Fall ’21 News – Lower-Fee Crisis Readings, Cancer (the other kind), Book, etc.

Dear readers and lovely clients,

hello!! It’s been a minute and I’ve been getting lots of questions by email, so an update seemed due. Apologies for bullet-point form, but my brain is too dang tired for complete paragraphs. I bet a few of you can relate!

A LOT has been happening in my life during covid times:

  • Got cancer–not the astrological kind–and did a bunch of surgery and chemo in 2019-2020. Knock on wood it is all gone and won’t be back. I have about a year left of follow-ups before my prognosis goes from “very good” chance that I’m cured to “excellent.” The lingering “symptom” I’m dealing with now is long-term chemo-brain, which is similar to the symptoms of a mild concussion: my memory sucks and it takes me too long to write blog posts.
  • The seagoat blog is kaput (see above). Sorry peeps! Good news is…
  • I am doing lots of client readings, and feel more inspired and connected in my counseling/consulting than ever, as I figure out how to use astrology to aid my own and clients’ connections to their embodied, present-tense experience.
  • Just got back home from a summer roadtrip through the U.S. and have added a number of new appointment times to my September and October calendars, including new reduced-fee and Covid readings (which are now called “Global Crisis Readings”, cuz lez be honest, the world is on complete fire and you’re probably as likely to be screwed by covid rn as by floods and war).
  • Free covid readings are done for now (sorry, folks), but Global Crisis Readings include a $25/45-minute option for those whose incomes have taken a bad hit. $75 low-fee depth readings for new and return clients can now be self-booked. Seriously, though, if you need one of these options, use it. It’s there for you, without need for justification or apology or whatever. Historically the demand on these discounts is low enough that everyone who requests one gets one, and without causing yours truly any financial pain.

In Luke’s-other-hat news….

  • I sold my first book!! It’s a collection of literary-fantasy (?) short stories, Pretend It’s My Body, that comes out from Feminist Press in 2022. This Capricorn is very excited and proud! You can keep up with the book and my writerly self on twitter @lukedaniblue and my artist website, lukedaniblue.com
  • I’ll be doing final edits through the end of ’21, so if I’m quiet on the internet, that’s why.
  • Relatedly, no more seagoat blog. Seriously dudes, I can only maintain, like, 3 activities max. I love working with clients, and I love writing fiction, and it turns out my spouse also wants me to do some of the housework?!??!? WTAF. If you’ve got a beef about the blog, take it up with Mr. “80-20-Is-Not-An-Equal-Division-Of-Labor.” (So unreasonable! But that’s a triple Cancer for you.) Suffice it to say, you can definitely book an appointment with me for the forseeable future, but i am never going to tell the world the ten reasons it shouldn’t date a Leo.


  • First: there is one! A future, that is.
  • I have so many ideas I want to explore starting next year. I don’t know much but this is what I think so far:
    • keep doing 1:1 readings
    • incorporate creative writing (?!?) teaching with astrology
    • a central focus on healing trauma/childhood trauma (sometimes called complex PTSD) via astrology, as a tool for clients to use in conjunction with or to support more formal/traditional therapy etc.
    • some kind of mindfulness thing
    • virtual classes – writing + astrology???
    • some free offerings?

Stuff I’ve read recently that I am integrating into my client work:

  • Matthew Salesses – Craft in the Real World –> Technically, this book is about teaching creative writing but contains smart insight into how our value systems and cultural experience show up in how we tell and interpret stories. Since astrology is really all about how we turn our experiences into stories (for better and worse) and find meaning in them, this feels particularly relevant. 
  • Besser van der Kolk – The Body Keeps the Score –> A wonderful, clear primer on how and why trauma, especially trauma in childhood, affects us so deeply; lots of nitty gritty on trauma as a physiological experience, as well as what helps us live with that muscle memory. Love the author’s emphasis on living with our difficult feelings rather than healing them. This is so much how I think of the difficult parts of our charts, esp. Chiron and Saturn whose seeming permanence can feel very scary. Yet as van der Kolk explains, living with pain (of trauma, but perhaps of any sort) without being overwhelmed by it alters our experience of it in profound ways, ways many of us assume we can only access with “healing”. His book is reminding me that living inside our bodies is a learnable skill, as simple (and hard) as breathing.
  • Elyn R. Saks – The Center Cannot Hold: My Journey Through Madness –> A memoir of an accomplished teacher and psychoanalyst who disguised her psychotic episodes for years in order to maintain agency over her choices and mental health care. This visceral reflection on where the suffering of mental illness comes from challenged ideas I had not known I held about the “duty” of a community to intervene in someone’s apparent self-harm. Yet it also underscores the impact that self-neglect and denial have on our loved ones. A complex and impassioned book that rejects easy answers even as it illuminates an invisibilized experience.
  • Eden Robinson – the Trickster trilogy –> a hilarious, heartbreaking literary-fantasy series by an ardent Capricorn (represent!) whose playful view of problems older than colonization and enemies more fearsome (think: ogresses with vengeful were-stepchildren and pissed off, ecoconscious otters) fills me with a perverse hopefulness that this dark age in which we live shall pass too, that life, in its myriad moods, shall continue, as it has for so long.
  • Merve Emre – The Personality Brokers: The Strange History of Myers-Briggs and the Birth of Personality Testing –> A good reminder for anyone in the quote-unquote healing arts to be skeptical of your most strongly held beliefs. And do your very best to not start a cult. Or an MLM scheme. It’s a slippery slope!
  • Megan Giddings – Lakewood –-> Along similar lines as the above, this surreal, upsetting, hilarious, awful, brilliant novel, in its dark AF satire of racialized medical exploitation is a good reminder about hype and slogans and how easily wellness can be a cover on a, well, racial genocide program? Also I do get to talk to a lot of people about their career dilemmas and this book really hits the nail on the head re: jobs we tell ourselves are fine when they are literally making our eyeballs fall out. Maybe not literally, literally. But maybe! Anyhoo, denial will fuck you up. That’s my takeaway.

Welp, that’s all I got rn! So much love to you, dear astro-friends. I hope you book a reading so we can see each other’s faces (or not!) soon, cuz human connection is WHERE IT’S AT.



Free/by Donation Pandemic Readings

how Bacon the Dog feels about the coronavirus

Dear friends,

These are weird and wild times, the kind of life-reorganizing chaos for which astrology can offer helpful perspective. Because of that, I am offering a limited number of free or by donation 45-minute readings. We can talk about whatever you want, whether or not it is Covid-19 specific. I figure, any little bit of extra grounding is useful right now.

