<span class="sdata" title="22"></span> <span class="sdata" title="11, 2017"></span>

Sagittarius Season Dates Adventure

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-11-22T11:55:36+00:00"></span> |Choice, Fire Signs, Motivation, Practical Astrology, Sagittarius|0 Comments


Wanna know why Sagittarius Season dates adventure?

Aw, see — cos evry millisecond counts … right from the first bombasm momentsa Centaur Romp come firin’ up outta November 22nd to the pre-Christmas ‘danglin’ from the rafters withya titties hangin’ out’ bonhomie-kinda-horseplay precedes the Capricornian Doom Balloon launch on December 22nd … an’ evry single millisecond demands exhilaration lest lamenessa sprit an’ stuckonessa brain rob life’s delisho sweetness fromya like bandits creepin’ onto the setta sum cowboy movie an’ makin’ off with the horses, the hats, the pistols, the whips, the poker cards, the whisky, the rickety town, the bad guys, the lame mules … an’ alla the fuckin’ cowboys.

Tellya, Sagittarian milliseconds hurl ‘emselves at action … can’t stop ‘emselves … an’ flesh an’ blood an’ soul an’ spirit an’ ass kinda get sucked on along in the temporal whirlpool.

It is like bein’ on a perpetyool date with The Beyond.

Problem is — what ‘bout resta the Zodiacs?

How they gonna max out on this wildly rompolicious hoss-themed pseudo-epoch?

Pray Tell Us, O Princess! Lay Bare Your “Sagittarius Season Dates Adventure” Secrets!

K, so I ran a feature a while back on how non-Leo Zodiacs could max out on the Leo vibe (yanno, back in the Summer, when we all had such fun with the Solar Eclipse an’ shit?), an’ I figured I would lead with sumthin’ similar this time round.

So what I got here is a 5-point primer to the best stuff Sagittarius Season got on offer that evryone can tap into, they wanna.

Thinka it like you gowin’ on 5 consecutive dates.

Ooh ooh — yeah, picture a bar … or a beach.

You got Sun onya hair, sand atchya feet, weirdsy cartoon crustaceans dancin’ onya toenails … or ifya runnin’ with the beach scenario, mebbe there are cocktails an’ olive-rich nibbles in a decorative bowl.

Anyways, 5 srsly Sagittarian vibes gonna come along an’ sweepya offya feet whileya are chillin’.

So … jus’ take a sec to shutya eyes an’ imagine that bar or beach scenario … or whatever vista takesya fancy (but not jus’ yet or howya gonna read the next part?)

The air fills with humongously gregarious whinnyin’!

You hear hooves poundin’ (even ifya are on a beach or swimmin’ in the sea, cos celestial stagehands jus’ laid on a phantom cakewalk) … an’ horsey odors swell deep inya nostrils as the first swishy tail swats onya cheek like the whippa sum dominatrix warmin’ up her tassles…

Sagittarius Season Dates Adventure — Match #1

Brute Wanderlust On A Roll

Gotta figure Sagittarius is never stuck.

As a mutable sign, we got big time roamsies an’ do not wishta be tied down — less’n it is onea them gal in flouncy apparel chained to a railtrack cosplay scenarios, in which case plz can I also have a guy playin’ pianer for extra melodrama?

Parta that unstuckiness comes from the rebellious streak we got says I do not care for boundaries — butchya gotta figure here how this upstartishness differs massively from the Aquarian Uranian disruption-for the-hella-it deal.

Sajjo is ruled by Joopiter — the so-called Mr Expansive Astro-wiener — an’ so the rebellion we got is more exploratory … more plain jus’ seekin’ growth an’ wisdom.

So, askya self — what boundaries I got in my life?

An’ why is it I cannot … or will not … strike out beyond ‘em?

See, cos Sagittarian wanderlust got way more to offer than rompin’ round a forest in the buff.

Prolly that is jus’ a stock astrological story, yanno, how Sagittarius Season meansya gotta book a holiday or visit a zoo fulla sportsy animals.

Like it or not, Beyond is whereya gotta grow into, where’er an’ whate’er it be — or isya plan to ossify … tread the same steps till the enda your days?

Gotta figure here how intentional steppin’ out into the Beyond is way preferable to havin’ the Beyond thrust uponya by outside forces unknown.

