<span class="sdata" title="20"></span> <span class="sdata" title="03, 2018"></span>

Why Spring Equinox Spells Trouble For Certainty

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2018-03-20T14:27:56+00:00"></span> |Aries, Fire Signs, Initiative, Motivation, Spring Equinox, Spring Fever|0 Comments

WHY SPRING EQUINOX SPELLS TROUBLE FOR CERTAINTY

Want my view on Spring Equinox rituals?

tbh, I figure the whole concept is kinda stoopid.

An’ here’s why.

All things ritual are essentially trad — wise counsel theatrified as participatory spectacle, passed down from generation to generation as a formalised routine occasionally involvin’ exotic dance maneuvers & fancy costooms, plus mandatory wailin’ an’ mebbe randomly slain goats.

Works mebbe for dooty-conscious Capricorn at Christmas … but right now we got ARIES SEASON.

An’ that is why Spring Equinox spells trouble for certainty.

Spring Equinox Spells Only Adventure

Lemme talkya through alla this Nouveau Equinox stuff — speshly anywan preparin’ to break into any so-called sacred sites wrapped in their livin’ room fuckin’ curtains & packin’ a stainless steel sickle offa Ebay.

Take a good look at the illo I used for this post.

(An’ while I am here, jus’ wanna thank alla the srsly generous an’ talented arts & photography types over at UNSPLASH whose supreme visyool mojo powers up mosta my stuff. Gotta srsly request my readers head over an’ soak up the glorious imagry on offer after I pan the druids in the frickin’ ass for bein’ so poncily LAME.)

We could metaphor on out on this image all kindsa ways cos it offers itself up so smarto for Astrology’s essential deal … ie narrative.

So let’s figure where we started out mebbe yesterday.

Yesterday — March 19 2018 — was the las’ full day in the old astro cycle we started this time las’ year.

Wanna name for this moment?

I respectfully proffer Chaumes Pisces.

Like a ripe old cheese gone real stinky, last daysa Pisces’re a real swampy sargasso, tellya — like evrythin’ been gowin’ down since Aries las’ bust outta the trap got blended all together in a kinda experiential soup.

These’re saturated waters — maximally fulla salt an’ undersea dust packin’ sharky flesh fragment brio.

I wrote more ‘bout this mysteriously enchantin’ vibe here las’ year if’n you wanna check it out, but the main deal to figure today is how an impenetrable deep sea cloudiness is so ubiquitous it offers opportoonity to touch on all things — kinda like a superfuzzy teleporter.

Asya reach out into the gloom, your fingers really could touch on anythin’ — cos it it all here sumplace.

Headin’ back to the illo I chose for this post, guy standin’ on the cliff edge reaches out … but he got FUCK ALL.

That is how the switchout from Pisces to Aries works — an’ it happens in an instant.

For sure, Aries wantsta reach out an’ grab EVRYTHIN’.

Only problem is — for all its edginess, Spring Equinox Nuthin’ got less definition than the Piscean swamp …

Spring Equinox … Spring Fever

Trooly, it is like we morph from dreamsy superaquatic marauders to creatures packin’ leap-powered limbs an’ a blind desire to spring ‘emselves the fuck into a noo kinda noplace.

tbh, it would make more sense for the guy in the illo to be floatin’ around in the uberamorphous water, ready to reach out onto the supertangible rocksa noo Spring Equinox reality — but that woulda meant I gotta sketch in sum random wibbly crustaceans an’ mebbe a sunken pirate ship for the visyools to be maximally convincin’.

Gotta figure y’allz’re here for my wise astro counsel & not my lousy art skills.

Anyways, point is, we gowin’ from the nebulous, ubiquitous & amorphous to the edgy an’ superspecifically unknown.

Cos ain’t that the deal with Aries?

How in hell else they get to be such edgy fuckers if’n they ain’t motivated so blind to go seek out danger’s ultimate precipices?

This is naive lust … not lame frickin’ rityool — an’ that is why I got no time for alla the clowns beachin’ up at Stonehenge dressed like comedy Wes Craven slashers.

For sure, I can see how Pisces might wanna spend the day before Spring Equinox ironin’ out the cowl on their 100% organic cotton Floaty Fuckin’ Wankbrain Regalia — but is Aries really gonna throw it on with innocence an’ zest soon as the Sun switches into her sign, same as they been dowin’ since Mama said, “the inherent principle of exploratory freedom is you do exactly as you’re told, forever and ever … so remember to wash behind your ears and repeat as rote the sacred incantations as you wave your rubber shillelagh at the heavens in the name of all things novel and never before seen or experienced”?

