SORRY I'M LATE. I'm on a plane. Woke up to coyotes laughing like emphysemic old ladies, rattling their teacups, rattling their big costume jewelry. Orion's Belt was so frank in my dull city eye, like the silver belts studded with fake turquoise they sell at the airport under glass: sometimes it's hard to believe how much you're allowed to have for free you find yourself paying for the knockoff. Being A Parody Of Heaven, a memoir. The virility of “3.” Mercury sextile Jupiter in Scorpio today should have you feeling a little clearer and less freaked out/grossed out by some of the old yous and permanent records dredged up by yesterday's sky audit and the politics of evil. My friend said, yesterday, about the mass rape of the land and the living consequences of genocide: Ceremony is important, but it alone can't heal the land. Magic can't do it. Only action can do it. Dreamers on the soil. I’ll be back tomorrow with more on “Value”; the ground beneath our feet. Mark E. Smith and Ursula LeGuin are rocking Charon's boat. I love it.