So your fist Sagittarius Season Adventure Date is with brute wanderlust on a roll — beyond boundaries mebbe feel like permanent fixtures.

So free up, step out, challenge yourself to wander.

Noo place, noo TV show, noo author, noo experience, noo friend.

You got mobility an’ you got smarts — so go test sum boundaries, fulla exploratory generosity … an’ see what noo experiences touch sweet onya mojo.

Sagittarius Season Dates Adventure — Match #2

IYF Filosophical BS

Plenty other Zodiacs compartmentalize their thinkin’.

They got one setta rules for dealin’ with people, another setta rules for copin’ with demandin’ days, an’ still further rules for pluckin’ fecal bobbles offa their pet stick insect’s ass.

For Sagittarius, evrythin’ is entwined together … sumhow.

In a Cosmos held together as a definable entity (even though it is infinite an’ prolly bustin’ with weirdsy aliens), gotta figure on sum unifyin’ shit be gowin’ down.

Shrink that idea to the hooman Cosmos, an’ there gotta be forces behind alla the stuff unites an’ divides us.

Point I’m gettin’ at here is how Sagittarians got real passion for the big idea.

I’m not thinkin’ necessarily original here (like mebbe Aries), nor clever (like Gemini or Virgo) — but jus’ some vast, all-encompassin’, superJovian concept got dominion over broader ishoos than, say, most pizzas are circular but some stores also sell square ones.

So … ask yourself — you got any real big ideas?

Yanno, monsters?

Shit so wacko stoopid you can barely admit to yourself that you was the one thunk the fucker up?

K, so that is your honorary Sagittarian Filosophical BS.

For this second Sagittarius Season Adventure Date, go find sum random person in the mall … or in a bar … or inya class … an make with the IYF proclamations.

To hell with logical structure, consistency, narrative — or evenya fuckin’ reputation — jus’ give that monster filosophical idea sum Out Loud Up Front airtime, full swagger.

Power through, start to finish, no pausin’ for breath, tillya captive audience got zero escape options beyond dyin’ or peein’ their pants.

Gotta big idea, you gotta feel the zeal from the inside, tellya.

Sagittarius Season Dates Adventure — Match #3

Lusty Experimental Sex

Prolly this one gonna cause sum trouble on a practical level less’n we tread real careful.

I don’t want nowan comin’ on all lusty on the bus cos Princess Balestra said I gotta — so for this Sagittarius Season Adventure Date prolly we gotta fix up sumthin’ for those quieter moments when *ahem* lusty experimental sex features a phantom partner … or groop.

Happens, right?

Mebbe you workin’, or cruisin’ the net … or cookin’, or chillin’ out all yogically serene — when suddenly the Friskiness Alarm goes off inya Prime Tinglydangly Area.

Gotta bringya self off or kill sum fucker, right? — an’ I would ask here, this musculoskeletogenital workout gonna be Same Old Same Old?

Tried an’ trusted favorites been pullin’ on the cum sinceya hormonally teened the heck on up outta Kiddyland?

An’ doesya phantom lover always gotta be Benedict Cumberbatch?

Wearin’ a cape … an’ leather pants … smokin’ a cigar … *dear sweet Jesus*.

See cos this quiet time mebbe jus’ another way you got stuck — a routine setta self-pleasurin’ strategies you kinda flit between like butterflies hittin’ on limited flora opportoonities in a butterflyarium.

For this third Sagittarius Season Adventure Date, prolly you gotta try sumthin’ different, even if it don’t work out.

Ifya are cucumber, mebbe try zucchini … ifya are feathers, mebbe try paintbrush an’ molasses … ifya are fast tillya skin peels off, mebbe try slower thanya ever gone before.

I would wanna suggest how this deeply personal time (even ifya got Matt Damon, Tom Hiddleston an’ Scarlett Johansson along for the ride, jus’ to bring out the best in the sublimely tethered Cumberbatch) is trooly a comfort zone.

C’mon, cosya only do it to feel real yummo, right?

But yet again, we see boundaries an’ a weird kinda limitin’ formality — less’n you strike out sumplace noo with exploratory determination.

So mebbe get plannin’ for that next rendez-vous with spontaneous horno.

Pack a bag fulla essentials, same asya do resta the time.

