Welcome to the online studio of Francisco Mattos, built w/ printed pieces, experiments, souvenirs, personal projects.
-| September 2023 |-
2023 RETROGRADES
Joining her kin in the Sky, as the last greco roman deity to quit primeval earth-goddess Ge, was titaness of Justice Astraea, who became the last mythological link to Terra Firma, and is now part of a composite pantheon: a growing galaxy of space rocks found to be spinning around Sol, paying heed his gravitation-throne of Apollo, and related to each other in a hypothetical heaven.
2023 Rx
Cradle Court
Slowing down
while in tissue-thin Cancer, Astraea “starry 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.
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. Klotho
“spinner” (1868) turns retrograde, September to November, from head-in-cloud Aries back to under-water Pisces, performing meritless multi-tasking.
Lachesis
“measurer” (1872) turns retrograde while in Aries, from breezy September to gusty December, prone to endless mind games.
Atropos “cutter” (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.
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.
The creation
god of the tongva people in 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
“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.
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, Uranus “sky” (1781) is probably focused on draining the swamp.
This
polynesian fertility god will retrograde while in balanced Libra, from larva February to june-bug 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.
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.
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.
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.
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. Varuna “dome” (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.
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), who also has a 2024 retrograde, coffee March to salad May, exiting cocktail Libra for vitamin Virgo. These retrogrades happen back-to-back, March through to July, so expect to spend spring playing host to the double-asteroid god of the grape.
The roman
grain goddess begins a retrograde on March 3, while in leafy Libra; she is discouraged by planting season. By the time Ceres (1801) turns direct, on May 5 while in seedling Virgo, the mother to Persephone, queen of the underworld, should have come to the realization that at least one whole season has gone missing.
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.
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.
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.
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 a map of the first heaven.
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.
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.
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.
The
seventh-greco wife to roman Jupiter will retrograde, from day-dreaming Aquarius to bread-winning Capricorn, social July to lazy September. If well-aspected, Hera (1868) 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 some one hundred asteroids away, JUNO (1804), who does not retrograde in 2023.
Beginning a
retrograde on June 17, the firstgen titan of the Harvest is prone to see his money pouring down the drain. Trying to reverse this course by the “bringer of old age” can instead enhance, albeit inadvertently, the outcome of some haphazardly deployed, nonetheless lethal, action. This madding period is over with on November 3. By then, Saturn will have moved on from this season of treason, obliged to preen as usual in photographs as a classical planet with many moons, carrying rings which perpetually rain down onto his surface organic building blocks in frozen packages.
The principal
roman love goddess turns retrograde in easy-peasy Leo, July 23 to September 3, when she sees fifty ways to cause a separation. If well-aspected, the lover to 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, veined in inert argon. The nearest planet to the Sun is undergoing continuous exfoliation, losing her precious atoms of nitrogen, floating across a carbon dioxide atmosphere, each encased in a package of sulfuric acid, the whole presented as a drifting gauze. “Foam born” has a hellenic half who is also an astroid goddess: APHRODITE (1935), who turns retrograde in party-hardy Sagittarius, from late April to August, a reason she might just catch a social disease.
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.
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.
The
disastrous daughter to mother Earth and Pontos is poised to retrograde in transformative Scorpio, from choppy March to calmer August, adrift and with no map. If well-aspected, Ceto (2003) brings out the marine matriarch; if not, the mother to choice greco creatures (among them the three Gorgons and maybe the Hersperides) is unwilling to relinquish a lived-in lifestyle, and might have to “walk the plank” (commit self-harm) to appease angry waves.
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
(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.
During
the first retrograde, beginning in January, the daughter to Nyx (Night) has managed to smother a combusting Aries, her sibling; the battlefield now is acrid. The second time “Abhorred” retrogrades, beginning in Summer and again in Aries, she is ready for combat but is frustrated, surrounded by greenhorns. Eris (2003) orbits the Sun some 8.8 trillion miles (14.28 trillion kilometers) away, sporting a mantle of white-white panes of iced-methane constantly shedding miasmas. Under this battlesuit, the greco chaos goddess is rumored to be a turbulent sea planet.
It is
perhaps fortunate that this monstrous water serpent goes in and out of retrograde, for the next fifteen years, while in dissolving Pisces, because then his tidal-mayhem patterns can be gleaned to forewarn. For 2024, this retrograde period occurs July through November. Gonggong (2007) is a sino immortal, banished to the Scattered Disc region of space, gleaming in scales stained oxblood-red by ancient tholin, refracting iced flakes of irradiated methane.
The goddess
of boundaries, Hekate (1868), has only a brief period, January into February, to autopsy a spent domestic drama that almost went off the rails, relying on interviewing an aloof Cancer, then a feisty Gemini.
