<span class="sdata" title="30"></span> <span class="sdata" title="12, 2017"></span>

Why 2018 Is New Year AF Till 2020

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-12-30T16:29:30+00:00"></span> |Capricorn, Mother Cosmosis, Motivation, My Apartment, Resolution, Star Sign Shit, Uncategorized|0 Comments

WHY 2018 IS NEW YEAR AF TILL 2020

We reach that point in the year when endings become new beginnings, farewells become greetings, an’ most evrywan gets titsed offa their assholeflaps on alcohol an’ Noo Year rezzo frickin’ lootions.

As an astrologer person, I see both smart an’ stoopid in this unique moment.

The whole resolootion deal is smart because

1) Change is inevitable, so why not make an effort to command it?

2) Sumtimes you gotta tidy upya life — especially frickin’ Geminis.

3) When evrywan is pullin’ on sumthin’ together it makes stickin’ with the willpower an’ followthru seem so much easier, even though it actschwlly ain’t — like weary marathon runners encouraged by their peers to go the distance or world-beatin’ burger eatin’ champs motivated by the cameras to swallow quarterpounder #57 an’ rupture evrythin’ between their oesophagi an’ their buttholes.

The stoopid part is even easier to nail — an’ that is where Mother Cosmosis comes in (quite literally, as it turned out).

Oh Yippee! — Are You Going To Tell Us A Story, O Princess?

tbh I was merely gonna relate a poignant anecdote, but ifya are so desperate for entertainment, mebbe I will embellish, add flourish — an’ plain ol’ lie

Dunno what YOU were doin’ the weekend before Christmas, but I was crashed out in my apartment nursin’ nostrils streamin’ like a cumshot compilation.

My weary head ached, my stomach gurgled, an’ my limbs were so darn limp even an Ultraspazz Flopout Yoga routine was beyond me.

Trooly, I feared The Reaper.

So I am leanin’ against my refrigerator, mixin’up a cocktaila miscellaneous flooids an’ meds, when a familiar breach in the Time-Space-WTF Continuum opens up beside my lifesize cardboard Benedict Cumberbatch erecto-display … an’ celestial vapors waft into view.

“Got any stronger meds than Cerebellufen?” I say as Mother Cosmosis steps outta the Void. “My hippocampus is about to go frickin’ viral.”

M.C. flashes me her best FFS Balestra, why do you always insist on ruining my trademark spectacular entrances with lame excuses for existence that subvert the meaningful dialog I had planned … and ultimately beach us both in the worst kind of limbo where only exaggerated nightmare date stories offer any kind of succor? smirk — an’ slaps me hard in the back. “Just cough it all up and you’ll be fine, darling.”

Gotta admit, she sure dislodged sumthin’ there — but I was still walkin’ all wonky right up till Christmas.

“We need to discuss the hope and aspiration festival that is New Year,” she says, jammin’ a bowl under my achin’ jaw an’ pummelin’ on my back even harder. “People are so desperate for practical lifehacks at this time of year that even diehard Christian evangelists are prepared to look in on their horoscopes for clues to guide them forward through the unrelenting — and frankly, Godless — darkness. It’s a great time for bitch-crazy astrogals like ourselves to pull in the bucks for a Summer vacation someplace swanky.”

I cough up a chipotle & vodka whirlpool. “So what’s our theme? Las’ year I ran with Mortal Gloom as a Means For Necessary Soulful Transformation — mainly cos 2016 was such a fucker.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” says M.C. with a frown. “Next time I suggest The Self-Perpetuating Bunnyscape of Infinite Happiness as New Year inspiration, you run with it, okay? That virgin blog post of yours probably put millions off astrology for life.”

“Aw, c’mon — you know I’m at my best when I play the plucky Sagittarian rescuin’ hope from the jawsa all-consoomin’ Oblivion.”

“Hey, that’s your delusional self-image and not mine, sister. But I take the point about Oblivion, if only because it’s the one pitch offers scope for a month in the Bahamas instead of merely a night stop in Ontario — minus breakfast.”

“So what’s our angle for 2018? Looks good to Moi right now.”

M.C. perches deftly on the edgea my sofa. “I think so too. New Year AF. 2017 began its brief life choked by stifling backstory — like the second book in a truly lousy trilogy the author will inevitably lose all will to complete. Hope was in short supply, a dark narrative lacking rhyme and reason seemed set to write itself into the history books against many people’s wishes, and my pussy hat unravelled while I was heading over to the New York Women’s March from Pluto.”