Chili pickle don’t work out, you can always eat it…

Sagittarius Season Dates Adventure — Match #4

Think So Positive That Capricorns Can’t Stop ‘Emselves From Attackin’ You

Aw, c’mon — cos we Sagittarians are such optimists, right?

Always a smile, always a laugh, always a cheery demeanor gonna pluck upya spirits!

Tbh sumtimes I figure evryone believes we are free from misery an’ torment, like pain an’ sadness bypassed our lives so we could go motivate the Totally Frickin’ Blighted.

But such an existence would transform us into bigger monsters than we already are.

You mean … that loudmouth bragger packing the bullshit never experiences sadness as they cavort the place in those badly co-ordinated multi-rainbow “outfits”?

Thing is, negative stuff sucksya in if’n you let it — an’ the loudest voice you got yellin’ it IYF — frank an’ true, like there ain’t no escape — is YOU.

We all got pain an’ sadness, an’ we all got The Voice.

An’ the worst part is … we listen in regular an’ hang on evry word.

So for my 4th Sagittarius Season Adventure Date suggestion, I would wanna figure on a choice — some space to disagree with your inner voice’s fixed proclamations ‘bout your own demise.

She says, I’m ugly … you gotta have it out with her.

She says, I’m useless at singin’ … you gotta show her what you got.

She says, I’m crazy to be bringing myself off with a banana while skydivin’ … prolly you already applyin’ the kinda Sagittarian wisdom I been talkin’ ‘bout so far. Ha!

Point is, you gotta step outside that pessimistic narrative stuff an’ fix up a smarter IRL story or you gonna shrinkya life from the inside before any enemies come kickin’.

No place is more confinin’ an’ stiflin’ than the gruesum corner we force ourselves to stand in sumtimes.

Nowan says we gotta go there, nowan leads us there in shackles — we walk willingly an’ forlornly to a prison we built ourselves, an’ we self-incarcerate for hours or days or weeks, feedback loopin’ the fuck outta our life chances by toonin’ in to stuff ain’t never gonna help us.

Like you, I got purely selfish reasons for haulin’ myself outta that place with Optimism’s twinkliest lasso.

But cos I got alla these stoopid Sagittarian ideas ‘bout hoomanity in kinda general, I would want always to throw on the pancake makeup … even when my heart bleeds … jus’ in case the person I got right in fronta me is secretly stuck in their own self-inflicted corner an’ can’t break free.

If’n they especially lucky, I might jus’ come on so effusively OTT I am a fuckin’ embarrassment.

See cos that old line — there is always someone worse off than yourself — is so monstrously transformative when placed in the wrong hands.

Tbh, I lost counta the times I been so tastelessly ghastly with my IYF Uberglee I could compel even the most miserable wretch to take big time steps up the Self-worth Ladder.

Gee, I may be a lousy sister — but at least I ain’t Beyond Fucking Unbearable like Ms Shoutytits here…

Sagittarius Season Dates Adventure — Match #5

Lights! Centaur! Action!

Gotta love how the Zodiac packs a real neat menagerie.

Las’ time Mother Cosmosis stopped by my apartment to check I was eatin’ proper, we got to discussin’ Zodiac beests over a chilled Smirnoff concoction I threw together.

“So why no duckies or giraffes?” I said.

M.C. flashed onea her as I explain this with the linguistic sidea my brain, I am also scramblin’ for an excuse to vamoose, usin’ the stage magician’s assistant chained up in a box parta my brain expressions. “Personally, I blame the very first astrologers. What they had in the heavens was a deliciously sophisticated Rorschach test — a tremendous opportunity for rendering imaginary undersea cuttlefish or off-the-scale-crazy marsupials from patterns in the stars. Problem they had was that most of the planet’s more exotic species had yet to be discovered, so they were limited to familiar creatures in their everyday surroundings.”

“Like half-horse half-mule hybrids or aquagoats clearly gonna be snuffed by most any habitat?”

“Ah … that was my suggestion,” said M.C., leanin’ back on my dolphin cushion flea market bargain. “ If memory serves me correctly, there was a call for ducks and giraffes, just like you suggested — along with dogs, pigs and pythons. In the latter case, I told these fledgling astrologers straight out that a python would represent the ultimate in uncreative expression because anyone could draw innumerable wiggly lines through a map of the stars and call each of them any kind of snake—”

“Fuck Moi! That is so not science!