This
primal viking love goddess turned sex-migrant has returned as an easy-going finnish nether god, set to retrograde while in possessive Taurus, from one-blanket September to two-blankets December. If well-aspected, intimacy takes flight and returns as chivalry; if not, seemingly sex-shy Lempo (1999) won’t postpone his revenge.
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.
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 campaign.
A sino
solar god begins a retrograde from wet March to humid July, while in true-blue Scorpio. Zhulong (2014) has returned as a humongous fire-breathing dragon, on a quest to ground fire devils everywhere.
The
“god of pure truth” will retrograde during 2023 back down five zodiac signs, from flowering April to fruited July. If well-aspected, Apollo (1932) swallows his pride, asks for assistance; if not, “Shining” is serially kicked out of queen-size Libra, to futon Virgo, then waterbed Cancer, before shacking up with sleeping-bag Gemini. The god to foreigners is leader of the apollo tribe: a posse of asteroids passing close enough to Earth to constitute a threat.
The
“wisest centaur” turns retrograde, July 23 through December 26, in austere Aries. Chiron (1977) finds that 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, then the hellenic “teacher of medicine, herbs, music, archery, hunting, and gymnastics” stares into the cracked pieces and is lost in dead-ends. Prone to ankle injuries, Chiron is the first of his kind: a collective of asteroid bodies with comet tails, on unstable, chaotic orbits that are influenced tidally by roman sea god Neptune. Centaur comet PHOLUS (1992) is set to retrograde, merrie May to soaked September, in conservative Capricorn, a season when restless and exhausting ineptness tugs at the centaur tasked with guarding his tribe’s wine supply.
Set to
retrograde, from molten Aries in September to hardened Taurus during December, Hephaistos (1978) finds time at last 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 craftsmen has wasted both time and money; if not, only time will be wasted.
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.
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.
Challenged to
retrograde in friendster Aquarius, from warm June to hot September, a facemask should become a no-brainer for
Hygiea
“good health” (1849); because. Meanwhile, her sister, Panacea
“curative” (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.
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 Aquarius, in-the-way Capricorn, jumpy Sagittarius to don’t-tread-on-me Scorpio.
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This is a link to see if Mercury is currently retrograde.
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.
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 an aria for conflict.
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” a good several times.
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.
This
infernal immortal
will retrograde in exacting Virgo, from hardly wet January to dry May. If well-aspected, the “punisher of broken 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.
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 fiery 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.
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.
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.
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.
The T-Third lightrail runs under Stockton Street, connecting Mission Bay, Dogpatch, Islais Creek, Bayview-Hunters Point, Bret Harte (Little Hollywood) with the Caltrain Station, Moscone Center, Market Street and Chinatown. Some stations have landmark and/or wayfinding art.
♣| Central Subway Art
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(Yerba Buena)
Construction of Moscone Center, which opened in 1981, and documented by Catherine Wagner, is now floor-to-ceiling size, 'Arc Cycle' (2021), four photographs sandblasted or laser-etched onto stone and metal walls in the concourse.
(Union Square)
Data-driven local public-transit hubs stained onto glass, by the duo-artist Hughen|Starkweather, greet passengers at street level, where 'Convergence: Commute Patterns' (2022, detail) is washed by natural and artificial light, plays with shadows.
(Chinatown)
A winning 'Couplet' (2016) for the roof plaza went to Carina Mui: “In the past, we traveled across the Pacific to mine for gold. Now, we break through earth to form a silver dragon.” Rendered on glass by calligrapher Terry Luk.
(Yerba Buena)
A multi-layered handmade mural by Leslie Shows, using glass, steel and color to depict 'Face C/Z' (2021), a magnified piece of “fool’s gold.”
(Union Square)
A hypnotic ceiling installation ebbs and flows in color-changing light. Erwin Redl has created a time machine on the concourse, masking distances with 'Lucy in the Sky' (2023).
(Brennan)
An aerodynamic mobile by Moto Ohtake is placed high up on a pole at this street-level station, so that the 31 rotating points on 'Microcosmic' (2016) initiate conversations with the wind.
(Yerba Buena)
This shoot, which burst through the plaza and shot up 103 feet, was then tackled by Roxy Paine, who promptly swathed 'Node' (2023) in stainless steel, knowing it had come from the netherworld of Moscone Center.
(Yerba Buena)
A mural patterned on Silk Road crafts, equal parts quilt and cathedral window,
'A Sense of Community' (2022, detail) by Clare Rojas, gives a stylized glimpse into Chinatown.
