All The Stuff And A Tarot Reading

05/26/25 The Monday Blueprint: Dreams of puddles made of sky. A tarot spread that ends with Death. Also, my kid wrecked the car and the market’s dancing in parachute pants.

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the version of you who waited too long

Probably you’ve noticed your inbox has been a tad lighter these days. I took some personal time to rethink this blog and rethink my life. Fundamentally, nothing has changed. But a lot lot a lot has changed.

My youngest, for example, has enrolled in Driver’s Ed. And wrecked the car into a utility pole at a whole whopping three miles an hour which did about $3100 in damage. Thank you Portsmouth Atlantic for introducing me to Main Street Auto Insurance.

Yesterday I dreamed I moved into a new house in a new unnamed country with my brother who had purchased an electronic scooter from Walmart. Except he wasn’t making his regular monthly payments on the scooter, and when we went to the local Walmart to purchase paper towels for the new house, Walmart repossessed the scooter and for some reason we had to fly a state over in a prop plane with no seats to recover the scooter. Puddles littered the house floor, but they weren’t water puddles but puddles of sky that you could grab hold of the edges and stretch and pull into cool shapes. My room had a secret door to a wooded path that led to an overlook cliff and below a strip mine turned reservoir with the sparkliest bluest water I had ever seen. There were parked bulldozers, and the construction workers were fish-headed people. For some reason, I knew in the dream it was important to keep hidden from the fish-heads because if they were to find out about me, about the house, and the secret door, then the whole world would face an apocalypse no one had ever imagined.

A couple days after my youngest wrecked the car, the oldest moved out and into her new Significant Other’s apartment. Please meet Gabe!

I’d known this was happening for a while and immediately began moving some of my office space downstairs into Abigail’s bedroom. For a few weeks, I couldn’t tell if I was working in a home office, an oversized closet storage space, or a teen girl’s bedroom.

Abigail and Gabe cleared out the room. I thought I was going to help, but mostly my ankle said no. So I sat around and pointed at things. But I managed a pretty nice office setup that I could not have done on my own if Abigail and Gabe hadn’t brought up the desk pieces. Gabe brought up the heaviest piece completely by himself—the two-drawer file cabinet, completely over-stocked, over-full files. They just manhandled it up in one swell swoop. I felt old watching Gabe do that because I remembered hauling stuff like that upstairs and into new places without a sweat.

But. I managed a pretty nice office setup that I could not have done on my own if Abigail and Gabe hadn’t brought up the desk.

My wife said the room seemed cozy, suggested I get some throw pillows to complete the look, and that the room, overall, was very me.

Last week also finished up the Dover Story Workshop: Imaginary Maps, a six-week writing workshop for freshmen and sophomore high school students supported by The Dover Arts Commission and the Dover Literary Laureate position. Gabi Willrich, Hudson Hoffman, and Madelyn Stice read their work in front of a small crowd on the front steps of the Dover Public Library on May 17th.

A few years ago, I thought I’d try to get back in touch with my spirituality. I began by visiting the Catholic church down the street from me. I walked out during the homily because the priest, in reference to LGBTQI+ rights, said if you played for the Bruins you couldn’t play for the Patriots—and first off, that’s just a dumb analogy, and secondly, morally reprehensible. So I tried another Catholic church where a priest, without asking permission, laid hands upon me and prayed that I’d return to the fold, so I never went back there either.

After the Catholic churches I visited, I purchased a pack of Tarot because I still felt like I needed somehow to get in touch with my spiritual side. I tried for a bit, but the cards mainly sat in my desk drawer until recently, when I now throw down a Celtic Cross spread lickety-split.

I’m still 100% athiest, but when I have a question or a thought or an idea, the spread interpretation is another interesting way of looking at my life. There’s nothing necessarily magical about the tarot for me, as much as the practice is about intentionality and pause and a way to clear my thinking. This particular week’s draw, I was thinking about my novel in progress The Yellow Mountains of God.

My first card is The Empress—Major Arcana, which means she sets the tone. She’s the axis the entire spread turns on, the soil everything else roots into. The card is dominated by yellow: she wears a crown of stars, a necklace of pearls, and a white robe with rose patterns. At her feet, wheat is ripe for harvest. A river and waterfall run through the forest behind her ending in a pool that suggests irrigation—like nature pressed into service. The symbol of Venus is carved into the throne, slightly yellowed, and her posture—hand on knee, expression poised but unreadable—radiates secular divinity. I pulled the card reversed and the generally accepted interpretation insists this means creative stagnation, co-dependence, and/or body image struggles. But I don’t really feel any of that looking at this card as much as I feel only a pause. There is no brokenness here, only stillness. She is power not expended but simply being.