To book, select the Covid Reading option and use the promo code COVIDFREE at checkout. More dates/times will be added as I am able to and as the need exists.

Oh, and if you’re the rare person in a financially secure position right now, consider paying full price. Any proceeds will go towards allowing me to offer more free Covid Readings in the future!



The moon & the un-mothered

“There is no ‘The Affair’,” one of my grad school professors used to say.

She varied this catchphrase as needed. At other times, I heard her say, “There is no ‘The Grief’.” “There is no ‘The Falling in Love’.”

This was a creative writing program; my professor, an accomplished fiction writer, was trying to steer us away from cliches. When she said, “There is no ‘The Affair’,” she meant that every so-called affair is unique to the people involved, their context and the perspective from which we consider that affair.

For a particular straight couple in 1970s France, a husband’s relationship with a younger mistress may be a sign of his virility, something in which his wife takes private pride and finds sexy. But to his adult child looking back on that period, the affair may be a source of sadness, pain, confusion, betrayal or identification.

There is no the affair. There are only infinite human beings, in infinite situations.

My professor never said it, so I will: There is no The Mother.

Mother’s Day propaganda disagrees. Mother’s Day knows exactly what The Mother is, and is eager to tell you.

According to Mother’s Day Inc.:

A mother is unconditionally loving. A mother is self-sacrificing. A mother is, to quote the first Hallmark card that came up on my internet search, blessed. A mother is a hero, and a wonder, and the one steady light in her child’s life. A mother is a woman. A mother is a particular type of woman.

At least in North American ads, greeting cards and memes, a mother is (usually) thin, pretty, white, middle-class. A mother has a husband. There is no greater joy in a woman’s life than becoming and being one.

These stereotypes may be right some of the time, but they are always incomplete. No human being is always or only a mother, and every mother is flawed, complicated, human.

mom cards
2019 e-card selection from Hallmark’s website

No wonder then, that so many people who are also mothers feel inadequate or guilty about their mothering abilities.

If The Mother is, as one of this year’s ecard’s proclaims, a “Wonder Mother” (“Thank you for always using your powers for good,” reads the inside of the card), then what do you call the person grimacing at the wailing baby in her arms, or muttering to her teenage child, you suck, you know that? This real-life parent is not all-powerful. Nor is she always good. How is a human supposed to feel under the bright light of comparison to Wonder Mom, except defensive and ashamed?

Similarly, what about the grown-up child whose mother sucked, or failed, or disappeared? What about the child whose mother did not love her? Who hurt him on purpose? What about the kid repeatedly given up by birth, foster and adoptive mothers? If mothers are founts of love, such a child must be confused at best, deviant at worst.

Your mom did her best, well-meaning friends say, but on the basis of what fact? Some people are assholes. Some assholes are also mothers.

In astrology, the moon represents the mother. To be precise, it’s the symbol of mothering, or how we give and receive nurturing.

In your natal chart, the moon shows how your inner child feels about the mothering it received. It also shows how you respond in your intimate relationships and to children in your care.

A Virgo moon receiving a hard aspect from Saturn can describe the feeling that mom was a hard-line critic against whose standards you never measured up. As a result, you may deny and criticize your own needs and harshly judge your best friend for “giving in” to his depression. At another point in your life (after some therapy or a few rough break-ups), you might be the friend others go to for wise insight, the one most ready to acknowledge how hard life can be.

A Leo moon receiving a gentle aspect from Jupiter, on the other hand, may genuinely believe her mother was a Wonder Mom, and as a result may expect super-human feats of her own nurturing acts. Privately, she might expect everyone else to treat her like mom did—as a favorite baby who could do no wrong.

Another person with the same configuration in their chart may have seen their mom as a giant force of personality, magnetic, popular and fun. Another might have grown up with a charming narcissist, or over-the-top drunk. 

What’s especially interesting, at least to me, is that these are subjective descriptions of  a parent figure. The mom in your natal chart doesn’t exist. She (or he or they) never existed, not really. The moon-mom is your experience of mom. Good or bad or gray in-between, it describes how you feel about that early nurturing—how it impacted you, not what it was.

I hope that doesn’t sound like invalidation. Our subjective experiences are true. Our feelings are true. It just that there are always multiple truths. Those truths can conflict. They can also change as we get older.

Becoming a mother or nurturing figure often triggers a change in your perception of your moon. By identifying with your moon-mom, you may re-tell your own story from her perspective. Your own mother’s unpredictability becomes more sympathetic when you get a first-hand taste of the conflict between individuality and mom-hood symbolized by the Uranus-moon aspect in your natal chart.

Of course, having kids, loving kids, can also make you see how unloved you were. Deciding not to have kids can help us forgive mom, or hold her accountable, or both.

As my professor* would say, stories can go many ways. Most of them unknown until we get there. Most, subject to change. That’s the beauty of it, and also the pain.

It would be so easy if the people we loved stayed loyal to our version of them, if a mother was just a mother, was never a person, was never you. It would be so much more fair. But, as my mom declared about a million times during the eighties and nineties when she was tired and frustrated and I was small and frustrated, “Whoever said life was fair?”

Happy Mother’s Day to the un-mothered and the un-mothers. May you love and be loved unconditionally—at least some of the time.

*My professor is the wonderful writer, Nona Caspers, whose recent novel is about a queer woman grieving the death of her partner in a grief process all her own. I highly recommend it.

Dig into your own mom story in a Depth reading, where you and I put our ears to the moon in your natal chart and listen to what memories and feelings she (he/they) is ready to tell.


Zapped, wooed, murdered: Dating under Uranus, Neptune & Pluto transits

FYI: For our purposes, “dating” can also be read as seeking out new friends or hobbies. Hooking up (so long as you aren’t secretly wanting more) would be symbolized by transits to Mars, the planet of lust and bodily urges.

Last week I wrote about how there’s no such thing as a good or bad time for dating, but also some Saturn transits are not exactly a great time for dating. Yes, that sounds like a contradiction. It is. It isn’t! It’s complicated.

In any case, Saturn is just one of the planets whose transits can affect how dating feels and whether we like that feeling. Saturn is also the least important of these planets.

