WHY 2018 IS NEW YEAR AF TILL 2020
We reach that point in the year when endings become new beginnings, farewells become greetings, an’ most evrywan gets titsed offa their assholeflaps on alcohol an’ Noo Year rezzo frickin’ lootions.
As an astrologer person, I see both smart an’ stoopid in this unique moment.
The whole resolootion deal is smart because
1) Change is inevitable, so why not make an effort to command it?
2) Sumtimes you gotta tidy upya life — especially frickin’ Geminis.
3) When evrywan is pullin’ on sumthin’ together it makes stickin’ with the willpower an’ followthru seem so much easier, even though it actschwlly ain’t — like weary marathon runners encouraged by their peers to go the distance or world-beatin’ burger eatin’ champs motivated by the cameras to swallow quarterpounder #57 an’ rupture evrythin’ between their oesophagi an’ their buttholes.
The stoopid part is even easier to nail — an’ that is where Mother Cosmosis comes in (quite literally, as it turned out).
Oh Yippee! — Are You Going To Tell Us A Story, O Princess?
tbh I was merely gonna relate a poignant anecdote, but ifya are so desperate for entertainment, mebbe I will embellish, add flourish — an’ plain ol’ lie …
Dunno what YOU were doin’ the weekend before Christmas, but I was crashed out in my apartment nursin’ nostrils streamin’ like a cumshot compilation.
My weary head ached, my stomach gurgled, an’ my limbs were so darn limp even an Ultraspazz Flopout Yoga routine was beyond me.
Trooly, I feared The Reaper.
So I am leanin’ against my refrigerator, mixin’up a cocktaila miscellaneous flooids an’ meds, when a familiar breach in the Time-Space-WTF Continuum opens up beside my lifesize cardboard Benedict Cumberbatch erecto-display … an’ celestial vapors waft into view.
“Got any stronger meds than Cerebellufen?” I say as Mother Cosmosis steps outta the Void. “My hippocampus is about to go frickin’ viral.”
M.C. flashes me her best FFS Balestra, why do you always insist on ruining my trademark spectacular entrances with lame excuses for existence that subvert the meaningful dialog I had planned … and ultimately beach us both in the worst kind of limbo where only exaggerated nightmare date stories offer any kind of succor? smirk — an’ slaps me hard in the back. “Just cough it all up and you’ll be fine, darling.”
Gotta admit, she sure dislodged sumthin’ there — but I was still walkin’ all wonky right up till Christmas.
“We need to discuss the hope and aspiration festival that is New Year,” she says, jammin’ a bowl under my achin’ jaw an’ pummelin’ on my back even harder. “People are so desperate for practical lifehacks at this time of year that even diehard Christian evangelists are prepared to look in on their horoscopes for clues to guide them forward through the unrelenting — and frankly, Godless — darkness. It’s a great time for bitch-crazy astrogals like ourselves to pull in the bucks for a Summer vacation someplace swanky.”
I cough up a chipotle & vodka whirlpool. “So what’s our theme? Las’ year I ran with Mortal Gloom as a Means For Necessary Soulful Transformation — mainly cos 2016 was such a fucker.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” says M.C. with a frown. “Next time I suggest The Self-Perpetuating Bunnyscape of Infinite Happiness as New Year inspiration, you run with it, okay? That virgin blog post of yours probably put millions off astrology for life.”
“Aw, c’mon — you know I’m at my best when I play the plucky Sagittarian rescuin’ hope from the jawsa all-consoomin’ Oblivion.”
“Hey, that’s your delusional self-image and not mine, sister. But I take the point about Oblivion, if only because it’s the one pitch offers scope for a month in the Bahamas instead of merely a night stop in Ontario — minus breakfast.”
“So what’s our angle for 2018? Looks good to Moi right now.”
M.C. perches deftly on the edgea my sofa. “I think so too. New Year AF. 2017 began its brief life choked by stifling backstory — like the second book in a truly lousy trilogy the author will inevitably lose all will to complete. Hope was in short supply, a dark narrative lacking rhyme and reason seemed set to write itself into the history books against many people’s wishes, and my pussy hat unravelled while I was heading over to the New York Women’s March from Pluto.”
“But I guess alla the soulful people done good in the end, right? Battled through difficult times — jus’ like how the bleak Midwinter Solstice warms sure an’ slow into Spring’s rebirth?”
“So I can lay on the sugar for my Noo Year blaaahg post this year? Drizzle honey onto the tonguesa the deservedly emboldened?”
M.C. nods. “Till it oozes deep down into their bellies or overflows onto their naked breasts.”
“In fuckin’ January?”