The Ten of Cups is the second card I pulled, and it came in sideways suspended, unresolved, liminal—hovering between upright blessing and reversed fracture. The scene is pastoral. Two adults stand with their backs to us, arms raised toward a rainbow of ten golden cups in the sky. A house rests on a hill, a river snakes by, and two children dance beside the couple, all four figures dressed in matching red and blue. These people are mirror images, versions of a single self at different stages of embodiment. The children are emotional echoes. The card, suspended sideways, becomes less about outcomes and more about alignment, a sacred hesitation before stepping through a secret door behind the bookshelf of my own life. This card is a threshold that whispers, what if peace and fulfillment aren’t destinations but coordinates you’re already standing on?

Ten of Wands, pulled reversed, is the third card—a man trudging, bent beneath a bundle of ten staffs. No rope binds the wands, just sheer grip, just the body bearing the weight. It’s a card about labor, yes. I’ve written in pain, in pressure, with the sacred lie echoing in my bones: that if the story doesn’t hurt, the writing must not be holy. But the reversed Ten of Wands lets go of the myth that you must suffer to make something meaningful. The burden is not gone, but you are no longer the laborer but the builder.

The fourth card, the Ace of Pentacles, pulled reversed, immediately feels less like money and more like mystery—less coin, more communion. A glowing hand extends from the clouds, suspended in a moment both ghostly and deeply embodied, as it offers a Eucharistic pentacled wafer. Below, the image softens into a lush, enclosed garden framed by roses and white blossoms, with a winding path that leads to an archway—and beyond that, twin mountain peaks rise, distant and distinct. Is this the start of a journey or the first clear sighting of the end? Reversed, the communion wafer doesn’t fall. And I remember receiving communion as a child, the priest’s hand extending the wafer—The Body of Christ—and me, holding that fragile disc on my tongue until completely dissolved completely.

And then I pull too a clarifying card: The High Priestess, also reversed. She sits like Mary crowned in silver, the Torah in her lap, flanked by two pillars. Reversed, she turns inward, silent. Her scroll hidden, her moon waning. This is a mirror. A call inward. The combination of these two cards is almost unbearably intimate. The Ace of Pentacles reversed says: Stop seeking signs in the sky. That coin you think you lost is is the sacrament of creation. And The High Priestess reversed replies: You won’t find God outside the garden; you are the god in the garden.

Card five: the Three of Swords, pulled reversed, and no mistaking the image: a heart—plunging from the sky—stabbed clean through by three swords. Classic heartbreak iconography. Movement lines streak the background like rain or impact, suggesting speed—like the moment after the betrayal, the instant the wound is named, the ripping off of a bad bandage that’s covered too much for too long. This is rupture at soul-level: God, family, self. The pain of realizing no one is coming to save you, no one is going to carry your story up the mountain, no one is going to name the myth but you. But reversed, this is agony’s aftermath. The heart’s already broken. Only the echo of grief remains.

Card seven is the King of Swords, and this figure dominates the card like a sentinel—looming large, almost too large, seated on a throne that crowns the entire landscape. He’s not giant, not a god—archangelic, maybe, or the embodiment of some ancient authority who doesn’t need to speak to be obeyed. A sword rises in his right hand, pointed upright but angled toward the left. Behind him is a tabernacle adorned with twin crescent moons and a moth. What grabs me is the nude woman by his shoulder, which many simply interpret as an angel. She’s no angel. She’s raw, unguarded truth. Naked and exposed. And this King? He stands between her and the world, sword at the ready. There’s no warmth in him, no comfort, but also no pretense. He’s not here to advise or mentor. He’s the part of you that says: Do it anyway. He’s the one who doesn’t flinch. Who doesn’t wait for permission. And facing him is intimidating because he dares you to trust what you already know. He is the final voice, the final cut, the moment when compromise dies and clarity steps forward. This card is about the cost of vision. The version of yourself that doesn’t soften the truth for comfort’s sake, that doesn’t protect others from the sharpness of your voice, that wields the blade to make space for the naked, beautiful, terrifying truth.

Card seven, the King of Wands, feels off. Unlike the rest of the spread, the main figure is indoors. The king sits elevated on a small stage in a high-backed chair etched with lions and lizards. His wand, though, isn’t with him. It rests on the floor below the platform, out of reach, watched intently by a small black lizard in the corner—a lizard that feels more alive, more present, than the king himself. The traditional interpretation frames this card as visionary leadership, fire-as-purpose, someone who commands with confidence and charisma and turns plans into legacies. And yes, that language hums in me lately. I feel its pulse in everything I’m trying to build. But this image? The king holds the pose of control, but the wand—his source of life—is physically beneath him, separated from his body by the stage. He looks like a leader, but the power is on the ground. And that lizard is instinct, wildness, the flicker of creative life watching from below while the king forgets what he's supposed to be serving. This is what happens when vision becomes rigidity. When you try to manage the magic instead of follow it. When you over-plan, over-direct, over-schedule. Do not try to be the king here. Be the wand. Be the lizard. Be the body that remembers where the fire lives.

