PIXELS 
Closeup of iced leaves on the ground.


  2023  RETROGRADES 
As­tra­ea, titan­ess of jus­tice, was the last greco-roman im­mor­tal to leave moth­er Earth, dis­traught by the deg­ra­da­tion of the plan­et over suc­ces­sive ages. Join­ing her kin in a hypo­thet­i­cal heav­en, the daugh­ter to Them­is, first­gen titan­ess of the nat­ural or­der, be­came the last myth­o­log­i­cal link to a siz­able swarth of human­kind.


  2023 Rx

Cradle Court


Astraea retrograde
Slowing down while in tis­sue-thin Can­cer, As­tra­eastar­ry night” (1945) will spend De­cem­ber ex­haust­ed, and when loose lips can sink ships; the vir­gin god­dess is prone to be­ing a born-again en­ab­ler, gal­li­vant­ing out-and-about show­ing off a nic­kel-smooth cape en­crust­ed with iron, and sport­ing magne­sium sili­cates.

Fates retrograde 2023
On tra­jec­tor­ies to per­form retro­grades for 2023, the three Fates will have man­aged the feat of align­ing ±30 and ±60 de­gress apart from one an­other, to per­form an un­com­mon rite which is set to cul­mi­nate as autumn peaks. Klo­thospin­ner” (1868) turns retro­grade, Sep­tem­ber to No­vem­ber, from head-in-cloud Aries back to under-water Pis­ces, per­form­ing merit­less multi-task­ing.
  Lache­sismeas­ur­er” (1872) turns retro­grade while in Aries, from breezy Sep­tem­ber to gusty De­cem­ber, prone to end­less mind games.
  Atro­poscut­ter” (1888) retro­grades in crowd­ed Tau­rus, boun­ti­ful Oc­to­ber to bar­ren De­cem­ber, in an in­de­ci­sive­ness state. The Fates are now aste­roid god­desses, who once en­joyed exis­tence as con­joined sis­ters, pres­ent at every birth, in or­der to take meas­ure then deter­mine the time of death.

Haumea retrograde 2023
Spending half the year in retro­grade, scram­bled Feb­ru­ary to sun­ny-side-up July, Haumea (2004) leaves the den of Scor­pio for the sun-room of Libra. If well-as­pect­ed, secrets don’t spill; if not, the hawai‘ian child­birth god­dess is prob­ably the one to walk away.

Quaoar retrograde 2023
The creation god of the tong­va peo­ple of pres­ent-day Cali­for­nia ratch­ets up a ten­sion-filled year, dur­ing a retro­grade in in­flex­i­ble Cap­ri­corn, from show­ery May to sunny Sep­tem­ber. If well-as­pect­ed, uni-minds en­coun­ter glitches; if not, ir­re­spon­si­bles will twist and shout. Qua­oar (2002) has re­turned as a minor planet, or­bit­ing the Sun some seven tril­lion miles away, wear­ing shiny red rock stick-ons, shiver­ing and under­going radio­active de­cay, cough­ing up car­bon mon­ox­ide and musty ejects of bond­ed nitro­gen and meth­ane.

Sila-Nunam retrograde 2023
Sila breath of life” and Nu­nam “moth­er” hav­ing been mates since for­ever, share now a life as a binary be­ing from the Kui­per Belt, and is set to retro­grade twice, both times in noble Leo. Sila-Nunam (1977) spends gloomy Jan­u­ary to cloudy May stalled over a seem­ing­ly done deal. The sec­ond epi­sode hap­pens dur­ing De­cem­ber, when the in­uit im­mor­tals have to put up with too-many cooks in the kitchen.

Uranus retrograde 2023
The per­son­i­fi­ca­tion of heav­en” will retro­grade twice dur­ing 2023, both times in res­o­lute Tau­rus. The first time had be­gun back in 2022, and will end Jan­u­ary 21. The sec­ond starts on August 29 and goes past the end of the year, as the greco-roman sky god diverts the tra­di­tion­al holi­day sea­son onto an­oth­er path. Be­tween these two retro­grades, Uranussky” (1781) is prob­ably fo­cused on drain­ing the swamp.

     GARDEN    ART
  2023 Rx

Pond of Pontos


Makemake retrograde 2023
This poly­ne­si­an fert­il­i­ty god will retro­grade while in bal­anced Libra, from larva Feb­ru­ary to bug­gy June, set­ting up a safe­ty-vs-lib­er­ty con­un­drum. If well-as­pect­ed, Make­make (2005) achieves elo­quence in a de­bate, may­be noth­ing more; if not, the im­mor­tal re­spon­si­ble for mold­ing East­er Is­land and pop­u­lat­ing the ocean again re­lies on text­ing it in, un­der a guise of pas­siv­i­ty, in­side a faint­ly spark­ling char­coal cloak that is big­ger than Plu­to, patchworked with froz­en nitro­gen rings and veined in crim­son-stained meth­ane, where blades of iced eth­ane sprout.

Neptune retrograde 2023
Imagination can run ran­cid when Nep­tune (1846) retro­grades in kitch­en-sink Pis­ces, June 30 to De­cem­ber 5. If well-as­pect­ed, the roman god of the sea hides well be­hind croc­o­dile tears; if not, rip­ples of cruel­ty every­which way he turns. The liq­uid liege had chos­en the date of his re­sur­fac­ing back in­to his­tory by send­ing a dream, in 1846, to a sleep­ing math­e­ma­ti­cian. The woke mor­tal re­turned to the New Ber­lin Ob­ser­va­tory, en­tered a par­tic­u­lar set of co­or­di­nates, then locat­ed the clas­si­cal planet, sit­ting on his tri­dent throne.

Salacia retrograde 2023
The roman god­dess of salt water will spend retro­grade in fin­ger-on-the-trig­ger Aries, ice cream August to hot choc­o­late De­cem­ber, an oc­ca­sion when Sala­cia (2004) pre­sents as both a beau­ty and a beast.

Sedna retrograde 2023
Born on the bot­tom of the Arc­tic Ocean, the pre­mier in­uit sea god­dess gets to retro­grade twice in 2023. First in penned-in Tau­rus, dur­ing Jan­u­ary and Feb­ru­ary. The sec­ond will be in in­con­stant Gem­i­ni, fire­pit Oc­to­ber to bon­fire De­cem­ber, when Sed­na (2003) taints a sea­son for a rea­son with un­spe­ci­fi­able solemn­ity.

Varuna retrograde 2023
The premier hindu marine god is set for two retro­grades, both while in con­fi­dent Leo. The first one, Jan­u­ary to April, spent in a dis­quiet­ing state; the sec­ond, in De­cem­ber, when every­thing grates. Varunadome” (2000) is a com­plex crea­tion of at least five mature civ­il­i­za­tion: com­po­nents, more or less, to moth­er India. Among oth­er of­fices, he “who knows the path­way of the wind” is also the ab­orig­inal vedic sky god, tasked for­ever­more to patrol the cos­mos root­ing out mal­feasance.

     LOVE    CRADLE
  2023 Rx

Garden of Apollon


Bacchus retrograde 2023
From butter­fly May to bee-stung July, Bac­chus (1977) will be in retro­grade, back­slid­ing from bot­tled-up Ca­pri­corn to un­corked Sagit­ta­rius. The roman wine god now has a hel­len­ic dou­ble, Dio­ny­sus (1984), retro­grad­ing also, break­fast March to lunch­eon May, from cock­tail Libra to qui­nine Vir­go. Since these two events hap­pen back to back, ex­pect dur­ing spring­time to act as host to the dou­ble-aste­roid god of the grape.

Ceres retrograde 2023
The mother to Per­seph­o­ne begins a retro­grade on March 3, in leafy Libra, dis­cour­aged by the look of her farm. By the time Ceres (1801) exits retro­grade, on May 5, while in seed­ling Vir­go, the roman grain god­dess should have come to the real­i­za­tion that one or more whole sea­sons have gone miss­ing.

Dziewanna retrograde 2023
Dzi­e­wan­na (2010) finds her self at a cross­roads when turn­ing retro­grade, in im­plac­cable Scor­pio, damp March to dry August. If well-as­pect­ed, the slav­ic deity of deep wilder­ness could, for sure, ab­stain from a rust­ic hunt; if not, the earth god­dess gives it her all.

Huya retrograde 2023
When Huya (2000) retro­grades in Sagit­ta­rius, show­er­ing April to sun­shine August, the ven­ez­uel­an rain god can semi-in­ten­tion­al­ly flip, and what was once thought of as over and done with re­turns for a sec­ond life.

Iris retrograde 2023
Storm clouds can per­sist for Iris (1847) as she retro­grades in stygian Scor­pio, from scent­ed April to pun­gent June, a time when the rain­bow god­dess is eclipsed.

Jupiter retrograde 2023
The roman thunder god will retro­grade in four-square Tau­rus, Sep­tem­ber 4 to De­cem­ber 31. If well-as­pect­ed, Jupi­ter (1610) wards off a self­ish streak; if not, the first­gen titan of rain be­comes cal­lous. Ancient astron­o­mers paid close at­ten­tion to the future god-king of Olympus, and made a note of his repeat­able twelve-year re-ap­pear­ance at the same posi­tion in heav­en. Baby­lon­ian sky watch­ers then posi­tioned the god of light­ning as a mark­er of Time, and fanned out to pin­point the con­stel­la­tions, de­scribe the zodiac, be­gin the map for a hypo­thet­i­cal heaven.

Šiwa retrograde 2023
Šiwa life” (1874) turns retro­grade in driv­en Aries, Sep­tem­ber to No­vem­ber, a balanc­ing act for the sloven­ian fer­til­i­ty god­dess, who might have pre­ferred a less-goad­ed pace, un­easi­ly nav­i­gat­ing a fraught period while clad in a space-weath­ered body­suit the color of ox blood, wov­en of organ­ic-rich sili­cates, stitched us­ing tho­len thread and lined with kerogen.

Teharonhiawako retrograde 2023
When the iro­quois agri­cul­tural god retro­grades in porous Pis­ces, lim­ber July to old-man De­cem­ber, it does not bode well for prom­is­ing shoots plant­ed ear­lier, during spring. Teha­ron­hia­wako (2001) has come back now as a binary be­ing, and lives in the Kui­per Belt with his broth­er, and sec­ond­ary, Sawis­kera (2001). These alpha-and-omega gods of maize or­bit each oth­er as they go around the Sun.

  2023 Rx

Book of Love


Eros retrograde 2023
This elemental love god with a con­test­ed orig­in is to retro­grade, leav­ing splishy Pis­ces for splashy Aqua­rius, sun-lotion June to sun­burn Sep­tem­ber, nurs­ing the death of an in­no­cence. Eros (1898) is al­so the first male god to emerge from the Aste­roid Belt, ir­reg­u­lar­ly shaped and show­ing off a 20-ton body, wear­ing alum­i­num speedos sewn with gold thread and fast­ened by plat­inum snaps. The god of desire’s skin is pock­marked by rocks spewed out by sev­eral vol­can­ic erup­tions, one of which is from a bil­lion years ago.

Hera retrograde 2023
Hera (1868) will retro­grade, from day-dream­er Aqua­rius to bread-win­ner Cap­ri­corn, so­cial July to lazy Sep­tem­ber. If well-as­pect­ed, the greco mar­riage god­dess tells no lies and keeps all secrets; if not, an enemy made dur­ing this period can last a long time. Hera has a roman twin one hun­dred aste­roids away, Juno (1804).

Saturn retrograde 2023
All value-driv­en de­ci­sion mak­ing can turn in­to a mon­ey sink for Saturn (1610), dur­ing his retro­grade, begin­ning on June 17 in murky Pis­ces. As he takes leave of retro­grade on No­vem­ber 3, the first­gen titan of the har­vest could have in­ad­ver­tent­ly been an ally, even worse, dur­ing the course of some jolt­ing action, which had been de­ployed hap­haz­ard­ly. By the time Saturn exits retro­grade, the “bring­er of old age” would have for­got­ten all about this sea­son of trea­son, obliged to preen on in photo­graphs as a clas­si­cal plan­et with many moons, and rings which con­tin­u­al­ly rain down or­gan­ic build­ing blocks in ­ pack­ag­ing.

Venus retrograde 2023
The principal roman love god­dess turns retro­grade in easy-peasy Leo, July 23 to Sep­tem­ber 3, when she seejs fif­ty ways to cause a sep­ar­ation. If well-as­pect­ed, the lov­er of Mars, Bac­chus, Mer­cury, Nep­tune, etc., can end a quar­rel; if not, the “chang­er of hearts” might start one. Venus (2000 BC) or­bits the Sun naked, show­ing off a body made of so­lid rock, bulg­ing with veins swol­len by in­ert ar­gon. The classical planet is un­der­go­ing con­tin­u­ous ex­fo­li­ation, los­ing her pre­cious atoms of nitro­gen, each one en­cased in a pack­age of sul­fu­ric acid, float­ing across a car­bon diox­ide atmo­sphere and turning into drifting gauze. “Foam born” has a hel­len­ic half who is al­so an aste­roid god­dess: Aphro­dite (1935) turns retro­grade in party-hardy Sagit­ta­rius, from late April to August, when she might catch a social disease.

