<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

SAGITTARIUS SEASON DATES ADVENTURE

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

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<span class="sdata" title="4"></span> <span class="sdata" title="06, 2017"></span>

Foretellismo

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-06-02T09:08:41+00:00"></span> |Choice, Creativity, Motivation, Resolution, Uncategorized|0 Comments

FORETELLISMO

Storytellin’ is written inta the fabrica the Cosmos.

Always was (cos we got here to now — mostly in the kinda historical costoomsya see in the movies), an’ always will be (less’n we are frickin’ stoopid ‘bout narrative in super general an’ drop THE END before THE CLIMAX in the forma A NUKE).

Truth is, nuthin’ moves without generatin’ narrative.

Jus’ lickya lips for a sec, test this one out.

(I am not tryin’ to be lewd here cos I wanna be respectful to alla the generous peeps at Medium gonna mebbe indulge my lovea what they got up an’ happnin’.)

Feel them luscious lipsya got onya?

Coolest reality check I can muster, tellya — an’ now we gonna figure out what this all means … together.

Now?

Yup.

Way I see it, you got a whole buncha saliva in that speakyplacea yours.

Feel it?

You got inside an’ outside surfaceaya lips, tongue ridged an’ furrowed with innumerable tastetastic sulci — an’ that is beforeya consider any hairsya got fluffin’ offaya face with varyin’ degreesa hirsooteness (or bitsaya dinner caught inya teeth an’ stuff).

Gotta say, I describe this potential mlehfest clear as I can forya — equally imagined (cos I got no clue what fungal mayhemya got gowin’ on backsideaya toothy grin right now) an’ realo (I jus’ ate a banana btw) — an’ I would not wanna presoomya to be no kinda ZOMBIE got no motive sensualityaya own, but FFS you don’t even gotta lick on anythin’ to take in alla the info far as this experiment goes.

You are jus’ kinda there.

Or here.

Or whereverya are.

Truth is, you are a big lumpa YOU-stuffs — drool an’ lips an’ all — occupyin’ time an’ space, fulla potential to make sensea your place in the Cosmos via the mediuma allaya tinglydanglies.

Get To The Point. I Have A Life.

Point is, same kinda “lumpa-stuffs occupyin’ time an’ space” deal extends to alla the planets we got twirlin’ round the Sun alongside our lusho home world.

(Home world is called the Earth, jus’ in caseya never walked across the label.)

See, Joopiter an’ alla his planetary buddies been circlin’ the planet beyond before we hoomans — or even the dinosaurs an’ the amoeboid polypbeests — got to be around, an’ unless sum colossal asteroid comes bowlin’ into our solar system like a viciously spun cue ball, gotta figure the planets gonna roll on in their own sweet way till the enda time.

Science guys can even predict what they gonna do next, zillionsa years inta the fyooture.

Thinka what happens evry month.

Ain’t it jus’ weird how the Huff Post an’ other nooz outlets now regularly feature articles about the Moon alongside alla the usual celebrities behavin’ abominably schwango?

Full, Noo, Harvest, Wolf, Eclipse — there’s always sum loono story gowin’ down.

So much about inanimate objects is predictable — even monsterstuffs like Saturn an’ his zingoringo — but layered on toppa the bleak mathstrophysics is a delicious worlda myth — exotic an’ soulful stories gonna transform barren craters into moist an’ tender eyeballs with POV, persona an’ -morphin’ iris hues.

Neptoon alone could prolly fillya bathtub with luscious liquid legend, dear reader — exotic stories fulla immersive pullin’ power.

From brute gravitation comes allurea narrative, same as when hoomans kiss on one another’s lickyalipsibles after makin’ eyes ‘cross a crowded room.

In planets an’ people you got certainty meets uncertainty, an’ narrative blossoms from this catalytic touch.

Thing is — what happens next ifya are unpredictably vulnerable hooman ‘steada workaday celestial colossus?

Maths guys got the planets down — but what about alla us? What about our stories?

Gotta figure the enda ANY an’ EVRY unfoldin’ story always lies in the fyooture, an’ deep down we want alla the intertwinin’ narrative arcsa our lives to work out good an’ carry our favo ever protagonist an’ alla their buddies forward with heart an’ verve — same as fiery ol’ Mars or cranktasmal Uranus or dreammaculate Venus out there on a spin.

Where the planets got predictability, hoomans desire foretellismo.

Oh, Yeah — I Read That Right At The Start. What In Hell Are You Talking About?

Prolly you should Google it for yourself, but ima helpya out.

Here it is:

foretellismo means astrology beats marketing

Want my opinion?

I got no idea how Google never saw that comin’.

Tellya, algorithms, hardcore math an’ alla that superpredictive schwango got nuthin’ on artful simplicitya hooman creative flux.

We are such cool combiners an’ togetherers, all shadesa invention an’ discovery roll out BEGINNIN’, MIDDLE AN’ ENDIN’ from our interactions in time an’ space with any shit gowin’ down you wanna name.

(An’ btw, dontchya jus’ love how alla the planets got named after ancient gods an’ deified hero types?)

Foretellismo describes sumthin’ we all desire real bad.

It is a waya thinkin’ got more swagger than hollow prediction, more certainty than wild risk — an’ fewer obfuscatin’ cataracts than blind hope.

Consider it a wayta massage the eternal narrativea past, present an’ fyooture — evrythin’ you spun out to this precious heresynowsy moment reimagined beyond the infinite void betweenya story so far an’ the next cool things gonna happen.

Seems evryone craves mastery over that perpetually mutable sweet spot.

Despots, advertisers, fiction writers — an’ all shadesa people with all kindsa ferocious dilemmas who wake each day for wanta mebbe more than 24/7 struttin’ an’ frettin’ on life’s stage.

“Tell me, tell me, please — in my hour of deepest travial, will the choices I make today work out good?

Aw, cos ifya had that kinda punch on reality right now, how smacksyhitsy it would be to romp out on a fyooture got allaya invention-made-flesh flyin’ easy peasy fromya progenerative an’ experiential polyassholes!

Problem is, foretellismo is an illusion.

Fake News? Sorry — I Am Outta Here

Oh, but see — illusions’re powerful an’ super practical architectsa change.

They propel stories forward, fill ’em fulla lush expectationals — like any movie scene got Hugh Jackman stripped to the frickin’ waist.

All stories gotta move on into the unknown or they gonna get borin’.

That is why you never got roundta readin’ that 12,465 page trilogy entitled Night Of The Monk Contemplating Gorgonzola.

Where is the conflict there beyond please, braino — do not force me to pick this loser up an’ read it!

Borin’ is stuck — an’ no one likes the storya stuck if they are not only readin’ it aloud but also livin’ out its life-drainin’ enslavements evry relentlessly samo daya their finite existence.

Foretellismo helpsya form proto-tangible shapes in the Void mebbe you wanna reach for — or aspire to become.

It has illusion. It has sinew. It has benevolent mutability slooshin’ from its DNA.