(Union Square)
'Silent Stream' (2022, detail) by Jim Campbell and Werner Klotz, is a ribbon of stainless steel disks hovering over the platform, sinuous and glimmering, echoing a once-nearby underground stream.
(Chinatown)
A subterranean platform requires long escalators, so two wall-sized eye candies relieve the ride: metal murals 'The Sprout Dance' and “Dance of the Bride” (both 2022) by papercut artist Yumei Hou.
Brush Script MT Copperplate Papyrus Courier New Courier MS Monaco Lucida Console Helvetica Avant Garde Century Gothic Lucida Grande Arial Narrow Segoe UI Tahoma Geneva Verdana Palatino Garamond Bookman Impact Didot Perpetua Baskerville Century Schoolbook Palatino Linotype Book Antiqua Times New Roman Big Caslon Lucida Bright Bodoni MT Hoefler Text Trebuchet MS
SAN FRANCISCO POSTCARDS
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The T-Third lightrail runs under Stockton Street, connecting Mission Bay, Dogpatch, Islais Creek, Bayview-Hunters Point, Bret Harte (Little Hollywood) with the Caltrain Station, Moscone Center, Market Street and Chinatown. Some stations have landmark and/or wayfinding art.
♣| Central Subway Art
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(Yerba Buena)
Construction of Moscone Center, which opened in 1981, and documented by Catherine Wagner, is now floor-to-ceiling size, 'Arc Cycle' (2021), four photographs sandblasted or laser-etched onto stone and metal walls in the concourse.
(Union Square)
Data-driven local public-transit hubs stained onto glass, by the duo-artist Hughen|Starkweather, greet passengers at street level, where 'Convergence: Commute Patterns' (2022, detail) is washed by natural and artificial light, plays with shadows.
(Chinatown)
A winning 'Couplet' (2016) for the roof plaza went to Carina Mui: “In the past, we traveled across the Pacific to mine for gold. Now, we break through earth to form a silver dragon.” Rendered on glass by calligrapher Terry Luk.
(Yerba Buena)
A multi-layered handmade mural by Leslie Shows, using glass, steel and color to depict 'Face C/Z' (2021), a magnified piece of “fool’s gold.”
(Union Square)
A hypnotic ceiling installation ebbs and flows in color-changing light. Erwin Redl has created a time machine on the concourse, masking distances with 'Lucy in the Sky' (2023).
(Brennan)
An aerodynamic mobile by Moto Ohtake is placed high up on a pole at this street-level station, so that the 31 rotating points on 'Microcosmic' (2016) initiate conversations with the wind.
(Yerba Buena)
This shoot, which burst through the plaza and shot up 103 feet, was then tackled by Roxy Paine, who promptly swathed 'Node' (2023) in stainless steel, knowing it had come from the netherworld of Moscone Center.
(Yerba Buena)
A mural patterned on Silk Road crafts, equal parts quilt and cathedral window,
'A Sense of Community' (2022, detail) by Clare Rojas, gives a stylized glimpse into Chinatown.
(Union Square)
'Silent Stream' (2022, detail) by Jim Campbell and Werner Klotz, is a ribbon of stainless steel disks hovering over the platform, sinuous and glimmering, echoing a once-nearby underground stream.
(Chinatown)
A subterranean platform requires long escalators, so two wall-sized eye candies relieve the ride: metal murals 'The Sprout Dance' and “Dance of the Bride” (both 2022) by papercut artist Yumei Hou.
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(Folsom and Falmouth)
♥| SFFD Station #1
It was on March 20 2013, a week before official opening, that an alarm sounded at the built-green fire station; at 4:25 pm Engine #1 sounded its sirens then peeled off. A few days prior, a low-key celebration among construction workers and firemen for a finished work of art.
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(Jones at Eddy)
♣| Marlton Manor
Taking up half a block,
built in 1924, a steel frame rising five levels, the Roosevelt Hotel had 160 units with bathrooms, and sidewalks with storefronts. Re-dedicated in 2003 as the Marlton Manor, it is now managed by a tenants council.
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(133 Golden Gate Ave)
SF Landmark #172
♦| St Boniface
The oldest German catholic church in the City, built after the 1906 Earthquake and fire. Brothers to St Francis since 1852, this romanesque-revival church decants Sunday masses in English (8am), Spanish (9:30am) and Vietnamese (11am). These Franciscan friars guide religious education, nurture sacraments, initiate Easter, Christmas and feast days.
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(Ellis off Powell)
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Literary landmark since 1977
♣| John’s Grill
In “The Maltese Falcon” (1930), Sam Spade “went to John’s Grill, asked the waiter to hurry his order of chops, baked potato, and sliced tomatoes, ate hurriedly, and was smoking a cigarette with his coffee when ... ”
♦| Forest Hill
Developed starting in 1912 in the middle of SF, and built for horse-carriges before specific standards regarding width and grade were codified.