The outer planets, Uranus, Neptune and Pluto, move around the zodiac much more slowly than Saturn’s 29.5 year orbit. Uranus’ cycle is about the length of a modern human life, while Neptune and Pluto are so far away that no person could survive through their entire orbit.

Some Uranus transits happen twice in lifetime, but Pluto transits are rare enough that not everyone gets the same ones. All transits from the outer planets last a long time, from one year to three, and leave us permanently altered.musician-664432_1920.jpg

Of these three, Uranus, the planet of surprises, is the most dating-friendly, producing weird attractions and sudden open-mindedness.

Like if you always date older ladies, under Uranus transits to romantic natal placements (the sun, moon, Venus, the ascendant and the 5th house primarily), you may be crushing on boys just out of college. Or if tragic Romeo-Juliet romance has been your thing, you could realize what you truly want is a drama-free cerebral connection. Maybe a friend with whom the chemistry hadn’t seemed on before becomes your new super-interest.

Uranus is about being present for the excitement of right now. Hence, fun as getting married in an Elvis chapel would be, it’s not a great time to enter legal love contract. Or to irreparably fuck over a long-term sweetie. You just can’t know which of these new affections, needs and identities will be there once Uranus has gone on its merry way.

Uranus like brazen honesty. It likes equal playing fields. It loves experimentation. It can also be really stressful.light-bulb-503881_1920.jpg

As fun as it is to abscond with the adorable man-child who’s just grown his first adult beard hair, any new relationship style comes with a rolodex of new anxieties. Will it last? Is it real? Is it appropriate? Why can’t your friends accept the new you? What are you supposed to do about those sad voice messages from your ex?

Uranus transits last about a year. As the dust settles, you’ll find you’ve made some dumb decisions and some terrific ones; that you’ve freed yourself from traps of your own and society’s making; that you owe someone or multiple someones an honest and sensitive apology; that you are more awake and ready for what life brings, even if it’s what you least predicted.

Uranus-born relationships can last for years but a lot of times they don’t. And that usually feels okay. These are the relationships that are there to teach us about what we might want, who we might be, what we could have.

For lots of people, a Uranus relationship is their one where they told their sweetie the truth, the first time they weren’t terrified, or the first romance where both people were on equal footing. Other times, a Uranus relationship is the first time you spot the red flags early and are willing to let go.

Dating under Uranus doesn’t always feel rewarding. This is life, after all. But even in really crappy situations, Uranus shows us a glimpse of independence that sticks with us long after the transit hands.

Neptune transits sweep us off our feet. Into love, into heartbreak, into sparkling fantasy.

I wrote not long ago about how everything deemed romantic, from music and poetry to mood lighting, IS Neptune. So is the dopamine-bath of falling in love. So is not telling someone you like them out of shyness or fear of ruining the beautiful mystery.

There’s lots, lots more in that post, including how tips for loving and accepting your ambiguous relationship needs when you have a strong Neptune in your birth chart. Suffice it to here that dating under Neptune transits can be messy, but messy isn’t bad. (Here at Seagoat Astrology, we really don’t believe in “bad.”) Messy is just not-knowing.

The challenge under a Neptune transit is to hang onto the fact that you don’t know, you can’t know, even when a pharmacy’s worth of fabulous chemicals are flooding your brain.balloons-1786430

The same goes for awful, sad, heavy chemicals—equally likely under Neptune.* If you heard “not-knowing” and immediately interpreted that as “shit, I’m going to get dumped???”, I’m looking at you. Worry is a way to try to know what can’t be known.

Basically, Neptune transits are a trust fall. The thing to trust isn’t another person, because people will stumble, it’s life itself (or god or the universe or whatever). Life is what keeps going, the big backdrop against which you are so small.

People who like not knowing and are comfortable there may find their best (read: most flexible, malleable, changeable, mysterious) relationships are those that begin under Neptune’s radiance. For more goal-oriented, the ambiguity may be too stressful and these transits can teach you to let go with love.

If Pluto were a person it would totally wear a black cape and speak in a creepy whisper. But also be sexy?pacer-2126446_1920.jpg

Pluto is the OG of the zodiac and its transits are rare, intense periods that leave you forever altered. Whatever happens under a Pluto transit, you will tend to emerge with a lot of your B.S. burned away and with a deep sense of connection to your inner self.

Under Pluto transits, desires are overwhelming. Compulsive. Sex and sexual fantasies are either heightened to the point of addiction or an iced-over pond at the bottom of a well.

Even if dating under a Pluto transit were a bad idea, you would do it anyway. If you wanted to. If you didn’t want to, you couldn’t be persuaded, not even by a herd (a flock?) of saliva-dripping lions.**

Dating under Pluto is all-or-nothing experience. You will meet the love of your life or fuck every available option in a thousand-mile radius or take a vow of silence and close yourself in room to contemplate every person who has every hurt you and plot revenge on them or on yourself for being such a sucker.

I’m exaggerating a little. (But just a little.) You can exert self-control over Pluto-triggered obsessions. If you want to.

Say you’re crushed out on a creep in cape, or your boss, or student, or abusive ex, or a person who, in any one of the possible ways, is not (in your estimation) a good idea. You might try avoiding that gorgeous, caped mysterio. It probably won’t work. Repression under Pluto leads to explosions. What does work is channeling the obsession into an outlet, be it professional, creative or sexual.

Dating under Pluto transits can be AMAZING. When it’s good, it tends to be really good. Also really hard.

Pluto pulls what’s buried to the surface. Old habits come out. Your needy inner child makes an extended cameo. The ghosts of your exes dangle from the ceiling. Fears show.

A relationship that welcomes ghosts and brutal, deep honesty is a site of healing. What is outgrown dies off and you learn to love, to connect, in a new way. These relationships tend to be intense and all-consuming, the subject of the 2-ish years that the Pluto transit lasts.

Afterwards, you may find that same intensity exhausting and decide to part ways. Or, if an intense, deeply honest relationship is what you both want, the relationship born under a Pluto transit can last for years, surviving the damage and difficulty that long-term love always brings, coming out the other side renewed, deeper, more connected, more honest.

*Hot tip: getting high or drunk or buzzed under a Neptune transit makes it much harder to keep track of reality.
**These hypothetical lions, apparently, have strong opinions about your dating life. Don’t ask me! Maybe they work for Tinder!

Image sources: dude, bulb, balloons, mask, symbol.

For tips and solace on life under a major transit, hmu for a Depth reading. There, you and I will explore just how the planets in the sky are setting off the constellations of your own, special natal chart.