Costoom foretellismo as astrology, an’ you got an archetypal menagerie gonna harmonize along withya half-formed hopes an’ schemes, its massed growls an’ pincersnaps syncopatin’ withya decisive action — all accompanied by that humma paralyzin’ charm oozes outta Librans when they burst into song in the mall.

Librans! Ha! Tell Me About It!

Way I see it, sumtimes we all need a narrative lift from the communal ether — motivation gonna pull us up outta sum present moment oblivionhole that is not simply BUY OUR PRODUCT! FEEL BETTER INSTANTLY! or GUESS WHAT? DEMOCRACY IS TOAST! or anya those context-unspecific quotationsya see vomited up on FaceBook like headless poultry in needa breast, drumstick an’ downhome seasonin’.

Gal workin’ long hours in sum loser store gonna be eaten by robots, old guy lost his lifelong sweetheart but nonea the memories, entreprenoor takin’ a gamble gonna fix or shaft — gotta figure alla these people are walkin’ stories, fulla love an’ loss, hopes an’ fears, triumphs an’ regrets, strung out sumplace where the fyooture shuffles unnervingly at reality’s edge like sum slumberin’ monster, ever outta reach yet still close enough for unknown talonsta thrash outta the darkness an’ scar with anxiety or fear. Or despair.

Alla these people can (if they wanna) take a dip inta their stars (by which I kinda mean the planets an’ their associated narrative twinklea myth an’ story) an’ divine elemental succor as they float on air, step out on solid ground, light up with inspirational fire, or go kiss on a fluffy hamster got the mange an’ mebbe jus’ an hourta live.

Evryone gotta figure what positive an’ influential stories matter most to them, I guess.

Historically, we gotta figure what dreams an’ illusions have moved most hearts an’ minds sumplace got more benefits for free exercisea hoomanstuffs?

I guess that is why the void between today’s versiona the fyooture an’ alla our stories so far got all kindsa misappropriated archetypes thrashin’ around in its insubstantial ethers like wannabe titanium stranglerats.

Thing is, astrology is instantly quaffable spiritual moonshine, one size fits twelve.

You wanna feel good cos you spent $300 on a noo cell phone gonna pissya off by the enda the week cos it promised INTUITION, DELIVERED TO YOUR FINGERTIPS — an’ then melted?

Or d’ya want that frissona satisfaction comes from havin’ your opinions confirmed by what later turns out to be fake nooz?

Or d’ya wanna mebbe win out cos y’are a Taurus? Dependable an’ true — an’ blessed with consummate donut eatin’ talentsya can synch with ballistic fart techniques in restaurants (with no riska failin’ to receive warm hugs from evryone)?

Truth is, no single life existed since hoomans got to be hoomans that walked the rainbowa sum singularly universal narrative arc.

We are mix an’ match aggregationsa what works — raw materials pulled from the herescape an’ blended all idiosyncratically happenable by our own brainos linkin’ up an’ smoochyin’ on out.

We are blissfully lickable tangible matter blessed with far-reachin’ imagination — if we wanna use it.

Sounds Dinky! Can I Steal That For My LinkedIn Profile Rewrite?

Sure, but for the sakea brevity, you should prolly jus’ write alchemist.

It is cheesy, I know — but what is cheese beyond milk an’ grass an’ cow giblet squirto all blended an’ squishoed together?

Thing is, stars mebbe got an angle onya lifeya can notch inya forwardstuffs bow alongside allaya other existential arrows.

Astrology don’t tell the whole story, but history, culture an’ emergin’ nooz kinda trainedya upta manipulate (an’ respond to) archetypal forces in flux.

Gotta figure nouveau astrology narratives might have a place right now alongside relative noocomers on the storytellin’ block like TV, Digita outta Home, an’ Facebook memes packin’ cat-themed motivational frickin’ mantras.

Antecedentsa this kinda schwango got born when people much like ourselves gathered round fires at deada night an’ entertained one another with stories as they compared rottin’ teeth, flaunted scars long as frickin’ snakes, an’ carbonized wild bunnies (before dyin’ at the ripe old agea 27).

No room for SOAP SO SMOOTH YOU’LL FEEL LIKE A GODDESS or 5 WAYS BECKHAM’S LATEST TATTOO WILL INSPIRE YOUR BATHROOM MAKEOVER there.

We gonna adopt astrology with more passion an’ diligence, we jus’ gotta take care we don’t get too far up our own assholes an’ lost off on celestial wankology people don’t give a shit about.

At the brain-zappin’ calculus enda the astrological scale, we got transits an’ conjunctions an’ all kinda crapola no one got a brain feels pain gonna much care for.

Other end is the more lyrical an’ poetic hooman touchpoint — the meltin’ potta all passion, spirituality an’ emotional jiz juice.

Astrology gotta always remember how the startin’ point for people is their passions — their dreams an’ interactions, their unfoldin’ works-in-progress, mebbe even their stoopid pets.

Took us a while, but right now in the noo millennium, we are loosenin’ up a little an’ bein’ straighter with one another ‘bout how our inner lives spin in an intricately woven yet sometimes unnervingly rift-riven way with the face we show to the world, an’ how we touch on one another in ever more divergent ways as we baseline tryta get a handle on the chameleon masqueradin’ as our own essence.

We are as planets spinnin’ round the Sun, only with waaaaaaaaaay more freedom, way more choice, way more sentient firepower.

On a good day, we even got streamin’ movies, bottlesa vino — an’ the sudoku-toppin’ trivia conundrum known as FFS what is covfefe?

But I figure qualitya summa the stories we got spinnin’ the globe here in 2017 is kinda lame.

Oblivion sniffs the wind an’ stomps a hoof inta the dust, readyta trample all achievement before it.

‘Gainst that foretellismocated certainty, prolly all kindsa different an’ more positive narratives gotta go workout sumplace fulla lycra skimpies an’ sweat — an’ up their game sum to the beata Kanye.

An’ astrology is one such game.

Centuries old, it is equally bloodied an’ ferocious.

But, hey — who cares ‘bout that?

These may be hard times for soft stories — and the soft people wish ’em into bein’ — but we seen worse before an’ we seen it through.

Gonna go write sum horoscopes now.

I am through bein’ quasi-academicalistic…

Title Image c/o Amber Avalona @Pixabay

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Notethis article originally appeared on the delish MEDIUM an’ is reproduced here

cos I am a real lazy fucker.

<span class="sdata" title="22"></span> <span class="sdata" title="05, 2017"></span>

Are You A True Astro Aficionado — Your Ultimate Inner Zodiac Quiz

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-06-02T08:33:13+00:00"></span> |Astro Quiz, Choice, Practical Astrology|0 Comments

ARE YOU A TRUE ASTRO AFICIONADO?

YOUR ULTIMATE INNER ZODIAC QUIZ!

Does astrology fillya with unbridled passion for mystery beyond the skies?

Does the Zodiac inspireya to go huntin’ forya soulmate with an ephemeris clutched tight to your bosom?

