the nation (and its ambitions) are bolstered and magnified. It’s giving “this-land-is-my-land” nationalism low-key. I, for one, know that it is not. And yet, we’re still here, struggling to reconcile our relationship with the land we live on. Le sigh.
Sincerely,
E.Y.
P.S. Last year, I was eyeing the skies like a hawk. Venus and Saturn were in a 9th House skirmish and the authorities were down here banning queer books left and right. This year, Venus has found herself cushy and comfortable in Taurus. I’ve reason to believe queer (literary) reprieve is on its way. I trust, with Uranus so close by, it’ll be delicious, explosive, and exceptionally disruptive. Stay safe and look up.
The Good, The Bad, and Everything Else Inbetween is a monthly horoscope of the lunar variety. I will look at the Moon, describe her movements, and contextualize them for you. Enjoy ;)
The Good: So, you show up at your friend’s place to house-sit. They’ve left instructions for you to follow: walk the dog, check the mail, water the plants, and make yourself at home. You open the fridge and realize they stocked it up for you. Without getting into the weeds of it all (Mercury-Mars mutual reception, an about-to-be-bonified Moon, etc.), that’s the vibe. Treat it like what it is: an all-expense paid staycation.
Everything Else In-between: Lucky for you, the Moon’s not “available” until 12:52 PST, Wednesday, March 22nd. By then she’ll have given Jupiter the green light to come over and (dis)respectfully blow her back out. Dressed in her silkies, dainties, and unmentionables, she may seem . . . checks notes . . . horny beyond all reason. She is. And that’s because she’s surprisingly safe and supported. So, show up (for yourself) and act up (for others). After the barrage of backshots has ended, post-coital aftercare begins. I imagine this planetary embrace will soothe your negative self-talk, calm any nagging anxieties, and fortify a fiery and remedial relationship with your body. Isn’t it maddening how you need others to do you? Regardless of (any extremely understandable) intimacy hangups, hold the-folks-you-do-life-with close. They’re horny for you because they care.
The Bad: Repeat after me: post-nut clarity shouldn’t make you crazier. Moments after a wild night of “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” sex, The Moon starts a shouting match with Pluto the sketchy neighbor three doors down. I doubt it’ll result in anything crazy. But, whatever you do, don’t go over there. People go missing fucking around with him. Think of your staycation ;)
Bonus Content:
Books with Words, Books with Pictures, Books that Caught My Eye:
Note: Theodore McCombs’ striking metaphors caught my attention immediately. Uranians, a short story collection coming out this Spring, will be a delightful addition to my bookshelves. If you’d like to read more of his work (for free I might add), click here.
Faked Deaths in My Family
by Theodore McCombs
I cradled the dead snake’s slack, dark line, smashed into a double kink, and cried. Nana had found him squirming over the handle of the laundry room door, screamed, then slammed him into the jamb, breaking his neck—but since a snake is all neck, really she’d broken the whole of him. His skin was dry and papery but it glistened as if moist—black, with two shivers of gold tracing his length, like someone had drawn lines of sun down his storm-colored sides. I caught him in the creek bed that ran behind our property, trickling over the cracked earth, and when I picked him up, he curled and slipped around the knobs and edges of my hands. I’d had to pee, so I raced inside and draped him over a doorknob, where he craned his thumbnail head round the door, a slim, black finger bobbing in the air. From the bathroom, I’d heard Nana’s heavy shoes on the tile, then a shriek, a bang—
“Meshuggeneh girl!” Nana’s black eyes fixed on mine, the marionette lines on her chin creased deep and fierce. “Why did you bring this filthy vermin in!”