Today in the middle of storm and consequence, an important meeting is transpiring. In a world slavishly built on the false altar of eternal life and endless youth, the refused shadow curls around our ankles like a snake. Anaretica, thy name is transition. The fabled degree at the end of all the mansions holds change in its palm, throwing open a back door into something entirely different.

The strange ripple in this day and the one after is more than the constant glitching of what once was matrix. It is something beyond regular programming and far below its cause and effect. And it has Pluto's spiny fingers all over it, tickling underbellies and shadows out of hiding.