“To be perfectly frank, I consider the Sagittarius and Capricorn animals to be some of my finest ever creations.”

Ha! Gotta love an entreprenoor, I guess.

With that remark, Mother Cosmosis finished her drink an’ fucked off round backa Plooto.

Point is, prolly a centaur is the most apt beest any Sagittarian could wish for to be — ‘specially durin’ the Sajjo Centaur Rompfest!

We got energy, fantasy kudos, immodestly sporsty musculature, shitloadsa energy, great-lookin’ schlongs & boobies — an’ a sublimely beautiful metaphorical weapon.

(No time to go inta alla that stuff right here, butchya can check this one out over at Sagittarian Firepower, u wanna.)

So, listen — final parta my Sagittarius Season Adventure Date pulls in pseudo-cosplay, defo roleplay, an’ a hinta shamanic tradition — not to mention blatant whinnyin’ at considerable volume if you so desire.

Prolly you gotta fix up sum superprivate quiet time whenya ain’t either meditatin’, writin’, sleepin’, dreamin’ or rubbin’ your cunnyflaps to submission with a shoe.

For costoom, no need to go to a hire store — jus’ pull down a drape an’ cut it all to horsey tail ribbons before attachin’ it to your butt with duct tape.

Then you gotta sit real still.

Breathe in the super fresh air, feel the Sun beatin’ down onya naked body (oh yeah, I forgot to mention — strip down to zilcho before you make with the tail), an’ soak up the spirita nature asya shutya eyes an’ journey far to Guided Meditation Centaur Rompo Forest Land.

(For meditative tips, try my Stillness For The Volatile article — I wrote it out for vigorous Fire types can’t get no peace, so it may be especially helpful here whileya chill out an’ summon your Inner Centaur.)

Feel on that centaur body, that centaur persona.

Use evry imaginative smart you got to ask … what that be like? What I say if’n I had that kinda voice?

Then for mebbe five minnows, go check out this curious place where you discover yourself to be.

This space fulla Amber’s books or Zack’s football stuffs — or whoever is this stranger you jus’ encountered.

Speak aloud, anythin’ u wanna — it is only Centaurstuffs, to yourself, same as ever.

Ask questions, speculate on answers, mebbe even cavort robustly.

Main deal — let the spontaneous dialog you have with this mysterious stranger flow free as it wantsta.

Who cares if’n you cuss or say stoopid stuff?

An’ when the 5 minnows is done, go find a mirror.

Watch as the outered imaginary inner centaur morphs into your actyool Zodiac beest (an’ if’n you already a Sagittarian, mebbe switch sex an’ rework your hair) … an’ keep talkin’.

(Sumplace in my Regular Monthly Horoscopes I conferred Honorary Duck Status on Librans cos they got no weirdsy animal out front — so you guys’re covered for this parta the shamanic revelation.)

Now head back to those familiar books or football stuffs … or whatever you got.

Sit with ‘em a while, lay back an’ take in your space — as a lion, crab, scorpion, bull or duck — an’ take ownership.

Your life springs out Eternal from the present moment, always.

An’ right now, it is Sagittarius Season kinda Here & Now.

Sagittarius Season Dates Adventure — The Hands-On Climax

So thereya have it — Sagittarius Season smarts most anywan can pull on.

For sure, we Sajjos got many more attribyoots, an’ prolly other astrology people elsewhere on the internets got a take on what is most important.

Such a shame mosta ‘em got the fucker wrong.

(I dunno, mebbe they jus’ bangin’ on ‘bout good-natured Sagittarian humor.)

Point is, wanna pass on practical shit gonna mebbe dinky upya life.

As we plummet toward Oblivion on this haplessly evolvin’ rock, gotta figure a little costoomed roleplay an’ jackin’ off advice goes a long way.

So go do sumthin’ real special with Sagittarius Season, be ye courageous Lion, scintillatin’ Twinno, or perfectly balanced Mallard.

Adventurous energies bustin’ with optimistic brio gotchya back with real enthoosiasm rn, Sweetie!

Title Image c/o ZERIG @Pixabay

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


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.


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.


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..)

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