This steep neighborhood was built with a staircase system: Alton and Alton Backstairs, Magellan, Merced, Montalvo, Oriole, San Carlos, Sola, and the Grand Staircase.
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Staircase hike begins here at Laguna Honda Blvd and Sola Steps, next to Forest Hill Station.
♦ | Angel Island
Marooned in the Bay, within sight of “Golden Mountains”, a detention center serving as an immigration station, for those “choosing San Francisco as their entry point into the United States.” Then a 1940 fire reduced its purpose to ashes. Today, Angel Island is a 1.2-square-mile state park and museum.
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(5th and Bryant)
♣| Coca Cola Sign
Rooftop neon billboard, first switched on in 1937, greeted travelers of the night. In 2020, Coca Cola had a change of heart and had this outside art removed.
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(La Playa off Balboa)
♥| Playland-at-the-Beach
Fun House Clown
Carousel Rooster
Laffing Sal
Keeping vigil where they were born, here by the Pacific Ocean, three ancients, recast in woven wire, pinning their memories to the sky. (Laffing Sal has been granted a second life by the Musee Mecanique and is now in Fisherman’s Wharf.) The It’s-It ice cream sandwich was invented here in 1928, and found only at Playland-at-the-Beach until it closed in 1972.
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♠| Chinatown
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GOLDEN GATE FORTUNE COOKIE CO Founded in 1962 by Frank Leong and located in Ross Alley, is now designated a legacy business (2016). Shoppers get to see three vintage fortune-cookie machines at work, heating a dollop of batter until flexible, then a message is added, and folded into final shape, as batter cools and hardens.
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POLICEMAN In 1957, he joined the SF Police Department, and before that had served in the US Navy. Herb Lee (b.1933), the first Chinese-American police officer, passed in 2017, age 84.
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HELLO
This is the online studio of Francisco Mattos, built with experiments in layout, long-form articles, and items from the vault, stewed into a diabolic dialogue with semantics.
Illustrated w/ collages, drawings, maps, paintings, photographs, prints and quotes
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Out west, when 1848 was only twenty-four days old, mechanic James Marshall was making a routine inspection on the grounds of a sawmill he managed for his employer. That was when the New Jersey native noticed some odd-looking ore in a water channel of the South Fork of the American River. It was “... bright, yet malleable. I then tried it between two rocks, and found that it could be beaten into a different shape, but not broken.”
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Nine days after Marshall emerged from the waters w/ his find, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was signed, transferring a large tract of Mexico to the United States.
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These concurrent events together precipitated the California Gold Rush of 1849, when folks came from all over, bringing dreams while praying to the god and goddess of wealth for a show of “colour”
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The first came from Monterey, San Francisco, San Jose and Sonoma: when clerks, doctors, laborers, lawyers, mechanics, rancheros left their jobs. Sailors deserted their ships. Soldiers deserted the Mexican War. As word spread more came from Hawai‘i, Mexico and Oregon.
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Gold seekers showing up near the sawmill of John August Sutter, where gold was first discovered, had no need for milled lumber, and his business went into decline. All the while, a new settlement grew across the American River to become Coloma, the first gold rush town. Nearby stands a monument, by the Native Sons of the Golden West, to mark the grave of James Wilson Marshall, the “discoverer of gold.”
One can cross Panama to get to California rather than sail around Cape Horn. Up Chagres river to the town of Culebra; then donkeys to Gulf of Panama, eleven miles away.
Maps were consulted and what became the California Trial began w/ existing routes. Emigrants showed up along the Missouri river and towns in Illinois or Iowa. Wagon trains hitched, they headed out, crossing landapes of grasslands, prairies, steppes, valleys and rivers to Wyoming and Fort Laramie.
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The only way to cross the Rockies was a corridor beyond Fort Laramie, level and broad. South Pass afforded several routes passage to California. At a fork in the road soon after, the Oregon Trail veers right while the Mormon Trail turns south toward Fort Bridger.
|⁋| Overland travelers chose routes dependent on starting point and final destination. Other factors were the condition of their wagons, livestock, and the availability of water.
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From California, one can get to Oregon on the Applegate Trail (1846), an alternative to the hazardous last leg of the Oregon Trail.
|⁋| The Oregon Trail begins in Missouri and leaves either Fort Leavenworth, Independence or Saint Joseph for a two thousand mile trek to the Oregon Territory. Past the Great Plains, then the Rockies, heading west northwest to the Snake river, Fort Boise, Witman Mission, The Dales, Fort Vancouver, the Columbia river, and the coast.