Dickbrain the fuck outta my face, Sister!

For sure, I see anywan in the mall today wearin’ apparel looks in the slightest way immodestly flared or flamboyantly fancy, ima rev me up sum Sagittarian Firepower an’ bite ‘em on the goddamn nose for colludin’ with the forcesa ASSHOLE.

Spring Equinox — A More Appropriately Aries POV

The innocently incendiary energy Aries packs points ever in the directiona novel adventures.

Raison d’etre here is precisely that certainty don’t actschwlly exist.

As an astrologer person, I got sum clue to what might prolly mebbe wanna go down later in the year — for example, when Hornzilla & steadfast Taurus rolls her billion dollar donuts into Uranus in time for Summer — but in truth I got no more genuine clue than the guy in the Unsplash illo.

Fyooture is equally vacant air an’ brute-edged rock — the realest fantasy landscape ever threw up its horizon.

An’ nowan gets the deal smarter than Aries.

For sure, all certainty comes in the end, but as we inhabit the Here & Now waitin’ to shape it, we kinda clueless.

We pack blind direction ‘longside zero compass — aw, an’ ain’t it such invigoratin’ FUN?

That is why Aries got so much revolutionary zeal — an’ why I srsly recommend evrywan mebbe set aside rityool an’ trad an’ alla the Spring Equinox faux certainty stuffs they roll out evry year like exotically clad druids pullin’ their Yak hair bootees from outta the Ritual Trunk for another stereotypical trot round sum stoopid ol’ fuckin’ rocks.

It is at this point I flash my TOTAL HYPOCRITE card an’ pointchya in the directiona what I wrote out for Spring Equinox las’ year.

This is not so much rityool as laziness — albeit suffused with considerable wisdom an’ practically useful smarts you gonna LOVE.

(Hubris buffs gonna be especially impressed.)

See, cos an Aries-driven Spring Equinox spells trouble for certainty precisely because it got real affinity for Spring Fever — that relentlessly insatiable desire for virgin experiences gonna catalyse an’ fire up meaningful change.

So go check in on my Spring Fever Cures All pitch — an’ power up Body, Mind, Spirit, Mojo & Drive.

Today, we all leapin’ from dreams to invigoratin’ reality’s edgiest ever rocks.

This is no time to throw on ceremonial fuckin’ loon pants, tellya.

You trip up on the hem … sure as hell you soon gonna discover even impossibly generous fabric ain’t no kinda parachute.

So plz evrywan have a uniquely 2018 Spring Equinox — so seared onta your experience as positive zestostuffs you ain’t never gonna wanna repeat it, step-by-step, bcs you GET THE FRICKIN’ DEAL …

Title Image c/o Leio McLaren @ Unsplash

Spread the love, slip in the bookmark, mix up the linky.

<span class="sdata" title="10"></span> <span class="sdata" title="07, 2017"></span>

Sagittarian Firepower

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-07-11T07:47:12+00:00"></span> |Creativity, Fire Signs, Initiative, Motivation, Practical Astrology, Sagittarius|0 Comments

SAGITTARIAN FIREPOWER

Wanna talk longbows an’ crossbows withya, kinda Sagittarian Firepower.

I got no agenda here especially — this is jus’ horsey gal frankness shootin’ off into the Void in hopea sparkin’ up maxo fyooture swankospankiness as tippa bolt mebbe grazes twinklea star.

Intrested? Prolly You Should Leave Now If’n You Ain’t.

Thing is, I love how those Medieval guys travelled far an’ wide for the best materials they could find, hackin’ down trees, beatin’ off wolves, forgin’ stuff outta iron — an’ battlin’ with occasional dragons the sizea frickin’ asteroids.

(An’ before anya you Virgo types haul me up by my historicals, I am not tryin’ to pull a simultaneously existent hoomans an’ dinosaurs trip here with longbows an’ crossbows in the contexta the entire Medieval epoch — so SIT DOWN, willya?)

Gotta figure life was tough before the Rennayesance.

