<span class="sdata" title="24"></span> <span class="sdata" title="07, 2017"></span>

5 Reasons Why Leo Types Are Walkin’ Motivation GIFs

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-09-17T11:45:37+00:00"></span> |Creativity, Leo, Motivation, Practical Astrology|0 Comments

5 REASONS WHY LEO TYPES ARE WALKIN’ MOTIVATION GIFs

& How YOU Can Cruise Along In The Slipstream!

Leo got creative heart in frickin’ abundance, tellya.

An’ in our self-improvin’ Noo Millennial times, anyone smart can look in on what Leo got … an’ take summa that pulsatin’ lifeforce, make it their own.

Gonna showya how YOU TOO can pull on plenty progenerative Leonine majesty — an’ transform from Lame Loser to Walkin’ Motivation GIFs Triumph Person.

(If’n you are Leo anyways, or ifya got Leo stackin’ up the glam power sumplace else inya chart, my wise astro counsel gonna count DOUBLE, K?)

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs — The LEO Essence

Gotta figure sum people landed here cozza motivation ‘steada astrology.

Personally, I do not believe in an uncosy Venn Diagram arrangement says the two are separate.

But anyways, ifya are thinkin’ FFS what am I doing on a lame-ass astrology website??,  jus’ pretendya are a heretic attendin’ a friend’s funeral.

Religious hymn shows, you sing along, right?

Don’t have to believe a word to feel alla the pain.

So here’s how the Leo essence plays, super synopsis style…

Positive deal, Leo combines abundant creativity with abundant generosity.

Leo is courageous, Leo is glam, Leo is warm.

Problem is, you don’t say thanks … an’ really mean it, or ifya call out their gifts or diss their effortlessly persuasive acumen — that is when the big bad cat takes over.

Aggressive, pouty, real hurt.

Real fuckin’ dangerous.

Course, there’s more to Leos than this, but ifya are determined to max out on becomin’ a walkin’ motivation GIF, we gotta start sumplace.

Cool thing is — that sumplace is YOU.

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs Hot Tip #1 —

It’s All About YOU

Wanna look outsideya self for motivation?

Uhm … that is called inspiration, sweetie.

Go check the dictionary — inspiration is about intake.

Converso-flippo, the motivation stuffs are all insideya.

They are there whenya wake up, there whenya go to sleep, there evry timeya take a pee.

Don’t wanna get too lost off on AI imagry here, but ifya thinka yourself as a ROBOT for a sec, mebbe sum basic apartment cleanin’ droid, then askya self what is goin’ down in that tin can’s program?

How in heck does he hoover the carpet, tweezer fluff outta hidey holes, or wash dishes without sum kinda activatin’ direction?

So, listen — you want motivation, you got it.

It ain’t noplace other than YOU.

So quit lookin’ around tryin’ to find the fucker under a rock, K?

Wastea. Your. Time.

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs Hot Tip #2 —

It’s All About COURAGE

Again, we gotta be specific.

Courage don’t always mean leapin’ offa tall buildings an’ battlin’ armored reptilian hordes with sum dinky katana/whip combo.

Sumtimes it jus’ means facin’ the music.

An’ that is what Leo does so good.

She says This is Me, This is What I Got — For sure I am gonna use it an’ make shit roll.

See, cos when I mentioned earlier how Leo got creative energies in abundance, mebbe you made the one critical mistake a whole lotta people make when they hear that.

Mebbe you thought — yeah, Leo has MORE of that creative energy stuff than me.

But what if they actschly got less than you?

Less soulful Self Power?

Jus’ a tiny flickerin’ flame?

I ain’t no mathematician, but I figure anyone got courage to embrace what they got insidea ‘em, an’ accept their gifts an’ talents for what they are, prolly they got more motivational clout than a supersavant genius wastes their life lookin’ under rocks an’ readin’ inspirational literature, desperately seeking “themself” — the same self they got with ‘em evry time they fuckin’ pee.