Vesta retrograde 2023
A pledge to stick with home-cook­ing might crum­ble, when Ves­ta (1807) turns retro­grade, from No­vem­ber 3 to De­cem­ber 31, leav­ing full plate Can­cer for lunch bag Gem­i­ni. If well-as­pect­ed, the re­vered roman god­dess of the hearth makes do with take-out; if not, noth­ing tastes right.

     CRADLE    OLYMPIA
  2023 Rx

Art of Darkness


Altjira retrograde 2023
The aboriginal deity of dream­time retro­grades twice, both times in ver­sa­tile Gem­i­ni; Jan­u­ary to Feb­ru­ary, and Oct­o­ber to De­cem­ber. These win­try weeks might tease out the needy and sen­ti­men­tal sides of Alt­jira (2001), per­iods when his eye­lids can’t close.

Ceto retrograde 2023
The daughter to ­ Earth and Pon­tos is poised to retro­grade in trans­for­ma­tive Scor­pio, white-capped March to dead-calm August, adrift and with no nav­i­ga­tion. If well-as­pect­ed, Ceto (2003) re­sorts to the tried and true, resorts to her role as a marine matri­arch; if not, the moth­er of select greco crea­tures is deemed re­spon­si­ble for past actions.

Chaos retrograde 2023
The chthonic god­dess of the dark retro­grades twice, first in cur­ious Gem­i­ni, Jan­u­ary to March, feel­ing a bit irked. The sec­ond time, No­vem­ber to De­cem­ber, while in shel­lacked Can­cer, Chaos (1998) is a bit dis­mayed. Irked (cab­in fev­er?) and dis­mayed (food in­secur­ity?) is the “dark majes­ty and mys­tery of crea­tion in­car­nate” be­cause retro­grades can fuck with her well-oiled men­tal health: “a shape­less, un­wrought mass of dis­con­nect­ed ele­ments all heaped to­geth­er in anar­chic dis­array”.

Circe retrograde 2023
Circe (1855) retro­grades from dis­cern­ing Cap­ri­corn in May to a dar­ing Sagit­ta­rius in August. If well-as­pect­ed, the “mis­tress of black magic” on­ly has to go through low-grade self es­teem is­sues; if not, flayed and ex­posed to the ele­ments.

Eris retrograde 2023
In the first of two retro­grades, tak­ing place dur­ing Jan­u­ary, Erisab­horred” (2003) has man­aged to smoth­er a com­bus­ti­ble Aries, leav­ing be­hind an acrid smell. The sec­ond al­so takes place in Aries, from sum­mer to year’s end, when the greek chaos god­dess finds her­self sur­round­ed by green­horns and be­comes frus­trat­ed. Eris or­bits the Sun some 8.8 tril­lion miles (14.28 tril­lion kilo­meters) away, sport­ing a battle­suit of white-white scales made of iced-meth­ane, which con­dense down to panes, all the while shed­ding mias­mas. Un­der this man­tle the daugh­ter to Nyx “night” might al­so be a tur­bu­lent inter­nal sea.

Gonggong retrograde 2023
It is perhaps for­tu­nate that this chi­nese marine god gets to retro­grade while in com­pas­sion­ate Pis­ces, lazy July to laid-back No­vem­ber, be­cause then Gong­gong (2007) might be­come prone to doubt. His goal, his sole ex­ist­ence, is to nudge Earth’s axis off kil­ter, and cause des­truc­tion etc. The im­mor­tal sea snake with a human head has re­turned as a sphere some 764 miles (1,230 kilo­meters) in diam­eter, glid­ing in­side the Scat­tered Disc, sheathed in a gleam­ing snake­ skin stained red by an­cient thol­ins, shoot­ing flinty ir­ra­di­at­ed bul­lets of iced methane.

Hekate retrograde 2023
A brief win­dow of time comes dur­ing Jan­u­ary and Feb­ru­ary, for Hekate (1868) to autop­sy a spent do­mes­tic dra­ma. The in­fer­nal god­dess of witch­craft sifts through evi­dence, from an aloof Can­cer and a cold Gemini.

Lempo retrograde 2023
This remote viking love god­dess – turned sex­ual-mi­grant – has re­turned as an easy-go­ing fin­nish god of the neth­er­world, who will go retro­grade while in pos­ses­sive Tau­rus, from one-blan­ket Sep­tem­ber to two-blan­kets De­cem­ber. If well-as­pect­ed, in­ti­ma­cy is lost but re­sumes as chiv­al­ry; if not, seem­ing­ly shy Lem­po (1999) won’t post­pone his revenge.

Lilith retrograde 2023
The orig­in­al witch” goes retro­grade, in meth­od­i­cal Vir­go, from dor­mant Feb­ru­ary into fecund April. If well-as­pect­ed, the “first wom­an” wears well her veil of old cob­webs, on a quest to re­deem the past; if not, Lilith (1927) is caught red-hand­ed, ped­dling snake oil.

Mars retrograde 2023
Pre­pared­ness and train­ing come to naught as the roman god of war en­ters 2023 trail­ing back­wards in gosh-darn Gem­i­ni. Mars (1534-bce) is to exit retro­grade just elev­en days later, then will spend the rest of the year gin­ning up the troops for an­oth­er go.

Zhulong retrograde 2023
Zhulong (2014) is a chi­nese solar dei­ty retro­grad­ing while in in­tense Scor­pio, wet March to warm July. No doubt about it, the giant fire-breathing dragon is on a quest to ground lit­tle devils every­where.

     POND    ART
  2023 Rx

Olympia Academy


Apollo retrograde 2023
The pure god of truth” will retro­grade in 2023 down five zodiac signs, from flower­ed April to fruit­ed July. If well-as­pect­ed, the god of for­eign­ers swal­lows his pride, asks for as­sist­ance; if not, the “des­troy­er” is soon enough kicked out of queen-size Libra, over to futon Vir­go, to water­bed Can­cer, final­ly to sleep­ing-bag Gem­i­ni. Apol­loshin­ing” (1932) is the lead­er of the apol­lo fam­i­ly of aste­roids: a posse of Earth-cross­ing mis­siles, each with a prob­a­bil­i­ty of crash land­ing one day.

Chiron retrograde 2023
The wis­est and just­est of all the cen­taurs” turns retro­grade in aus­tere Aries, from July 23 to De­cem­ber 26, which is when Chiron (1977) finds he’s stepped on and cracked a mir­ror. If well-as­pect­ed, the hy­brid human-horse is giv­en a win­dow of op­por­tu­ni­ty to try and re-as­sem­ble the look­ing-glass; if not, the hel­len­ic “teach­er of medi­cine, herbs, music, arch­ery, hunt­ing, and gym­nas­tics” stares in­to the cracked pieces. The orac­u­lar-cen­taur is the first of his kind: a col­lec­tive of aste­roid bodies with com­et tails, each on a chaot­ic or­bit that is in­flu­enced tidal­ly by Nep­tune. One of them, Pho­lus (1992), is set to retro­grade while in con­ser­va­tive Cap­ri­corn, May to Sep­tem­ber, a sea­son when rest­less­ness and ex­haust­ing in­ept­ness tugs at the cen­taur tasked with guard­ing his tribe’s wine sup­ply.

Hephaistos retrograde 2023
Getting ready to retro­grade, from a mol­ten Aries in Sep­tem­ber to a solid­i­fied Tau­rus dur­ing De­cem­ber, He­phais­tos (1978) at last found some time to sit down, re­read the rush work or­der for arm­a­ments only his forge could de­vise. The far-flung god of fire­smiths then will real­ize that he had read wrong. If well-as­pect­ed, the god of crafts­man­ship has wast­ed both time and money; if not, on­ly time will be wast­ed.

Hebe retrograde 2023
The greco god­dess of youth be­gins the year in the midst of a retro­grade in toothy Leo; this period will end in March, in shy Can­cer. If well-as­pect­ed, Hebe (1847) at­tains an in­sight that comes with a price; if not, the aste­roid wife to aste­roid Her­ac­les spends winter­time res­ur­rect­ing her storms of youth.

Heracles retrograde
Stalled in a han­gry Aries, from rip­ened August to cured No­vem­ber, Her­ac­les (1991) finds ample ex­cuses to put on weight. If well-as­pect­ed, this son of Thebes can cram, as is his wont, and still leave room for a side of diplo­macy; if not, rit­uals of rend­ing and gnaw­ing two or more times a day.

Panacea and Hygiea retrogrades 2023
Challenged to retro­grade in friend­ster Aqua­rius, from warm June to hot Sep­tem­ber, ­ a face­mask should be­come a no-brain­er for Hy­gieagood health” (1849); be­cause. Mean­while, her sis­ter, Pana­ceacura­tive” (1980), gets to spend retro­grade, from open-win­dow Sep­tem­ber to fire­side De­cem­ber, as nurse to a fev­er­ish Aries, dis­pens­ing (one can so hope) bit­ter-tast­ing tea­spoons of re­viv­i­fy­ing san­i­ty.

Mercury retrograde 2023
The first of four retro­grades in 2023 by com­pli­cat­ed crea­tion Mer­cury (265-bc) is over with in the first seven­teen days of 2023, spent in an un­yield­ing Cap­ri­corn.
The sec­ond retro­grade hap­pens from April 21 to May 14 in a no-room-for-er­ror Tau­rus.
The third time, Au­gust 23 to Sep­tem­ber 14 in rosy-cheeked Vir­go, is when the mes­sen­ger of the gods comes to the real­i­za­tion he is over­taxed, and there­fore can­not rec­og­nize him­self in the mir­ror.
During the last time, De­cem­ber 13 to 31, from by-the-book Cap­ri­corn to pro­phet­ic Sagit­ta­rius, the “con­duc­tor of souls” de­lin­e­ates a widen­ing maw.
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There is a hel­len­ic heap of Mer­cury, come back now as an apol­lo aste­roid, who is to retro­grade down four zodiac signs, from in–door Feb­ru­ary to pic­nic-time July. If well-as­pect­ed, Her­mes (1937) does not hit anyth­ing, any­one; if not, the god who cel­e­brates a birth­day every fourth day of the month is help­less, ping­pong­ing from zany Aqua–rius, in-the-way Cap–ri–corn, jumpy Sagit­ta­rius to don’t-tread-on-me Scor­pio.
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Link to see if Mer­cury is cur­rent­ly retro­grade.

Pallas retrograde 2023
The greco-roman god­dess of wis­dom has many names, over­sees many oth­er con­cerns be­sides be­ing the smart­est one in Olym­pus. Then the car­bons start­ed show­ing up, first Pal­las, then Ath­ene, and Min­er­va, join­ing up to be­come a comp­li­cat­ed trip­le-aste­roid god­dess – a be­ing cap­able of mul­ti­ple, and simul­tan­e­ous, retro­grades. The first of the lovely-haired god­dess to ap­pear was Athene (1917), a hel­len­ic shard which then van­ished and was nev­er seen again. The sec­ond piece, a roman-sized rock named Min­er­va (1867), is primed for two retro­grades; the first dur­ing Jan­u­ary in car­ing Can­cer. The sec­ond, from Oct­o­ber to De­cem­ber in a stub­born Tau­rus, pinned to a place of dead roads. The third com­po­nent is al­so the larg­est frag­ment, Pal­las (1802), set to retro­grade in a re­fined Can­cer, Jan­u­ary and Feb­ru­ary, dur­ing a time of need­less neglect.

Terpsichore retrograde 2023
The muse of music is dis­traught by the cur­rent war dance. Terp­si­cho­re (1864) is to retro­grade in polite Pis­ces, from har­vest dance Aug­ust to down-time Sep­tem­ber. If well-as­pect­ed, she suf­fers no fools; if not, the moth­er to the Sirens might be tasked to com­pose for con­flict.

     GARDEN    ART
  2023 Rx

The Underworld


Eurydike retrograde 2023
The dead wife to Or­pheus will retro­grade, from rain­bow-hued Sagit­ta­rius to hell­ish Scor­pio, from warm May un­til sun­tan-lotion July. If well-as­pect­ed, Eury­dike (1862) only copes with a bout of un­ease; if not, she who once had tred on a snake, died, went to the under­world, re-en­acts “prin­cess and the pea” several times.