Mosta what we noo millennium dwellers would consider to be our lifetime was, for those guys, merely an opportoonity to jump on death’s bandwagon via the mediuma crappo healthcare, unrestrained plague bugs, an’ fearful overlords overdosin’on the adrenalin-pumped sugar rush comes with slashin’ to pieces friend an’ foe alike with blades humongo enough to fell Redwoods.

Sum lousy Dear Diary that all was.

(Tellya, back then they got outta control scabrousness an’ infections, zero experiencea nachos, an’ undergarments gonna shrivel desire along withya tinglydanglies. Pas pour Moi!)

I guess the only thing stoppin’ evryone from weepin’ at the thought that mebbe the fyooture was gonna get way brighter one day after their short an’ miserable lives had counted for nuthin’ (an’ what losers they were for bein’ born into the wrong epoch etc etc) was the even more disturbin’ thought that their miserable plight was gonna prevail for all eternity.

Prolly the only thing made life viable was shootin’ sum deer or frickin’ duck an’ gatherin’ round the fire to chomp ‘pon sinew an’ beak, blissfully ignoranta chipotle reflux burpo.

Anyways, to hell with alla that.

This is an astrology website, not sum academic discourse ‘bout the rights an’ wrongs of what a buncha dentally challenged & hierarchically enslaved freakos believed was true in the Darkest of Ages.

So we gotta wonder, dear reader, when it comes to expectations ‘boutya present moment history-in-the-makin’ — areya fated to be a loser for the resta your life?

Is your evry atomic particle cast from the driven madness of sum impendin’ Apocalypse?

Or does spinna planets, dancea celestial orbs, got effortlessnessa mutability you can reach out an’ cup inya hand — an’ abuse to your advantage?

I would wantcha to think for a moment ‘bout pluckin’ sum dream outta the sky asya stand before the heavens in alla your beautyflesh.

An’ cos we’re talkin’ missile weapons here, what better waya figurin’ the small detaila nailin’ distant objects than by meansa a super pointy arrow, lined up an’ fired true by your own hand-eye-butt buncha physioselfstuffs.

So C’mon — Up On Your Feet, You Lazy Sucker! Get Ready For Sum Sagittarian Firepower!

This is where we get all interactive, kinda virtual VR, an’ turn slacker generation webfodder inertiatox into aerobic exercise gonna saveya when zombie mutants rise upta huntya down, fat frickin’ snowflake ass first.

Cos you got your bow withya, right?

Here all along, andya know it — jus’ mebbe never brandished its transmutational ballistics with sufficient bravado before.

So, gowan, twang the string, hear it ker-ping — like Ed Sheeran pluckin’ a pubo d’Or outta his ass to clear a path for the sun’s rays.

Feel the smooth curvesa the limb pullin’ tight on the string, let ‘em ooze out beneath your fingertips asya reach over your shoulder to your quiver.

[Optional Side Quest — you got sum fancy elven cape drapin’ offaya, its fine tassles ticklin’ the backsa your knees.]

Arrow got tightest feathers, essencea silk an’ daggers, so go draw it outta your quiver, slow an’ neat, hear it hiss a valiant farewell to its fellows as its tip pulls back gentle over their shafts.

Then knock it, ready to fire.

*scowls*

FFS put your frickin’ phone down an’ do this PROPER, OK?

Howya gonna focus with that stoopid thing pumpin’ crap inya frickin’ face like sum ditzo teen driver rammin’ the ass offa the rear fendersa the planet?

So, yeah, lose the phone, feel the bow, (an’ the optional cape an’ bandana … did I mention the bandana?), knock the arrow an’ —

Waitaminute. We forgot sumthin’. Sumthin’ real important.

Kinda got lost off here in the sensual glowa the physical, forgettin’ you gonna shoot this arrowa yours off sumplace an’ thus require full functionalitya your cerebellular area.

So, hey — where an’ what is the target?

I dunno whereya are right now, standin’ proud as fuck withya illusory weapon shimmerin’ inya hand — mebbe your favo room, your garden, or a coffee shop fulla people wondrin’ what in hell you’re doin’ — but we gotta getcha sum pointa focus.

Sum sweet spot jus’ outta reach.

Cos what is the pointa firin’ off imaginary arrows at stuffya already got?

Those things ain’t targets, they’re possessions.

An’ when I say outta reach, I’m talkin’ beyond all sensation — kinda further out than your eyeballs can see (both your bodily balls an’ their internal an’ imaginary-asya-bow “mind’s eye” braino versions).