That’s A Story? The Universe’s Prime Celestial Mover Stops By Your Apartment … And You Throw Up? Where’s The Romance In That Scenario?
The Romance is exactly as I pitched it, Sweetie.
An’ this is where we get to the deliciously stoopid deal ‘bout Noo Year.
Thing is, the cyclic astro narrative spins evry year from Aries to Pisces don’t make with the catalytic sparky till the Spring Equinox.
That is the troo kickstart on renewal an’ change an’ shit.
May I recommendya pull onya feels here an’ reflect on that self-evident truth for a sec?
Whicha the followin’ scenarios fillsya heart mostest fulla leapsy boundsy gambollin’ spunky & plucky?
1) It is the Bleak Midwinter. Your butt cheeks been frozen offya shiverin’ body, evry tree been strippeda life, feeble-lookin’ birds hop stutteringly across the barren landscape with nuthin’ but hunger an’ sorrow in their eyes, an’ only a single imaginary fat guy is on hand to bleedya bank account dry an’ fillya so fulla cinnamon-flavored megacarbs you gonna be either constipated solid for a week or squirtin’ liquid figgy puddin’ outta your ass till fuckin’ Valentines.
2) Spring Fever gripsya evry wakin’ molecule an’ you feel so dirty screamin’ horny you wanna wrapya legs round anythin’ that moves an’ buck hard tillya titties squeal for mercy.
Tellya, if’n Noo Year Resolootion came bundled as a Gift Voucher steada an immutable obligation, I figure most evrywan would save it up till the Spring when the planet got way more to offer by waya transformational optimism than GIVE UP SMOKING or LOSE TWO STONE AND LEARN PORTUGUESE.
What the fuck is alla that schwango about anyways?
Surely lame goals an’ prohibitions masqueradin’ as desirable bounties despoil optimism’s iridescent sheen like guano smeared on a Homecomin’ Queen’s eyeballs?
There’s No Arguing With That, I Suppose. So Where Do We Go From Here?
We understand implicitly that like all things astrological, fixed points in time are merely flux-propelled instances conjoined in a wider narrative maxin’ out on eternal sweetness.
Far as Noo Year is concerned, this means we gotta ask how leapsy boundsy Arian overdrive gonna play out when Spring blossoms if’n we ain’t first lived through the las’ three chaptersa the Celestial workbook — specifically the Capricorn section drops like a cannonball evry Trad Reaper Season.
For a different perspective, ask what good any kinda Capricorn resolve gonna be worth when Arian action stations beckon if’n they ain’t first been refined through Winter by Aquarian Perky an’ wider Piscean Dreamostuffs.
Tellya, if’n resolootion an’ change gonna mean anythin’, fixin’ & fluxin’ gotta be amenable to Time’s dynamic ebb an’ flow — or our hearts be naught but stone.
Way I see it, opportoonities for resolootion an’ renewal spring outta evry single incendiary interplanetary dancegasm moment — primarily when the Sun switches sign, but also when other celestial shufflin’around is gowin’ down, like mebbe a sextile shimmy twixt Moon an’ Mercury.
If we wanted, we could all decide to muster annually round resolve an’ change inspired by (for example) Libran values.
Our #resolution tweets would drop in Autumn ‘steada Winter, but they would still pull on the same essential features figure in December/January … like To Do lists, willpower, habit, aspirations an’ goals (only with Libra in the drivin’ seat, recitin’ power mantras would demand pan pipe accompaniment or yodellin’ talents).
Resolve an’ change are equally supermutable an’ eternal, an’ it is only cos we muster in our droves round the Capricornian incarnation that our Noo Year desires an’ redirections pack the particular vibe they do.
Which Is What, O Princess? What Is Specifically Capricornian About The Resolutions We Make — en Masse — For New Year Compared To Commitments To Change We Make (So Often On Our Lonesome) Most Other Times?
Tellya, Capricorn resolootions are such CUNTS.
They take more stamina to make an’ keep, they are seriously life-changin’, an’ they so wanna breakya down before they makeya up big an’ strong an’ successful.
That is what makes ‘em so unapologetically hardcore.
It is like resta the year, you kinda bumble along on a self-regulatin’ morphsy autopilot — cosyin’ up to the Arian resolootion bunny iconography in Spring an’ shiverin’ from Scorpio’s Halloweensy faux rictus demands in Autumn — before
goddamn goat-faced REAPER drops onya at deada night an’ whuppies your head clean off with a scythe bigger’n a frickin’ bomber plane wing,
an’ screams …
“You want your life to count for something instead of being trampled underfoot by imbecile hordes, then here is how you must work your determined tits off, day after day, week after week, month after month, until the only flavor your tongue recognises is the sweet taste of total triumph!”