Saturn doesn’t like ice cream: Dating under Saturn transits

“When will I meet someone?”
“Is now a good time to date?”
“I feel cursed–should I just give up on [men/women/homos/sex]?”

Not that I’m keeping a tally, but some version of the above is the most frequent question asked by my astrology clients.

Lucky for me, the answer is easy. And always the same:

  1. You’re not cursed. Curses are for judgmental deities and moral systems (so 20th century!), not astrology.
  2. I don’t know.

Sure, astrological transits are super informative about when things will happen. But while the why of astrology may be mystical (at least to me), the how is straightforward. Transits have predictable-ish effects because they create predictable feelings.

The reason Saturn transits, for example, can be a “bad” time to date is because they make us feel serious and sober.

Seriousness and sobriety are great for paying off debts and getting to the gym, but they don’t tend to inspire fits of giggles and cuddling or increase our patience for the swiping left or right on a series of near-identical faces. So, it’s not like a Saturn transit is a dating curse; you just may not be in the mood.gorilla-448731_1920

Saturn, the ruler of time and life cycles, is the best predictor of when you “should” or “shouldn’t” do a thing. I put the shoulds in quotes because they make it sound like Saturn has an opinion. But opinions are for humans! Saturn doesn’t care. It’s a planet. It’s got moons to worry about, and orbits, and, hell, surface temperature. These things are a big deal to a planet. You are not.

What Saturn does do is affect you. Transiting Saturn (i.e. Saturn in the sky right now) is always moving around the outer rim of our natal charts, activating your various houses and planets. Meaning that Saturn’s nose-to-the-grindstone energy is always influencing your behavior and moods in some part of life.soldiers-885905_1920.jpg

Certain phases of the Saturn cycle can complicate your dating life. Saturn moving through the 5th house of love, art, fun and children can make you so anxious about having kids, or about your already-alive-and-difficult offspring, that you aren’t really open to the uncertainty of a new relationship. For non-kid-people, the issue may be Saturnian ambivalence as you’re nagged by the question of why you like who you like.

Hard Saturn transits to the sun, moon, ascendant and Venus can have similar effects, making us too serious to enjoy the process of dating. (Everyone with their sun, moon, rising or Venus in Aries, Cancer, Libra or Capricorn will experience a dating-related Saturn transit during 2018-2020.)

Often, relationships that start under personal Saturn transits fall apart quickly. That’s because Saturn makes us hyper-aware of flaws.

With Saturn transiting your Venus, you won’t be able to overlook your crush’s habit of showing up hours late for a hang out. You could say that makes a Saturn transit a “bad” time to date, or you could call it a good one, because your weeding-out instincts are sharp, saving you from a painful awakening months or years down the line.

Which is why when a client asks, “Is this a good time to date?” I often shoot back, “Do you feel like dating?”plant-576809

If you feel like dating, date. But if you don’t—especially under a Saturn transit—don’t force it.

Pushing yourself to date because your friends (and every other voice in the culture) say you should is a form of disrespect and unkindness to yourself. Saturn reminds you that you have a personal timeline. Your cycle of unfolding is yours alone.

The sun represents the pure and joyful self, Mars is the urge to act without asking permission and Uranus is the excitement of personal freedom.

Saturn is the other side of individuality. The hard side. Under Saturn, our personal responsibilities, limitations  and our own, idiosyncratic timeline set us apart.

It feels lonely to do what your friends aren’t doing, to sit and think on a park bench while pairs scamper by eating ice cream and batting their luxuriously long lashes. How is everyone else so conventionally attractive? So young? So ready to eat whatever flavor of ice cream life thrusts into their waiting hands? Do they pay for professional eyelash-styling? Also, lactose intolerance! What is this world even?


These are the doubts a good, solid, Saturn transit will inspire. Which is why, under Saturn’s dim light, it is so important to remember that the long-lashed ice cream-eaters, too, have their cycles and that no phase is good or bad. 

It is okay to be on your own timeline. It is okay to be lonely. It is a form of self-love and self-acceptance to be where you are, even when that place is slow or uncomfortable, even when there is, for the time being, no ice cream. Not even rum raisin.*

The best part about a Saturn transit is that you really are acquiring wisdom, even if you can’t see it yet.

The better best part about a Saturn transit? It only lasts nine months.

If you think nine months sounds long, wait until next week when I tell you how dating fares under Uranus, Neptune and Pluto transits.

*If Saturn were a person and not a giant rock turning in space it would totally order rum raisin. But, like, half a scoop. Then it would record the calories in an app and scold you for getting chocolate fingerprints on the passenger seat.

Image sources: ice cream,muddy soldiers ,mooshy plant,gorilla.

Find out which Saturn transits you’re in right now—and when they’ll be over—in a Depth reading, where you and I explore just how the planets in the sky are setting off the sorta-unique constellations of your natal chart.

April 2019: Jupiter goes quiet (so listen harder!)

On April 10th, Jupiter, the planet of growth and adventure, begins its 4-month annual retrograde with a station (still point) at 24 degrees of Sagittarius. As always, Jupiter retrograde is a time when your greatest adventures may happen buried in books, meditating, on a hike with a podcast on our earbuds or even dreaming away an afternoon in a treehouse if you’ve got one handy.


This particular Jupiter retrograde begins in a T-square (a tense formation) with Mercury in Pisces and the moon in Gemini, making for a day or so of loud feelings around April 10th. You may not be entirely sure what you need or how to put those needs into words but with these particularly chatty positions, that won’t stop you from trying.

Because of the retrograde, the message you’re getting from within (or from your closest relationships) really isn’t about what you need to do. At least not yet. Rather than future-tripping or committing yourself to big plans, dare yourself to sit with what you are noticing and learn from the feelings as they gradually reveal themselves.


Art time or loving time in the company of someone who makes your muscles liquify (even if just because they make you so relaxed) will be especially fulfilling with the Venus and Neptune conjunction in Pisces closely linked to the big T-square.

Because the Jupiter rx is so long, this month and later, August, when the planet is at its slowest is when you are likely to actually notice its effects. The people most effected will be those with significant chart points (esp. sun, moon, ascendant and midheaven) around 22-24 degrees of the mutable signs (Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius and Pisces).