See, pick out sum distant target you can see, an’ in termsa sensibility it kinda becomes as mucha a possession as the groundya got to stand on, the tangibly unevident bowya got inya hand, an’ anythin’ you can name (even if it is sum made-up word like summa the schwango I regularly drop as surprises on Google jus’ for kicks).

You could aim for that kinda stuff, but pointa the exercise is to makeya look frickin’ stoopid to question what it meansta have a target to aim at, an’ how your place in time an’ space, allied to the stanceya take to alla that, kinda determines what targets — viewa what targets — gonna be possible forya.

Cos unless those Medieval guys had done whatever it is that they did when stuff looked as bad as it was, we would alla us still be firin’ off missiles at frickin’ ducks, bleedin’ our diseased innards outta our thrush-cacked twennysumthin’ assholes, an’ dyin’ early before we had the luxurya experiencin’ Alzheimer’s or liver rot from decadesa alcohol abuse.

Wherein, quirka fate, lyethya twist?

So Let’s Get Serious With The Filosophical Aspecta Sagittarian Firepower, Huh?

Hmmm. Prolly you can putchya bow down for a sec an’ giveya arm a rest while we muse on this diresta conundrums — together, as a brain-bustingly enlightened symbiotic phenomenon.

Thing is — what you gonna do right now to make the fyooture diffrent?

(An’ for full effect, you prolly gotta thinka yourself as a flea-nibbled, urine-stinky, toothless, scab-encrapped, coughin’, wheezin’snotballa Dark Ages serfjunk, your shit-starched wooden undergarments bulgin’ their codpiece pride thanksta a pulsatin’ swampa genital bugs writhin’ all overya dick an’ cunnyhole on the exponentially progenerative frickin’ rampage.)

C’mon — you got your bow an’ arrow ready, an’ then some stoopid bunny rabbit jus’ hopped inta view (cos the people in your hamlet backwater shot alla the ducks) — so what you gonna do to impact on the fyooture?

Or is your fate all down to the randomly happ’nin’ lapin?

She hops into your experienced reality on sum booby doo hopsy skipsy trip, an’ your every wishawhim orbits her buncannily beguilin’ presence cos any initiativeya got for doin’ sumthin’ else been hijacked?

In which case, what has the bunny got in its Life Direction locker over your haplessly incontrovertible defaulteeism?

What is the difference between your opportoonity either to procreatively impact on the world or haplessly react to it … an’ the correspondin’ buncha potentials an’ circumstances Cap’n Flopsy Wopsypants got?

Cos you can only aimya arrow at what is out there, an’ what is out there is the only possible target forya arrow, right?

*FFS … c’mon…*

For progress gonna blitz the crabfest outtaya pants an’ shine upya teeth to beam with glee, sumhow you gotta see beyond all possibly available targets.

We have those already; they are here.

Sure, gonna take time to figure ‘em out — fix up the right kinda bow an’ train up the stamina an’ skill to wield her — but what are we sposeta do while alla that is playin’ out?

Sit idle?

Wait for the magica illoominated solutions to roll out when they are fully cooked an’ resoom all speculation only when we taste for seasonin’?

Let’s Rev Up The Sagittarian Firepower An’ Quit Bein’ Assholes

You are Eye, an’ you are Flesh, an’ you are Heart.

Gotta start out with Eye, cos all things sensible are fulla holes, an’ trooly it is the infinite space between shit whereya gotta do sum aimin’.

Monster frickin’ expansea quasi-vapor we got between the Sun an’ the Earth is kinda the reason why alla us are here.

That buncha zilcho is real important in the relationship between alla the non-zilcho, tellya.

Place two non-zilcho tangibles together — coupla possessions mebbeya already got — an’ sumthin’ squirts up from outta the ZilchoVoid an’ glistens between ‘em like the semena invention.

Evry couplin’ suggests multiple links, bonds or potentially conjoinin’ forces — nonea which exists sufficiently to be perceived prior to the union.

Oh, but beforeya amygdala does an Alien-from-outtaya-stomach downya throat kinda panic thing cosya are thinkin’ what in fuck is this ditzo astrologer dribblin’ on about?, jus’ gotta reassureya that ifya are in a coffee shop … on the metro or in the mall … nonea the dangerous shit I mentioned earlier involves semen; I am nuthin’ if not a firm believer in a lacka gloopy ickyness in public places.

Semen here is jus’ a metaphor.