Card eight: the Knight of Swords—reversed. I’m tired of this bastard showing up. He keeps crashing into my spreads like he owns the place, all thrashing wind and white horse, sword raised, mouth open in a scream that sounds like a battle cry and raw panic. Normally he’s upright, but he’s not a hero in this spread; he’s a threat. He’s urgency without direction, motion without meaning, all push and no pulse. He’s the voice that says go go go go go because when I really think about what I’ve accomplished in life and how old I am now, I figure I only have about thirty more years—that’s only thirty more Christmases remaining. So I feel like I have to work harder push harder move faster. The knight looks like momentum, but reversed, is just a storm riding into exhaustion. So I have to let this Knight scream and thrash but also allow him to pass like every storm eventually does. My job I must remind myself everyday isn’t to sprint—my job is to light the goddamn lantern and wait for the novel to arrive like it was always meant to: not rushed, not cornered, not performed—but called.

Card nine. Just Death. Upright. Unapologetic. And after the Knight of Swords reversed screamed through the room, it’s almost too perfect because this is that quiet, honest math: thirty Christmases left, maybe. Too many years wasted. Too much unwritten. And now the card shows up, black-robed and calm, and asks the one question no productivity hack can answer: What will you finish before death arrives? And the truth? Death isn’t your enemy.

He’s the reason you’re done fucking around. He’s the sharpened edge of the page, the clock ticking in your throat. Your fear and your hope are braided here: that life is changing, that time is slipping, that the version of you who waited too long is already gone, and the one who’s left knows better. You’re not afraid of Death. You’re afraid he’ll come before the book is finished. Death isn’t here to stop you. He’s the one who makes the work matter. He’s the reason every sentence has weight. Every paragraph has blood in it. You need to accept the gift it’s giving you. The clarity. The urgency. The absolute freedom to let everything else go and write like your life depends on it. Because it does.

Card ten—final card—The Moon, reversed. And damn if that doesn’t feel like the perfect final breath of this whole chaotic, sacred spread. The Moon reversed promises reckoning.

This card ties the whole spread together—The Empress reversed said, “Rest, you’re sacred.” The Ten of Cups sideways said, “You’re already inside the myth.” The Ten of Wands reversed said, “Stop hauling your legacy like a coffin.” The Knight of Swords reversed screamed, “Faster!” and Death, stone-faced, said, “Finish what matters.” And now The Moon reversed leans in and says, “You know the way. Stop pretending you don’t.” It’s the final stripping away of denial. And what’s left is choice. You either go back to pretending you’re still lost or you walk the path fully awake.

Oh. I managed to buy this nice little yellow 1950s kitschy kitchen table. And my kid is driving just fine now.

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CHANGES TO COFFEE WITH STEVE

Over the past couple of weeks with a lot of deep-hearted thinking, the shape of Coffee with Steve is changing.

You’ll still get your regular rhythm:

• The MondayBlueprint

• GratiTuesday (returning this week!)

• Wicked Moxie

• The Friday Footnote

• The Saturday Rundown

And that’s your free tier and will always continue to be free.

But Paid Subscribers now get access to an Exclusive Brew—fiction in progress, tarot essays, longform cultural critique, and work I don’t share anywhere else. This stuff is sometimes behind the scenes, unpolished ideas in formation: drafts, process, power.

We’ll also be launching a new off-site invite-only Workshop Circle, which, if you’re a paid subscriber, you will get an invite. But staying in the Workshop Circle means showing up. Monthly feedback required. So if you go quiet, the door closes.

And if you want to go deeper…

Check out the yearly founding member tier.
This isn’t a premium subscription.

You don’t get anything extra—no bonus perks, no secret handshake—just the same full access as the monthly and annual plans.

But this tier?
It’s for those who believe story shapes culture.
Who want to see fiction, civic truth, and sacred process thrive.

This is about backing vision.
Fueling the work that always matters.
And carrying the torch alongside me, not just watching from the crowd.

If that’s you—
Welcome in.

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LAST WEEK IN THE STOCK MARKET:

Tariffs tapped the brakes, but inflation, AI, and bond chaos all screamed Hammertime—and Wall Street’s still trying to dance without tripping on those stylish parachute pants.

Trump delayed the tariff hammer, but he didn’t put it down. Meanwhile, inflation could get a second wind, bond traders are whispering “stagflation,” and Apple’s scrambling to prove it’s American enough.

Wall Street isn’t crashing—it’s just spinning in parachute pants, waiting for someone to hit play or pull the plug.