So — go faceya own music, K?

Lap it up, whatever its seemin’ discord an’ bum notes … an’ however hard that process may be.

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs Hot Tip #3 —

It’s All About GENEROSITY

You playin’ along with Moi so far, prolly you might feel a huuuuuuuum from deep inside right now.

Motivation is there, motivation is insideya, motivation wants sumthin’ to happen.

Gotta figure how mebbe the processa happnin’ stuff is a kinda alchemical reaction.

You takes a buncha motivation stuffs, you makes with the alchemical wuzza-wuzza — an’ future inspiration froths up outta the frickin’ cauldron.

So, yeah, course we all want self-perpetuatin’ motivation, like quittin’ tobacco (if’n ya pseudo-robotically wanna) or ditchin’ the cellulite (if’n you pseudo-robotically needta), butchya gotta watch out for the closed loop.

Gotta rememberya Greek mythology here — the Aeneasella the Frog Queen fable…

Aeneasella sits on a rock all day, catchin’ flies.

Kinda like Narcissus, she is self-obsessed.

Further she can throw out her tongue, the more flies she catches — an’ natchrly, she becomes quite a spectacle.

Attention kinda goes to her head.

An’ this is where the Narcissus deal comes in — the kinda vanity sumtimes manifests when Leo turns inward on self self self an’ omitsta make all generous with the music insidea her she seen an’ faced.

At this point, prolly Aeneasella shoulda said, “thanks for the applause — hey, why don’t I try throwing my tongue out even further? More flies I get, more food we got for everyone.”

But Aeneasella was not generous.

She kept her motivation to herself, an’ this is how inspirational her gifts an’ her story got to be…

Oh, see — cos she flung out her tongue further an’ further, an’ she got fatter an’ fatter an’ fatter, an’ the applause turned to gasps … an’ screams of abject terror, till finally Aeneasella flung her tongue out SO FAR her fuckin’ asshole tugged up hard from behind her an’ ripped her bloated froggy body inside out.

So — you got motivation gowin’ down, go share it out, K?

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs Hot Tip #4 —

It’s All About SHOWTIME

Wanna know what is so lame ‘bout life on Earth?

Mosta the time, it is a writhin’, creepin’, pulsatin’ shit-fest.

You got maggots squirmin’ round insidea dead rats, ants crawlin’ all over one another in a subterranean hellhole — an’ alla that weirdsy semi-transparent deep sea schwango flibble flobblin’ around on the ocean bed.

Sheeeesh! Look away NOW!

But ifya got some creative offerya motivated up real brave from outtaya own discordant music stuffs, FFS you gotta put on a show.

Tellya, theater is an illoominatin’ superwindow on reality.

You got nuthin’ much different from reality on show there through her window, but she is choosy an’ calculatin’ with her message — an’ she transforms otherwise evryday maggotyness into spectacle.

Leo is showy, flamboyant, mebbe even the worst kinda vanity-snortin’ asshole, but the essential deal gowin’ on here is elevation.

Gotta figure a king or queen got sumthin’ real smart to say about elevation!

Always, there is a level higher to be reached, a bigger platform upon which to stage ideas or motivation-derived products — be they poems or songs or apartment cleanin’ robots with pulse-action dusters bustin’ outta their dicks.

Coolest thing about hoomans is … we ain’t fuckin’ maggots.

An’ what our motivation brings to bear upon the world don’t gotta be no lacklustre vanilla.

Otherwise, what is the fuckin’ point?

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs Hot Tip #5 —

It’s All About PRIDE

Do sumthin’ smart, you gotta own it.

Do sumthin’ takes allya got — courage to see it, courage to deliver it — you gotta own it.

Do sumthin’ transforms the livesa others for the super positive whenya are generous an’ give it away — you gotta own it.

Do sumthin’ people remember … cosya lifted ‘um up sum — you gotta own it.

An’ why so?