The Santa Fe Trail starts off in Missouri, rolls through Kansas and a corner of Colorado. Crossing the Arkansas river before dropping to New Mexico, the trail loses its identity somewhat in Santa Fe, where it is braided to the Gila Trail, a local 16th-c. commerce and travel high road, bringing trade from inland to the coast.
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The Mormon Trail, gathers in Illinois and wends by Iowa and Nebraska before joining established trails in Wyoming. Together they cross the Rockies, then the Mormon Trail continues south southwest to Utah Territory to end up in Los Angeles. Besides the overlanders there were also seafarers.
|⁋| An eight-month sea route from New York to San Francisco would involve a hazardous rounding of Cape Horn.
A 49er carries pickaxe, shovel and pan. Can add a rocker and a hopper; some also conduct hydraulic experiments. A water wheel would be jim-dandy, to pick up individual quantities of gold-bearing gravel and sand.
Personal gear: pair of blankets, frying-pan, flour, salt pork, brandy (or other sanctifying spirit). Field gear must-haves: pickaxe, shovel and pan. Some procure a mule.
|⁋| Gold miners w/ no financial backing learn to congregate along mountain roads and wait for supply wagons passing through, bringing food and tools and carrying out gold dust. Saturday nights were for salooning and carousing. Sunday is a holiday – laundry, tool repair, swapping stories, writing letters, napping.
|⁋| A twelve inch shallow sheet-iron pan to rinse soil w/ water and locate the gold.
|⁋| A rocker is a rectangular wooden box mounted on two rockers and set at a downward angle.
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The hopper is a box sitting on top of the rocker, lined w/ a sheet of perforated iron. Beneath is an area called the “riddle-box.”
|⁋| The long tom is an improved rocker plus hopper, reaching to twenty feet in length. A long sheet of perforated iron lines the bottom and beneath that iw the riddle-box.
|⁋| Women too had gold fever, coming from Mexico, Chile, Peru, England, France, New York and New Orleans.
|⁋| Depicted in history as adventuress, courtesan, harlot, pickpocket, prostitute and the demimonde, these women were also bookkeepers, cooks, laundresses, shop-keepers, maids, wives. When mountain roads improved sufficiently to make travel between towns feasible, they set forth as performers.
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Mrs Clappe came west in 1851 w/ her husband. In her letters home she gives an account of the era, about geology and a visit to a rural doctor’s rude office of pine shingles and cotton cloth.
Yerba Buena was a hamlet on the San Francisco peninsula w/ an excellent harbor. The Spaniards established a maritime trading post and built the Mission of San Francisco de Asis. Ships docking in its cove discharged seafarers to a Spanish-style plaza known as Portsmouth Square.
|⁋| On arrival gold seekers rented lodgings in shanties and tent towns, and stayed long enough to buy tools and provisions before heading out.
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Brought over from Australia to perform labor, English convicts deserted en masse and instead formed a gang. Soon a frontier patch of lawlessness, Sydney Town, sprouted at the base of Telegraph Hill. The Sydney Ducks preyed on people and property, augmented by a gang of lady pickpockets, and willingly committed murder to survive.
|⁋| The embers of Sydney Town rekindled and gave birth to the Barbary Coast, chock-a-block w/ bars, saloons, brothels, concert halls, dance halls; where “getting shanghaied” was first rehearsed. Survived the 1906 Earthquake and Fire, by 1917 the red-light district was no more.
Sutter’s Mill on the South Fork of the American River.
Coloma, next to Sutter’s Mill, was the first gold mining town. A post office and jail were added in 1852 – both proved popular. Gold mining also took place north at Bidwell’s Bar, Cut Eye Foster’s Bar, Downieville, Dutch Flat, Goodyear’s Bar, Grass Valley, Helltown, Illinoistown, Iowa Hill, Kanaka Flat, Lousy Level, Marysville, Murderers Bar, Nevada City, Plumas City, Poker Flat, Rough and Ready, Washington, Whiskey Flat, Wisconsin Hill, and You Bet.
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South at Angels Camp, Chinese Camp, Dogtown, Fair Play, Hornitos, Jackson, Mokelumme Hill, Mormon Bar, Rawhide, Rich Gulch, Shaw’s Flat, Sonora, Volcano.
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Gold was found along tributaries to the San Joaquin and Sacramento rivers. At Auburn, Diamond Springs, Grizzly Flats, Missouri Flat, Placerville.