Mors-Somnus retrograde 2023
Roman gods Mors “death” and Som­nus “sleep” share an exis­tence now as a binary be­ing, orbit­ing in the Kui­per Belt and be­hold­en to the grav­i­ta­tion­al guid­ance of Plu­to. Mors-Som­nus (2007) is set to turn retro­grade in ten­sion-fraught Tau­rus, windy Oct­o­ber to stormy Decem­ber, un­able to de­cide on wheth­er to hold a sword or wield a pen.

Orcus retrograde 2023
This infernal im­mor­tal will retro­grade in ex­act­ing Vir­go, from hard­ly wet Jan­u­ary to dry May. If well-as­pect­ed, the “pun­ish­er of brok–en oaths” might back­slide – and not fling out so many edicts left and right; if not, Orcus (2004) gets mouthy, pon­tif­i­cates, prob­a­bly ends up hav­ing to pay the piper. The proto-roman god of hell had re-sur­faced in­to recent his­tory, oblique in a man­tle of faint tho­lins, en­crust­ed with meth­aned rub­ble dusty with drops of am­mo­nia, and miles-long falls shoot­ing jets of iced crys­tal­line water in­to the sky.

Osiris retrograde 2023
Preferring dark suits and all of 8 miles (13 kilo­meters) wide, Osiris (1960) is an am­bas­sa­dor from the house of Egypt to the Aste­roid Belt. The port­man­teau des­ert dei­ty is to retro­grade, frost­bite Feb­ru­ary to may­be May, down cloud­less Libra to a dap­pled Vir­go. Mean­while, the in­ten­tions of the egyp­tian god of res­ur­rec­tion dur­ing a retro­grade re­mains un­known, locked in silence.

Persephone retrograde 2023
The greco queen of the under­world turns retro­grade in vir­tual Vir­go, Feb­ru­ary to April, inter­rupt­ing a quest for bet­ter days. If well-as­pect­ed, Per­seph­one (1895) only has to re­trace lost months; if not, the daugh­ter to agri­cul­tural god­dess Ceres and rain god Jupi­ter is adrift, be­cause root­less. These days, the wife to Plu­to is al­so the pri­mary seg­ment of a trip­le-space god­dess. There is roman ruin Proser­pina (1853), who lives just 373 aste­roids away. And an­tique Kore (2003), orbit­ing Jupi­ter as one of his many moons.

Pluto retrograde 2023
The roman king of the under­world retro­grades, May 1 to Oct­o­ber 10, from the lev­el play­ing field of Aqua­rius to the rocky ruts of Cap­ri­corn. For the rest of the year, a de­natured dance has been on-go­ing. If well-as­pect­ed, Pluto (1930) gets part­nered with man­u­fac­tured con­sent; if not, the “god with no name” takes on all part­ners.

Typhon retrograde 2023
The sire to the four direc­tion­al winds turns retro­grade, cloudy March to clear-sky July, while in tri-formed Scor­pio. If well-as­pect­ed, Typhon (2002) stays curled up in­side a malev­o­lent mouth; if not, the “ser­pent su­preme” can­not wait to greet spring equi­nox with a syringe of nas­ti­ness. Typhon is paired with a moon-mate, the snake Echid­na (2006); they are now a binary be­ing in the Scat­tered Disc.









-¦  January 2023  ¦-



  GROUND  CONTROL 


e n v o y      Today’s astronomers worry about micro-meterorites and cosmic rays bombarding the Inter­nation­al Space Station, close calls among satellites and spacecrafts, and especially wardrobe malfunctions in outer space.       Yester­day’s astronomers had fewer worries, more wonderment. Taking notes, they devised almanacs and calendars. Some built structures to greet celestial returns, Karnak’s temple turns orange with the rising of the midwinter Sun, and the standing stones at Stone­henge ‘has some align­ment on astro­nom­ical phenomena.’       The Babylonians divided the sky into twelve equal wedges, to facilitate the tracking of positions as well as move­ments. Then a map was passed around, show­ing longitudes and latitudes. The Vatican became intrigued, wanting to learn more of this new science, which arrived in Europe from Spain, in translations of Indian and Islamic texts, and a mechanism known as an astrolabe, that can show a map of heaven.
      Caroline Herschel (b.1850) started out as an assistant to her astronomer brother William Herschel (b.1738), polishing mirrors and mounting telescopes. When he then discovered Uranus, she too took a peek, and soon enough discoverd a satellite to the Andromeda galaxy: an elliptical dwarf galaxy.       Then a Harvard computer, while cataloging stars over several photographic glass plates by using a spectroscope, which charts ‘stellar brightness in proportion to luminosity-oscillation periods’ (i.e., the twinkle), devised a ‘standard candle for determining cosmic distances.’ Henrietta Leavitt (b.1868) had just invented a space tape measure to judge distances.

e y e w i t n e s s      The ancients were intrigued by natural glass found in nature, able to let light through, to enhance eyesight by magnification. These qualities were refined, when glass-making was invented, to help address loss of eyesight in the aged, among many other benefits. Polished with a concave or sometimes convex surface, fitted into a holder, this became a magnifying glass. Then someone fitted several lenses into a tube and invented the telescope.
      When the tube became much much larger, a glass plate treated on one side with a photo­sensitive agent was placed inside, and after a period of time, up to two years, yielded a photo­graph of stars.       Author Agnes Giberne (b.1845) wrote the first astronomy books for young minds, bringing them face to face with the Moon, the Sun, comets. “Among the Stars,” which came out in 1885, is 360 pages.

e x a m i n e r      Mary Palmer (b.1839) married a doctor, and amateur astron­o­mer, Henry Draper (b.1837), and became an astute student of the sky. His sudden death age 45 left her with money, paperwork and photographic evidence of their galaxy quest.       Mary Draper then bequeathed an annual sum, beginning in 1886, to Harvard College Observatory, to procure sufficient staff to finish her husband’s catalog of stars.
      The photographic evi­dence were captured on hun­dreds of glass plates, either 17x14 or 8x10 inches in size. Each plate is overlaid with numbered grids and placed, on an inclined plane, under a microscope. A light under the glass-plate illu­mi­nates the photograph.       The first computer, looking through the microscope, calls out each star’s name and grid position, while another computer enters the information into a ledger.       The glass plates are also studied using a spectro­scope, and requires an ap­ti­tude for mathematics to take readings ‘based on the bright­ness of stars.’ Descrip­tions can include normal, hazy, sharp, and inter-deter­m­inants (several kinds). Be­cause of the long exposure time, the pho­to­sen­si­tive agent was able to register ‘long inte­gra­tion times’ yielding data on color, temperature, chemical com­po­si­tion.       Wil­lia­mina Fleming (b.1857) was one of the first Harvard com­puters, a team of women scientists. She had no such background and trained on the job, which was to ‘compute mathematical clas­si­fi­ca­tions.’ It turned out she had a flair for the work: “From day to day my duties at the Observatory are so nearly alike that there will be little to describe outside ordi­nary routine work of measurement, exam­i­na­tion of photographs, and of work involved in the reduction of these observations.

e t y m o l o g i s t      NASA’s predecessor had hired female math­e­ma­ti­cians, as early as in 1935, as human com­puters in a segregated system. As­signed to dif­fer­ent de­part­ments, they would be tasked to take down notes, parse flight test scores, run cal­cu­la­tions, perform analytics.       Jeanette Scissum (b.1938) on her first day, in 1964, at NASA: “Math­e­ma­ti­cian, entry level. They didn’t have computers or a computer science pro­gram at A&M when I grad­u­at­ed, so I didn’t know how to do that. Once I did, everybody had me doing computer stuff for them.”       Math­e­ma­ti­cian Katherine Johnson (b.1918), work­ing in NASA’s flight mechanic division, was told that a space­craft would want to make a landing during prime-time television on a specific date. She then had to figure out when takeoff time must take place. Using analytic geom­etry, Johnson figured it out.       High-school whizkid Mary Winston (b.1921), with degrees in math­e­matics and physical science, worked in the com­puter pool, and was assigned to assist in wind tunnel tests at twice the speed of sound. Showing promise, she went back to school and got an engineer’s degree and became an aerospace engineer. Married to a sailor in the U.S. Navy, she became Mary W. Jackson. The National Aeronautics Space Administration’s D.C. headquarters is now named after her.      
Mathematician Dorothy Vaughan (b.1910), in a 28-year career at NASA’s Langley Research Center, became a specialist in calculating flight paths. Vaughan then had ac­cess to a new office machine, read the user’s manual, taught herself the machine’s lan­guage, Fortran (Formula Translating System), and learned how to program NASA’s first electronic com­puter.       Math­e­ma­ti­cian Grace Hop­per (b.1906) championed the use of English in com­pos­ing tasks fed into elec­tron­ic computers: “Man­ip­u­lat­ing symbols was fine for mathematicians but it was no good for data pro­ces­sors who were not symbol manip­u­la­tors. If they are they become pro­fes­sion­al math­e­ma­ti­cians, not data pro­ces­sors. It’s much easier for most people to write an Eng­lish statement than it is to use symbols. So I decided data processors ought to be able to write their programs in Eng­lish, and the com­puters would translate them into machine code. That was the beginning of COBOL (Com­mon Business Oriented Lan­guage), a computer language for data processors.”       Mathematician Evelyn Boyd (b.1924) joined IBM in 1956: “At a two-week training session I was introduced to the IBM 650 and the pro­gram­ing language SOAP. ... Creation of a computer program is an exercise in logical thinking. Afterwards I worked as a consultant in numeri­cal anal­ysis in an IBM subsidiary. When NASA awarded IBM a contract to plan, write, and maintain computer pro­grams I readily agreed ... to be a part of the team of IBM mathematicians and scientists who were re­spon­si­ble for the formulation of orbit computations and computer procedures, first for project Vanguard, and later for project Mercury.       Mathematician Melba Roy Mouton (b.1929) worked for the Army Map Service before working as a human com­puter for NASA, and fig­ur­ing out trajectory and orbit­al solu­tions for a metal­ized bal­loon in proj­ect Echo.       Writ­ing prop­o­si­tions and coming up with solutions by hand was routine for math­e­ma­ti­cian Annie Easley (b.1933). Then electronic computers came along and, although Easley learned Fortran and be­came a more-valued asset, she still can re­mem­ber the micro-ag­gres­sions: “My head is not in the sand. If I can’t work with you, I will work around you. I was not about to be [so] dis­cou­raged that I’d walk away. ... I’m out here to do a job and I knew I had the ability, and that’s where my focus was.”       Work­ing in the computer pool, Chris­tine Darden (b.1947) was given the task to come up with a computer program for sonic boom. Darden, who grew up taking apart and putting back together bicycles and other manu­fac­tured contraptions, is today an aero­space engi­neer: “I was able to stand on the shoulders of those women who came before me, and women who came after me were able to stand on mine.


  ROCKETEER  


a n a l y s t      On April 15, 1726, while taking tea in the garden with his friend, Issac Newton (b.1642) pondered on an apple which had just fallen to the ground. William Stuckeley records how Newton mused:
      “Why should that apple al­ways descend per­pen­dic­u­lar­ly to the ground? Why should it not go side­ways, or up­wards? but con­stant­ly to the earth”s centre? As­sured­ly, the reason is, that the earth draws it. There must be a drawing power in, and the sum of the draw­ing power in the mat­ter of the earth must be in the earth’s centre, not in any side of the earth. There­fore does this apple fall per­pen­dic­u­lar­ly, or toward the center. If matter thus draws, it must be in pro­por­tion of its quan­tity. There­fore the apple draws the earth, as well as the earth draws the apple.”

a n g e l      The ancients, unconcerned of this “drawing power” that Newton was to articulate, mocked the gravity throne and continued sending prayers to heaven. En­treaties written in temple script on paper were then folded into a pouch. A lit candle attached to the pouch sends smoke inside, causing its ascent.       Humankind then followed the lanterns, yet the earliest ones didn’t know to carry oxygen, and returned spouting the wildest tales of beings living in the upper air. The four winds, curious, would approach with whistles and roars and yells, asking questions, including that confounded new con­tri­vance, a wind tunnel.       Sensing fear in their visitors’ eyes, the thunderous voices abated. Zephros drew closer and whis­pered: “We are wind gods of the four cardinal points, heralds of seasons, sons to Typhöeus, fifth and final monster born to mother Earth. We too seek a rea­son for exis­tence, and wheth­er or not it be­comes us to be suit­ed up in turbines, pumps, and such fetters.”       Notos spread icicles while parting his lips: “Can these regulation systems really help with my rest­less­ness? and what’s up with welded insulation?” Euros brought up the sorest point: “Can gravity weigh me down and curb my mood.” Boreas’ grum­ble rumbled: “Magnetosphere con­strains our empire but why? And who are these rocket­men and their reckless aerial turns in guidance and control?”
      Sensing fear in the visitors’ eyes, their thun­derous voices abated. Then Zephros drew even closer and whis­pered: “We are wind gods of the four cardinal points, heralds of seasons, sons to Typhöeus, fifth and final monster born to mother Earth. We too seek a rea­son for exis­tence, and wheth­er or not it be­comes us to be suit­ed up in turbines, pumps, and such fetters.”       Notos spread icicles while parting his lips: “Can these regulation systems really help w/ my rest­less­ness? and what’s up w/ welded insulation?” Euros brought up the sorest point: “Can gravity weigh me down and curb my mood.” Boreas’ grum­ble rumbled: “Mag­ne­to­sphere con­strains our empire but why? And who are these rocket­men and their aerial ad­ven­tures in guidance and control?”

a i r m a n      The four winds invariably took their gasping guests on the grand tour. Earth’s atmosphere is spherical and contains a precise mixture of gases such that oxygen becomes its miraculous chemical product. It has the same shape as mother Earth due to her gravitational grit, which she bestows also to water and all living things. The sea and mountains are deemed to be sentient by the ancients, and so too is Aether considered a being, having undergone “bio­chem­i­cal mod­i­fi­ca­tions by living organisms” ever since its aboriginal form coa­lesced into a paleo-atmosphere. Material enough for Earth to lassoo the grandson to Chaos with a girdle tight enough to separate the deity into distinct layers, and is the main cause of clouds.       This primeval sky god can only be discerned when he digs into his bag of optical tricks and throws mirages, or scatters light. Aether is patron to Earth, whose existence depends on a narrow band of the bottom layer, beginning at sea level.

a v a t a r      Innovative proto-aviators watched how birds populate the air and go where they will. Wings got built and tied to men. Jumps happened. Leonardo da Vinci (b.1452) had his own solution; yet his own design, wings that can flap, never left the sketchbook.      