To guarantee your place toppa the cheesey smiley Sun Shines Outta My Frickin’ Ass leaderboard?

Hell, no — cos that ain’t pride, that is hoobris.

Gotta remember the whole pointa motivation is how it is not 100% reliable or successful.

Not evrythin’ gonna work out.

Do sumthin’ dumb, you gotta own it.

Do sumthin’ takes allya got — courage to see it, courage to deliver it — an’ it BOMBS — you gotta own it.

Do sumthin’ impacts not so good on the livesa others for super stoopids whenya are generous an’ give it away after it all looked real neat on paper — you gotta own it.

Do sumthin’ people remember … cos they mockya for it relentlessly — you gotta own it.

That is a hard kinda pride, but without it, prolly you gonna spendya life at the mercya forces you cannot control.

Hey, so when you done sum good an’ took a real shot at bustin’ out on positive zeal, gotta giveya self credit, K?

Show don’t last forever, an’ too many people either can’t or won’t contribute positively.

So take heart an’ contribute positively.

Motivation is all about YOU — reasonya heart beats.

Motivation is all about COURAGE — gotta have heart to faceya own music.

Motivation is all about GENEROSITY — gotta have heart to go dish the bounty.

Motivation is all about SHOWTIME — gotta have heart to elevate vanilla to spectacle.

Motivation is all about PRIDE — gotta have heart to own your shit, good or down the frickin’ pan.

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs — Go Step Out & Be One

You feel it now?

That boom boom boom thingya got gowin’ down deep inside — even more regular than takin a pee?

Then, hey — whatchya fuckin’ around here for?

Go join alla the other walkin’ motivation GIFs captivatin’ attention in the writhin’ maggot panorama.

Go make like a LEO.

Ifya have enjoyed this article, an’ the insanely positive vibe it thrusts beforeya, you might wanna look in at more motivation stuffs I got — like my first ever blog post or this practical mindfulness exercise for Fire Signs. If, however, you jus’ want THE TITTIES — then go HERE.

Title Image c/o Plasterbrain @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

SAGITTARIAN FIREPOWER

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

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

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

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

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

Gotta figure life was tough before the Rennayesance.

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

Sum lousy Dear Diary that all was.

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

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

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

Anyways, to hell with alla that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cos you got your bow withya, right?

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

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

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

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

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

Then knock it, ready to fire.

*scowls*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sum sweet spot jus’ outta reach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wherein, quirka fate, lyethya twist?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*FFS … c’mon…*

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

We have those already; they are here.

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

Sit idle?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Semen here is jus’ a metaphor.

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

Or any coupla anythin’.

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

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

Whateverya got right now — call it out.

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

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

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

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

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

Wieldin’ that bowa yours gonna take sum physical aptitood.

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

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

But I wanna pullya up on sumthin’.

Bow weighs less than air, so whydya lean back?

Gotta stay upright, gotta stay on your feet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Point is, do not fix to fireya imaginary bow.

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

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

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

Fwoooooooooooooooooooooooossshhhh!

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

This a bunny worth eatin’?

Or didya jus’ target a dud?

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

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

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

*scowl* *pout* *poopy pants*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good stuff kinda jus’ starts stackin’ up.

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

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

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

I would so that, for sure.

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

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

But not always, an’ not forever.

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

Actschly, lemme rephrase that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heart to go seek, heart to share.

Otherwise what is gowin’ on?

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

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

Title Image c/o RoyalHoliday @Morguefile

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

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

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

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

<span class="sdata" title="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

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

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

cos I am a real lazy fucker.

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

Your Aries Noo Moon Date With Audaciously Tweakoed Fate

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

YOUR ARIES NOO MOON DATE WITH AUDACIOUSLY TWEAKOED FATE

It is time to preen up an’ head out.

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

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

Whateverya got — get it started.

Whateverya want — take action.

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

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

An’ tonight, that ritual is simple fable.

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

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

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

Your Aries Noo Moon Date With Inspirational Fable!