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Home to Native Americans incl. the Miwok, the Sierra Nevada was rudely affected by the Gold Rush. In 1849 an incident occurred along the Middle Fork of the American River when some 49ers died and some indigenes killed. An uneasy truce obtained when Native Americans were hired on as laborers and paid in tin, but by 1900 their population had declined to only ±16,000.
|⁋| Before James Cagney was the Frisco Kid and Edward G.
Robinson dramatized life in the Barbary Coast era, there was a 1913 feature, The Last Night of the Barbary Coast, now a lost film.
The 1849 state census counted 42,000 overlanders and 35,000 seafarers caught up by gold fever; together w/ 3,000 sailors who had deserted ships.
Like all who seek a better tomorrow, the Chinese too came to the California Gold Rush, formed a fraternity in Coloma, squatted spent claims and worked as a team over the “tailings” left behind. In 1880 this gold-mining Chinatown was lost to fire.
2023 RETROGRADES
Joining her kin in the Sky, as the last greco roman deity to quit primeval earth-goddess Ge, was titaness of Justice Astraea, who became the last mythological link to Terra Firma, and is now part of a composite pantheon: a growing galaxy of space rocks found to be spinning around Sol, paying heed his gravitation-throne of Apollo, and related to each other in a hypothetical heaven.
2023 Rx
Cradle Court
Slowing down
while in tissue-thin Cancer, Astraea “starry 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.
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. Klotho
“spinner” (1868) turns retrograde, September to November, from head-in-cloud Aries back to under-water Pisces, performing meritless multi-tasking.
Lachesis
“measurer” (1872) turns retrograde while in Aries, from breezy September to gusty December, prone to endless mind games.
Atropos “cutter” (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.
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.
The creation
god of the tongva people in 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
“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.
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, Uranus “sky” (1781) is probably focused on draining the swamp.
This
polynesian fertility god will retrograde while in balanced Libra, from larva February to june-bug 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.
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.
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.
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.
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. Varuna “dome” (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.
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), who also has a 2024 retrograde, coffee March to salad May, exiting cocktail Libra for vitamin Virgo. These retrogrades happen back-to-back, March through to July, so expect to spend spring playing host to the double-asteroid god of the grape.
The roman
grain goddess begins a retrograde on March 3, while in leafy Libra; she is discouraged by planting season. By the time Ceres (1801) turns direct, on May 5 while in seedling Virgo, the mother to Persephone, queen of the underworld, should have come to the realization that at least one whole season has gone missing.
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.
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.
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.
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 a map of the first heaven.
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.
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.
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.
The
seventh-greco wife to roman Jupiter will retrograde, from day-dreaming Aquarius to bread-winning Capricorn, social July to lazy September. If well-aspected, Hera (1868) 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 some one hundred asteroids away, JUNO (1804), who does not retrograde in 2023.
Beginning a
retrograde on June 17, the firstgen titan of the Harvest is prone to see his money pouring down the drain. Trying to reverse this course by the “bringer of old age” can instead enhance, albeit inadvertently, the outcome of some haphazardly deployed, nonetheless lethal, action. This madding period is over with on November 3. By then, Saturn will have moved on from this season of treason, obliged to preen as usual in photographs as a classical planet with many moons, carrying rings which perpetually rain down onto his surface organic building blocks in frozen packages.
The principal
roman love goddess turns retrograde in easy-peasy Leo, July 23 to September 3, when she sees fifty ways to cause a separation. If well-aspected, the lover to 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, veined in inert argon. The nearest planet to the Sun is undergoing continuous exfoliation, losing her precious atoms of nitrogen, floating across a carbon dioxide atmosphere, each encased in a package of sulfuric acid, the whole presented as a drifting gauze. “Foam born” has a hellenic half who is also an astroid goddess: APHRODITE (1935), who turns retrograde in party-hardy Sagittarius, from late April to August, a reason she might just catch a social disease.
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.
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.
The
disastrous daughter to mother Earth and Pontos is poised to retrograde in transformative Scorpio, from choppy March to calmer August, adrift and with no map. If well-aspected, Ceto (2003) brings out the marine matriarch; if not, the mother to choice greco creatures (among them the three Gorgons and maybe the Hersperides) is unwilling to relinquish a lived-in lifestyle, and might have to “walk the plank” (commit self-harm) to appease angry waves.
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
(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.
During
the first retrograde, beginning in January, the daughter to Nyx (Night) has managed to smother a combusting Aries, her sibling; the battlefield now is acrid. The second time “Abhorred” retrogrades, beginning in Summer and again in Aries, she is ready for combat but is frustrated, surrounded by greenhorns. Eris (2003) orbits the Sun some 8.8 trillion miles (14.28 trillion kilometers) away, sporting a mantle of white-white panes of iced-methane constantly shedding miasmas. Under this battlesuit, the greco chaos goddess is rumored to be a turbulent sea planet.