Prolly best to thinka sumthin’ else sparkly an’ silvery, like mebbe the stars I mentioned, starta this article — the ones mebbe tippa your arrow gonna graze as it flies between ‘em into a ZilchoVoid gotta be filled with sumthin’ cos its essence is onea betwixtiture as suggested by any coupla starsya choose.

Or any coupla anythin’.

So, up onya feet withya bow, an’ … name two thingsya see — NOW!

Call em’ out, possess their evidence, jus’ like sum rabbit boobled out in frontaya stinky pant pilea Medieval serfjunk.

Whateverya got right now — call it out.

Beard guy! Coffee cup! Pajamas! Rain! Tarantula! Bikini! Gimpo espedrilles!

Hell, I dunno — whateverya got inya life right this moment NOW!

Not my place to conjecture thatya are a seriously weird fucker!

Sagittarian Firepower says target is there in the interplay between those two thingsya got, the suggestions come pourin’ outta jus’ movin’ ‘em up close for scrutiny … or aim … an’ the closerya fit your coupla stuffs together, the more you gonna see shape an’ form grow outta the ZilchoVoid so’s you can figure on its potentially transformative an’ illusory &ness.

But DO NOT FIRE OFF YET, do not be impulsive.

Wieldin’ that bowa yours gonna take sum physical aptitood.

You are Eye, an’ you are Flesh, an’ you are Heart, remember?

See, I know whatya jus’ did, anyaya played along an’ psyched upta take a pop at that spaceya jus’ opened up outta the ZilchoVoid got sumthin’ there — paintin’-cum-book, hatdude-cum-sneaker, pillow-cum-zombie (fuuuuuuuck! It has begun!) — I saw howya movedta act.

But I wanna pullya up on sumthin’.

Bow weighs less than air, so whydya lean back?

Gotta stay upright, gotta stay on your feet.

Bein’ formeda momentary confluxstuffs, target ain’t truly fixed — an’ neither are you.

So quit leanin’ back an’ lockin’ your legs all stiffo.

Keep sum fluid inya knees an’ thinka firin’ offya arrow like sum dancer switchin’ dynamic form as she balances from perky stance to perky stance.

Cos that is kinda what the planets’re doin’ — exhibitin’ fluidity an’ explorin’ the space they got between ‘em.

Tellya, I love watchin’ animated modelsa the solar system, seein’ grace plucked outta the random on an Earth-sustainin’ swirl.

Nuthin’ is static here, nothin’ trooly stops, an’ the only genuine freezeya got is mebbe sumthin’ like Neptoon, cos partsa her ass’re like minus a zillion degrees, which in layman’s terms means she gonna freezeya frickin’ tits off.

Point is, do not fix to fireya imaginary bow.

Strain gonna meanya mebbe miss the target, an’ thenya gonna be real pissed off, mebbe give up.

Vision, strength an’ flexibility — those’re 2 outta your 3 Sagittarian Firepower essentials.

So gowan, stay loose, an’ loose your arrow.

Fwoooooooooooooooooooooooossshhhh!

Returnin’ to the stoopid rabbit in the Medieval village packin’ full-on gonorrhea, gotta figure what happens afterya pluck sublime novelty from outta the ZilchoVoid.

This a bunny worth eatin’?

Or didya jus’ target a dud?

Truth is, not evrythin’ gonna be anythin’ cos, hey — why should it?

Mebbe that buncha confluxstuffya jus’ nailed withya arrow is kinda dumb or lame.

An’ mebbe you even tried this coupla times now, same effect.

*scowl* *pout* *poopy pants*

But this is where Heart figures in the Sagittarian Firepower deal, cosya must not be discouraged — even ifya fire off all frickin’ day for sweet FA.

Thing is, you don’t pick up the bow, an’ you don’t get nuthin’.

Keep searchin’, keep onya feet an’ firin’ off, for sure you gonna land sumthin’, sumtime.

An’ ifya can keep gowin’, lame after lame after lame after useless fuckin’ loser asshole lame, pretty soon you gonna hit on sumthin’ real special.

It is true that occasionally ideas hitya “outta the blue”, but most times your role in this process is kinda passive — havin’ done sum thinkin’, you are an enlightened recipienta subsequent fruits.

Up onya feet with a bow, actively nailin’ phantasms from outta the ZilchoVoid in real time, you switch out from bein’ Passive-reflective Person to Procreatively Entreprenoorial Colossus.