Once upon a time there were three Billy Goats Gruff.

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

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

Nuthin’ else remarkable about ‘em, I guess.

I mean, c’mon — goats!

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

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

But, see — they ran outta grass.

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

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

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

But Baby Billy Goat was havin’ nonea it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be smart.  Be audacious.  Be brave.

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

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

Title Image c/o Pixel Sepp @ Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="27"></span> <span class="sdata" title="02, 2017"></span>

Stillness For The Volatile

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-04-15T12:58:06+00:00"></span> |Creativity, Fire Signs, Meditation, Practical Astrology, Stillness|0 Comments

Thing I love about candles is how their flames sumtimes still to risin’ points an’ hover over the wick like suspended orange raindrops.

I would wanna believe this calmin’ fire fell outta the Sun an’ momentarily freeze framed jus’ so’s it could touch on my heart.

Course, you gotta get good an’ still to experience this kinda flame, an’I would wanna speculate that Water an’ (in particular) Earth signs got a head start on that score.

They will happily sit with stuff awhile, nurture an’ support it, an’ that is why we need ‘em in our Zodiac team.

*Even though they piss us dearly with their stoopid foibles on occasion.*

But what ifya are a Fire person?

Fulla innate catalytic energy an’ dangerous elemental spirit hellbent on ignitin’shit?

It ain’t rocket science, but I figure prolly that kinda fiery nature don’t sit too well with bein’ still — or serenely meditative, or whateverya wanna call that Buddhasticalistics deal.

Cos ifya are FIRE, you gotta jump around, stoke shit up, right?

Thing is, that urgeya got meansya might miss out on summa the sweetness comes from steppin’ outsidea the searin’ heatya call home, relinquishin’ the urgeta dance engulfed in flames, an’ lettin’ slip all flickerin’ apparel till squido an’ dick alike can shakedown in tranquility’s calmin’ buff.

Aries, Leo, Sagittarius — Here’s The Problems You Got

Here’s how I see the stillness dilemma playin’ out for alla you FIRE types — an’ this prolly gonna figure also for anyaya got Fire in Le Grand Booby Doo (ie Moon, Mercury or Mars).

Gotta say, Aries, you got mebbe the biggest problem hackin’ the stillness schwango.

Anythin’ excitin’ happens, you gotta be up an’ on it — an’ if nuthin’ is happnin’, you gotta start it up.

It is like a frickin’ reflex. Fused with compulsion. An’a whole buncha brute lust grafted on by a crack-crazed plastic surgeon.

Most any other statea bein’ pumpsya fulla big time antsy impatience makesya wanna strangle sum fucker, an’ sittin’ quiet an’ serene before a soothin’ flame is a loooong way downya lista potentialities comparedta, say, snuffin’ the splutterin’ flickero right offa the wick cosya are pacin’ around, shakin’ your fists like sum ragin’ demon.

So, yeah — stillness don’t come natural for Aries.

For Leo, flames exist to be stoked an’ nurtured till their warmin’ heat kisses on evryone inya loop.

Fire gone out is the metaphorical deatha all Sparky, your personal responsibilityta provide for others kinda embarrasingly diminished.

See fire, you gotta grow it bigger, play with the flames till they put on a show.

Stillness for Leo prolly gonna feel like bein’ an extra in sum wasteaspace cheapo TV show.

Why the fuck do that? What is wrong with jus’ gowin’ sleep for like a frickin’ week?

For Sagittarius, gotta have sum humonstrous an’ inspirin’ beacon roarin’ offa the mountaintop so no one ever hasta live in darkness.

I figureya contemplate plentya stuff — how elseya gonna get to be so loudmouth fuckin’ stoopid? — an’ you do so on a genuinely filosophical level, but in tandem with that, you gotta be vaultin’ over boulders in the wilderness or pumpin’ your butt in the gym, clad in suitably sporty FFSwear.

To hell with stillness!

