I was chatting with this old bird today and he told me a story from once upon a time in my backyard. In the beginning when his kind had arrived to this lush paradise, he gestured wildly with his wing, life was simple. They ate. They squawked. They flew. They slept.

The good ship 2020 has certainly run aground. Again. That's three times in as many months. First came January, which felt like a hundred years war. In romped February with its smoke and mirrors as those in power scrambled to offset the month prior. Nothing to see here. Oh heyyy March, you pandemic.

As those in power do their level best to stoke the fires of pandemonium while calling for calm through chattering teeth, we have reached yet another opportunity wrapped in viral crisis. Get used to this dynamic, the hallmark of both revolution and this paradigm shifting year.

The oldest trick in the narcissist's playbook is manipulation through fear. Smart sociopaths know that the fear of fear itself is far worse than the facts, which rarely get in the way of a good story. They will fuel your panic and then tell you to calm down, leaving you drowning in a sea of dread and woefully stricken.

You don't have to do it alone, darklings. Just ask Stell and that big smile, the one borne of patient encouragement and unconditional belief. I know she can swim. I know you can too.

With all this unprecedented disaster and catastrophe and serious change, it is easy for anxiety and despair to sink their talons in. And that's before you add whatever thafuck is enacting a similar impact for you personally. We knew this revolution would be televised but nobody said there'd be days like this, to quote the sages.

This is both leadership and grace personified, New Zealand's PM Jacinda Ardern mourning the tragic events in Christchurch. Our hearts breaking with hers in the shocking face of violence and terror.

Every year in a row Pisces season schools us in the art of illusion. Its deep waters distort our senses and pool our assumptions. The whirlpool of our emotions, particularly those feelings that will not submit to sense or reason, breach the surface of our lives and we find ourselves all at sea.

Fool's gold glistens and seduces us because we want so badly to believe it is real. It speaks to the true nature of our desires. Most dreadfully, to our willingness to be duped in our ardent pursuit of them. Under pressure, its true nature is revealed. It never passes any real test and will fail as many times as you let it.

This week I had lunch with a wise man, one I consider to be master of his thoughts. I was shocked to learn his life had not been the zen lens practice it appears from the outside. He told me instead how the tiniest disagreement or harsh word would derail him, plummeting him into a fight or flight mode that saw him spend days isolated and spinning in his own head, plotting his escape and fleeing from his own life.

My old boss used to remark that the problem with having your head stuck up your arse* is that only one of your senses is working. Yes, wisdom of dinosaurs but a salient observation nonetheless. As we chewed over yesterday and the day before that on this page, April is built on revisiting old scenarios or past mistakes whilst being agitated and niggled on most fronts.

Righto everyone, back in your corner of Meltdown City. Time out of the cray. Take a moment to stop, sigh deeply and sit the fuq down. Yes the current astrofuquery / soup de jour is loaded. Brimming with the hairy potential to make us go off like a packet of crackers.

“I’m not like other men”

Tweet of the year or maybe just the best bellylaugh so far.

This is an official Astrofuckery Alert. Further to my last post exhorting us all to do nothing under this lunar peak may I introduce today's cautionary tale.

If you have found yourself feeling more than a little blue or indeed crying buckets over the last little while, you can thank almost all our major planetary players in water signs. Oh my giddy aunt there is a lot of emotion coursing about us and through us right now. Hand me the bloody tissues. No, just give me the whole box please.

After a frantic few weeks on the rollercoaster my long weekend has finally arrived. Late, laden and just in time. Today with the mist stubbornly refusing to lift, an executive decision has been made by my Council of Familiars. Only Elvira used the fancy word when the decree was handed down. As the cool mist danced around exposed wrists, I willingly submitted.

As fond of words as I am, there are a few that niggle. Closure is such a beast, cloaked in false promise and with an alarming propensity to hold us stuck or frozen.

In much the same way that life and death have their roots embedded in each other, our endings and beginnings are forever intertwined.