Wouldya die if celestial augury-style wonders ceased to exist an’ were replaced by 24/7 diktats from on high — much like Donald Trump’s instructions to his beleaguered stylist?

Or areya stoppin’ by here jus’ to see if I got so stoopid frickin’ drunk I posted lurid pixa my fanj an’ titties?

Gotta hopeya are a true stargazy buff, O sweet observa wonders!

Cos this is where we discover — in 10 cunningly calibrated questions — whether you is Super Horoscope Enthoosiasm Person or Totally Lame In the Spiritual Enlightenment Department Kinda Asshole!

Coolest thing?

This super dinky inner zodiac quiz works for all star signs.

Aries to Pisces to actshly I’m a frickin’ skeptic, Miss Loopy Doops Astroflaps!

So — no cheatin’, no peekin’, no foolin’ around!

Answer sweet an’ answer frank an’ answer true!

All will be revealed … about YOU …

1) Anti-astrology beings from a parallel Zero Horoscopes Here dimension rip through a wormhole into our parta the Cosmos, bearin’ Zodiac-destroyin’ weaponry an’ screamin’ “to hell with your stupid stars — we are gonna blitz all things astrological from the face of reality … FOREVER!!!”  What next?

a) Aw, gosh — that is such a bummer cos I really enjoyed bein’ a [insertya star sign here].

b) Listen, pal — we got Tom Frickin’ Cruise, so watch your step!

c) Gonna fight you till I got no strength left in my body — and even if I should fall, and you loom over me like a deathly colossus in my final seconds of life, I’ll still be biting for your balls with all I got.

2) Your sweetheart is bringin’ you off real yummo. An’ it’s … it’s … cummin’

a) You scream … Oooooh! Ooooooh! Aaaaaaaaaah! Fuuuuuuuuck!

b) You scream … Astrology! Astrology! Astrologyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

c) You scream … Before I forget … my cat is sick … so watch out later … she don’t spew on your paa-aaa-aaants …

3) Uh oh — you absentmindedly signedya name wrong on sum legal documents. Again! So what you just writ?

a) I love astrology so bad I could die. Let its sustaining waves lap over me as if I were being tongued sweet and true by androgynous cunnilingual angels!

b) Your username for Astropeeps.com.

c) Your regular name — but with one additional letter from onea the starsigns (eg mebbe an L from Leo or an N from Capricorn or an I from Gemini, meanin’ if you put sumthin’ like X or Q or K, it is jus’ a stoopid typo an’ don’t count for the purposesa this revealin’ an’ fun quiz).

4) Daydreams possessya — an’ you are lulled into delisho reverie. What imagry plays beforeya as Hypnos hugsya closeta his illusory heart?

a) I see bunnies.

b) I see bunnies, crabs, rams, bulls, scorpions, lions, fish — plus sum real weirdo people on a seesaw and a quasi-chimeric goat-cum-fish thing riding a real dumb looking fuckin’ horse.

c) What in hell is Hypnos? That some new male grooming product targets hipsters suffering from Booger Beard?

5) Reality Check. Go readya Monthly Horoscope right away! Then ask — this an accurate reflectiona your persona? Or a lucky guess hits the sweet spot c/o pseudo-scientific garbage?

a) Hey, I’m a believer, O Princess! And of all the scopes in the galaxy, yours are consistently the most accurate, heartfelt — and fun!

b) Astrology is the shitting of the masses by the excrement of the Ultrabogus.

c) Why is there still no 13th sign of the Zodiac? Surely it’s time the Cosmos levelled up?

6) It is La La Land. Openin’ scene on the freeway. An’ you are dancin’. How do the stars infuseya terpsichorean wherewithal with pizzazz (an’ mebbe a generous splatteringa glamor)?

a) They don’t. My body is a physiological entity and I am a naturally rhythmic person. I just felt like dancing, is all.

b) Beat comes on — you just gotta move. But are you suggesting that astrology might influence my choice of joggers?

c) We are all material objects spinning in the void. When we swirl and flit and meet in sweet caress, it is because we are divine beings on a celestial mission. Plus — I so love fuckin’ twerking!

7) Your sweetheart jus’ walked out the door. “Forever.”  That last word cutya so deep — but why did this tragedy happen?  Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

a) I guess we were astrologically incompatible. Some things are not meant to be.

b) Fuckin’ shitbrain! *scowl* *pout* *stomp* *pout* *waaaaaaaaaaaaaaah*

c) So … uhm … I accidentally spilled hot water on my ex-sweetheart’s pet terrapin. Happens.

8) Opposites attract — but sometimes it’s warfare. How acutely aware areya ‘bout your own personal astrological nemesis?

a) I understand astrology implicitly — essence to element, house to transit — and I got every single [insert starsigna known nemesis here] nailed to within an inch of its stupid freaking life. No lame [insert starsigna known nemesis here — only this time, mebbe growl real mean] gets past me, sister.

b) I am a goober no-hoper regularly gets stiffed. You saying this is all the fault of astrology — and not simply because I’m so intrinsically flawed my life is a living hell?

c) I keep tabs on my enemies using a variety of strategies, of which astrology is just one. Right now, I’m working on measuring people’s latent aggression by watching how they consume cupcakes.

9) Canya tell sumone’s starsign by the way they kiss?

a) Don’t be preposterous! Next you’ll be suggesting that magic is for real and dolphins can become invisible at will!

b) Is this an academic question — or are you suggesting I go try it out and see?

c) Every ridge and furrow of my tongue laps up the truth of the Cosmos — and no one remains incognito on my watch.

10) One question to go, confirmed astro-fiend —

a) Wait — did you just call me an astro-fiend? How presumptuous! How insulting! Listen, you irresponsible old crank, I fully intend to make it to the end of this stupid quiz having amassed zero fucking points, leaving both you and astrology to wallow in the sorry tears of your own irrelevance!

b) Ooh ooh — did I win? Please say I won — and there’s a trophy!

c) No need to ask any further! I was born a hapless stargazy fuckpuppy, I live each day as a hapless stargazy fuckpuppy, and I will die a hapless stargazy fuckpuppy! Viva astrology! Rah Rah Rah!

Are You A True Astro Aficionado?

Let The Inner Zodiac Quiz Reveal All!

You ready to have the beansa truth spilled overya head till the sauce dribbles all overya boobies?

Then prepare to discover — definitively — whether you is Astrofiend Incarnate or Celestial Skepticism’s Ardentest Ever Disser!

Here’s how the scorecard looks…

1 — A1 B2 C3

2 — A2 B3 C1

3 — A3 B2 C1

4 — A2 B3 C1

5 — A3 B1 C2

6 — A1 B2 C3

7 — A2 B3 C1

8 — A3 B1 C2

9 — A1 B2 C3

10 — A1 B2 C3

Now go pick up a maths whizz from the store — prolly the zero fashion guy in specs oglin’ alla the porno — an’ power ‘em up for the addition…

Score 10 —

Think You’re So Clever, Huh?