That is howya muscles turnta wobbly moosho like academics’ brains an’ you grow old an’ feeble an’ useless tillya bend all weirdo sub-athletic whenya are exercisin’ in a sexyool capacity.

So — all three FIRE signs jus’ ain’t natural stillness persons, K?

Go Take Big Time Action Onya Chilled Out Reflection Meditation Stuffs

Far as stillness goes, you Fire people’re srsly fuckoed.

Bein’ still prolly … like, I dunno … jus’ kinda feels wrong.

(An’ I gotta clarify here ‘bout Leo mebbe spendin’ more time than most other signs crashed out in the sack withya tinfglydanglies hangin’ out: this ain’t the kinda stillness I am talkin’ ‘bout here, so get up, pull on sum undergarments, an’ tryta look at least halfways interested, K?)

Thing is, I figure the biggest problem all Fire signs face is burnout, an’ the greatest creative gift they could offer ‘emselves is way more PROACTIVE CHILLOUT TIME.

So go dig out a candle an’ a frickin’ lighter RIGHT NOW, K?

Cos between you & Moi, we gonna indulge in sum interactive meditative chillo, tellya.

(Any non-Fire people stoppin’ by can play along also, but I would wanna remind allaya kinked-out Air types that displaysa tricksy multitaskin’ are not required on this occasion, so mountya candles sumplace ain’t a fanjo or asshole.)

Jus’ gonna hum a coulpla inspirational dolphin anthems whileya go sortya tapers.

*beep squeep bweeeeeep, booby doo*

*fleeeep fleeeeeep squeeeedeee boooo*

Tellya, I frickin’ love dolphins…

Cool Kinda Stillness Tips For Fire Fiends Got Smackohot Lips

K, this is gonna take like 10 minutes.

First 3, you spark up an’ get comfy.

Stillya beathin’, dropya shoulders, letchya stoopid To Do lists ooze from outtaya floppo fingertips.

If it helps, mebbe thinka sum celebrity yoga enthoosiasts like Drew Barrymore, Gwyneth Paltrow, Russell Brand an’ Madonna, an’ imagine ‘em all dissolvin’ into a kinda soup which magically replacesya blood for the duration.

Do not expecta feel comfy (‘specially Aries) — jus’ do the bestya can, K?

Gonna mellow asya roll along.

Meantime, watch how the flame stills an’ rises to a sharp point.

Like a fiery, orange raindrop fell outta the Sun an’ momentarily freeze framed beforeya eyes so’s it could touch onya heart.

Stillya breathin’, quit squirmin’ around, an’ it will do that.

(Cool thing about candles, they are ultra trained up this way.)

Restaya 7 minutes, I wantchata reflect real good on the vulnerable spirit glowin’ sweet beforeya.

Without it, Aries got no zest, Leo got no abundance, an’ Sajjo got eternal freedom from bein’ a 24/7 pain in the ass.

Watch ‘specially close for how this tiny flame reaches up, high as it can go.

Wick says, “you cannot spread out an’ engulf shit, there is nuthin’ closeby you can ignite.”

But the flame rises up regardless in the one direction available to its catalytic passion — fulla darin’, fulla bravado, fulla illoomination.

Anyone said size don’t matter never looked in on this trooly beautiful spectacle.

Flame wantsta grow, up an’ out an’ forever.

So gaze upon desire an’ courage an’ energy in their infancy, lit up as a spear tip gonna pierce all space it can reach.

Aries — Here Be Stillness

This is where Aries starts out.

Weaponized fire, knowin’ zero fear — yet so innocent, it could vanish with a whisper.

Touch its tip to anythin’ you wanna, an’ the ignition ball is rollin’.

But here in this baby flame, that energy is kinda pre-started up likeya could cup it inya hand an’ feel on its secrets.

I guess it is a kinda divine purity, speakin’ only truth, actin’ only naively — but whose power, if placed in the wrong hands, is instantly terrifyin’ an’ destructive.