I dunno, sumthin’ ‘bout bein’ a colossus kinda levelsya up, an’ makin’ with the lame don’t happen so often.

Weird, butchya get kinda choosier ‘bout alla the nuthin’.

Good stuff kinda jus’ starts stackin’ up.

An’ whenya piled up a whole buncha phantasmal treasures, wrested from beyond immediately tangible targets, mebbe thenya gotta figure the final parta the Sagittarian Firepower deal.

Question is, how may times d’ya think those pus-orificed & toothless Medieval bow guys struck out into the forest huntin’ for bunnies … an’ kept alla the bunny meat for themselves?

As in they shot a bunny, cooked the fucker all secret behind a tree, then consoomed it all alone with a special knife an’ fork they knitted outta reeds an’ hid in their boots?

I would so that, for sure.

Easier with, I dunno, sum … sandwich — sumthin’ don’t need cookin’.

Yeah, I guess those bow guys pulled that stunt a few times.

But not always, an’ not forever.

They do that, they transform into the useless bow guy always comes back with fuckin’ nuthin’.

Actschly, lemme rephrase that.

They transform into the useless — an’ uncannily overweight for sumone hangin’ out in the scabrousness-friendly Medieval epoch — bow guy always comes back with fuckin’ nuthin’.

An’ who wants a cunt like that on their team?

So, hey, gonna pluck stuff outta nuthin’ withya bow, gotta figure this is shitya gotta hand out to folks don’t got nonea it.

Fuck bein’ selfish — momentya see the kinda stuff that is trooly out there, the moreya see mosta it is stuffya bring back.

Perhaps it is my own weird thing, I dunno, but I got sumthin’ for people walk out to the edgea the Void an’ return with bounty gonna rev the show up sum.

I would be mortified to sack essencea angels only to return home an’ mount it on my livin’ room wall in a bottle.

Heart to go seek, heart to share.

Otherwise what is gowin’ on?

The hooman race strides forward for all eternity, packin’ the same rottin’ teeth, plague-ravaged bodies an’ genitalia awash with acrobatic crab fountains?

Or the same thing happens, minus a few selfish fuckers locked inside their bunkers oglin’ treasures whose value they cannot ever understand…?

Title Image c/o RoyalHoliday @Morguefile

(Strictly speakin’, archer gal should have the full Sagittarian horsey ass deal gowin’ on,

but I picked her cos she got real perky boobies an’ the kinda meaty thighs

I would wanna see standin’ their ground whenever cool shit is flyin’ off..)

Spread the love, slip in the bookmark, mix up the linky.

<span class="sdata" title="27"></span> <span class="sdata" title="03, 2017"></span>

Your Aries Noo Moon Date With Audaciously Tweakoed Fate

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-09-27T13:43:13+00:00"></span> |Aries, Creativity, Fire Signs, Initiative, Luminous Tattoo, New Moon|0 Comments

YOUR ARIES NOO MOON DATE WITH AUDACIOUSLY TWEAKOED FATE

It is time to preen up an’ head out.

Aries got a mandate forya March Noo Moon date with fate, droppin’ 10.57pm EDT tonite.

Be in no frickin’ doubt, astro aficionados — this is one inspirational firecracker gonna setya 2017 alight with verve an’ enterprise.

Whateverya got — get it started.

Whateverya want — take action.

Whateverya done with — sear it fromya future intentions, like the wicka sum candle vaporizin’ before Flame’s unstoppable zest.

So mebbe ifya are turnin’ in for the night jus’ as the action gets underway, all pooped out cos it is Monday, an’ you got the whole frickin’ weekta plow through before weekend Nirvana juices upya fun pipes once again, you might wanna try a Noo Moon ritual gonna pluck from this lunar  Light My Fire! Extravaganza sum undistilled energiesya can work with as they rain down onya with the inspirin’ beautya lava showers spat outta a volcano.

An’ tonight, that ritual is simple fable.

A taleya prolly know by heart coulda mebbe turned out real different.

Questionya got right now is how can I turn out sumthin’ real different?

How can I forge a buncha cool stuff on an inspired an’ audacious dare?

Your Aries Noo Moon Date With Inspirational Fable!

Once upon a time there were three Billy Goats Gruff.