Ha!  I seen whatya did!

Desperate to cast aspersions on astrology at evry turn (mebbe cosya are sum divinity professor) you jus’ flunked out on my generous quiz so’s you could publish the results in sum stoopid journal an’ roast stargazy stuffs in academic flames.

Like I frickin’ care!

Score 11-18 —

Astro Devotee

It’s … lookin’ good.

Better than … nuthin’ … I guess.

But mebbe you wanna go fix up a starsign tattoo?

Sumplace prominent — like mebbe onya face?

It’s not that you are bordeline lame or nuthin’.

Jus’ probably need a little reminder from time to time, K?

‘Bout the astro enthoosiasm, remember?

Score 19-25 —

Astro Tits Floppin’ From Devotion’s Bra

Let it never be said that you are frequently found wantin’ in the Zodiacal Thrusto department.

You know your stars, you trustya auguries, an’ mebbe you got pets named after obscure celestial moons.

Friends gather at your feet to pull in your wisdom, lovers crave your astrologically-enhanced juices — an’ asya romp through the day, the planets shine their Zodiac-powered illoominations super sweet onya ass.

*Winna*

Score 26-30 —

So Astro Zealot! So Zodiac-crazed! So Spunky!

Tellya, you are outta frickin’ control!

Mebbe you are even totally fuckin’ annoyin’!

Yanno — like a puppy dog wants nuthin’ more than to lick lick lick lick lick run run run lick lick lick chase ball chase ball run run lick chase ball run lick run run run lick chase ball chase ball all fuckin’ day.

Jus’ SLOW DOWN before sumone PUNCHESYA IN THE CHOPS, K?

We both know astrology is jus’ so super cool it makesya feel warm an’ gooey inside, but there is no need to behave like a total dickbrain.

Actschly, it is prolly cozza people like you that regular folks get so anti-frickin’-astro.

“Dear sweet Jesus — that gal down the street is off her face ditzoid! Astrology this, astrology that — she should be locked the fuck up.

“Have you seen that weird book he carries round with him all the time? It’s not a novel or text book — it’s just full of numbers. Really weird looking … numbers!

“She speaks to the Moon. Can you believe that? In 2017! When we have science and convenience foods — and guns!

So yeah, things’re kinda anal retento out there rn, so you gotta take care.

My suggestion?

Buy a frickin’ parrot an’ get sum pirate clothes.

Deflect attention away from the astrology deal by mixin’ it with Depp-inspired braggadocio.

Prolly that gonna fix the naysayers real good…

“Dear sweet Jesus — that gal down the street is off her face ditzoid! Astrology this, astrology that, treasure chest crammed with doubloons the other — she should be locked the fuck up. Just gotta decide whether she deserves regular jail or a walk along the plank to the bottom of the ocean!”

“Have you seen that weird book he carries round with him all the time? It’s not a novel or text book — it’s just full of numbers. Really weird looking … numbers!  And that hat of his is totally ridiculous. Why can’t he wear a regular baseball cap? Or at very least cut his hair short and neat. Like a soldier.”

“She speaks to the Moon. Can you believe that? In 2017! And the parrot echoes her every word. Why keep a parrot as a pet when we have dogs and cats and rabbits? It’s outlandish to behold a parrot anyplace outside a jungle or zoo. Where did she obtain such a pet? Has a parrot shop opened up in the mall?”

See how the pirate strategy lets overzealous astrology offa the hook?

Your Inner Zodiac Quiz — The Scholarly Conclusion

Tellya, there is more to Moi than mere superaccurate astrological counsel an’ zero a cappella prowess.

I am srsly packin’ the lifehack tips also.

So come back next Monday see what I got, huh?

Sun is in Gemini right now, so you jus’ KNOW I am gonna be rustlin’ up sumthin’ super practical gonna relaxya strained astro-orifi an’ let the celestial vapors waft outtaya like synchronized vape wisps from a sponge…

Title Image c/o Mira De Shazer @Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="3"></span> <span class="sdata" title="04, 2017"></span>

Why Is My Horoscope All Weird?

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-04-08T14:16:51+00:00"></span> |Choice, Cosmic Roolz, Scopes|0 Comments

WHY IS MY HOROSCOPE ALL WEIRD?

More to the point — why is my horoscope all weird right now?

I mean, c’mon — sumthin’ crazysnakes is clearly gowin’ down in the celestial vapors, palpable as a bug-eyed fly makin’ with a waterboardin’-style plip plip plip as it dips its mandibular feelo-suckers in runny cheese.

Don’t haveta read a word; you can feel this vibe so close up an’ personal it is likeya are gonna birth Cthuloid triplets.

But before I don my Astro-apparela Consummate Stargazy Expertise an’ answer the more specific question, lemme fix on sum general basics gonna beef upya Horoscope Awareness Talents.

Why Is My Horoscope All Weird? Prolly Cos I Am All Weird.

Libra excepted, this is almost always never true.

You may act on your horoscope, but inflooencin’ it is a harder trickta pull — unlessya are an astrologist or astrologer or astrolodjinni person, in which case you got sum control cos Mother Cosmosis grantsya special permission to write out the magic words.

Thinka what would happen if mebbe Leo got inflooential Weirdo Power over her daily ‘scopes.

An’ I am thinkin’ ‘bout Shaney Skelangro here — yanno, the gal from Maine with the goofy teeth an’ zero control over her Crush Squee Siren?

Yeah, that Shaney.

So she is sittin’ in her room with her (frankly stoopid lookin’) dog, an’ she reads romance is in the air for you, Leo, so go breathe it in with pranayama verve and expect love to come knocking!

Forget for a sec that Shaney is a geeky kinda gal an’ would never practise Yoga less’n she got abducted by mindful aliens checkin’ hoomanity for physical bendiness.

Point is, prolly her dog gonna flee downstairs at this point as decidedly non-yogic (an’ essentially weirsdily habityool) squee breaths fire offa her lungs with such ballistic venom she is gonna need a frickin’ ribcage replacement by the agea 24 if’n she don’t sort herself out on the love thang.

(An’ for more on the love thang, check out how astro compatibility got isshoos here an’ replay Valentine’s Day here to figure how eacha the signs figures in the Romance & Eromance departiemente.)

Gotta figure that readin’ your horoscope indicates you got sum kinda desire for self-improvement, most likely based on evidence your life currently sucks, so that last parta the ‘scope is really gonna set Shaney’s pulse racin’ — hence the hyperventilational gymnastics.

Love knocks, an’ physiological wappocraft kicks off — in that order — an’ when Shaney re-reads the breathin’ to blendyjuicy narrative suggested by the ‘scope, her immediate experience (dog has now slashed its throat outta pure terror btw) kinda says this horoscope is all weird because I am all weird.

Result?