Way I see it, we figure on Noo Year as a time for diligent resolootion fever ‘steada any other particular time not cos there is nuthin’ trooly NEWER gowin’ down December/January than the schwango cracks off resta the year but bcs Capricorn smarts direct us to look in on the hardcore essentials we mebbe shy away from whenever less benevolently oppressive Zodiac energies’re runnin’ the show.
Capricorn says …
Hard reset. No escape. No easy ride.
Best parta the deal?
The unpalatable beautya 2018’s Capricornian resolootion swing is how it throws in a full 3 yearsa unrelentin’ transformational grindo to GUARANTEE we pick ourselves up an’ smarten our fuckin’ acts, big time.
(See — this is what I meant when I told Mother Cosmosis I was gonna lay on the sugar.)
Coolest resolvin’ revolver we got rn is Saturn spinnin’ his almighty frickin’ wheelhouse in Capricorn till 2020 — so any changes you powerin’ up now gonna play for keeps.
2018 is “New Year AF” till 2020 precisely cos hardcore transformation opportoonities be thunderin’ the hell outta the Cosmos an’ not jus’ the calendar.
It is not down to Moi to decide forya what changes to make or stick with, still less to proclaim from on Sagittarian high that unlessya take full advantagea this once-in-a-generation opportoonity for self-mastery as manifested in unashamedly practical resolootion an’ transformationstuffs you are a real fuckin’ dumb-as-shit slacker deserves the Universe to gobbleya up — I merely wanna point out how significant is this momentary epoch beyond
hey, yesterday it was like 2017 … and now it is like 2018! Ain’t that just the craziest thing you ever heard? Maybe we should let off some fireworks to celebrate … or go get a pizza or something.
Then What Are You Saying? What Does “New Year AF” Even Mean?
Think back to August 18th. Or April 29th. Or October 7th. Or whenevah.
You got no frickin’ Noo Year gowin’ down anya these times, no fanciful pan-globe kiss-up gonna carry evrywan along on a transformation ticket.
Prolly these were nuthinny kindsa days, I dunno.
You wake up, go work or class, hang out with friends, go bed.
Less’n you keep a journal or it wasya birthday or aliens abductedya pets, prolly these dates plucked outta the air at random by Moi mean fuck all other than … they happened.
But if astrology means anythin’ at all, its power lies forever in how it is LIVE — same as YOUR LIFE — an’ when eacha these days was the eternal present moment, no way were they about fuck all!
Down the ages, philosophers been thinkin’ a shitload ‘bout time.
Truth is, they been at it so long prolly they shoulda figured the fucker out by now, I dunno.
But one thing ‘bout time seems forever to be true is how it is a kinda container for supermomentary mortal feelin’.
Eacha those days I mentioned framed real specific feelings you had — a POV an’ precursor to action can never seep out beyond the moment gave it suck.
You got memories now, mebbe had expectations way back, but only on those days didya trooly feel an’ understand what they were as they played out beforeya eyes.
Good or bad, fulla portent or inconsequential, hamster abduction nightmare or no, your transformation through time on these days (an’ howya feelings ‘bout alla that bucked the odds on transformation potential for the fyooture) was prolly not so much different from the opportoonity available when Trad Noo Year drops
You either touch base with dancea your mojo & life circumstance an’ howya wanna take yourself forward … orya do not.
Stoopid says … pickin’ on a moment in time plucked from an arbitrarily imposed calendar an’ expectin’ miracles to happen jus’ cos evry fucker else is playin’ along is a surefire way to SUCCESS NIRVANA! (Leastaways, till mebbe January 21st, when evrythin’ falls apart.)
Smart says … today is like evry other day … August 18th to April 29th to October 7th to whenevah. It is no more nor no less special than any other day beyond it is my own precious time to be alive an’ act/reflect on how the gifts I bring to the table might benefit myself an’ others — an’ our poor, beleaguered planet.
If’n you real committed ‘bout your life an’ potential, if’n you ain’t here to jus’ idle along an’ fuck around like fodder in sumone else’s stoopid schemes, this kinda daily diligence regardin’ howya wanna be prolly gonna takeya sumplace you want.
Real deal you got right now depends on groundin’ out more on mebbe what don’t feel so snug an’ comfy — askin’ yourself whatchya prepared to do to figure on buildin’ sum real cool shit for yourself come 2020 gonna max out on hardcore benefits if only opportoonity came rollin’ along.
Bcs 2018 is Noo Year AF — an’ Capricornian opportoonity gonna roll hard an’ regular till 2020 like a boulder primed to flatten all opposition.
Title Image c/o cocoparisienne @ Pixabay
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