   Bird wings are folding fans, able to expand and collapse. Each wing is a web of arm bones, having joints which, by evolutionary decree, have quills on the knuckles; each quill grasps one feather.

a e r i a l i s t      Divinities of the air were entranced to receive paper prayers heaven-bound using paper, glue and heated air. They also found out that hydrogen, when it is un­adulterated, possesses levitational abilities also. But being a gas, it would simply dissipate when in contact with one or more gasses.       Rare and difficult to distill, hydrogen requires a chamber, white-hot iron, run­ning water; and had to wait until a non-porous material to con­tain the new gas, was was dis­cov­ered around 1780, had not yet been de­vel­oped.       A ginormous pillow, with a small opening, tied to a large basket and fed a healthy gulp of heated air, took to rising into the atmosphere. Then, as the trapped air cools, this “hot-air balloon” will descend. The first companions chosen to carry out this maid­en flight were a french sheep, duck and rooster.

a c r o b a t      Smoke from large fires first showed the way during wartime: to send a signal, or initiate a maneuver. Kites were another way to harness wind behavior to send sturdier signals. It can also be used as a measure­ment of distance, or just to “test the wind.” Kites can also fight each other.
      Dog-earred generals carried mint editions of “The Myth of Icarus” into battle and tasked military engineers to accessorize kites so as to become fit for carrying a passenger. Even­tual­ly squadrons of pas­seng­ers paid visits to the sky, and giving notice that the empire of the four winds was coming to an end.       Kites were invented for children when they first became aware how they might have, as playpals: the four winds.       Not for war’s sake, Benjamin Franklin (b.1706) is prob­ably the first to use wind power to send a laboratory into space: kite + key + lightning storm.

a l c h e m i s t      Through trial and error someone came up with gunpowder. That a right mixture of carbon, sulfur and saltpeter (an efflorescence mineral found on the surface of stones) will produce a flash accompanied by fire that burns off – an explosion. A wrong mixture produces instead just “smoke and flames.”
      Soldiers saw the promise and quickly adopt­ed the recipe. Dream­ers invented fireworks. Paper tubes filled with confetti and a spoonful of gun­powder then sealed with a fuse sticking out. The tube is tied to a long stick that will act as a tail, then aimed towards the sky. Flame is introduced to the fuse and the detonation produces a propulsive force inside the tube, which ascends before spilling out its contents.       Al­though it was John Bate (b.1600s) figured out how to make compound-rockets, which boosted the appeal of his brand of “fyer workes,” it took until Hermann Oberth (b.1894) to sheath it in metal, for the first time, to insure a sturdier flight.
      Fireworks are propelled missiles guided during a brief initial phase of powered flight. Then a subsequent trajectory that obeys the laws of gravity, and codified as classical mechanics.

a r c h e t y p e       When World War 2 was over, pilots and other aero­nauticals returned to civilian roles.       Back to working for a paycheck, these airmen flexed their know-how and birthed an aerospace industry that now­adays has gone global. By 1960 the skies were al­ready beginning to get mighty crowded.
      Governments were wont to fund space ex­plor­a­tions, get bragging rights, so they practised by dividing up North Pole, a melting continent.       Long­i­tudes and latitudes led to pre­ci­sion map­ping of the world, and in the co-mingling of new dis­ci­plines rock­et science took off to map a hypothetical heaven.



  THREAD & THRUM  title of article: Rubble Rubble
Photo of meteorite that landed in Sanchore, northern India, in 2020.
Small space ob­jects enter­ing Earth’s gravi­ta­tion are, first and fore­most, a po­ten­ti­al­ly dan­ger­ous “near-Earth ob­ject”. When­ever such a visit­or buzzes Earth, it be­comes a (pass­ing) meteor­oid – it can free it­self and con­tin­ue its course. It’s a meteor if it can­not. And a meteor­ite, when it has crash landed.
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Photo of meteorite that landed in Sanchore, northern India, in 2020. Composed of germantium, iron, nickel and platinum.  Photo: Alan Fitzsimmons
It took a while to pin down what an aster­oid is. The space rocks that make up the Aster­oid Belt is a col­lec­tion that con­tains more than aster­oids. Af­ter much dis­cus­sions, an asteroid these days is under­stood to be a space rock that can come in a var­i­ous shapes, a width of from about half-a-mile (one kilo­meter) to about 600 miles (1000 kilo­meters); some­thing ir­reg­u­lar and small­er than the Moon. An aster­oid lacks an electro-mag­net­ic core and carries no atmo­spher.
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Enhanced photo of comet Neowise.
A space object with a tail (made of gas and dust) is a comet. There are dif­fer­ent kinds; some can even come from oth­er solar sys­tems.
Two photos: girls posing next to large boulder in Hawaii. Giant rock found ln Joshua Tree, California.





















❚-❚-❚•  In the after­math of the Trojan War, Olym­pians car­ried on the fight with each oth­er – god versus god. This theo=machia so angered Ge (pronunced Gaea), that the premier earth god­dess revolt­ed. Egypt dis­ap­peared in­to a “screaming wind”. An­oth­er Aesir-Vanir con­flict had been brew­ing when rip­ples from the war in the south trig­gered the eight­eenth Rag­narok, send­ing nine worlds and twelve hells top­pling into a watery worm­hole.

❚-❚-❚•  Ge began cramp­ing and vomit­ed out con­tents in her vaults. The larg­est eject­iles had been im­pris­oned there by her grand­son Jupiter. These (4th class) mon­sters, gain­ing back their agen­cy, prompt­ly at­tacked Olym­pus by stack­ing moun­tains and climb­ing up, trig­ger­ing giganto=machia 2.0. What else that didn’t climb out was shak­­en off in un­dulat­ing spasms, clear­ing out cav­­erns and empty­­ing all of the hells that Ge knew about. The last to de­part Tar­­ta­rus, with the keys, were under­world deities Pluto and his titan-aunt Hekate, mak­ing sure every gate was open and all left un­­guarded.

❚-❚-❚•  The goddess with no parents then picked Atlas up and threw the sec­ond-gen titan at her male coun­ter­part, which is what gave Uranus his famous red-eye. Their son, first-gen titan Hyper­ion, wit­nessed all this and had a hydro­gen-heart at­tack; in 1948, the solar god would step down from the Sun. Tak­ing his place on the grav­ity=throne was that “con­tain­er of multi­tudes”, com­plex god Apol­lon, whose outer manifestation now is Helius, “the eld­est flame”. Rendering of the invariable plane in relation to the inner solar system.

Eight planets (+ a few minor plan­ets + the Aster­oid Belt), i.e., the clas­si­cal solar sys­tem, go around the Sun along the “in­var­iable plane”, in har­mo­ni­ous align­ment. Be­yond Nep­tune, though, this pre­dict­able “music of the spheres” is no long­er the case.
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Rendering of the Kuiper Belt as a large band surrounding the inner solar system.
There is a vast­ness be­yond the in­ner solar sys­tem, en­larg­ing by extra­ordi­nary mag­ni­tudes the sway of the Sun. Just beyond Nep­tune is a lab­or­a­tory, in the guise of a ceme­tery lik­ened to the Aster­oid Belt, where ob­jects in res­o­nance to the Sun roam. Just be­yond Nep­tune lies a for­mid­able ring of iced rocks in rela­tive­ly stable or­bits, called the Kuiper Belt (1992), named for Dutch astron­o­mer Gerard Kuiper (b.1905). Posit­ed, ever since the 1930s, as debris and there­fore a part of the solar sys­tem, the first evi­dence sur­faced when Albion (1992), myth­o­log­i­cal Brit­ain, stepped into view: the first Kui­per Belt ob­ject ‐ half a mile (167 kilo­meters) wide, and tak­ing 289 years to go around the Sun.
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Rendering of the angled Scattered Disc in relation to trans-Neptune space.
The Sun has a third ring, an odd sec­tor where trans-Nep­tune ob­jects or­bit in res­o­nance with Nep­tune’s gravi­ta­tion­al heft, the Scat­tered Disc (1966).
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Rendering of the Öpik-Oort Cloud in relation to the inner and outer solar system.
In 1907, astron­omy began imagin­ing a re­gion in the hinter­lands of the out­er solar sys­tem, a “reser­voir of comets”, and where iced rem­nants from the for­ma­tion of the ear­ly solar sys­tem con­tin­ue liv­ing a half-life. In 1932, it be­gan prob­able. By mid-cen­tury, a map of what it may look like was be­gun. Named after Eston­ian astro­physi­cist Ernst Öpik (b.1893) and Dutch astron­omer Jan Oort (b.1900), the Öpik-Oort Cloud (1950).


❚-❚-❚•  Marooned on a chunk float­ing south as Pan­gea broke apart, indi­genes clung on and end­ed up on an­oth­er shore, un­der an­oth­er view of the Sun. Look­ing at sum­mer skies through wintry eyes, they saw the physi­cal, spirit­ual and mor­tal planes clear­er and earli­er than most. They were the first to notice, when the first atom­ic bomb test too place on July 17 1945 in New Mex­i­co, how Ge had curled up and suc­cumbed to cata­tonia. Now­adays, the first peo­ples of Austra­lia are best friends with the faded goddess of the Earth, and help to re­pair her bandag­ing to suit every season.

❚-❚-❚•  Nereus actual­ly didn’t fell any­thing while Ge went through her geo=­machia. His ab­orig­i­nal root mat­ter being H-two-oh, “Medi­ter­ran­ean” soon enough be­gan to splash some of it over the ex­posed parts of Earth, ini­ti­at­ing a tidal rite to soothe his beloved, his grand­mother, his only home.

❚-❚-❚•  In 1950, Pluto and Hekate pre­sent­ed them­selves at the gravity☷throne, and told every­one pres­ent what they had seen: a trans-Nep­tune region of space where there were more rings, where space rocks and ob­jects have zany or­bits, and where every­thing was sus­pend­ed in­side a stupen­dous gos­sa­mer cloud. The king and crone of the under­world had come to the house of the Sun to an­nounce the pass­ing of the old order.

❚-❚-❚•  This had al­ready be­gun dur­ing the for­ma­tion of the in­ner solar sys­tem, when Jupi­ter had jostled with neigh­bor Saturn over throne place­ments. This mini=machia, be­tween father and son, was won by the son. Yet by widen­ing and ad­just­ing their or­bits to avoid col­li­sion, it also caused near­by Uranus to flip onto his back, all the while mak­ing Nep­tune, near enough, to sway and heave, back and forth.

❚-❚-❚•  The premier sea god had im­medi­ate­ly coun­tered to save his trident☵throne, but in the ensu­ing tem­pest dam­age hap­pened, and fling­ing what flaked off into re­mote regions. Nep­tune had also smacked into some­thing sub­stan­tial, shat­ter­ing the ob­ject and hurl­ing debris large and small far, far, far away. Cas­ual­ties from this oly=machia are now every­where you look, yet are sub­ject one and all to the grav­ity☷throne. Thus end­ed Hekate’s ac­count of the gath­er­ing to­geth­er of a hypo­the­ti­cal heaven.