You got Baby Billy Goat (kinda tiny), Mommy Billy Goat (kinda medium-sized) — an’ Burger Chompin’ Billy Goat (kinda so fulla unhealthy fats, carbs, sugar an’ squirtsa relish he regularly bust outta his pants in a way that was most definitely NOT the sexy variety).

Anyways, point about these fuckin’ stoopid goats was how they looooved eatin’ the sweet, green grass.

Nuthin’ else remarkable about ‘em, I guess.

I mean, c’mon — goats!

It is not like they were elephants or dolphins or sharks or sumthin’ — creatures cookin’ up real pizzazz thanksta stunningly prehensile dangly parts, proto-human cerebellar prowess, or rampant danger swirlin’ round inside their very DNA as renegade protiens.

To be honest, I do not see the pointa goats at all, an’ mebbe this sorry trio mighta jus’ munched away at alla the grass in their biddy widdy goaty valley before passin’ away with nuthin’ more to honor their memory than a few brief words in the local noospaper — kinda Three Fuckin’ Useless Goats Fuckin’ Died. Next!

But, see — they ran outta grass.

Mommy Billy Goat saw it first — how Burger Chompin’ Billy Goat had transformed the lush an’ verdant landscape into A SALAD SIDE for his QUARTER POUNDERS, leavin’ the entire biddy widdy goat valley browner an’ barrener than a fake pirate’s chest sunk deep below an oceana gravy.

“I guess this is it,” she said, munchin’ on the final bladea grass.

“Prolly you are right,” said her husband.  “Let’s all lay down and die before it starts raining.”

But Baby Billy Goat was havin’ nonea it.

She was plucky, spunky, zesty — an’ more’n a frickin’ pain in the ass.

“We gotta bust out on verve an’ initiative,” she said, “so I say we follow the inspiration bestowed upon us by the powerful New Moon in Aries and go check out the neighbouring valley and its humongously abundant greenery.  For sure, we gotta cross the rickety old bridge and brave the ferocious troll who lives beneath it, but I figure he is so slow and stupid that we can outwit him.  It’ll take considerable courage and no shortage of enterprising zeal, but those are precisely the cosmic energies shining down on us right now as Mother Cosmosis spins us transformational lunar energies and mixes them up super constructively with the power to make things happen thanks to how she’s dangled Mars before solid ol’ Taurus.  I’ll go first! I’m up for this! Let me be the one to deal with that stinky troll!  I’ll trip trap the heck out of his bridge so loud and shameless, he’ll snap from his slumber and make with the usual trollish spiel about gobbling me up for his dinner — but instead of confronting him head on and playing right into his warty hands, I’ll play fast and smart and catch him unawares with a real inspired trick.  So like when he says Me gonna gobble you all up, ima tell him no way Mr Troll, cos I am only a teeny weeny goat and if you eat me, you’ll still be super hungry — and you’ll scare away all the big, fat goats who are bounding down the road behind me so chirpily their cellulite makes Kim Kardashian’s butt look less wobbly than a granite statue of Sam the Eagle — so your real clever move right now has to be letting me across your bridge so you can get your teeth round the heavy duty meat rolling along like a supermarket conveyor in the direction of your taste buds.  If the troll really is a stupid as everyone says, I could maybe flash him a helpful infographic on my tab at this point with me standing on the bridge looking all skinny and unappetising — and then flash up goat after goat after goat, getting bigger and bigger and bigger, juicier and juicier and juicier, succulenter and succulenter and succulenter, all bounding inevitably toward the troll’s tongue stretched like a red carpet over the bridge’s rickety wooden planks — and to clinch the deal, I could mock up a special Bumper Goat Meal Deal endorsement by someone like The Rock, along with a cool tagline, maybe Endless Goats for Trolly Throats or Let The Skinny Ones Past For Blissful Eventual Repast or Don’t Kid Yourself When You Wanna Pig Out On Goat.  I figure this audacious plan will pull in all the best features of the famous Stanford marshmallow experiment where a bunch of kids said NO to the weeny treat and delayed their gratification for the big treat further down the line, and because the troll is way dumber than any kid, he’s certain to fall for it, hook line and sinker — especially if I mention how The Rock is on the lookout for an iconic monster of considerable renown to model for his career-rebooting luminous dick tattoo.  When I’m safely across the bridge, swishing my hooves against all the yummy fresh grass on the other side of the valley, Mom can trip trap the heck outta the rickety woodwork and repeat the process — which ought to be way easier the second time around because our subtle use of repetition and other classic oral storytelling techniques will have hypnotized the troll and directed his expectation toward the outcome we desire, which is for Mom to make it through to the lush, green valley on a promise of way more succulent goaty meat to come — and maybe a private audience with Anne Hathaway sporting a pared-back catsuit dripping with a blend of extra virgin olive oil and liquid Viagra.  So when Dad finally trip traps the heck outta the bridge — or maybe just tiptoes, because it would be a shame for the plan to go awry at this stage thanks to the bridge collapsing — we’ll have worked the troll’s desires like a stage magician manipulating a deck of cards to produce the one killer Ace of Spades to bring the house down, and the warty old monster will either be expecting Dad to offer up an even bigger goat — or he’ll be studying Dad’s colossal stomach, fountains of drool dripping from his maw, thinking Boy, I’m so glad I let those weeny goats past! That scrawny kid was dead right! If I’d gobbled her up, I’d still be starved out of my wits, and this delicious meal now heading straight for Stomach Central would never have offered itself up to me on a platter, my gorgeously horrid face would never have glowed in the dark thanks to The Rock’s formidable prepuce, and night after night of kinky subdom action at the mercy of Hollywood’s naughtiest ever superfeline would be but a dream in my otherwise dull and uninventive trolly brain — and I understand perfectly that I’m making the troll sound way smarter than he actually is, but when you’re running with a crazily audacious New Moon plan, milking the situation using heaps of brazen irony is the only way to go.  And that’s before we get to the really clever part!  Because what the stupid troll won’t be expecting is for Dad to headbutt him into the river using precisely the surprise tactics favored by the New Moon as it sets the year alight with its shockingly innovative ignition power.  If we time things right, when Dad finally comes skipping into our lush new valley, me and Mom can be rustling up the finest burger you ever did see, all ready to be garnished with a medley of grass and clover salad so delicious that even Gordon Ramsay would swoon at the sight of it. So what do you think, Mom and Dad? Shall we run with my inspiring and audacious Aries New Moon inspired initiative and risk life and limb to win the day through bravery, verve and breathtakingly innovative smarts?”