By the enda the week, when Quentinola de Prescioquincunschwangoglossen drops career recieves a boost today as flirty Mercury hooks up with charming Venus, Shaney’s funeral is greeted by fam and friends alike as ‘the outcome of desperate plea to find true love in a harsh and cruel world that mysteriously coincided with the frenzied decapitation of her beloved Schnauzer Legolas at the hands of the family breadknife’.

So is your horoscope all weird because you are all weird?

Trust me — you do not wanna go there.

Why Is my Horoscope All Weird? Prolly Cos Evrythin Is All Weird.

Stoopid thing is, that sounds pretty accurate to Moi.

Assoomin’ evrythin’ includes alla the planets whose intertwinklin’ is responsible for alla the celestialvapor-swishin’ zodiacal action allows gifted astrologer persons to formulate horoscopes in the first place, then if an astrological entity like The Moon forms a significant aspect with, say, Mars, while elsewhere in the orbital dance routine Joopiter hits real subtle on Pluto with a once-in-a-generation aspect got more syllables to its name than Scorpio can down cocktails in an hour an’ still stay standin’, then this specific (nay, weird) celestial combo is precisely the raw material gonna fuel horoscopes for eacha the signs.

Or from where else is alla the astrological schwango derived?

Catch here is how EVRYTHIN’ (weird or no) can inflooenceya HOROSCOPE (weird or no) — an’ yet YOU (sum small parta evrythin’) (an’ most certainly weird as batshit in my book if you are hangin’ out with Moi) CANNOT.

Do not ask me to resolve this thorny issue right now.

I am not a frickin’ botanist.

Why Is My Horoscope All Weird? Prolly Cos Life Itself Is All Weird.

I like this very much.

It is organic an’ fluid — indicativea heart, passion an’ mutual adventurepops.

Gotta figure most people look upon their horoscope as a kinda touchstone momentarily reconnectin’ ‘em with values, feelings an’ aspirations they hold dear.

Sajjo jus’ loves readin’Sajjo stuff, I guess — same as resta the Zodiac drills down on their superpersonal 8.3%a the astro action.

Sure, we got other stuff also, like favo shoes, places we like to go, structurally bizarre lizards we keep under the bed an’ get out at night when we cannot sleep (Shaney Skelangro’s bestie does this, btw), but where shit goes wrong is when people confuse considered prediction with certainty an’ view their horoscope as a script or instruction manual steada the producta sum drunken harridan a kinda landscape or blenda zeitgeists/potentialities — or jus’ a plain ol’ selectiona stuffya might wanna consider today.

Truth is, astrology got no more claim on the fyooture than money guys gamblin’ on their assets, politicians advocatin’ values, an’ anyone bettin’ thousandsa dollars on the boxer with the biggest dick.

Eacha these predictive disciplines got past form gonna inform — but it is only partial.

Jus’ cos astrology takes in’ evrythin’ don’t mean it is the final word on anythin’.

I do not like any kinda situation where EVRYTHIN’ may inflooence or control US, but we don’t get to reciprocate.

Enter into such an arrangement wilfully, then I figure you are fuckin’ stoopid.

So I would want horoscopes always to be touchstones.

Small an’ illoominatingly regular skips through time an’ space upon which you might wanna reflect so you can better effect changesya wanna see.

You are cast in all kindsa ways — butya are also FREE.

Think I said sumthin’ about this starta 2017 when I considered what it might mean to be resolved whenya desire for change comes up rough against … ulp … evrythin’.

Why Is My Horoscope All Weird Right Now?

Becauseya are not alone.

History shows how the world evolves through successionsa definable epochs.

Problem is, whenya are dumped right in the middlea one as it is playin’ out, day-to-day speculation wins out over proclamatory epochulation.

Truth is, we trooly DO NOT KNOW what is emergin’right now, an’ until science fits us all up with time-warpin’ cyberboobies, gotta figure our lives’re so brief we cannot revisit earlier times an’ look for clues gonna help us (beyond mebbe bonin’ up on shit don’t come offa the internets).

Drillin’ down smaller, you mebbe got sumthin’ to work with — an’ that is why I run regular monthly horoscopes.

Once evry 30 days, you can drop on by an’ touch base with sum small fragmenta the Cosmos’s divine wonder as manifested in 300 wordsa incandescently profound garbage.

(I am quotin’ my beta reader here.  Do not blame me for any praise currently orbitin’ Moi.)

Thing is, you seen April before, you got feelings for her, an’ despite only 11 months passin’ sinceya las’ met up an’ hung out, she cannot be relied upon to be exactly the same.

There is noo stuff, there is always noo stuff — besta all there is noo stuffya made for yourself.

As a free agent inflooenced by EVRYTHIN’, no less!

Natcho, you want this freedom to continue, an’ your horoscope figures alongside alla the other stuffya got gowin’ down inya life narrative armory, but April 2017 got a planetary showdown gowin’ on kinda makes consultin’ your horoscope touchstone almost DANGEROUS.

The heavens blaze with ardent an’ impassioned FIRE — not the warmin’ Leo kind nor the inspirational Sajjo variety, no no no we are talkin’ the weaponized, carbonizin’ Aries kind — while the people-friendly sweetheart planets  — Venus an’ Joopiter — play dirty c/o retrograde energy sickness alongside THE REAL FUCKIN’ MONSTERS — Mercury, Saturn an’ Plooto — havin’ a MUTUAL BAD HAIR DAY GROUCH FEST an’ seekin’ only to DESTROY! DESTROY! DESTROY!

Easily irritated Arian violence meets a quintuple cuntfesta SMOTHER, SWAT, STIFLE, STING an’ STUFF HARD UP THE POOPER.

Sadly, that is not weird — it is the truth.

So, yeah — “Horoscope All Weird” prolly sums up where shit is at right now for most evryone.

But what else d’ya want?

Horoscope All Same Old Same Old — Exactly As It Was When My Dear Grandaddy’s Gandaddy’s Grandaddy Consulted HIS Horoscope Touchstone And Smiled With Duped Contentment That The Cosmos Existed In Such Near-Permanent Stasis He Went Round And Round And Round And Round And Round And Round And Round And Round In The Same Old Circles Till His Teeth Fell Out And He FUCKING DIED?

C’mon — I am tryin’ to saveya here.

Title Image c/o Steve Buissinne @ Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="13"></span> <span class="sdata" title="03, 2017"></span>

Astrologist Or Astrologer?

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-04-15T12:56:56+00:00"></span> |Astrolodjinni, Choice, Cosmic Roolz, Mother Cosmosis|0 Comments

So — is it astrologist or astrologer?

Forget “to be, or not to be?” — this is the question.

Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings an’ arrowsa outrageous fortune tellin’ (an’ stick with the standard ‘astrologer’), or take arms against a seea syllables an’ by supposin’ bend ‘em.

Way I see it, switch out -er for -ist an’ whaddya got?

When astrologer becomes astrologist, mebbe you are lookin’ at sumthin’ kinda escapologist — which is waaaaay more romantic an’ in keepin’ with the speculative naturea astrology.

Ha!