This is tippa your spear, your combative spirit — forged from the soula eternal beginnings.

Think on that, Aries.

Think on how that rage an’ zestya got really gotta get sum control.

Gonna strike out, gotta have sum clear direction.

An’ here it is.

All you gotta do is sit with it awhile.

Breathe soft, an’ take in the still, chilled volatilica.

Leo — Here Be Stillness

For Leo, this candle flame is warmth an’ heart, the softest an’ gentlest incarnationa generosity you gonna see.

Gotta be humble here before this baby.

It’s a meager show, a feeble heat, compared to the more sensually generous fireballsya wanna mebbe flash around, but without it, the world is ice an’ its spirit, dead.

Without it, nuthin’ got sustainin’ energy or creative soul.

It demands a hearth be grown around it, an’ the comforta friends invited up close.

It yearnsta blossom inta sum captivatin’ spectacle; it loves so to makeya smile.

Protect it, an’ it gonna protect you.

Lay down beside it an’ sleep easy — less’nya lay too close an’ set fireta your frickin’ hair.

Think on that, Leo.

Think on how that abundant bonhomie you got really gotta be recharged an’ rested.

Here it is, that peace.

All you gotta do is sit with it awhile.

Breathe soft, an’ take in the still, chilled volatilica.

Sagittarius — Here Be Stillness

For Sajjo, whatya got in this tiny flame is the essencea inspiration an’ illoomination, pure an’ simple — an’ true.

Without it, there is only darkness an’ descent into barbarity where fire sparks only harm.

What a gift it is that a ragin’ elemental force gonna sear an’ carbonize letsya behold it so — all naked an’ honest an’ free.

Gotta carry this flameta the edgea the world, offer its modest glory upto the yearnin’ Void an’ know with blunt certainty that the darkness got nuthin’ in its locker gonna resist bein’ reduced to mere shadow by this fickle colossus.

Flame pierces air, mebbe wantsta pierce the sky — so carry it sumplace real high.

Whatchya got here is a beacon seed, onea billions an’ zillions.

Think on that, Sagittarius.

Think on how ideals’re eternal, seeds fired far inta the Void by those with strength to run out to the edgea beyond.

Here is it, inspirin’ glimmer sparks the journey.

All you gotta do is sit with it awhile.

Breathe soft, an’ take in the still, chilled volatilica.

Ow! Owww! Owwwww! I Got Fuckin’ Cramp!

Like I said, do not expecta feel comfy, ‘specially not the first time.

I guess it is jus’ a casea figurin’ the right position.

Gotta say, kneelin’ down for 10 minutes is a no-no.

You get up, your legs gonna go tinglywobbly likeya sat on sum anesthetic cactus.

An’ ifya are skinno like Moi, prolly you gonna wanna cushion so’s your butt bones don’t tear holes inya carpet an’ dropya downta the Earth’s core, strata by strata, like alla that Alien drool fucked the Nostromo.

Jus’ gotta experiment, I guess, same as with other bendyshapey stuffs.

Point is, you figure it right, you gonna feelya done yourself a big favor whenya finish.

An’ this is only the starta what might happen.

Make time for sum Firetaper Me-Time — more’n 10 minnows ifya wanna — an’ you can grow any ideas come outta it.

My suggestions’re only for starters, an’ I figure best thing is ifya generate imagry makes sensetaya as a yoonique individyool.

Main deal ista figure sum creative, wakeful, meditative Me-Time don’t depend on chargin’ around, flauntin’ your doodads or shootin’your mouth off asya cartwheel through the forest.

That is default settin’ for FIRE, an’ you are mebbe missin’ out.

Way I see it, you got a real fired-up ON switch, an’ sumtimesya gotta figure a little OFF.

Punctuated volatilica — sumtimes flarin’ out, sumtimes chilled — that is the secreta endurin’ FLAME ON, tellya.

Fire!

Fire!

Fire!

You wanna go play with that?