• S&P 500: 5,802.82 (▼ –0.67%)

• Dow 30: 41,603.07 (▼ –0.61%)

• Nasdaq: 18,737.21 (▼ –1.00%)

• Russell 2000: 2,039.85 (▼ –0.28%)

• VIX: 22.29 (▲ +9.91%)

• Gold: $3,346.90 (▼ –0.56%)

Tariffs dropped the beat, but while some stocks danced, others got hammered:

Top gainers rode a strange cocktail of biotech breakthroughs, nuclear nostalgia, and old-school American steel: Merus N.V. (▲ +32.55%), Regencell (▲ +26.85%), and Oklo Inc. (▲ +23.04%) led the dance party. If you squint, it looks like investors are betting on a future where gene therapy, uranium reactors, and rustbelt resilience all somehow win the same talent show.

Big-time losers included outdoor luxury, SaaS bloat, and the once-glittering promise of gold: Deckers (▼ –19.86%), Workday (▼ –12.52%), and Pan American Silver (via gold's broader slump) all took hits. When Wall Street gets spooked by tariffs and bonds, it usually clings to gold—but not this time. Turns out, even safe havens can lose their sparkle when everyone’s too dizzy from fiscal whiplash.

Bottom line:
Markets are jittery, not broken—tariff threats, fiscal chaos, and inflation fears turned the volume up, but it’s not a collapse, it’s a remix. Wall Street’s still moving to the beat… it just doesn’t know if we’re headed for a dance-off or a faceplant.

Speaking of SaaS bloat, did you get the upgraded Clippy for Microsoft Office? I dropped that service completely and have gone full-on open-source LibreOffice.

Big Themes to Watch

1. Tariff Truce or Just a Tempo Change?
Trump hit pause on the EU’s 50% tariff—but don’t call it a de-escalation. The July 9 deadline is just a beat drop away, and the Apple iPhone threat is still live. Europe’s bracing, China’s recalculating, and markets are stuck in a cha-cha between optimism and whiplash.

➡️ Watch for: Sector rotations out of luxury and autos. More price hike announcements disguised as “strategic adjustments.” And any hint of retaliatory EU measures showing up in bond yields or consumer sentiment.

2. Nvidia’s Earnings Could Make or Break the Remix
Wall Street’s AI hype man reports this week, and expectations are hotter than Hammer pants in July. Nvidia’s carrying the entire tech rally on its back, and any sign of weak guidance, export pressure, or slowing demand could kill the vibe.

➡️ Watch for: Blowout revenue or whisper numbers that miss. A shift in chipmaker sentiment. And ripple effects in high-beta AI names like AMD, SMCI, and C3.ai.

3. The Fed’s Still Watching the Floor
Core PCE drops Friday, and Powell’s crew is keeping one eye on inflation, one eye on tariffs, and both hands off the rate dial—for now. Rate cuts aren’t on the table until the inflation beat truly breaks. The Fed may not be dancing, but they’re still DJing the room.

➡️ Watch for: MoM Core PCE prints above 0.1% rattling bonds. Fed minutes laced with “wait and see.” And any hawkish talk from regional presidents that makes the market lose its rhythm.

4. Bond Market: Too Legit to Sit Still
Long-term yields are back above 5%, and traders are suddenly asking whether we’re heading into a stagflation slow jam. The Trump tax bill isn’t helping. Ballooning deficits are sucking oxygen out of equities and sending credit markets scrambling for clarity.

➡️ Watch for: More volatility in the 10-year and 30-year. Bond sell-offs spilling into equity sectors. And defensive stocks staging a quiet comeback while everyone’s still watching the tech stage.

Looking Ahead:

1. May 29 — GDP (Second Estimate): The Growth Check
The second read on Q1 GDP hits Wednesday. The first estimate showed mild contraction, and any downward revision could signal early-stage stagflation risk. With long-term yields already surging, investors will be quick to reprice recession odds if output slows again.

2. May 30 — Jobless Claims + Pending Home Sales: Double Exposure
Labor and housing data drop Thursday, and neither market is offering much cushion right now. A spike in claims paired with a pending home sales miss would rattle soft-landing narratives. It won’t take much for risk assets to flinch.

3. May 31 — PCE Inflation Report: The Fed’s Mirror
The Fed’s preferred inflation gauge arrives Friday. Even a modest surprise to the upside will reset expectations around rate cuts and bond yields. Powell doesn’t need another reason to stand pat—but this could give him one.

4. Any Day — Nvidia’s Earnings Reverberate
Markets are still pricing in Nvidia’s earnings post-mortem. Watch for analyst revisions, ripple effects across the semiconductor supply chain, and how long the AI trade can sustain its momentum under policy pressure.

5. Any Day — Tariff Posturing and EU Retaliation Talk
Trump’s July 9 deadline still looms, and EU leaders aren’t staying quiet. Any new tariff headlines—especially retaliation details—could destabilize both equity and bond markets. Even a hint of escalation could erase last week’s gains.

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