❚-❚-❚•  Pluto, the first minor plan­et, was rec­og­nized as the first trans-Nep­tune enti­ty, a fit­ting place­ment for the king of the dead over­see­ing a mov­ing ceme­tery in out­er space. The near­est cas­ual­ties made up a vast legion called the Kui­per Belt, the sec­ond ring around the Sun. There is yet a third ring, faint­ly sketched out, the odd-behav­ing ob­jects that make up the Scat­tered Disc. Fur­ther out yet is a bub­ble of ceme­tery dust, the Öpik-Oort Cloud, com­posed of multi-bil­lion bits of iced peb­bles. All these trans-Nep­tune ob­jects to­geth­er make up the “frozen forgots”, some larg­er some small­er, some spher­i­cal with moons, mari­nat­ing for the most part in blue-grey bruises un­der dessi­cat­ed dress­ings.

❚-❚-❚•  Pluto had, begin­ning 2004, come to under­stand this new neigh­bor­hood. In a gold­en chariot drawn by four black horses, the infer­nal god had crossed over the sec­ond ring of the Sun and got stuck momen­ta­ri­ly in bow shock, the first visit­or from the in­ner solar sys­tem to do so. Breach­ing which hurled Pluto inex­on­or­ably through un­known terri­tory be­fore end­ing up in poten­tial­ly hazard­ous inter­stellar space (1904). The king of shad­ows had to find a rip­pling band, caused by the Sun’s rota­tion, that resem­bles a “balle­rina’s skirt” in motion. Sens­ing his mo­ment, Pluto drew his sword and act­ed, cleav­ing the hydro­gen wall and step­ping over, ar­riv­ing at the final bar­rier of the helio­sphere, a gelat­in­ous mem­brane that causes ter­mi­na­tion shock – a shield fil­ter­ing out harm­ful rays from cross­ing over.
+
A trans-Neptune ob­ject cov­ers all man­ner of space rocks out­side the in­ner solar sys­tem, i.e., be­yond Nep­tune. By this rec­kon­ing, Plu­to be­came the first tNo. The region where these ob­jects con­gre­gate cor­re­sponds rough­ly the size of the helio­sphere (1904). It can be home to minor planets, pro­to-plan­ets planet­esi­mals; minor moons, moon­lets, moon­moons; varie­ties of comets, etc.
+ Rendering of Kuiper Belt minor planet Haumea and two satellites.
The third minor plan­et from the Kui­per Belt, carry­ing two moons as well as a ring a ring, is a “col­li­sion­al fam­ily”, and one day the tri­nary sys­tem will de­stroy each other. Haumea (2004) is an elon­gated sphere devoid of meth­ane and bright as snow. A day for the Hawai‘ian child­birth god­dess is over with in 3.9 hours, yet she spends 285.5 years go­ing around the Sun. Daugh­ter Hi‘iaka 120 miles wide and makes an or­bit every 50 days. Nāmaka, the small­er moon-daugh­ter, is swad­dled in iced water.
+
The duckegg-shaped orbit of Scattered Disc object Eris in relation to the inner solar system.
The twin sis­ter to Mars is a tNo with an ob­long 558-year-long or­bit around the Sun, ap­pear­ing out of the Scat­tered Disc and us­ing Plu­to, or Nep­tune, to swing around and go home, Eris (2005) is a large minor plan­et, 1,500 miles (2414 kilo­meters) wide, and capa­cious enough to stuff the en­tire Aster­oid Belt in her ice-re­flect­ing froz­en-meth­ane plan­et-sized mantle.
+
Extreme-oval orbit of Öpik-Oort Cloud object Leleākūhonua in relation to the inner solar system. Img: Roberto Molar Dandanosa Scott Sheppard Carnegie Insitution for Science
Telescopes scan­ning be­yond the Kui­per Belt came across a very dis­tant ob­ject orbit­ing the Sun, and the first con­fir­ma­tion of a vast back­yard be­yond the out­er solar sys­tem. Named for a migra­tory Pacif­ic Ocean bird, Leleā­kū­ho­nua (2015) is a tNo with an or­bit so ex­treme as to also spend some a bit of time in the Kui­per Belt, and the rest of it trav­el­ling back to the Öpik-Oort Cloud.


❚-❚-❚•  Regular minis­tra­tions by human­kind on Ge was work­ing, and she be­gan to detox, then itched and bloat­ed and ac­ci­den­tal­ly shot great-grand­son Mars in­to out­er space. Ang­ered by this rejec­tion, the mili­tary god turned around and demol­ished the near­est planet; the year was 1534. Long before this event took place, daughter to the sea Venus had long departed the wretched Earth to seek safety closer to the Sun. Mars even­tual­ly bur­ied all the re­mains in his back yard, a ceme­tery now called the Aster­oid Belt (1801), and is the first ring around the Sun.

❚-❚-❚•  Six years later, corpses be­gan to float into view. The first ha­ppened to be spher­i­cal, and hap­pened to be small­er than the Moon, when it was later meas­ured. So er­ron­eous­ly it was tit­led first a plan­et, then an aster­oid, be­fore be­com­ing, in 2006, the first minor plan­et in the solar sys­tem. The larg­est ob­ject in the Aster­oid Belt is agri­cul­tural god­dess Ceres (1801).

❚-❚-❚•  Now revived, the sister to Jupiter, Neptune, Pluto – the second female in Pantheon 1.0 – crosses over to the Gar­den of Apol­lon 2.0, pre­pares beds for grow­ing bar­ley, com­poses hymns to sun­light. Made of am­bient mat­ter, hav­ing no def­i­nite bound­ary, the Sun is a star with the capac­i­ty to shed root mat­ter as ener­gy, in a form rapid enough as to seem solid; the Sun can as­sume diverse forms. Each sun al­so under­goes on­go­ing com­bus­tion, has grav­i­ta­tion­al sway over some sur­round­ing space, its helio­sphere: a shape­less bub­ble, be­cause solar wind plus inter­stel­lar wind plus motion in space.

❚-❚-❚•  A sizeable space rock with an elec­tro-mag­net­ic field is a plan­et, and can host one or more sat­el­lites. There are also plan­ets en­gulfed in visi­ble gasses; some have rings. The celes­tial court now lists the eight clos­est plan­ets to the house of the Sun as the sole first-gen pan­theon. And the oldest seat is the chthon☶­throne on Earth.


  PIXELS 
Closeup of iced leaves on the ground.


  2023  RETROGRADES 
As­tra­ea, titan­ess of jus­tice, was the last greco-roman im­mor­tal to leave moth­er Earth, dis­traught by the deg­ra­da­tion of the plan­et over suc­ces­sive ages. Join­ing her kin in a hypo­thet­i­cal heav­en, the daugh­ter to Them­is, first­gen titan­ess of the nat­ural or­der, be­came the last myth­o­log­i­cal link to a siz­able swarth of human­kind.


  2023 Rx

Cradle Court


Astraea retrograde
Slowing down while in tis­sue-thin Can­cer, As­tra­eastar­ry night” (1945) will spend De­cem­ber ex­haust­ed, and when loose lips can sink ships; the vir­gin god­dess is prone to be­ing a born-again en­ab­ler, gal­li­vant­ing out-and-about show­ing off a nic­kel-smooth cape en­crust­ed with iron, and sport­ing magne­sium sili­cates.

Fates retrograde 2023
On tra­jec­tor­ies to per­form retro­grades for 2023, the three Fates will have man­aged the feat of align­ing ±30 and ±60 de­gress apart from one an­other, to per­form an un­com­mon rite which is set to cul­mi­nate as autumn peaks. Klo­thospin­ner” (1868) turns retro­grade, Sep­tem­ber to No­vem­ber, from head-in-cloud Aries back to under-water Pis­ces, per­form­ing merit­less multi-task­ing.
  Lache­sismeas­ur­er” (1872) turns retro­grade while in Aries, from breezy Sep­tem­ber to gusty De­cem­ber, prone to end­less mind games.
  Atro­poscut­ter” (1888) retro­grades in crowd­ed Tau­rus, boun­ti­ful Oc­to­ber to bar­ren De­cem­ber, in an in­de­ci­sive­ness state. The Fates are now aste­roid god­desses, who once en­joyed exis­tence as con­joined sis­ters, pres­ent at every birth, in or­der to take meas­ure then deter­mine the time of death.

Haumea retrograde 2023
Spending half the year in retro­grade, scram­bled Feb­ru­ary to sun­ny-side-up July, Haumea (2004) leaves the den of Scor­pio for the sun-room of Libra. If well-as­pect­ed, secrets don’t spill; if not, the hawai‘ian child­birth god­dess is prob­ably the one to walk away.

Quaoar retrograde 2023
The creation god of the tong­va peo­ple of pres­ent-day Cali­for­nia ratch­ets up a ten­sion-filled year, dur­ing a retro­grade in in­flex­i­ble Cap­ri­corn, from show­ery May to sunny Sep­tem­ber. If well-as­pect­ed, uni-minds en­coun­ter glitches; if not, ir­re­spon­si­bles will twist and shout. Qua­oar (2002) has re­turned as a minor planet, or­bit­ing the Sun some seven tril­lion miles away, wear­ing shiny red rock stick-ons, shiver­ing and under­going radio­active de­cay, cough­ing up car­bon mon­ox­ide and musty ejects of bond­ed nitro­gen and meth­ane.

Sila-Nunam retrograde 2023
Sila breath of life” and Nu­nam “moth­er” hav­ing been mates since for­ever, share now a life as a binary be­ing from the Kui­per Belt, and is set to retro­grade twice, both times in noble Leo. Sila-Nunam (1977) spends gloomy Jan­u­ary to cloudy May stalled over a seem­ing­ly done deal. The sec­ond epi­sode hap­pens dur­ing De­cem­ber, when the in­uit im­mor­tals have to put up with too-many cooks in the kitchen.

Uranus retrograde 2023
The per­son­i­fi­ca­tion of heav­en” will retro­grade twice dur­ing 2023, both times in res­o­lute Tau­rus. The first time had be­gun back in 2022, and will end Jan­u­ary 21. The sec­ond starts on August 29 and goes past the end of the year, as the greco-roman sky god diverts the tra­di­tion­al holi­day sea­son onto an­oth­er path. Be­tween these two retro­grades, Uranussky” (1781) is prob­ably fo­cused on drain­ing the swamp.

     GARDEN    ART
  2023 Rx

Pond of Pontos


Makemake retrograde 2023
This poly­ne­si­an fert­il­i­ty god will retro­grade while in bal­anced Libra, from larva Feb­ru­ary to bug­gy June, set­ting up a safe­ty-vs-lib­er­ty con­un­drum. If well-as­pect­ed, Make­make (2005) achieves elo­quence in a de­bate, may­be noth­ing more; if not, the im­mor­tal re­spon­si­ble for mold­ing East­er Is­land and pop­u­lat­ing the ocean again re­lies on text­ing it in, un­der a guise of pas­siv­i­ty, in­side a faint­ly spark­ling char­coal cloak that is big­ger than Plu­to, patchworked with froz­en nitro­gen rings and veined in crim­son-stained meth­ane, where blades of iced eth­ane sprout.

Neptune retrograde 2023
Imagination can run ran­cid when Nep­tune (1846) retro­grades in kitch­en-sink Pis­ces, June 30 to De­cem­ber 5. If well-as­pect­ed, the roman god of the sea hides well be­hind croc­o­dile tears; if not, rip­ples of cruel­ty every­which way he turns. The liq­uid liege had chos­en the date of his re­sur­fac­ing back in­to his­tory by send­ing a dream, in 1846, to a sleep­ing math­e­ma­ti­cian. The woke mor­tal re­turned to the New Ber­lin Ob­ser­va­tory, en­tered a par­tic­u­lar set of co­or­di­nates, then locat­ed the clas­si­cal planet, sit­ting on his tri­dent throne.

Salacia retrograde 2023
The roman god­dess of salt water will spend retro­grade in fin­ger-on-the-trig­ger Aries, ice cream August to hot choc­o­late De­cem­ber, an oc­ca­sion when Sala­cia (2004) pre­sents as both a beau­ty and a beast.

Sedna retrograde 2023
Born on the bot­tom of the Arc­tic Ocean, the pre­mier in­uit sea god­dess gets to retro­grade twice in 2023. First in penned-in Tau­rus, dur­ing Jan­u­ary and Feb­ru­ary. The sec­ond will be in in­con­stant Gem­i­ni, fire­pit Oc­to­ber to bon­fire De­cem­ber, when Sed­na (2003) taints a sea­son for a rea­son with un­spe­ci­fi­able solemn­ity.