Your Aries Noo Moon Date With Neither NEVER, NOT VERY MUCH nor TOO LATE

Gotta tellya, I know how these fairy tale narrative arcs work, an’ mebbe now you are expectin’ Mom an’ Dad to squeal, “yes, yes, yes — let’s seize the day and win our future with this bold initiative” — but in tonight’s versiona this classic fable, they did not.

Mom an’ Dad jus’ grunted all gruff about facin’ the troll an’ laid ’emselves down on the bare Earth to die, leavin’ Baby Billy Goat to kinda wither away, her spirit forever crushed.

An’ weeks later, the local noospaper ran a feature about turtles — sumthin’ about sum guy had a turtle laid eggs in his garage, I dunno.

Think about that for a sec, as the light goes out on your day an’ tamara takes her first kicks against that cocoon she got looks very much like the outer limitsa your febrile braino.

Is that the kinda schwango you want outta your own life?

To use up alla your precious energy an’ zesto layin’ down at the feeta sum stoopid troll barrin’ your way?

Point is, Mother Cosmosis has rigged the celestial vapors to deliver colossal Aries energy right now — real upliftin’ brio gonna kickstart cool stuff likeya never seen before, if’n you wannit.

I touched on this in my last blog post — an’ right at the starta the year when 2016’s demise gifted evryone an opportoonityta figure brighter wishes an’ resolutions — but I figure this precise moment in time is the real McCoy gonna make alla that shit swing out an’ roll.

So, whatever you wanna happen right now, this is no time to lie down an’ die like no hapless goat.

You got an Aries Noo Moon date with fate — an’ alla the firepower gonna bust the odds inya favor is YOURS TO GRASP, MASSAGE ERECT & DIRECT.

So go face down the stoopid fuckin’ troll standin’ inya way an’ do sumthin’ real inspired.

Be smart.  Be audacious.  Be brave.

Tellya, if this Aries Noo Moon had featured in Star Wars, Obi Wan Kenobi woulda looked Luke Skywalker straight in the eye an’ said,

To hell with the Force being “with you” — may it blitz so hard up your ass you’ll be thrust forward into the fray like a fucking tornado.

Title Image c/o Pixel Sepp @ Pixabay

Spread the love, slip in the bookmark, mix up the linky.