Two troublesome squirrels chased each other along our backyard fence, running parabolic routes in defiance of gravity and against the stifling winter snow – while the sun came up and decided to shine for the day – lucky blue sky at the end of a month that had been so much less than kind. Then, cutting through Andy’s classical music station, the repeated chirping of a cardinal from the top branches of the seven sons flower tree. 

Brilliant, bright crimson against barren branches and bare sky – it brought comfort, even if it was happenstance, even if it knew not what hope it instilled. 

Much of life matters because of how we interpret and react to it, what we make of and imprint upon what random and haphazard acts unintentionally seem to intend. On this morning, the cardinal mostly likely was not singing for me, but I felt it was, and that feeling was enough to make it so. 

Who’s to say it wasn’t?

While this country’s convicted felon of a President is likely getting us into a war with Iran, our duly-elected Congress sits willfully helpless – the GOP fully enabling this Psycho-in-Chief to do whatever dangerous whims he wishes in a transparent attempt to distract from the Epstein files. It won’t work – no matter how many troops and people he gets killed, it won’t erase the fact that Trump is in those files, and there are allegations that he molested a thirteen-year-old girl that remain uninvestigated. All in the day for an alleged and morally depraved pedophile – so on with the weekly recap because nothing seems to change or matter…

Let’s begin with a tranquil tea moment.

The latest FAFO Award went to Wayne DeMario who is upset that ICE is rounding up and deporting the people that Trump said they would deport. LOL.

How do you think I feel about this?

A country with an actual king is doing more for accountability than our so-called democracy.

Archived winter obscura.

Manifesting Mercurial madness whether we like it or not.

Like butter.

The mask of an idea.

“Don’t write a check with your mouth that your ass can’t cash!”

The media is failing us with its ‘both sides’ garbage.

Is this too much to ask?

A planetary parade in a bonus post.

A perilous monthly calendar turn.

Karma isn’t working fast enough.

Dazzlers of the Day included the US Women’s Olympic Hockey Team, Davey Wavey, Thoren Bradley, Matt Ortile, Darryl McGrath and Simon Edvinsson.

Today is the first day of March, which proverbially comes in like a lion, though at this point in meteorological history there is no way we can count on a lamb-like departure. Andy has been warning me that the current spell of Mercury in retrograde motion is going to be particularly bad for Virgos – as if there was something I could do with that other than panic and expect the worst – but I’ve seen some astrological feeds warning that with a Virgo’s typical carefulness and deliberate consideration, it’s the people around us who should be worried. Expecting and preparing for the worst is generally my baseline anyway, so where’s the bother? I don’t want any trouble, but trouble loves to find me like I’m some unwilling participant in a game of hide-and-seek. Trouble should know by now I’m rather adept at hiding. 
When I used to play hide-and-seek as a kid there were times the others never found me. And sometimes, even when they yelled about oxen and income for free (signaling the end of the game) I’d stay hidden until the light drained from the sky and the screams faded into the distance. 

Our last month of winter dovetails with the beginning of spring – March straddling both with an element of unease – and it’s usually one of the more emotionally-charged times of the year. Coinciding with the upcoming full moon and lunar eclipse in Virgo, this puts us on a dangerous trajectory indeed. All I can do is meditate, see my therapist, and try not to hurt or get hurt in the process. Being a little more careful is about the only extra effort I can muster – staying within prescribed speed limits, not losing my shit at work, holding my tongue when ex-in-laws drag my family name through their self-created mud – you know, the usual routine. The confines of decent human behavior – the sort of thing that never held much interest or allure for me, but that has proven to be the easier path for those of us smart enough to simply suck it up. 

And so I shall endeavor to be a good boy as I put on the mantle of March – saving my lilac fury for spring, when I shall eat the white chocolate lamb before it even gets to bleat.

A week of astrological warfare puts on a show as six planets align in the sky beside a moon on the verge of growing into its fullness. Jupiter, Saturn, Venus, Neptune, Uranus and Mercury parade their heavenly bodies as I step into the night air and stand beneath their magnificence. This night is said to be a portal of sorts for personal transformation.

A time of mysticism, never quite grounded in science, works its own kind of magic. Maybe it’s partly real, maybe it’s all a placebo effect – if the end result is rumination, analysis, manifestation and meditation, then let us have the planets align.

In the air, more than a hint of spring. Clouds moving swiftly beneath the sparkling sky. A mystical evening holding fortune or emptiness, likely something between the two.

March is on the wind.

Spring is on the march.

What if all the anti-ICE citizens started dressing up in cosplay nonsense like the actual ICE agents terrorizing our country – the masks and flags and sunglasses and shit? It seems like people who wear that wardrobe can get away with murder – quite literally – so imagine what people on the right side of history might accomplish in similar garb.

We may very well be far past the point of vigilante justice, and I am certainly not proposing any dangerous ideas that might turn their strategies against them, especially in the minds of anyone feeling frustrated and angry at a world with seemingly no accountability for evil actions. How awful that would be! To incite something so violent that it might one day merit a Presidential pardon is practically unthinkable, right?

There is sometimes no greater threat to oppression than an idea, and as long as the mind is free, the ideas will follow.

Mercury returns to wretched retrograde motion today, where it will wreak its undeniable havoc all the way through March 20 – the ultimate uphill battle until we reach the spring (as if the final stretch of winter wasn’t and enough on its own).

There’s also a treacherous full moon appearing March 3 – one said to be especially challenging for Virgos, so if I seem a bit more psychotic than usual, the best thing to do will be to not fuck with me. Forewarned is fair-warned, and I’m not in the mood – because a double-whammy of full moon madness and Mercury in retrograde can make for a diabolical, combustible bit of destruction – a burn-it-all-down possibility on a good week, an absolute monstrosity at such an astrological crux. The intersection of Mercurial influence and lunacy was never going to be pretty. In the words of ‘Mommie Dearest’, “Don’t fuck with me fellas!”

Godspeed, good luck, and don’t forget me when I’m gone.