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<span class="sdata" title="18"></span> <span class="sdata" title="02, 2017"></span>

Pisces — Suspense, Solution & Ultimate Resolution

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-04-08T13:41:35+00:00"></span> |Creativity, Illusion, Pisces, Resolution|0 Comments

pisces blog headline shows solution and journey

The momenta blisstasmal dissolution is upon us!

Aquarius tossed us up in the stark, lightnin’ bolt air — an’ now Pisces gonna drop us deep into the Zodiac’s most expansively creative waters.

Gotta thinka all those movies you seen where the hero is drugged or concussed or under the influencea sum reality-shiftin’ hex.

There are shadows an’ shapes, an’ plentya sensual textures that feel like they are merged with evrythin’ you got insideya, an’ even thoughya kinda recognize summa what is gowin’ on, the experience — in alla its soul-caressin’ haze — kinda never hangs together, like your life is bein’ blended by sum deliciously benevolent alchemist.

pisces personality traits indicate fortune

We gonna plunge together into this eternal outta-phase sargasso an’ drift free in a blur, kissin’ on one another with no clue where our frickin’ lips jus’ went.

Lotsa stuff you been thinkin’, feelin’ an’ doin’ gonna mooshie downta nonsense, like that dull throbba HWWWSSSHHH ya hear inya ears whenya are underwater.

Listen hard, an’ you gonna hear how this ambient an’ seemingly relentless sound got the germa all possibility swooshyin’ up insidea its white noise NUTHIN’.

All sensation gonna be this way — evrythin’ comin’ gonna be super gestatory, like floaty jellyfish suspended in the murk — an’ when the Pisces deal is done, an’ the Spring Equinox flares outta Aries’ asshole, these beautifully amorphous shapes creatin’ themselves insideya gonna slooshie outta the water an’ walk on land as naive an’ darin’ creatures hellbent on life.

Evrythin’ swills round in the deepest waters right now, beyond definition, beyond boundaries, beyond riska drownin’.

Evrythin’ dissolves as of the weekend.

reach for the stars with pisces motivation fish

So you got one mission an’ one mission only for the next few weeks:

Allowyaself to be consoomed, gazmoliciously intoxicated.

(An’ I would wanna say to any minors readin’ — or anyone survived the 60s without bein’ turnedta poisoned ash — this is not an edict from on astrological high to go mix it up with mind-bendo narcotics cos I am speakin’ metaphorically here, an’ even if I wasn’t, YOU DO NOT NEED ANYA THAT STUFF RIGHT NOW COS PISCES IS SWEET AN’ KIND AN’ HER ILLUSIONS NEVER GONNA HURTYA.)

Gotta figure next few weeks we gonna be on a creative an’ emotionally supple roll, with no target to aim for other than total abandonment to the moment.

“We are as virgins before emerging dreams, sages before unfolding mysteries, visionaries before spill and shimmer of pure existence.”

See? I jus’ made sumthin’ up already.

An’ — miraculously — it is even in frickin’ English!

pisces loves February 19th

Wanna jus’ say also that from Monday 27th, this blog gonna be a regular fixture in an implausibly mutable Cosmos fluxin’ out on eternal change an’ uncertainty.

What this means for you, sweet observera wonders, is that you got a safe an’ dependable harbor whereya can set down anchor evry Monday an’ soak up my wise astrological counsel.

Got sum cool Fire stuffs juicin’ away in my vestibule, an’ we can prolly all rely on Mother Cosmosis to bowl us a whole buncha synchronized planetary swimmo gonna suggest zodiac-type themes an’ provoke filosophical discussions.

Also — rely on Moi to jus’ go make shit up.

That sound like a plan you want in on?

Gotta hope so, cos remember — I got no toad gonna keep me company in my secret sanctum.

All I got is stars — an’ also right now a kinda salad-themed wrap with sum sorta salami in it, dunno what it is.

I am such a frickin’ loser, tellya.