I figure prolly the reason you don’t see too many astrologists is cos they all fucked off an’ escaped sumplace else.

Thing is, alla this got me thinkin’ what in hell else we could be called — we talented seers who scry forth into the etherest Void in searcha the Pre-tangible with no more claim on what trooly lies beyond than mebbe a fiction writer, marketer or politician.

Gotta figure the super delisho English language affords loadsa possibilities for reinventin’ astrology.

Enough, mebbe for eacha the Zodiac signsta lay claimta its own cornera the astrological lexicon.

So what say we re-suffix the astrology profession between us?

Starsign by starsign?

Ooh ooh — gonna be such fun!

ARIES

Aw, c’mon — trailblazin’ solotiste Aries gotta be an astrologeur, as in entreprenoor.

An’ while astrologarian prolly suits the more intellectyool Virgo types, Aries gotta bag the -arian option straight out or nonea this speculation makes any frickin’ sense.

For sure, I would want any adventurizin’ astrolojeepster to make like a disruptifyin’ astrolojacker with alla the bravadoa sum trooly heroic an’ inspirin’ astrologiant.

Freshly squeezed an’ oozin’ zest, Aries gotta be the ultimate astrolojuicer.

Not for them any kinda idle intellectual debate along the linesa astrologist or astrologer?

TAURUS

Ha! I am tempted to suggest astrologor here, like matador, but I figure that is the wrong bull-centric image.

I would wanna speculate that Taurean astrology gonna deliverya sum real tangible results. That would demand a genuinely bully an’ tenacious astrologard.

Or mebbe an astrologeer, if there were super elaborate natal charts to fix up an’ shit.

Whatever, Taurus would be forever loyal an’ faithful an’ devoted to the cause — a real astrologite.

Lay on cakes in the Taurean Horoscopery, an’ you mebbe got an astrologuzzler gonna eat fortune tellin’ alive.

GEMINI

Gotta figure Gemini gonna glitz out on the sorcery an’ pizzazz inherent in gazin’ up at the stars in wonder. Evry predictive flasha sparkly dust demands prestidigio fingers an’ a nimble braino. So let’s hear it for … the astrologencer.

Or mebbe the astrolojazzler.

For sure, there gonna be sum real inventive monkeyin’ around — but what else gonna happen when the precocious an’ playful Twinnies got their hands on alla the synastry cos they donned the apparela the ultimate astrolojinxer?

An’ that duality ticket could mebbe mean questionsa astrologist or astrologer? prompt the answer actchsly, I am both at the same frickin’ time.

Jus’ gotta watch those predictions don’t come reelin’ offa the tongue so smart an’ fast the resta us get left behind in the sliippertystreama no astrologibberishspieler!

CANCER

We all know how devoted Cancerians can be — to fam, to friends, to sum just cause — so I figure alla the crab people gotta have the optiona bein’ an astrologee.

Or mebbe they would jus’ selflessly embody the spirita astrology steada layin’ claim to alla the fancy personalized paraphernalia like pointy hats, capes an’ matchin’ gauntlets (which acourse, I got) — kinda like an astrologen or astrologern.

Any true Cancerian gonna take their home right out to the stars — sum’ flyin’ galleon gonna sail out between the planets packin’ a store room fulla homemade goodies. Gotta loveya astrolojammer I guess.

I also got astrologiatricist in my original scribbles for this post — only I clean I forgot what I was thinkin’ an’ where I intended to put it. Gotta hope Cancer will take that one under her wing till sumone figures shit out…

LEO

Ok, so we gotta pay homage to the Leo phenomenon, as rendered in flesh ‘pon this mortal plane as an astrologity.

With majesty an’ pomp shall thy astrology be delivered — an’ for that you gonna need an astrologent.

For sure, Leo would be a real up-front astrologophile, an’ on particularly theatrical days, risin’ to the occasion gonna bring out their inner astrologlamerer.

Jus’ gotta watch for bein’ too far up their own assholes, I guess. Nowan needs an astrolojactater.

VIRGO

I figure gal Virgos gonna have no problem distinguishin’ themselves from their male astrologer counterparts, hence astrologess.

An’ bein’ such braino clever experts, they gonna conduct ‘emselves witht the informed geniusa sum true astrologian — perfectly able to distinguish between all shadesa celestial knowhow (includin’ astrologist or astrologer?)

Evry horoscope gonna be crisp an’ clear, right downta detailin’ aspects between minor planetary moons like Umbriel an’ Mimas. Gotta love an astrologeneticist.

An’ would Virgo be an archetypal weirdsy ol’ spinster type — or even worse, sum bent old crazy guy packin’ the drool? Gotta figure on a youthful body in real fine condition workin’ out regular beneath the virgin’s astonishin’ braino. Kinda astrologymnast.

LIBRA

For Libra, kissin’ on the florally exotic perimetera life’s grandest expectations gotta trooly suit an astrologette or astrologante.

An’ who elseya gonna trust for a balanced readin’ but an astrolojuggler?

Plus also, even the most calamitous an’ strife-generatin’ aspects inya natal chart gonna be rendered beautiful, harmonious, peaceful — mebbe even fun — by an astrologonymph, astrolojollifier or astrolojester.

But watch out! As evry astrolojourno knows, Libra got Cardinal supremacy ridin’ out alongside alla the flowery loon pants.

When it comesta settlin’ any deal — even astrologist or astrologer? — final word goes to the astrolojudge an’ astrolojusticiar, K?

SCORPIO

Scorp got a reputation for fixin’ up the down deep an’ dirty biz, so what about astrologizer?

Plus also, Scorps are real scary an’ obsessed with death. Voila astrologhast.

Thing is, I figure when it comesta fixin’ up alla the aspects, midheavens an’ favo gemstones, Scorpio gonna dish the deal real straight, no punches pulled nor illusions dispensed. You got any sense, you wanna make a beeline for the astrolojugularax.

Main deal is, Scorp gonna go the whole distance withya, even whenya life is squared an’ retrograded out. For the long haul, you gotta have a reliable astrolojogger by your side, tellya.

SAGITTARIUS

I figure Sajjo would make a fine travelin’ astrologer — kinda like them pooch or kitty parlors turn up atchya home an’ pamper onya fluffy. So: astrolojaunter.

From a philosophical perspective, astrology differs from astronomy an’ gastronomy in so many profound ways, an’ to navigate the difference, you gonna need an astrologosophicist.

Whatever the deal, Sajjo is natchrly enthoosiastic an’ optimistic, so any predictions concernin’ the celestial vapors gonna be c/o a real energized astrologophyte or astrolojovian.

Jus’ gotta watch for the loose tongue an’ alla the unabashed coarseness an’ filth. So getchya ear muffs an’ blindfolds on ifya go see the astrolojyna or astrolojizmsquirter or astrolojaculater.

Real fulla shit Sajjo seers’re jus’ astrolojunkers.

CAPRICORN

Gotta figure Capricorn gonna run a whole hierarchya astro persons, bottoma the tree bein’ mebbe an astrologant.