“But I guess alla the soulful people done good in the end, right? Battled through difficult times — jus’ like how the bleak Midwinter Solstice warms sure an’ slow into Spring’s rebirth?”

“Exactly.”

“So I can lay on the sugar for my Noo Year blaaahg post this year? Drizzle honey onto the tonguesa the deservedly emboldened?

M.C. nods. “Till it oozes deep down into their bellies or overflows onto their naked breasts.”

“In fuckin’ January?

“Point taken.”

That’s A Story? The Universe’s Prime Celestial Mover Stops By Your Apartment … And You Throw Up? Where’s The Romance In That Scenario?

The Romance is exactly as I pitched it, Sweetie.

An’ this is where we get to the deliciously stoopid deal ‘bout Noo Year.

Thing is, the cyclic astro narrative spins evry year from Aries to Pisces don’t make with the catalytic sparky till the Spring Equinox.

That is the troo kickstart on renewal an’ change an’ shit.

May I recommendya pull onya feels here an’ reflect on that self-evident truth for a sec?

Whicha the followin’ scenarios fillsya heart mostest fulla leapsy boundsy gambollin’ spunky & plucky?

1) It is the Bleak Midwinter. Your butt cheeks been frozen offya shiverin’ body, evry tree been strippeda life, feeble-lookin’ birds hop stutteringly across the barren landscape with nuthin’ but hunger an’ sorrow in their eyes, an’ only a single imaginary fat guy is on hand to bleedya bank account dry an’ fillya so fulla cinnamon-flavored megacarbs you gonna be either constipated solid for a week or squirtin’ liquid figgy puddin’ outta your ass till fuckin’ Valentines.

2) Spring Fever gripsya evry wakin’ molecule an’ you feel so dirty screamin’ horny you wanna wrapya legs round anythin’ that moves an’ buck hard tillya titties squeal for mercy.

Tellya, if’n Noo Year Resolootion came bundled as a Gift Voucher steada an immutable obligation, I figure most evrywan would save it up till the Spring when the planet got way more to offer by waya transformational optimism than GIVE UP SMOKING or LOSE TWO STONE AND LEARN PORTUGUESE.

What the fuck is alla that schwango about anyways?

Surely lame goals an’ prohibitions masqueradin’ as desirable bounties despoil optimism’s iridescent sheen like guano smeared on a Homecomin’ Queen’s eyeballs?

There’s No Arguing With That, I Suppose. So Where Do We Go From Here?

We understand implicitly that like all things astrological, fixed points in time are merely flux-propelled instances conjoined in a wider narrative maxin’ out on eternal sweetness.

Far as Noo Year is concerned, this means we gotta ask how leapsy boundsy Arian overdrive gonna play out when Spring blossoms if’n we ain’t first lived through the las’ three chaptersa the Celestial workbook — specifically the Capricorn section drops like a cannonball evry Trad Reaper Season.

For a different perspective, ask what good any kinda Capricorn resolve gonna be worth when Arian action stations beckon if’n they ain’t first been refined through Winter by Aquarian Perky an’ wider Piscean Dreamostuffs.

Tellya, if’n resolootion an’ change gonna mean anythin’, fixin’ & fluxin’ gotta be amenable to Time’s dynamic ebb an’ flow — or our hearts be naught but stone.

Way I see it, opportoonities for resolootion an’ renewal spring outta evry single incendiary interplanetary dancegasm moment — primarily when the Sun switches sign, but also when other celestial shufflin’around is gowin’ down, like mebbe a sextile shimmy twixt Moon an’ Mercury.

If we wanted, we could all decide to muster annually round resolve an’ change inspired by (for example) Libran values.

Our #resolution tweets would drop in Autumn ‘steada Winter, but they would still pull on the same essential features figure in December/January … like To Do lists, willpower, habit, aspirations an’ goals (only with Libra in the drivin’ seat, recitin’ power mantras would demand pan pipe accompaniment or yodellin’ talents).

Resolve an’ change are equally supermutable an’ eternal, an’ it is only cos we muster in our droves round the Capricornian incarnation that our Noo Year desires an’ redirections pack the particular vibe they do.

Which Is What, O Princess? What Is Specifically Capricornian About The Resolutions We Make — en Masse — For New Year Compared To Commitments To Change We Make (So Often On Our Lonesome) Most Other Times?

Tellya, Capricorn resolootions are such CUNTS.