Regardless, for all of us this is a time to chill. Put on your noise-cancelling headphones, go for a wander, make out and do your best in this long grind of 2019 to not worry about external markers of success or progress. The stuff that matters most is already whispering in your ear, waiting for you to finally listen.

image credits: ladder & treehouse.

Put a megaphone to that whisper in a Depth reading, in which you and I will explore the constellations of natal chart and discover what your upcoming transits have to say.

5 Simple Reasons Not to Date A Taurus

If Julio Cortázar had written an astrology listicle, it would probably sound like this. (He was a Virgo, but we won’t hold that against him.)

  1. The Taurus Is Pathologically Cute, Even If They Are So Far From Being Your Type That They Are Actually Another Species And There Is Food On Their Face
    She catches your eye at the cafe. There’s just something about her, a potentially nuclear radiation of cuteness. You look closer–is that chocolate cake smeared across her chin? Are several thousand squid tentacles squirming from her shoulders? There is no question that she has been exposed to some sort of government experiment, and needs a napkin. And yet, she is proud of her flavor-saver squid bod. Smugly, she sparkles her eyes and you float over, like Pepe le Pew hooked on the perfume of Taurean self-satisfaction.
  2. The Taurus Is A Flirt
    It’s crowded over by this cafe table. You elbow your way in through the mob of squid-bod’s admirers. Apparently she makes those sparkle-eyes at everyone! You aren’t even special. As you turn to leave, the Taurus calls your name and makes a special inside joke, one which she has invented this minute, just for you. “Chocolate-cake chin,” she says wryly, gesturing to herself, showing you that she has seen you seeing her. The subtext is clearly “come lick it off, you animal” but you just smile because there are all these other dopey-eyed dreamers around who actually thinks she likes them. The fools.
    White space
  3. The Taurus Will Never Reject You, Even When Hell Freezes, You Will Just Have To Figure It Out For Yourself
    Since all the chairs around squid-bod are taken, you crouch at the feet of those hopeless suitors. It’s not exactly comfortable but at least from here you can admire your crush’s purple tentacles, the elegant way they pluck candy from the heart-shaped candy boxes being thrust into her face, the quiet kiss of her suction cups as she scratches her butt. Every so often, you poke up your head to suggest that maybe the two of you could go somewhere quiet, you know a nice tidepool. “Yes!” she says. “I’d love to! In a minute?” “Sure,” you say, dizzy with the thought of her many arms around you. Days pass. You subsist on dried up chewing gum from the bottom of the table. You are very dehydrated. “Do you still want to go to the tidepool?” you ask. “Yes!” she says. “Give me a minute?” Only as you are losing consciousness does it occur to you that she doesn’t seem to know your name.
    White space
  4. The Taurus Owns Reality
    It took a decade or two, but your patience paid off. As the other suitors got bored or became pushy, squid-bod developed a growing love for you, you, you. Except when you tell this story to yourmutual friends, she laughs like you’re an adorable idiot and says, “Ha! We met at a party.” “Some party,” you grumble. You have arthritis in your knees from those years of crouching, you have a social media feed full of selfies featuring you underneath a very specific and memorable table, your fingernails worn to raw flesh from picking off chewing gum. You almost died. “The thing that brought us together is that we both valued our full lives,” continues squid-bod, to a growing audience. “Our friendships are as important to us as a romantic partner, so we took it slow.” Gradually, the crowd of squid-bod’s friends gets too big, too overwhelming, and you wander off to find a drink or some dried-up chewing gum. Why not? Either way, squid-bod will tell everyone what a great time you had tonight, how you really respect each other’s independence and aren’t the two of you so lucky?
  5. The Taurus Will Never Let You Go…And Maybe That’s Exactly What You Want
    Several more decades pass. You are still not sure squid-bod knows your name. She says she knows your name but she never says your name. You get tired of this. You tell her, “I’m leaving,” turning away from her pathological attractiveness. Why did you think you could make it work with a squid? She sleeps in a peanut butter jar! She once tried to eat your eyeball! “Okay,” she says, like no biggie. You are shocked how easy this break-up is going, how amicable she is. She even helps you pack your boxes. She sends postcards to your new apartment. She tags you in cat memes. What an effort she is making to build a friendship! What a fantastic break-up you are having, the best ever! “Hey,” she says, calling to remind you about a mutual friend’s birthday party, “do you want to just go together?” Why not? You are remembering what you liked about her. At the party, you overhear her say, “Yeah, we decided we needed a more independent partnership, we’re more committed than ever now that we live apart.” The crowd of her friends smiles at her and you. Someone throws an arm around your shoulder. “You are so fucking lucky,” her friend says. You realize, with confusion, that you never broke up with squid-bod. And now, you can’t remember why you wanted to in the first place. The music comes on and squid-bod, wriggling her aqueous hips to the bass, opens her many arms. You close your eyes and pray she will call your name.
    White space
    Over Tauruses already? Click here for reasons to not date all the other signs. (Gemini, Cancer and Leo are equally bad ideas. Their takedowns are coming soon!)
    White space
    Image authors: Skunks, Lego bicycle, & chair

    Who’s your ideal partner—and how can you land ‘em? Find out in a personal 20 minute Love reading by Zoom or phone

Astrology is not magic. And that’s a good thing.

The first time I encountered astrology, I was seventeen years old, at a lesbian music festival in the woods of northern Michigan.

A few days earlier, I had spontaneously hopped into the backseat of a friend’s car with a sleeping bag and a vague expectation of acoustic guitar-strumming and shirtless leather dykes cracking their whips. That prediction proved accurate, along with a lot of dirt and tempeh and standing outside my tent in the rain, trying to figure out if the sounds coming from within were sex or just the toss and turn of restless sleep.

Nothing scandalous or remotely exciting happened to me that week, but that may have been because the festivals favorite pickup line was “What’s your sign?” My best friend’s answer, “Scorpio,” received whistles and sultry approval. “Gemini,” said another friend, to laughter and hoots of, “Look out for trouble!” which, of course, he loved. Who wouldn’t love to be preceded a reputation of problematic irresistibility? I wanted to be trouble!

“Capricorn,” I announced hopefully. The older dykes looked at each other. The silence was long. Finally, a more polite, or less inebriated woman, said something like, “Oh, you must be the hard worker.” The conversation ended. I went back to stand outside my tent and consider the possibility that I did not actually like folk music.

Luckily for me, in 2000, astrology was still fringe. After the music festival ended, Capricorn, Gemini and Scorpio returned to their home on coffee mugs and the back pages of free weekly papers. For a while at least, I was free to be judged on my personality traits alone.