Hop upta astrologer (cos Cappy gotta nail the super regular, super conservative option), an’ evryone else belowya becomes an astrologoling.

Rise high enough in the ranks, an’ you get to be the one true top dog astrologocrat — an astrolojuggernaut among astrolojokers.

UNLESS, in true grouchy skeptic fashion, Capricorn says “fuck alla that star-gazin’ schwango — I am a confirmed astrologophobiac.”

Astrologist or astrologer?

WHO FUCKIN’ CARES???

AQUARIUS

Aquarius, detached an’ pseudo-alien as ever, gonna hitchya with the astrologoid.

Or mebbe the astrologon.

For sure, all fully Uranoid manifestrationsa the water bearer gonna swing out all astrologopian.

At their most monstrously provocative, evry Aquarian is an outrageous astrolojabberwocky.

At their most egalitarian, humane an’ reflective, they spin a real neat astrolojain.

PISCES

Uh oh, here comes Pisces! Head in the clouds, nose in the bottle, nuthin’ else in anyplace tangible — wobblin’ around all dizzy from twinklea the pretty stars like sum astrologoholic.

Or are alla those seemingly drunken dreams the stuffa inspired wisdom? The worka sum astrolodjinni?

Thing is, there is sumthin’ disturbingly Einsteinian about the way Pisces’ mixes up inspiration an’ nonsense — a real sense that you got sum genius prescience drillin’ down on all things pan-cosmological that is so blindingly obvious asta be totally opaque — but how in hellya gonna describe that? It is all so … so … astrologish.

Ultimately, Pisces winds up the whole astrological show, fulla dreamsy passion so pure it almost lacks direction.

Gotta say, all things considered, right now I would want my horoscope prediction stuffs outta the handsa sum astrologist or astrologer.

Gimme an astrolojunkie any day.

So, Hey — Gotta Hope This Dinky Astrosummary Nails The Astrologist or Astrologer? Conundrum Real Good

It won’t, acourse.

Tellya, there has gotta be frickin’ hundreds more real neat options out there.

You seen any I missed?

Drop ‘em in the trail an’ let’s have sum FUN!

Title Image c/o Felix Plakolb @Unsplash

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<span class="sdata" title="6"></span> <span class="sdata" title="03, 2017"></span>

The Astrology Compatibility Mindfuckola

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-04-08T13:50:06+00:00"></span> |Blendyjuicy, Choice, Cosmic Roolz, Fate, Relationships, Washing Machine|0 Comments

In the wild an’ wacky worlda astrology, compatibility is the darnedest hot potater, tellya.

Alla that schwango about surefire an’ pre-ordained waysta bag the PERFECT soulmate for the PERFECT life with PERFECT you — is it really true?

Is it really gonna work?

More specifically, are alla those astrological mismatches doomedta fail?

Aw Gosh, I Hope Not! I Am In Such A Mismatch Relationship — And It Is Bliss! Please Don’t Tell Me I’m Being Delusional!

Tellya, textbook astrology compatibility scenarios orbit the internets, their dream solutions lit up by the twinklea the prediction-packin’ STARS.

Aries, you got Leo an’ Sagittarius — for fully flamed on love an’ adventure gonna rock out on verve an’ action.

An’ Taurus, you got Virgo an’ Capricorn — for a long term power duet fulla stability an’ trust gonna lastya.

Gemini, Libra an’ Aquarius can mix an’ match in infinitely intellect-tinglin’ ways, with plentya options for spicin’ up blendyjuicy’s boudoir.

An’ for full-on romance, spirityool bondin’ an’ tenderness, Cancer, Scorpio an’ Pisces make out in mebbe true love’s most expansive aquarium/desert area.

Leastaways, that is the kinda stuff I wrote out in my forthcomin’ Handy Astro Guides — an’ I got no desireta diss my own predictive fortune-dishin’ prowessitude aheada their release.

Hey! Quit Trying To Sell Shit Don’t Exist Yet, Princess! What Do You Think You Are — A Fucking Astrologer?

Hey — I dance an’ do yoga also, so go pick on sumone elseta rideya trope-assed one-trick pony round the Limited Talents theme park.

Point is, while these cosy, ‘single element’ matchups inviteyata tie up their fated certainties all sweet with a big ole booby doo ribbon — an’ even srsly mutant relationships like Taurus-Pisces an’ Gemini-Aries got cool link-up potential — the implication seemsta be that certain other combinations are kinda fuckoed from the outset, an’ ifya are stoopid beyond stoopid enoughta step out in such a maligned direction seekin’ eternal happiness an’ romance, the evil spirits patrollin’ the negative enda Fate’s spectrum gonna pee in a bucket bigger’n Saturn an’ sloosh it all over the bothaya in a surprise tsunami cataclysm whenya least expect it (most notably evry Monday, evry Tuesday, evry Wednesday…).

Cosmic Roolz’re clear.

Ifya are in anya these relationships…

Fixed Fixed — any comboa Taurus, Leo, Scorpio & Aquarius*

Cardinal Cardinal — any blenda Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn

Mutable Mutable — mix an’ match Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces

* though not all four together, cos that would be filth.

…then eternal misery be thine — on a platter, inya face, prolly even swampin’ ya armpits as an irritatin’ rash.

(Yeah, yeah — I know there are special weirdsy rules for polar opposites attractin’, but I am tryin’ to be super scientific here by glossin’ over that to make a pointa fact. It is the way right now in 2017, dontchya know.)

Thing is, life is fulla relationships break the rules alla the time.

See on Facebook where they got mice snugglin’ upta cats?

An’ on YouToob, where they got bear cub meets fawn for first time an’ baby monkey gowin’ backwards on a pig?

Sure, in life’s menagerie, you don’t get the kinda oppositesya see bustin’ outta the zodiac — what in hell would the oppositea a giraffe look like anyway? — but with the right beest whisperer an’ camera crew, most any *impossible!* combo is … possible.

(‘cept for mebbe a python an’ a shark — or an eagle an’ onea them creepy underground salamanders with no eyes an’ skin smoother than a dick pulsin’ out all woody.)

An’ you gotta admit — impossible or curious or plain weird combinations make the world spin sweeter.

FFS! First You Scare Me Into Thinking That My Perfectly Happy Relationship Is Compromised In Some Way — And Now You’re Insinuating That I’m Impossible Or Curious Or Plain Weird. Aaaand You Said I Was Stoopid Beyond Stoopid. Why Should I Read Any Further?

Read? Hey — you’re practically writin’ this thing!

But I guess that is my point.

Cosmic Roolz though there may be, it don’t meanya can’t break ‘em from timeta time — an’ neither does it mean nuthin’ gonna work ifya go break ‘em big time, nor even that no bountiful an’ happiness-packed good can ever come buzzin’ like kissed-out hunny bees from a union hitched up on the edgea OBLIVION.

Gotta figure there’re plentya godawful mismatches out there among people with no clue ‘bout astrology don’t even know how fuckoed they truly are.

