Three of Hearts, a love long lost, three swords stabbing a bright red heart, with dark rain clouds in the background. The Heirophant, Reversed. Bohemian lifestyle, non-conformity, the Pope’s frown now turned upside down, his dark red coat gleaming in disapproval. The Fool, a new journey, the beginnings of an odyssey, Heracles ready for his twelve labors. Jason climbing aboard the Argo. The peasant boy in the card looks sufficiently untested in battle and wit. A white dog is at his feet, egging him on. Toto and Dorothy on the cusp of Oz.
Archetypes. That’s what they are. They’re all archetypes. Thank Joseph Campbell for lampooning that into societal consciousness, though his other ideas are very much so out there, and that’s probably where people should stop giving him credit. There’s always a heartbreak. Always a scorned lover. A knight riding off into battle, a veteran returning from victory. A saddened queen, a vengeful king, a backstabbing page, a wise old man. Archetypes.
I can see why people might mistake this for divination, for fortune telling. I can Continue reading December 10th
They’re calling it the storm of the decade. That’s what everyone is calling it. News anchors, weather men in their near twenty-four-hour coverage, the people who are filing into the restaurant right now. Storm of the decade. I can see why, too. Last night at work, me and Jared saw a tree get torn down across the street by the sheer anger of the wind.
‘And people say climate change isn’t a thing,’ said Jared, shaking his head. ’91 two days ago and now it’s hailing. If this keeps up, we’ll have snow for Christmas.’
That wasn’t the only tree felled last night. Apparently, half a dozen cars were destroyed by falling trees and branches. Roofs were caved in. Lawns mauled by hail, streets still currently flooded. The intersection at Pacific Coast Highway has been closed off until they can remove the excess water, though how they’re going to do it is definitely a mystery to me. Continue reading December 4th
If the eighteen different alarms, set by the three different women in this house, and snoozed at five minute intervals, had not awoken me, it certainly would’ve been the angry, howling December wind that lashed out against the four walls holding up our roof. The days of the sun being up bright and early like the rest of the people in this house have been long gone, so it is still dark outside when I finally sit up against the green-brown satin couch in the living room. I can hear the tap running upstairs and some murmuring; Mother and my oldest sister, Percy (Persephone but she hates the link between herself and the Queen of the Underworld, my fickle, stubborn sister, insists) are talking to each other, though the words are inaudible and drowned out by the screeching wind.
Still groggy, I turn on the television, rubbing my eyes to wake up. The seven-o-clock morning news tells me nothing that I don’t already know; meteorologists say that heavy winds are coming in from an arctic storm that originated in Newfoundland, Canada, but had quickly swept through the States and ended up, at last, on the border of the Pacific in Southern California. Expect rain and possibly thunder.
‘They said the same thing yesterday,’ Percy says, walking down the stairs and plopping Continue reading December 3rd