These days, it’s hard to find a teenager, much less a queer teen, who doesn’t know their natal chart backward and forward. Recently, I was at a bar with a group of college students who were looking up each other’s charts on one of their phones. “Oh my god,” “You’re so fucked,” and “so lucky,” they exclaimed gleefully over such innocuous placements as moon in Libra or Mercury in Sagittarius.

I am a very annoying know-it-all, but for once I managed to keep my mouth shut. They were having fun. Astrologically-incorrect fun, perhaps, but fun. If I tuned out the words, they sounded like my friends and I had at their age when talking about sex or music or drugs. The things we had said and experiences we’d laid claim to (“Oh my god, she was so high”) had been a kind of language, a way of stating that we belonged to each other, of possessing one another in the form of facts and biographies. It was a way of loving and creating community, and also of figuring out, in public, who exactly we planned to be for the rest of our lives, back when that seemed like something we could plan for.

If you’ve spent much time on this website, you know I love stupid astrology. Sun sign generalizations, while basic as hell, can be hilariously illuminating, so long as you know the big picture is a lot more complex. Why shouldn’t astrology be fun? Why take ourselves so seriously?

Ideally, though, everyone who is drawn to astrology would have access to a good astrologer. There is—and this is not a product placement, just the truth—no substitute for a natal chart analysis by an astrologer with significant experience, performed in real time, with compassion and genuine interest in the human being whose chart is being read.

Read all the astrology you can find online and in books and you will still be misled by your biases and fears when it comes to interpretation of your own chart. We’re social animals. We need other people to see us. To actually see us, in all our imperfect and changeable complexity. A good astrology reading, like a good therapy session, or a conversation with a clear-sighted friend, can do that.

But astrology when misused, or applied by the wrong (for you) person, can cause real damage. There’s just something about the planets. They’re so high above us and can seem so authoritative, so unquestionable–not so different from the gods of many religions.

Any time we give our inner authority up to a power or person we believe to be beyond our understanding, we run the risk of accepting stories about ourselves and the world that aren’t true, or that don’t need to be true. Because, of course, there are almost always multiple truths, multiple valid ways of understanding these lives we find ourselves living. Some of these truths will not be useful. Others, will be useful for a week, or a year, and then not.


When I was in my mid-twenties, I fell in love, hard, for the first time. I had always wanted to meet a soulmate. (I think you whippersnappers are call this a “twin flame”?)

You know where this plot goes. It did not work out. It did the opposite of work out, which is to say, it got ugly, pus-y, oozy, bad. I stayed in the relationship longer than I should have because the story I carried, that we were soulmates, made suffering through an impossible situation seem like my self-sacrificing destiny. It was horrible but also beautiful. I felt chosen.

The break-up happened anyway. The soulmate story stopped feeling beautiful and began to seem like a curse, whispering that I had failed and would never love this way again. Also, it disturbed me that someone who’d been destined to be my soulmate had treated me so badly. Did that mean (I consulted my natal chart) I was doomed from birth? Had something in my spiritual dna asked for it?

I started reading about brain chemicals, endorphins and oxytocin and how neuroscientists theorize love. According to that way of thinking, what felt like destiny was just really great drugs. All the magic drained from my story of the relationship. It was a depressingly bland way to look at love, but also, I discovered, a relief. The relationship had ended, and my ex had turned out to be a not super-nice person, for no particular reason. It wasn’t personal. It happened because that’s how things sometimes happen.

Again, I consulted my natal chart. With a different story in mind, the symbols read differently. There was no birth curse, just planets in signs, in houses, in aspect to other planets. Cut and dry. But also: available to be filled with meaning—of my choosing.

This is the real power of astrology, and also its disappointment. Astrology is not magic, though its curious accuracy can feel magical*. It is not even a belief system. Among the many astrologers I know, there are an equal number of beliefs about what life is for, how much free will we have and whether a god or gods exist.

Many things influence what happens in our lives: systems of oppression, our fallible bodies, our family histories, our personal likes and dislikes, our malleable capacity to withstand stress—including the stresses of internal and external change. Random chance. All of these are, to some extent, reflected in the astrology chart, but none are really predictive. A good astrologer can give you a sense of what’s ahead but be wary of anyone who spells out events exactly, or gives you the impression that your choices don’t matter.

For example, let’s say someone–we’ll give her a 12th house Venus-Sun-Saturn conjunction in Leo, squaring Neptune–fantasizes about being a famous painter. Let’s call her Francesca. Francesca makes collages but doesn’t show them to anyone because she learned from her mother, a professional housekeeper and single mom with a creative streak, that being an artist wasn’t practical. (Really, what Francesca’s mom meant, was that that art was a hobby for the rich.)

Francesca is also a single mom. She has a bad back and can barely pay her bills. Art school is a non-option and Francesca knows her mother was not wrong. The art world is run by and for people with money and fancy degrees. But Francesca is also kind of dying inside. She feels unseen, underchallenged, hopeless.

There are various things astrology can do for or to Francesca, depending on how she chooses to view her chart. It can tell her that her unfortunate situation is the result of past life infractions. It can tell her she has the power to be anyone she wants to be, and that any obstacles she has encountered are the result of a lack of effort. Either of these options may give Francesca hope. They may also block her from seeing the conjunction of classism, sexism and ableism that throw up real and perhaps insurmountable obstacles between her and her dream.

So maybe Francesca sees those obstacles and wants astrology to help her deal with them. She can use astrology to tell her what has happened and what will happen and make her peace with the loss implied in that fatalism. Or she might use astrology as a psychological tool, to dig down into her motivations. Why does she think she wants fame, really? If it’s connection and being seen and valued that she craves—a sense of mattering in the world—how might she get there without a fairy godmother and soon-ish?

Both of these paths will require that Francesa sit with some really uncomfortable emotions and be honest about the world inside and outside herself. She can choose whether to do that, or decide she isn’t ready. Maybe she will be never be ready. There is no right way to live a life.

If Francesca does sit with her feelings, though, and listen to her own conclusions, her choice to do so will have effects. She may start sharing art with friends, giving her the sense of being seen she craves. She may join with other working class mothers to become a community organizer and discover that her actions can and do matter in the world. She may begin opening up emotionally to others in ways that reveal there was more love and beauty in her life than she had thought.