It is
perhaps fortunate that this monstrous water serpent goes in and out of retrograde, for the next fifteen years, while in dissolving Pisces, because then his tidal-mayhem patterns can be gleaned to forewarn. For 2024, this retrograde period occurs July through November. Gonggong (2007) is a sino immortal, banished to the Scattered Disc region of space, gleaming in scales stained oxblood-red by ancient tholin, refracting iced flakes of irradiated methane.
The goddess
of boundaries, Hekate (1868), has only a brief period, January into February, to autopsy a spent domestic drama that almost went off the rails, relying on interviewing an aloof Cancer, then a feisty Gemini.
This
primal viking love goddess turned sex-migrant has returned as an easy-going finnish nether god, set to retrograde while in possessive Taurus, from one-blanket September to two-blankets December. If well-aspected, intimacy takes flight and returns as chivalry; if not, seemingly sex-shy Lempo (1999) won’t postpone his revenge.
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.
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 campaign.
A sino
solar god begins a retrograde from wet March to humid July, while in true-blue Scorpio. Zhulong (2014) has returned as a humongous fire-breathing dragon, on a quest to ground fire devils everywhere.
The
“god of pure truth” will retrograde during 2023 back down five zodiac signs, from flowering April to fruited July. If well-aspected, Apollo (1932) swallows his pride, asks for assistance; if not, “Shining” is serially kicked out of queen-size Libra, to futon Virgo, then waterbed Cancer, before shacking up with sleeping-bag Gemini. The god to foreigners is leader of the apollo tribe: a posse of asteroids passing close enough to Earth to constitute a threat.
The
“wisest centaur” turns retrograde, July 23 through December 26, in austere Aries. Chiron (1977) finds that 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, then the hellenic “teacher of medicine, herbs, music, archery, hunting, and gymnastics” stares into the cracked pieces and is lost in dead-ends. Prone to ankle injuries, Chiron is the first of his kind: a collective of asteroid bodies with comet tails, on unstable, chaotic orbits that are influenced tidally by roman sea god Neptune. Centaur comet PHOLUS (1992) is set to retrograde, merrie May to soaked September, in conservative Capricorn, a season when restless and exhausting ineptness tugs at the centaur tasked with guarding his tribe’s wine supply.
Set to
retrograde, from molten Aries in September to hardened Taurus during December, Hephaistos (1978) finds time at last 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 craftsmen has wasted both time and money; if not, only time will be wasted.
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.
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.
Challenged to
retrograde in friendster Aquarius, from warm June to hot September, a facemask should become a no-brainer for
Hygiea
“good health” (1849); because. Meanwhile, her sister, Panacea
“curative” (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.
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 Aquarius, in-the-way Capricorn, jumpy Sagittarius to don’t-tread-on-me Scorpio.
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This is a link to see if Mercury is currently retrograde.
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.
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 an aria for conflict.
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” a good several times.
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.
This
infernal immortal
will retrograde in exacting Virgo, from hardly wet January to dry May. If well-aspected, the “punisher of broken 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.
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 fiery 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.
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.
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.
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.
LUNAR ZODIAC +
The water rabbit is somewhat conventional, and definitely delicate. A chatty introvert riven with a fantasy love life, living a life while flayed open, subject to exquisite pain, or pleasure.
THE FINISHED PROTOTYPE, with a driver’s cab at either end, appeared on the California Street Line in 1899. Trams “... were decorated using scrollwork and gold trim, with ornate glass transoms and, for paint, maroon and cream.”
How San Francisco’s cable car came to be built will require more than one stop on its telling, wending this way and that, and passing landmarks of wealth and waste.
Before the cable car, the task for getting to Nob Hill was relegated to paying for a ride in a horse-drawn cab. On October 11, 1869, this necessary yet wanton civic cruelty of using animals as beasts of burden changed for the good. The San Francisco Chronicle had a front page article on the death of a wretch. It took place when a horse finally lost it on California Street and, throttled, dragged down to its death.
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When Andrew Hallidie read this, he paused and paced his inner office, reflecting on what if anything he could learn from this. Hallidie was already prosperous, although not yet famous. He had inherited a company from his father. The senior Hallidie had invented and then patented a “steel cable”: strands of wire lined up and braided into a rope that was super strong, and proved indispensable in the gold fields and gold mines.
Hallidie took on a failed concern: to build a conveyance capable of conquering the city‘s hills. He bought the Clay Street Hill Railway Co., and by May 1873 had built tracks and a cable assembly up Clay from Portsmouth Square to Nob Hill, a vertical climb of seven blocks.