“Let’s make out in the woods, where I can stick my tongue in your throat till you howl like a wolf,” says she, havin’ never consulted a horoscope, never checked in on astrology compatibility — an’ never found out she is Sagittarius.

“Fine,” says he, consultin’ a list longer than the Bayeux Frickin’ Tapestry, “but there’s the cleaning to do first — not to mention the administration, the ironing, and planning for our vacation in 2029. So why don’t you go walk the dog for a couple hours, and when everything here is spotless, I’ll wash and iron the bedsheets so they’re spankingly pristine and clean, and we can spend the rest of the day fucking one another’s brains out so hard and so good that this little ol’ place we call home will make the national news as an earthquake zone registering 9 on the Richter scale.”

(Most Virgos are smart enoughta know they are Virgos, but this guy is clearly a relative halfwit in that department.)

Thenya got other relationships pullin’ in some real power whoopee from a union fated to collapse don’t even realise their beautylicious existence depends entirely on rules they got no idea their amour flaunts — kinda like Donald Rumsfeld’s unknown unknowns, only with more provocative undergarments an’ mouth-wateringly curvaceouser insertables.

“Take me from behind! In a costume! Mouthing stream of consciousness gibberish in Ancient Greek!”

“Handcuffed to the ceiling and free swinging like a pendulum — or with the both of us sealed in the leather cocoon I hand-crafted from prime buffalo hide in my secret mountain hideaway?”

(Any fully functional Libra-Capricorn pairings out there recognize this scenario? I figureya gotta have not the faintest frickin’ clue what is gowin’ on astrologically, spiritually — an’ prolly even financially — to enjoy that baby.)

Gotta figure also that Moons an’ risin’ signs, Venus an’ Mars — an’ even frickin’ Plooto — all got plentya inflooence down deep in the astrological mix.

Coupla mismatched Sun signs up top could work out real sweet if evrythin’ links up compatible an’ perfect down deep inya planetary undercarriage.

Want my opinion?

This whole system is a frickin’ mess, tellya.

What Do You Propose As A Solution To This Astrology Compatibility Conundrum, O Princess? (And I Must Tell You Here That I Am Only Sticking Around Because That Last Part About Ironing The Bedsheets Really Turned Me On And I’m Hoping For More Of The Same, Preferably Involving A Washing Machine, Please.)

Ha!

We kneelin’ on top together — or layin’ our fanjos out flat on the metalwork for max vibe power?

I guess the thing is, this whole astrology compatibility deal is all about how adventurous you wanna be.

How comfortable, how risky, how rhythmically functional, how fraught with peril.

‘Steada Cosmic Roolz — unbreakable — gotta figure on a hierarchya possiblilities — all makeable (but mebbe with consequences).

Playin’ for the home team is prolly easier than mixin’ it up with the away side — allaya Mojo Suite (emotional, sexyool, spiritual, financial, practical, aspirational etc) fully catered for an’ powerin’ out inta the blue on a tightly defined directive ticket — but the green grass on the other sidea the hill got advantages also, as in how that very same Mojo Suite gonna mebbe bust out on a more uncertain an’ potentially rewardin’ growth ticket, pullin’ in challenges, setbacks an’ unexpected discoveries as furniture an’ dinner plates are thrown about at random.

An’ I would wantchya to think about that.

Earth, Air, Fire an’ Water all got their own ways they wanna be.

A Fire partnership mebbe gonna be intrinsically more volatile than its Earth counterpart, but it still has a tightly defined directive ticket.

Not so the Sagittarius-Virgo relationship I mentioned earlier, before I sat up top on the washin’ machine withya to drill down, max spin, on my concludin’ vibe.

In this relationship, Sagittarius gonna open Virgo up sum, an’ I wantchyata know how powerful a force this kinda Earth Revved up by Fire combo can be.

Gotta thinka Star Wars here — only insteada the Jedi pluckin’ Luke Skywalker from his day-to-day tedium, they chose Cinderella.

On the flipside, what does Sagittarius really need?

Another fire sign stokin’ ‘em up, aggravatin’ their violent tendencies, an’ urgin’ ‘em to yell CUNT! alla the time?

Not always.

Jus’ as the Cinderella story got its own transformational punch, there are plentya cool narratives out there in books an’ movies feature the upstart whupped inta shape an’ saved from herself by sum kinda ‘informed master’ figure— or himself ifya are thinkin’ Dr Strange … an’ I wanna thinka Dr Strange, trooly I do, O Benedict, Benedict, Benedict…

Ahem.

As anyone watches Joopiter an’ Saturn knows, journeys can be equally about expansion an’ compromise, abandon an’ rigor, exploration an’ diligence — an’ sumtimes these qualities flip over.

For Sajjo, is not the Virgoan rulebook a kinda ultimate wilderness survival escapade, diligence turned exploration?

“I am Sagittarius — romping o’er hill and dale in search of freedom, tail swishing freely about my gorgeously toned equine ass.”

“Fine. But I am Virgo — and I’m gonna sit you on a rock in the middle of the ocean till you quit fucking around and squandering your life. Want freedom? Okay, so go wanderlust yourself the heck outta that panorama, you self-destructive bohemian buffoon!”

An’ on the flippo…

“I am Virgo — passionately bound to routines and strategies for teasing precisely what I want from life with my forensically-honed cerebellular colossus.”

“Fine. But I am Sagittarius — and I want you to know you are wasted in that stupid lab working for that asshole takes advantage of your generosity. So I say we move to Japan, throw out all our old clothes, and get you the intermittent urinary catheter design technician’s salary your nitpicky fucking brain deserves.”

For Virgo, is not Sajjo’s boundless optimism an’ lust for travel kinda compromise transformed into expansion? Diligence turned into exploration?

Same intrinsic Virgo deal, only bigger an’ better?

I am only speculatin’ here, an’ I am only usin’ a few limited examples, but I hopeya get the picture.

First The Washing Machine…And Now The Intermittent Urinary Catheter! Are You Trying To Bring Me Off Here Or What?

Hey, I jus’ wanna bring evryone onboard here.

With the deal.

See, astrology is not set in stone.

FFS alla the planets’re spinnin’ in thinnest vapor, an’ mosta ‘em are either ice, gas or crap.

Only permanence is the math underlyin’ their synchronized flingo (an’ I will say more about that another time).

Rest is kinda open season — energies an’ archetypes playin’ out as pan-MMORPG narrative.

Truth is, fate is options, choices, decisions.

Hard an’ easy. Sweet an’ bloody. Washin’ machine an’ intermittent urinary catheter.

An’ much as we wanna hitch evrythin’ up all perfect astrology compatibility fixed done sunset credits roll, sumtimes…

…oh, jus’ a few sweet sumtimes…

… the rightest wrong person ever swoops inta our life from outta frickin’ nowhere — an’ we gotta be real smart ‘bout what we choose gonna happen next…

Title Image c/o Alexas-Fotos @ Pixabay

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