Or, she may find that in seeing her reality clearly, she is more unhappy than before. The stress of change might cause a health flare. Her daughter, responding to her mother’s anxiety, may start acting out at school. All of the above may happen. None of these outcomes is a judgment, or proof of the validity Francesca’s efforts. Our choices do matter, they do have effects, and yet we can’t know what will happen. If the future is written, it’s a rough sketch. 

Had I obnoxiously jumped in on the astrology gossip at the bar the other night, I might have said something to this effect: A Mercury in Sagittarius is only something to declare yourself fucked over by if you want to see it that way. A moon in Libra is great, or deviant, or interesting or boring, depending on the eye, and the moment, of its beholder–as well as how the person it describes happens to inhabit it.

If you want to see your chart as a curse or a blessing, no one can stop you. Astrology doesn’t care. Astrology has no comment, it’s just there, for you to use or not, like a hammer, or a bucket, or, perhaps, a map. Is it a language, it is a lens. With any luck, it can help you nail together some boards to get over the next river, or to build yourself a chair where you can sit down and watch the river flow by.

Some might say, that’s good enough.

Images by Luke Dani Blue. Use by permission only.

*I’m using the word “magic” here in the colloquial sense, rather than to refer to a spiritual practice or to astrological magic, which are whole other things–and way outside my wheelhouse! (Also, what is a wheelhouse? Who needs that many wheels??)

There are lots of great astrologers, but if you want to get a reading from this one, fill out the contact form here. I am currently seeing clients by Zoom, phone and in-person in Southern Alberta. I respond to reading requests within 1 business day.

2019 is serious. Here’s how to get ready.

2019 has begun and it is no joke. Actually, 2018 was no joke; 2019 is the dead-serious mastermind who wants to abolish jokes forever.

In addition to Jupiter continuing its journey through Sagittarius, there are three big planetary themes this year: Uranus in Taurus, the square of Jupiter and Neptune, and Saturn conjunct Pluto in Capricorn. Together, they add up to a time when our actions, in our personal lives and in the larger world, really matter. Bottom line: if you’ve been wanting change or needing to grow up, this is the year to stop delaying and follow through. img_20181211_085018_922

The once-in-500 years Saturn-Pluto meetup

2019’s screaming headline is the conjunction of Saturn and Pluto in Capricorn, an event that last occurred in 1518. (This coincided with the beginning of the Atlantic slave trade and the Protestant Reformation.) The conjunction is technically not exact until January 2020, but big planetary movements tend to come on slowly. Where we are now, a year away, may be the hardest stage of this transit, because we don’t yet know what hard work (Saturn) it’s going to ask us to do or how we’re going to have to change (Pluto) in order to get to the other side.

Saturn is the planet of structures, stability and adulting. Pluto is death, power and what society represses or hides. As they approach each other, Pluto is pulling the mask off our pretend-adult behaviors–the ways we act like we’ve got it together, the rules and rigidities we use to protect ourselves from fear of the unknown, or of losing control.

On a personal level, this process, while hard as hell, can also be healthy. It can even come as a relief: Finally, the ways we keep others at a distance are failing and we’ll be forced to let ourselves be seen. Finally, we understand what we need to do and how much worse things will get if we don’t do it. Finally, we will make that terrifying change–and find out it’s not actually so scary, just painful.

On a societal level, though, the ground may be changing beneath our feet for a long time. The sorts of changes Pluto governs can take hundreds of years to manifest–far beyond what any of us will live to see. In the short-term, we can expect to see the political upheavals and movements toward authoritarianism (a very literal expression of Pluto-Saturn in Capricorn) come to a head with likely economic side effects. In other words, it’s an important time to act on your political convictions–and to take appropriate care of yourself. No mean feat!img_20181210_123200_825

Saturn and Pluto in your chart

To see where this transit will affect you, look at the house in your natal chart that contains 22 degrees Capricorn. (Planets and points around 22 degrees of Aries, Cancer, Libra and Cap will also be affected.)

That’s the area of life where you have either been rigid and overly conservative or avoided responsibility. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to face your fears, take a deep breath and make a plan for taking on whatever you’ve been dodging.

22 degrees Cap in the…

1st house: Responsibility for self. Self-exposure through risk. Appearance and identity.
2nd house: Responsibility for material needs. How do you earn what you crave? What is your relationship to physical touch and pleasure?
3rd house: Responsibility for communication and social relationships. Authenticity in speech. Listening for the deeper truths. Mastering negative self-talk.
4th house: Responsibility for the past. Home renovations. Exhuming and dealing with family issues.
5th house: Responsibility for your creative self. Choosing who to love. Authenticity in romance. Parental responsibilities.
6th house: Responsibility for the details. Confronting health issues. Workplace power dynamics. Perfectionism.
7th house: Responsibility in relationships. Revamping how you relate. Stepping up to do your part. Drawing a line, or dismantling self-protective boundaries.
8th house: Responsibility in intimacy. Financial power dynamics. Working on sexual fears (with self or others). Emotional exposure.
9th house: Responsibility for learning. Breaking down rigid opinions. Transformation through teaching, study and travel. How to recover from crisis.
10th house: Responsibility for career. Redefining success. Addressing authority issues (is the shadow of a parent over you?) and going for what you really want.
11th house: Responsibility to groups. Building community. Elitism. Friend breakups. Are your standards hurting or helping?
12th house: Responsibility to your spiritual self. How do you rest? Reforming escapist habits. Facing fears about being an adult. Dream work. Volunteerism.

Staying grounded with Jupiter and Neptune

Though it’s not nearly as big a deal as the Saturn-Pluto conjunction, the square between Jupiter and Neptune is still worth paying attention to. On January 13th, June 16th, September 21st, Jupiter, the planet of dreaming big and Neptune, the planet of straight-up dreaming, go get high together.  As you might imagine, that’s liable to produce some serious escapism.

Escapism can certainly be a welcome break from the heavy reality of Saturn-Pluto-land. The Jupiter-Neptune square may reconnect us to our compassion (Neptune) for all other human beings (Jupiter). If we are listening to these planet’s kind sides, we may be inspired to escape from our own anxieties by helping a friend move, joining a protest, or camping out to deliver medical care to refugees at the border.