Varuna retrograde 2023
The premier hindu marine god is set for two retro­grades, both while in con­fi­dent Leo. The first one, Jan­u­ary to April, spent in a dis­quiet­ing state; the sec­ond, in De­cem­ber, when every­thing grates. Varunadome” (2000) is a com­plex crea­tion of at least five mature civ­il­i­za­tion: com­po­nents, more or less, to moth­er India. Among oth­er of­fices, he “who knows the path­way of the wind” is also the ab­orig­inal vedic sky god, tasked for­ever­more to patrol the cos­mos root­ing out mal­feasance.

     LOVE    CRADLE
  2023 Rx

Garden of Apollon


Bacchus retrograde 2023
From butter­fly May to bee-stung July, Bac­chus (1977) will be in retro­grade, back­slid­ing from bot­tled-up Ca­pri­corn to un­corked Sagit­ta­rius. The roman wine god now has a hel­len­ic dou­ble, Dio­ny­sus (1984), retro­grad­ing also, break­fast March to lunch­eon May, from cock­tail Libra to qui­nine Vir­go. Since these two events hap­pen back to back, ex­pect dur­ing spring­time to act as host to the dou­ble-aste­roid god of the grape.

Ceres retrograde 2023
The mother to Per­seph­o­ne begins a retro­grade on March 3, in leafy Libra, dis­cour­aged by the look of her farm. By the time Ceres (1801) exits retro­grade, on May 5, while in seed­ling Vir­go, the roman grain god­dess should have come to the real­i­za­tion that one or more whole sea­sons have gone miss­ing.

Dziewanna retrograde 2023
Dzi­e­wan­na (2010) finds her self at a cross­roads when turn­ing retro­grade, in im­plac­cable Scor­pio, damp March to dry August. If well-as­pect­ed, the slav­ic deity of deep wilder­ness could, for sure, ab­stain from a rust­ic hunt; if not, the earth god­dess gives it her all.

Huya retrograde 2023
When Huya (2000) retro­grades in Sagit­ta­rius, show­er­ing April to sun­shine August, the ven­ez­uel­an rain god can semi-in­ten­tion­al­ly flip, and what was once thought of as over and done with re­turns for a sec­ond life.

Iris retrograde 2023
Storm clouds can per­sist for Iris (1847) as she retro­grades in stygian Scor­pio, from scent­ed April to pun­gent June, a time when the rain­bow god­dess is eclipsed.

Jupiter retrograde 2023
The roman thunder god will retro­grade in four-square Tau­rus, Sep­tem­ber 4 to De­cem­ber 31. If well-as­pect­ed, Jupi­ter (1610) wards off a self­ish streak; if not, the first­gen titan of rain be­comes cal­lous. Ancient astron­o­mers paid close at­ten­tion to the future god-king of Olympus, and made a note of his repeat­able twelve-year re-ap­pear­ance at the same posi­tion in heav­en. Baby­lon­ian sky watch­ers then posi­tioned the god of light­ning as a mark­er of Time, and fanned out to pin­point the con­stel­la­tions, de­scribe the zodiac, be­gin the map for a hypo­thet­i­cal heaven.

Šiwa retrograde 2023
Šiwa life” (1874) turns retro­grade in driv­en Aries, Sep­tem­ber to No­vem­ber, a balanc­ing act for the sloven­ian fer­til­i­ty god­dess, who might have pre­ferred a less-goad­ed pace, un­easi­ly nav­i­gat­ing a fraught period while clad in a space-weath­ered body­suit the color of ox blood, wov­en of organ­ic-rich sili­cates, stitched us­ing tho­len thread and lined with kerogen.

Teharonhiawako retrograde 2023
When the iro­quois agri­cul­tural god retro­grades in porous Pis­ces, lim­ber July to old-man De­cem­ber, it does not bode well for prom­is­ing shoots plant­ed ear­lier, during spring. Teha­ron­hia­wako (2001) has come back now as a binary be­ing, and lives in the Kui­per Belt with his broth­er, and sec­ond­ary, Sawis­kera (2001). These alpha-and-omega gods of maize or­bit each oth­er as they go around the Sun.

  2023 Rx

Book of Love


Eros retrograde 2023
This elemental love god with a con­test­ed orig­in is to retro­grade, leav­ing splishy Pis­ces for splashy Aqua­rius, sun-lotion June to sun­burn Sep­tem­ber, nurs­ing the death of an in­no­cence. Eros (1898) is al­so the first male god to emerge from the Aste­roid Belt, ir­reg­u­lar­ly shaped and show­ing off a 20-ton body, wear­ing alum­i­num speedos sewn with gold thread and fast­ened by plat­inum snaps. The god of desire’s skin is pock­marked by rocks spewed out by sev­eral vol­can­ic erup­tions, one of which is from a bil­lion years ago.

Hera retrograde 2023
Hera (1868) will retro­grade, from day-dream­er Aqua­rius to bread-win­ner Cap­ri­corn, so­cial July to lazy Sep­tem­ber. If well-as­pect­ed, the greco mar­riage god­dess tells no lies and keeps all secrets; if not, an enemy made dur­ing this period can last a long time. Hera has a roman twin one hun­dred aste­roids away, Juno (1804).

Saturn retrograde 2023
All value-driv­en de­ci­sion mak­ing can turn in­to a mon­ey sink for Saturn (1610), dur­ing his retro­grade, begin­ning on June 17 in murky Pis­ces. As he takes leave of retro­grade on No­vem­ber 3, the first­gen titan of the har­vest could have in­ad­ver­tent­ly been an ally, even worse, dur­ing the course of some jolt­ing action, which had been de­ployed hap­haz­ard­ly. By the time Saturn exits retro­grade, the “bring­er of old age” would have for­got­ten all about this sea­son of trea­son, obliged to preen on in photo­graphs as a clas­si­cal plan­et with many moons, and rings which con­tin­u­al­ly rain down or­gan­ic build­ing blocks in ­ pack­ag­ing.

Venus retrograde 2023
The principal roman love god­dess turns retro­grade in easy-peasy Leo, July 23 to Sep­tem­ber 3, when she seejs fif­ty ways to cause a sep­ar­ation. If well-as­pect­ed, the lov­er of Mars, Bac­chus, Mer­cury, Nep­tune, etc., can end a quar­rel; if not, the “chang­er of hearts” might start one. Venus (2000 BC) or­bits the Sun naked, show­ing off a body made of so­lid rock, bulg­ing with veins swol­len by in­ert ar­gon. The classical planet is un­der­go­ing con­tin­u­ous ex­fo­li­ation, los­ing her pre­cious atoms of nitro­gen, each one en­cased in a pack­age of sul­fu­ric acid, float­ing across a car­bon diox­ide atmo­sphere and turning into drifting gauze. “Foam born” has a hel­len­ic half who is al­so an aste­roid god­dess: Aphro­dite (1935) turns retro­grade in party-hardy Sagit­ta­rius, from late April to August, when she might catch a social disease.

Vesta retrograde 2023
A pledge to stick with home-cook­ing might crum­ble, when Ves­ta (1807) turns retro­grade, from No­vem­ber 3 to De­cem­ber 31, leav­ing full plate Can­cer for lunch bag Gem­i­ni. If well-as­pect­ed, the re­vered roman god­dess of the hearth makes do with take-out; if not, noth­ing tastes right.

     CRADLE    OLYMPIA
  2023 Rx

Art of Darkness


Altjira retrograde 2023
The aboriginal deity of dream­time retro­grades twice, both times in ver­sa­tile Gem­i­ni; Jan­u­ary to Feb­ru­ary, and Oct­o­ber to De­cem­ber. These win­try weeks might tease out the needy and sen­ti­men­tal sides of Alt­jira (2001), per­iods when his eye­lids can’t close.

Ceto retrograde 2023
The daughter to ­ Earth and Pon­tos is poised to retro­grade in trans­for­ma­tive Scor­pio, white-capped March to dead-calm August, adrift and with no nav­i­ga­tion. If well-as­pect­ed, Ceto (2003) re­sorts to the tried and true, resorts to her role as a marine matri­arch; if not, the moth­er of select greco crea­tures is deemed re­spon­si­ble for past actions.

Chaos retrograde 2023
The chthonic god­dess of the dark retro­grades twice, first in cur­ious Gem­i­ni, Jan­u­ary to March, feel­ing a bit irked. The sec­ond time, No­vem­ber to De­cem­ber, while in shel­lacked Can­cer, Chaos (1998) is a bit dis­mayed. Irked (cab­in fev­er?) and dis­mayed (food in­secur­ity?) is the “dark majes­ty and mys­tery of crea­tion in­car­nate” be­cause retro­grades can fuck with her well-oiled men­tal health: “a shape­less, un­wrought mass of dis­con­nect­ed ele­ments all heaped to­geth­er in anar­chic dis­array”.

Circe retrograde 2023
Circe (1855) retro­grades from dis­cern­ing Cap­ri­corn in May to a dar­ing Sagit­ta­rius in August. If well-as­pect­ed, the “mis­tress of black magic” on­ly has to go through low-grade self es­teem is­sues; if not, flayed and ex­posed to the ele­ments.

Eris retrograde 2023
In the first of two retro­grades, tak­ing place dur­ing Jan­u­ary, Erisab­horred” (2003) has man­aged to smoth­er a com­bus­ti­ble Aries, leav­ing be­hind an acrid smell. The sec­ond al­so takes place in Aries, from sum­mer to year’s end, when the greek chaos god­dess finds her­self sur­round­ed by green­horns and be­comes frus­trat­ed. Eris or­bits the Sun some 8.8 tril­lion miles (14.28 tril­lion kilo­meters) away, sport­ing a battle­suit of white-white scales made of iced-meth­ane, which con­dense down to panes, all the while shed­ding mias­mas. Un­der this man­tle the daugh­ter to Nyx “night” might al­so be a tur­bu­lent inter­nal sea.

Gonggong retrograde 2023
It is perhaps for­tu­nate that this chi­nese marine god gets to retro­grade while in com­pas­sion­ate Pis­ces, lazy July to laid-back No­vem­ber, be­cause then Gong­gong (2007) might be­come prone to doubt. His goal, his sole ex­ist­ence, is to nudge Earth’s axis off kil­ter, and cause des­truc­tion etc. The im­mor­tal sea snake with a human head has re­turned as a sphere some 764 miles (1,230 kilo­meters) in diam­eter, glid­ing in­side the Scat­tered Disc, sheathed in a gleam­ing snake­ skin stained red by an­cient thol­ins, shoot­ing flinty ir­ra­di­at­ed bul­lets of iced methane.

Hekate retrograde 2023
A brief win­dow of time comes dur­ing Jan­u­ary and Feb­ru­ary, for Hekate (1868) to autop­sy a spent do­mes­tic dra­ma. The in­fer­nal god­dess of witch­craft sifts through evi­dence, from an aloof Can­cer and a cold Gemini.

Lempo retrograde 2023
This remote viking love god­dess – turned sex­ual-mi­grant – has re­turned as an easy-go­ing fin­nish god of the neth­er­world, who will go retro­grade while in pos­ses­sive Tau­rus, from one-blan­ket Sep­tem­ber to two-blan­kets De­cem­ber. If well-as­pect­ed, in­ti­ma­cy is lost but re­sumes as chiv­al­ry; if not, seem­ing­ly shy Lem­po (1999) won’t post­pone his revenge.

Lilith retrograde 2023
The orig­in­al witch” goes retro­grade, in meth­od­i­cal Vir­go, from dor­mant Feb­ru­ary into fecund April. If well-as­pect­ed, the “first wom­an” wears well her veil of old cob­webs, on a quest to re­deem the past; if not, Lilith (1927) is caught red-hand­ed, ped­dling snake oil.

Mars retrograde 2023
Pre­pared­ness and train­ing come to naught as the roman god of war en­ters 2023 trail­ing back­wards in gosh-darn Gem­i­ni. Mars (1534-bce) is to exit retro­grade just elev­en days later, then will spend the rest of the year gin­ning up the troops for an­oth­er go.

Zhulong retrograde 2023
Zhulong (2014) is a chi­nese solar dei­ty retro­grad­ing while in in­tense Scor­pio, wet March to warm July. No doubt about it, the giant fire-breathing dragon is on a quest to ground lit­tle devils every­where.

     POND    ART
  2023 Rx

Olympia Academy


Apollo retrograde 2023
The pure god of truth” will retro­grade in 2023 down five zodiac signs, from flower­ed April to fruit­ed July. If well-as­pect­ed, the god of for­eign­ers swal­lows his pride, asks for as­sist­ance; if not, the “des­troy­er” is soon enough kicked out of queen-size Libra, over to futon Vir­go, to water­bed Can­cer, final­ly to sleep­ing-bag Gem­i­ni. Apol­loshin­ing” (1932) is the lead­er of the apol­lo fam­i­ly of aste­roids: a posse of Earth-cross­ing mis­siles, each with a prob­a­bil­i­ty of crash land­ing one day.