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Early on August 2 1873, a prototype was in place and, lantern-lit, Hallidie stepped on board. Activating a grip lever onto a moving cable, he ascended on that peril-prone maiden voyage. Few were awake to witness, yet by opening day on September 1, the service was in demand. In 1880 over one million tickets were sold.
The first cable cars were tiny trams powered by a patented grip that alternately holds, and releases, a continuously moving steel cable running under the street. Power is supplied by huge drums housed at nearby power stations along the route.
The tram operator is stationed forward of the tram. He employs the grip grabs and holds on to the moving cable, the tram also moves. When grip is released, tram stops, even on a hill, using a gear invention preventing slippage. Besides the tram operator (gripman) is the conductor.
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Andrew Smith Hallidie was born on March 17, 1837 in London, to Andrew Smith (b.1798 Dumfrieshire, Scotland) and Julia Johnstone (Lockerbie). He died April 24 1900, in San Francisco. Six years later his cable car system would survive the 1906 Earthquake.
Cable cars then sprouted worldwide, from New York to Hong Kong. Naples crowned its opening by commissioning a song, “Funiculi, Funicula.”
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In 1917, Andrew Smith Hallidie had an innovative building named for him. The Hallidie Building (the architect is Willis Polk) has a facade rising eight stories and sheathed in glass.
When news of the discovery of gold in California traveled back east, the brawn and brains of a young nation came westward, where notions of Freedom waltzed hand-in-glove with greatness as well as greed.
Accordingly, access from the gold mines to San Francisco were surveyed. Roads, bridges and tracks were built wherever gold was found, with waystations established for respite and recreation. The mining methods these men brought with them quickly evolved to meet the challenges posed by the Comstock Lode and its tributaries.
The Deidesheimers
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The Industrial Revolution created tools used in scientific precisioning, allowing innovated models to be tested and profitably manufactured. Among these ideas was the ingenuous “square set” created by german engineer Philipp Deidesheimer. Grey Brechin picks up the umbilical cord:
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The Square Set introduced methods of construction. Deidesheimer’s gift went from constructing safety zones to conduct the backbreaking business of mining into other uses, including the ability of a grid of steel beams and columns to allow support for more height.
“Skyscraper” came into usage in the 1880s; America had fifteen. These buildings usually came w/ modern plumbing, electrical outlets in every room, a telephone line in every unit, central heating, and an elevator.
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❛ … NASA took a fresh look at the steel cable in light of a super material, carbon nanotube ... uber-strong, light and flexible. “Space Elevators: An Advanced Earth-Space Infrastructure for the New Millenium” is the feasibility paper of this new science, to erect a track running on cables, from here to the Moon, a journey of some 62,000 miles.❜ — Meghan Neal, February 28 2014.
CABLE CAR NOTES | Based on San Francisco’s Golden Era by Lucius Beebe and Charles Clego (1060); Cable Car Days in San Francisco by Edgar Myron Kahn (1940); The Headlight, March 1947, Western Pacific Club; Imperial San Francisco: Urban Power, Earthly Ruin by Gray Brechin (1999); and online articles by Mary Bellis (“The History of Skyscrapers”), Karen Barss (“Manhattan’s Golden Age of Skyscrapers”), and Meghan Neal (“Space Elevators Are Totally Possible”)
| A 1959 episode of TV series Bonanza features a Philipp Deidesheimer plot point.
| Thank you Taryn Edwards, MLIS, Mechanics’ Institute.
| Thank you Penelope Houston, SF Public Library.
Personal gear: pair of blankets, frying-pan, flour, salt pork, brandy (or other sanctifying spirit). Field gear must-haves: pickaxe, shovel and pan. Some procure a mule.
The 1849 state census counted 42,000 overlanders and 35,000 seafarers caught up by gold fever; together w/ 3,000 sailors who had deserted ships.
Like all who seek a better tomorrow, the Chinese too came to the California Gold Rush, formed a fraternity in Coloma, squatted spent claims and worked as a team over the “tailings” left behind. In 1880 this gold-mining 
Hallidie took on a failed concern: to build a conveyance capable of conquering the city‘s hills. He bought the Clay Street Hill Railway Co., and by May 1873 had built tracks and a cable assembly up Clay from Portsmouth Square to Nob Hill, a vertical climb of seven blocks.
Cable cars then sprouted worldwide, from New York to Hong Kong. Naples crowned its opening by commissioning a song, “
“Skyscraper” came into usage in the 1880s; America had fifteen. These buildings usually came w/ modern plumbing, electrical outlets in every room, a telephone line in every unit, central heating, and an elevator.