Those dates (and the week or so on either side) are also good times to schedule spa days, beach visits and hot baths, as well as non-aquatic forms of rest and recharge. Neptune like imagination, Jupiter loves to learn and both planets are healing fanatics, so dipping into a historical novel, reading a philisophical or self-help book or even just doing a day-long netflix binge is another self-caring way to temporarily check out of the ugly, hard and boring parts of life.

One caution, however: extreme escapes just make things back in reality feel worse.

This is a really good year to cut back on your drug and alcohol intake and especially avoid chemical escapes near those transit dates since both planets magnify addiction.

Likewise, be cautious with the information you consume. Opinions get extreme and unreliable when Jupiter squares Neptune, and even your chillest friends may be drinking the Koolaid. We’re likely to see an increase of fake news, propaganda and misplaced confidence.

So long as you take care of the difference between fantasy/hope/fear and reality, though, you can lean into the compassion, the learning and stretch your imagine wide.

In a way, 2019 is the perfect year to dream up a better world, and a better role for yourself within it.

(all images copyright luke dani blue)

Want to find out how 2019’s transits will affect your love life, career, personal growth and all the other good stuff you care about? Openings are still available this month for a one-on-one videochat reading with moi. Book yours here.

Romance on Neptune: Fantasy crushes & break ups from hell

Picture yourself on a stereotypical date night.

You cue up some Jose Gonzalez, crack a bottle of wine and/or a vape, dial down the lights, spark that incense.

Maybe you’ve got a N*flix show on tap and a volume of love poetry in your back pocket. You shower, conceal your most realistic features – the zits, the scars, the undereye circles, the frizz—under a layer of make-up and hair product. You wrap yourself in an effervescent little bit of clothing too skin-baring for the rain outside and work, too silly, maybe, for your family to catch you dead in.

Why does thought-experiment you go to such lengths? Because your heart is a-twitter with thoughts of your new love, the I-Knew-It-Was-True-The-Second-We-Hugged guy or gal or sexy gender alien you’ve known for all of a month but with whom you are already naming your thousand future babies. By gently disguising your home and body, you are creating a waking dream for you and your dream love.

Welcome to Neptune.

rainy day, my street

Neptune is the planet of compassion, spirituality, fantasy, illusion, delusion and escapism. You’re on Neptune’s turf when you make music, read poetry, leave anonymous cash for a neighbor who is about to be evicted. Same, when you spend all weekend playing Final Fantasy and wax rhapsodic about how much better of a person you are stoned.

Neptune is also the captain of Romance with a capital ‘R’. Every one of those stereotypical date preparations and falling in love itself come courtesy of Neptune.

Neptune transports us beyond the ugly, mean details of daily life. Almost everyone loves being on Neptune’s magic carpet ride. Why not? The world looks so pretty through a veil of clouds.

But getting off Neptune’s ride carpet bites. The higher we’ve been flying, the harder we crash. This is never truer than in love.

Fast-forward a few months after that beautiful date with Mx Can-Do-No-Wrong, to a nasty fight over whether to be monogamous or who should do the dishes from your all-night feast. Neptune is allergic to boundaries, rules and roles. The instant you start naming your expectations, Neptune drifts sadly away.

december-tex's bday, etc006

Lots of relationships have a magical Neptune phase. You’re feeling Neptune when you text all night with a new friend or have a mind-meld brainstorm session with your new business partner. But Neptune phases can’t be permanent. (Permanence is way too defined for Neptune!)

Eventually, the metaphorical bills come due. We either get real about our differences or let the love remain a beautiful fantasy.

By now, you probably have an idea of whether or not you’re a Neptonian in love. From a strictly astrological standpoint, here’s how to tell:

  • Neptune is in your 1st ,5th, 7th or 12th house
  • Neptune is in major aspect with your Ascendant or Descendant
  • Neptune is in major aspect with your sun, moon, Mars or Venus, or conjunct one of your nodes

You’ll see similar affects with these positions too:

  • Sun, moon, Venus, Mars, south node or rising in Pisces
  • Sun, moon, Venus, Mars or south node in the 12th house
  • Virgo rising (because your descendant falls in Pisces)

The more of these positions you have in your natal chart, the greater the influence of Neptune over your love life.

What Neptonians do in romance:

  • Long-distance relationships
  • Have fantasy boyfriends/girlfriends/etc., like a celebrity or an ex. who they have long conversations with in their heads who may or may not know they exist
  • Accept the good and bad in their partner without struggle
  • Secret affairs, especially as the outside partner
  • Zero-sex relationships full of heat and electricity
  • Make sacrifices & hide their desires
  • Support partners through mental and physical illness and day-to-day hard times
  • Sympathize with their abusers
  • Fall for addicts, artists, mystics, users, martyrs, dreamers and compassionate social workers
  • Feel guilty about standing up for themselves, practicing self-care or pursuing goals
  • Forgive everything until their love turns to hate
  • Wallow in self-pity. Don’t see (or don’t want to look at) their own role in conflicts
  • Make inspired art, especially music, about and for their crushes
  • Form relationships where the love and kindness flow
  • Soften doubt with trust and anger with compassion
  • Ghost when things get real
  • Suffer devastating heartbreak & experience transcendent love


With Neptune, beauty and pain come mixed together. But that doesn’t mean Neptonians are doomed to suffer in love, much as that might fit their romantic self-image.

Living peacefully with Neptune means living beyond of society’s typical restrictions. Here are ways Neptonians make romantic relationships work for them:

  • Abandon gender roles and expectations in partnership, letting dinner duty, lightbulb-changing and emotional support flow.
  • Give up sex. For some Neptonians, love is better without it.
  • Keep it loose. A strong Neptonian, or one who is also very Uranian, may not need or want a conventional long-term commitment. Instead, dating someone who lives in another time zone or in the far reaches of the internet, or who has a primary partner may be ideal.
  • Be bandmates. Relationships between two Neptonians do best when both people can lose themselves in a practice together. Drugs and alcohol often fill this hole. As fulfilling and more sustainable than getting wasted are making art, pursuing spirituality or doing social service together. Neptune loves a beautiful sacrifice, and generally not the kind that involves a goat. So give up your evenings to shoot a movie, or sacrifice some of your together time to take in a foster child.
  • Let go of romantic relationships & partner with quiet alone time (or writing poetry, or video games).
  • Escape the constraints of a committed relationship with dips into solitude, getaways with friends, another lover/s, art-making, novel-reading or any other Neptonian pursuit.

What do you think, Neptune-dwellers? Share your most beautiful love practices in the comments below!

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