Chiron retrograde 2023
The wis­est and just­est of all the cen­taurs” turns retro­grade in aus­tere Aries, from July 23 to De­cem­ber 26, which is when Chiron (1977) finds he’s stepped on and cracked a mir­ror. If well-as­pect­ed, the hy­brid human-horse is giv­en a win­dow of op­por­tu­ni­ty to try and re-as­sem­ble the look­ing-glass; if not, the hel­len­ic “teach­er of medi­cine, herbs, music, arch­ery, hunt­ing, and gym­nas­tics” stares in­to the cracked pieces. The orac­u­lar-cen­taur is the first of his kind: a col­lec­tive of aste­roid bodies with com­et tails, each on a chaot­ic or­bit that is in­flu­enced tidal­ly by Nep­tune. One of them, Pho­lus (1992), is set to retro­grade while in con­ser­va­tive Cap­ri­corn, May to Sep­tem­ber, a sea­son when rest­less­ness and ex­haust­ing in­ept­ness tugs at the cen­taur tasked with guard­ing his tribe’s wine sup­ply.

Hephaistos retrograde 2023
Getting ready to retro­grade, from a mol­ten Aries in Sep­tem­ber to a solid­i­fied Tau­rus dur­ing De­cem­ber, He­phais­tos (1978) at last found some time to sit down, re­read the rush work or­der for arm­a­ments only his forge could de­vise. The far-flung god of fire­smiths then will real­ize that he had read wrong. If well-as­pect­ed, the god of crafts­man­ship has wast­ed both time and money; if not, on­ly time will be wast­ed.

Hebe retrograde 2023
The greco god­dess of youth be­gins the year in the midst of a retro­grade in toothy Leo; this period will end in March, in shy Can­cer. If well-as­pect­ed, Hebe (1847) at­tains an in­sight that comes with a price; if not, the aste­roid wife to aste­roid Her­ac­les spends winter­time res­ur­rect­ing her storms of youth.

Heracles retrograde
Stalled in a han­gry Aries, from rip­ened August to cured No­vem­ber, Her­ac­les (1991) finds ample ex­cuses to put on weight. If well-as­pect­ed, this son of Thebes can cram, as is his wont, and still leave room for a side of diplo­macy; if not, rit­uals of rend­ing and gnaw­ing two or more times a day.

Panacea and Hygiea retrogrades 2023
Challenged to retro­grade in friend­ster Aqua­rius, from warm June to hot Sep­tem­ber, ­ a face­mask should be­come a no-brain­er for Hy­gieagood health” (1849); be­cause. Mean­while, her sis­ter, Pana­ceacura­tive” (1980), gets to spend retro­grade, from open-win­dow Sep­tem­ber to fire­side De­cem­ber, as nurse to a fev­er­ish Aries, dis­pens­ing (one can so hope) bit­ter-tast­ing tea­spoons of re­viv­i­fy­ing san­i­ty.

Mercury retrograde 2023
The first of four retro­grades in 2023 by com­pli­cat­ed crea­tion Mer­cury (265-bc) is over with in the first seven­teen days of 2023, spent in an un­yield­ing Cap­ri­corn.
The sec­ond retro­grade hap­pens from April 21 to May 14 in a no-room-for-er­ror Tau­rus.
The third time, Au­gust 23 to Sep­tem­ber 14 in rosy-cheeked Vir­go, is when the mes­sen­ger of the gods comes to the real­i­za­tion he is over­taxed, and there­fore can­not rec­og­nize him­self in the mir­ror.
During the last time, De­cem­ber 13 to 31, from by-the-book Cap­ri­corn to pro­phet­ic Sagit­ta­rius, the “con­duc­tor of souls” de­lin­e­ates a widen­ing maw.
+
There is a hel­len­ic heap of Mer­cury, come back now as an apol­lo aste­roid, who is to retro­grade down four zodiac signs, from in–door Feb­ru­ary to pic­nic-time July. If well-as­pect­ed, Her­mes (1937) does not hit anyth­ing, any­one; if not, the god who cel­e­brates a birth­day every fourth day of the month is help­less, ping­pong­ing from zany Aqua–rius, in-the-way Cap–ri–corn, jumpy Sagit­ta­rius to don’t-tread-on-me Scor­pio.
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Link to see if Mer­cury is cur­rent­ly retro­grade.

Pallas retrograde 2023
The greco-roman god­dess of wis­dom has many names, over­sees many oth­er con­cerns be­sides be­ing the smart­est one in Olym­pus. Then the car­bons start­ed show­ing up, first Pal­las, then Ath­ene, and Min­er­va, join­ing up to be­come a comp­li­cat­ed trip­le-aste­roid god­dess – a be­ing cap­able of mul­ti­ple, and simul­tan­e­ous, retro­grades. The first of the lovely-haired god­dess to ap­pear was Athene (1917), a hel­len­ic shard which then van­ished and was nev­er seen again. The sec­ond piece, a roman-sized rock named Min­er­va (1867), is primed for two retro­grades; the first dur­ing Jan­u­ary in car­ing Can­cer. The sec­ond, from Oct­o­ber to De­cem­ber in a stub­born Tau­rus, pinned to a place of dead roads. The third com­po­nent is al­so the larg­est frag­ment, Pal­las (1802), set to retro­grade in a re­fined Can­cer, Jan­u­ary and Feb­ru­ary, dur­ing a time of need­less neglect.

Terpsichore retrograde 2023
The muse of music is dis­traught by the cur­rent war dance. Terp­si­cho­re (1864) is to retro­grade in polite Pis­ces, from har­vest dance Aug­ust to down-time Sep­tem­ber. If well-as­pect­ed, she suf­fers no fools; if not, the moth­er to the Sirens might be tasked to com­pose for con­flict.

     GARDEN    ART
  2023 Rx

The Underworld


Eurydike retrograde 2023
The dead wife to Or­pheus will retro­grade, from rain­bow-hued Sagit­ta­rius to hell­ish Scor­pio, from warm May un­til sun­tan-lotion July. If well-as­pect­ed, Eury­dike (1862) only copes with a bout of un­ease; if not, she who once had tred on a snake, died, went to the under­world, re-en­acts “prin­cess and the pea” several times.

Mors-Somnus retrograde 2023
Roman gods Mors “death” and Som­nus “sleep” share an exis­tence now as a binary be­ing, orbit­ing in the Kui­per Belt and be­hold­en to the grav­i­ta­tion­al guid­ance of Plu­to. Mors-Som­nus (2007) is set to turn retro­grade in ten­sion-fraught Tau­rus, windy Oct­o­ber to stormy Decem­ber, un­able to de­cide on wheth­er to hold a sword or wield a pen.

Orcus retrograde 2023
This infernal im­mor­tal will retro­grade in ex­act­ing Vir­go, from hard­ly wet Jan­u­ary to dry May. If well-as­pect­ed, the “pun­ish­er of brok–en oaths” might back­slide – and not fling out so many edicts left and right; if not, Orcus (2004) gets mouthy, pon­tif­i­cates, prob­a­bly ends up hav­ing to pay the piper. The proto-roman god of hell had re-sur­faced in­to recent his­tory, oblique in a man­tle of faint tho­lins, en­crust­ed with meth­aned rub­ble dusty with drops of am­mo­nia, and miles-long falls shoot­ing jets of iced crys­tal­line water in­to the sky.

Osiris retrograde 2023
Preferring dark suits and all of 8 miles (13 kilo­meters) wide, Osiris (1960) is an am­bas­sa­dor from the house of Egypt to the Aste­roid Belt. The port­man­teau des­ert dei­ty is to retro­grade, frost­bite Feb­ru­ary to may­be May, down cloud­less Libra to a dap­pled Vir­go. Mean­while, the in­ten­tions of the egyp­tian god of res­ur­rec­tion dur­ing a retro­grade re­mains un­known, locked in silence.

Persephone retrograde 2023
The greco queen of the under­world turns retro­grade in vir­tual Vir­go, Feb­ru­ary to April, inter­rupt­ing a quest for bet­ter days. If well-as­pect­ed, Per­seph­one (1895) only has to re­trace lost months; if not, the daugh­ter to agri­cul­tural god­dess Ceres and rain god Jupi­ter is adrift, be­cause root­less. These days, the wife to Plu­to is al­so the pri­mary seg­ment of a trip­le-space god­dess. There is roman ruin Proser­pina (1853), who lives just 373 aste­roids away. And an­tique Kore (2003), orbit­ing Jupi­ter as one of his many moons.

Pluto retrograde 2023
The roman king of the under­world retro­grades, May 1 to Oct­o­ber 10, from the lev­el play­ing field of Aqua­rius to the rocky ruts of Cap­ri­corn. For the rest of the year, a de­natured dance has been on-go­ing. If well-as­pect­ed, Pluto (1930) gets part­nered with man­u­fac­tured con­sent; if not, the “god with no name” takes on all part­ners.

Typhon retrograde 2023
The sire to the four direc­tion­al winds turns retro­grade, cloudy March to clear-sky July, while in tri-formed Scor­pio. If well-as­pect­ed, Typhon (2002) stays curled up in­side a malev­o­lent mouth; if not, the “ser­pent su­preme” can­not wait to greet spring equi­nox with a syringe of nas­ti­ness. Typhon is paired with a moon-mate, the snake Echid­na (2006); they are now a binary be­ing in the Scat­tered Disc.





-|  January 2023  |-

  SUPER CARS +

“Our last arrow! We’ll fire it to stop the get­away car – then end our careers as Green Arrow and Speedy!” “Yes, with our se­cret iden­ti­ties ex­posed, we’re use­lss against crim­i­nals!”

Francisco Mattos

Francisco Mattos Immortal Dane Whit­man brought his time-test­ed skills as the Black Knight to the early days of film­making, creat­ing a phantas­ma­gorical chariot race for Fritz Lang’s 1929 silent sci­fi Woman in the Moon. These days, he still does stunts for Holly­wood.

Francisco Mattos Although he owns a Legion flight ring from the 30th cen­tury, when not in a hur­ry to get some­where Michael Jon Car­ter pre­fers to drive. He comes from the future, sheathed in a super-suit boast­ing futur­is­tic tech, but the feel of rub­ber on road gives Booster Gold a jolt un­like any other.

Francisco Mattos Little is known about this shape­shift­ing foe of Bat­man Be­yond. Her fluid body al­lows Inque to seep in­to and out of her liq­uid limo.
Francisco Mattos Jimon Kwan’s car is parked be­hind the world’s first eco-fire sta­tion. She’s there to give a dem­on­stra­tion – in her capacity as Silver of China Force – on her mutant abil­ity to drain heat and then con­vert it into light.

Francisco Mattos Before he went to war as the Fight­ing Amer­i­can, Nel­son Flagg’s father gave him a 1915 Ford Speed­ster – it later crashed and burned. The orig­inal is al­so shown, fresh off the assem­bly line.

Francisco Mattos It takes two of Jamie Madrox, the Multi­ple Man, to con­trol this wide jeep be­cause it’s sure-as-hell gon­na be a bumpy ride.
Francisco Mattos The grandfather and great-grand­father of James Jesse were from the world of vau­de­ville, which is why their spawn con­tin­ued their forays into self-pow­ered loco­motion and built a por­ta­ble air-cooled en­gine, hooked up to an ac­cel­era­tor switch, an engine cut-off switch, and single-horse­pow­ered roller skates, and later tor­ment­ing the Flash w/ wea­pon­ized toys as the Trickster.

Francisco Mattos An inside-out refrig­er­a­ted truck driven by Leonard Snart, com­mit­ing crime as Cap­tain Cold using an ex­pe­ri­men­tal gun based on stol­en sci­ence and shoot­ing ab­so­lute-zero blasts that solid­i­fy as ice.

Francisco Mattos
H.G. Wells jumped at the chance to take a spin in an ex­pe­ri­men­tal con­trap­tion that his Amer­i­can friend and fel­low futur­ist, the head of Stark Indus­tries, brought over to Lon­don. The author of The Invis­i­ble Man is photo­graphed sit­ting in the back seat as the self-driv­ing car crosses Tow­er Bridge.

Francisco Mattos
This tasty USSR-era Trabant was on dis­play in a Bel­grade art gal­lery when Harle­quin, the “mer­ry men­ace”, hap­pened by, took one look, and prompt­ly brought it home.

Francisco Mattos
This rarely seen Bugat­ti Type 57 Atlan­tic be­longs to Arthur Curry (Aqua­man) and is nick­named the Drop be­cause he al­most nev­er has need for it.

Francisco Mattos Im­per­a­tor Furio­sa’s go-to wheels when she’s off the clock.
Francisco Mattos
Even super-heroes driv­ing sports cars have to stop and pay toll, as the Thing heckles John­ny Storm’s toss­ing chops. “Let’s get go­ing, Torchy! Hey! Ya missed the coin buc­ket!” “But I threw it okay! It wasn’t my fault! The buc­ket moved!”

Francisco Mattos
After punching Hitler in his de­but, the city of Man­hat­tan award­ed Steve Rogers w/ a spank­ing red 1937 Ford, and he prompt­ly took off to drive cross-coun­try. Then he made up for lost years w/ a Cor­vette. These days, his ride is a 1960 Chev­ro­let, al­ways parked on the street; re­peat­ed­ly stol­en then re­turned be­cause it was a badge of hon­or to leave the keys in the igni­tion.
 Before his life was im­bued w/ Bahd­ni­sian pow­ers and he took con­trol of the human thun­der­bolt, John­ny Thun­der was in Europe, hav­ing won a music schol­ar­ship while in high school. With some of his prize mon­ey he bought a sec­ond-hand Minor Mor­ris con­ver­tible.

Francisco Mattos
Bent­ley Witt­man, nar­row­ly es­cap­ing the Human Torch, is chauf­feured back to his man­sion on Long Island and his life as the Wizard. “Fire is a power­ful wea­pon! But I pos­sess the great­est wea­pon of all – the world’s great­est brain!”

Francisco Mattos
No way is the myste­rious Dolphin a land­lubber, so when­ever ad­ven­tures take her ashore she al­ways rides in her 1962 Shark road­ster, w/ its aqua­rium pod and oth­er aquatic must-haves al­low­ing her safe pas­sage.

Retiring as the Sor­ce­rer Su­preme, Steven Strange’s men­tor, the Ancient One, mas­ter of mys­tic arts, drove home to Kamar-Taj in Tibet, cross­ing rivers w/ the aid of local vil­lag­ers, ever grate­ful for deliv­er­ance from the evil Kaluu.

Francisco Mattos

Francisco Mattos Suddenly, the hover­ing air-car is jolt­ed by a fan­tas­tic wave of force … and that is when Nick Fury sees an awe­some fig­ure who stands wait­ing to con­front the dy­nam­ic director of SHIELD … Francisco Mattos A surreal episode of the Knights of the Galaxy is just start­ing. “For King Arthur and Brit­ain.” (Mys­tery In Space #8 (June-July 1952))

Francisco Mattos To have a bit of fun while Super­man is recov­er­ing from their latest en­coun­ter, Mr Mxyzptlk, the imp from else­where, uses fifth-dimen­sional sci­ence to re­arrange this car and pro­ceeds to demon­strate how to oper­ate it.

Francisco Mattos Vic Sage blends into his camou­flage car, ephem­eral behind a pseudo­derm mask, dur­ing the time he joined Blue Beetle, Cap­tain Atom and Night­shade as the Ques­tion in the orig­in­al Sen­ti­nels of Justice.
Francisco Mattos When insect-female hybrid Queen Zaz­za­la of planet Korll re­turned for a re­match w/ the Justic League, she went first to the Citroen museum in Aulnay-sous-Bois near Paris, and took pos­ses­sion of an ex­pe­ri­men­tal 1940s light-weight hover­car which she used as a bee­hive-nest. Bad­ly dam­aged and aban­doned, it still os­cil­lates when touched, await­ing new in­struc­tions from the Queen Bee.

Francisco Mattos The nomadic Roy Har­per, leav­ing be­hind his Speedy per­sona, took to the road in an oft-van­dal­ized there­fore oft-dis­guised van. When he land­ed in Eng­land, the for­mer bat­tling bow­man per­suad­ed Bank­sy to let him take the famous SWAT van for an ex­ten­ded spin as Arsenal.
Francisco Mattos Random page from the mid-cen­tury port­folio of bil­lion­aire in­dus­trial­ist Tony Stark: 1958 Nucleon, Nor­man Bel Ged­des proto­type, 1949 Tabot Iago, 1959 Fire­bird.

Francisco Mattos Sue Rich­ards fetched Agatha Hark­ness, her boy Frank­lin’s new gov­ern­ess, in a cus­tom-built His­pano-Suiza, pre­vi­ous­ly owned by an heir to the Dubon­net for­tune. It was a regal ride be­fit­ting the lead-witch of New Salem, who has brought along a mys­tical rock­ing sea­horse as a baby present. Francisco Mattos
Francisco Mattos An early electric car proto­type from the morbid mind of Os­wald Hu­bert Loo­mis, aka the Prank­ster.
Francisco Mattos When her mom asked if her new car was safe, Jen­ni­fer Wal­ters sent this blurr­y pix of her un­usual find while in col­lege. It proved ideal for camp­ing, and that was when she got into an ac­ci­dent, need­ed a blood trans­fu­sion from her cou­sin Bruce, and be­gan a new exis­tence as the ravish­ing rough She-Hulk.

Francisco Mattos In 1923, Tony Stark’s dad vis­it­ed the Fiat Fac­tory in Turin and open­ly ad­mired their roof treat­ment. When what later be­came the Avengers Man­sion was built, he put a race-car track on the roof.

Francisco Mattos Besides lending his oc­cult skills to com­bat evil, Gio­van­ni Zatara per­forms as a stage magi­cian, and is the rea­son he drives a 1959 Lin­coln, which has a sturdy trunk to fit all his stage props.

Francisco Mattos Tony Stark awarded his exec­u­tive assis­tant Pep­per Potts w/ this pink 1954 Ford in rec­og­ni­tion for her aid in their first caper to­geth­er, bat­tling “The Mad Pharaoh”.
Francisco Mattos Kent Allard’s elu­sive 1957 Lin­coln Prem­iere, which he drove as the Shadow, caught on a U.S. post­age stamp.

Francisco Mattos Blackhawk’s 1949 Hud­son, later owned by Jack Kerouac when he was do­ing a lot of driving. Re­stored and no long­er driven.

Francisco Mattos Carter Hall was so smit­ten when Hal Jor­dan drove up in a Phan­tom Cor­sair that the test-pilot prompt­ly gifted this one-off auto­mobile to the extra­terres­trial detec­tive, known to Earth as the Hawk­man, for a planet-warm­ing pres­ent.

Francisco Mattos An ex­pe­ri­men­tal float­ing for­tress from the malev­o­lent minds at Ad­vanced Idea Mechan­ics.

Francisco Mattos Although a haunt­ed horse ac­com­pa­nies his cursed exis­tence, the ghost of high­way­man James Crad­dock also owns a train, break­ing the law as the Gentle­man Ghost, and trav­el­ing the world w/ out a home.

Francisco Mattos Long after the own­er of Goth­am Broad­cast­ing Co. Alan Wel­ling Scott, was vis­it­ed by the Green Flame of Life (“Three times shall I flame green! First to bring death! Sec­ond to bring life! Third to bring pow­er!”) and fought evil­doers as the Green Lan­tern, he would con­tin­ue to tool around in his trust­ed 1939 Chev­ro­let clunk­er.

Francisco Mattos Prof. X’s band of super-human teen­agers are driv­en to the air­port in a spe­cially-built Rolls Royce w/ dark-tint­ed win­dows. “Boy! It musta tak­en a heap of green stamps to buy a chariot like this!” “No jok­ing, please! Con­cen­trate on your mis­sion! Re­view your pow­ers! Our foe is cer­tain to be high­ly danger­ous!”

Francisco Mattos Brain­iac 5 re­tooled an an­tique and cre­ated the “fris­bee”, armed w/ repel-rays, as a com­bat suit for Chuck Taine, the Bounc­ing Boy.

Francisco Mattos Hook­ing up to his Ply­mouth Bar­ra­cuda’s bat­teries to re­charge his pyro-cos­tume, Gar­field Lynns un­leashes a color crime­wave based on rain­bow rays as the Human Fire­fly.
Francisco Mattos Ted Grant’s ride when he’s fight­ing crime as Wild­cat, im­mor­tal­ized on a U.S. pos­tage stamp.

Francisco Mattos Brainiac 5 con­struc­ted this bi-cycle for Luor­nu Durgo Taine (Duo Dam­sel) to aug­ment her super-power.

Francisco Mattos With wealth to spare, social­ite Wes­ley Dodds had a taste for dan­ger and cars. Which is why he could im­peril his 1935 Bugat­ti Aero­lithe by taking it out to strike ter­ror among wrong­doers as the Sand­man, de­clar­ing “There is no land be­yond the law, where tyrants rule w/ un­shak­able pow­er! It’s but a dream from which the evil wake to face their fate … their ter­ri­fy­ing hour!”

Francisco Mattos A gift from Brain­iac 5, this ex­pe­ri­men­tal bike al­lowed Lana Lang to ap­ply 30th-cen­tury tech­nol­o­gy to her 20th-cen­tury life. While fid­dling around w/ the tele­porta­tion but­ton dur­ing a ride in the country­side, she man­aged to trade bodies w/ all the in­sects in a near­by field, be­com­ing for a spell the Insect Queen.
Francisco Mattos Socialite Kathy Kane, in her first ap­pear­ance as a masked crime­fighter, lead­ing the Bat­mobile into the fray on her Bat Bike. “Hur­ry, Bat­man – the Bat­woman is beat­ing us on this mis­sion!” (Detec­tive Com­ics #233 July 1956)

Francisco Mattos The keys to this ex­pe­ri­men­tal car from Stark In­dus­tries were hand­ed to Matt Mur­dock, giving add­ed com­fort to his forays as Dare­devil in­to exis­ten­tial evil.

Francisco Mattos Sam­uel Jo­seph Scud­der drove this solar lab­o­ra­to­ry on wheels in his first ap­pear­ance in Flash #105, “The Mas­ter of Mir­rors”.

Francisco Mattos This in­noc­u­ous van offers stor­age for Rory Regan’s col­lec­tion of mys­ti­cal rags, al­low­ing Rag­man, the tatter­demalion of jus­tice, to find respite a­fter a jolt of elec­tric­i­ty ran into his body and which by all ac­counts hasn’t exit­ed yet.

Francisco

The second Shield, Lance­lot Strong, drove a 1970 AMC Rebel for a short period un­til its color scheme gave him away to every bad actor on every city block.

Francisco Mattos Model kit from Auro­ra for Britt Reid’s spe­cial-built 1965 Chrysler, fea­tur­ing a 413 engine. Bruce Lee as Kato drove the Black Beauty to fight crime w/ the Green Hor­net, ever ready to de­ploy a pair of hood-mount­ed machine guns, a flame throw­er, and sting­er missles.

Francisco Mattos Sow­ing feline felony in Goth­am City w/ her Cat Mobile, Selina Kyle leads a law­less life as the Cat­woman.

Francisco Mattos Wins­low Schott, the ter­ri­ble Toy­man, had his ful­ly func­tion­al dwarf Cadil­lac sur­round­ed by in­dig­nant town­folk hop­ing to save Doll Man and Doll Girl from a threat they were not yet aware of.
Francisco Mattos The seldom driven Joker Mobile is de­ployed to track down a double-cross­ing mob­ster. “The whole job – the safe-crack­ing, the get­away - all bear the stamp of Dink Devers! The cops think he died – but he’s right here in town, at the Blake Hotel! Ha-HA-HA!” “Gosh, Joker – I bet you’re right!”

Francisco Mattos A proficiency in auto mechan­ics as well as min­ia­turi­za­tion land­ed Ray Palmer a plum po­si­tion as a team mem­ber re­hab­ili­ta­ting a Fer­ra­ri 375 Plus. Pal­mer kept tin­ker­ing some more on the rac­ing car, giv­ing it a cap­abil­i­ty of be­ing shrunk, and con­sti­tutes the first step in his quest, as the Atom, to jump into, then out of, the quan­tum realm at will.
Francisco Mattos While parked on a cloud, the Ghost Patrol are active­ly bored ... “Ho Hum! An­oth­er quiet day. Noth­ing do­ing on our sec­tor of earth late­ly.” “Strange! This is us­ual­ly the most trou­ble­some of the plan­ets!” “What’s that ahead? Why – it’s a horse!”

Francisco Mattos King T’chal­la of Wakan­da’s elusive jeep parked in San Fran­cis­co’s South of Mar­ket neigh­bor­hood, where he was on a secret mis­sion as the Black Panther.

Francisco Mattos This “fire” truck, de­signed by Stark In­dus­tries, later pat­ent­ed by Gen­eral Motors as the Futur­liner, was used to house JIm Ham­mond, an and­roid spawned in the mind of Prof. Phin­eas T. Hor­ton. This lab-on wheels is re­mote­ly con­trolled, in­su­lat­ed in­side to with­stand the in­tense fire gen­er­at­ed by the golden age Human Torch.