They take more stamina to make an’ keep, they are seriously life-changin’, an’ they so wanna breakya down before they makeya up big an’ strong an’ successful.

That is what makes ‘em so unapologetically hardcore.

It is like resta the year, you kinda bumble along on a self-regulatin’ morphsy autopilot — cosyin’ up to the Arian resolootion bunny iconography in Spring an’ shiverin’ from Scorpio’s Halloweensy faux rictus demands in Autumn — before

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

goddamn goat-faced REAPER drops onya at deada night an’ whuppies your head clean off with a scythe bigger’n a frickin’ bomber plane wing,

an’ screams …

“You want your life to count for something instead of being trampled underfoot by imbecile hordes, then here is how you must work your determined tits off, day after day, week after week, month after month, until the only flavor your tongue recognises is the sweet taste of total triumph!”

Way I see it, we figure on Noo Year as a time for diligent resolootion fever ‘steada any other particular time not cos there is nuthin’ trooly NEWER gowin’ down December/January than the schwango cracks off resta the year but bcs Capricorn smarts direct us to look in on the hardcore essentials we mebbe shy away from whenever less benevolently oppressive Zodiac energies’re runnin’ the show.

Capricorn says …

Hard reset. No escape. No easy ride.

saturn in capricorn pulled strings on fate back in 1991

Best parta the deal?

The unpalatable beautya 2018’s Capricornian resolootion swing is how it throws in a full 3 yearsa unrelentin’ transformational grindo to GUARANTEE we pick ourselves up an’ smarten our fuckin’ acts, big time.

(See — this is what I meant when I told Mother Cosmosis I was gonna lay on the sugar.)

Coolest resolvin’ revolver we got rn is Saturn spinnin’ his almighty frickin’ wheelhouse in Capricorn till 2020 — so any changes you powerin’ up now gonna play for keeps.

2018 is “New Year AF” till 2020 precisely cos hardcore transformation opportoonities be thunderin’ the hell outta the Cosmos an’ not jus’ the calendar.

It is not down to Moi to decide forya what changes to make or stick with, still less to proclaim from on Sagittarian high that unlessya take full advantagea this once-in-a-generation opportoonity for self-mastery as manifested in unashamedly practical resolootion an’ transformationstuffs you are a real fuckin’ dumb-as-shit slacker deserves the Universe to gobbleya up — I merely wanna point out how significant is this momentary epoch beyond

hey, yesterday it was like 2017 … and now it is like 2018! Ain’t that just the craziest thing you ever heard? Maybe we should let off some fireworks to celebrate … or go get a pizza or something.

Then What Are You Saying? What Does “New Year AF” Even Mean?

Think back to August 18th. Or April 29th. Or October 7th. Or whenevah.

You got no frickin’ Noo Year gowin’ down anya these times, no fanciful pan-globe kiss-up gonna carry evrywan along on a transformation ticket.

Prolly these were nuthinny kindsa days, I dunno.

You wake up, go work or class, hang out with friends, go bed.

Less’n you keep a journal or it wasya birthday or aliens abductedya pets, prolly these dates plucked outta the air at random by Moi mean fuck all other than … they happened.

But if astrology means anythin’ at all, its power lies forever in how it is LIVE — same as YOUR LIFE — an’ when eacha these days was the eternal present moment, no way were they about fuck all!

Down the ages, philosophers been thinkin’ a shitload ‘bout time.

Truth is, they been at it so long prolly they shoulda figured the fucker out by now, I dunno.

But one thing ‘bout time seems forever to be true is how it is a kinda container for supermomentary mortal feelin’.

Eacha those days I mentioned framed real specific feelings you had — a POV an’ precursor to action can never seep out beyond the moment gave it suck.

You got memories now, mebbe had expectations way back, but only on those days didya trooly feel an’ understand what they were as they played out beforeya eyes.

Good or bad, fulla portent or inconsequential, hamster abduction nightmare or no, your transformation through time on these days (an’ howya feelings ‘bout alla that bucked the odds on transformation potential for the fyooture) was prolly not so much different from the opportoonity available when Trad Noo Year drops

You either touch base with dancea your mojo & life circumstance an’ howya wanna take yourself forward … orya do not.

Stoopid says … pickin’ on a moment in time plucked from an arbitrarily imposed calendar an’ expectin’ miracles to happen jus’ cos evry fucker else is playin’ along is a surefire way to SUCCESS NIRVANA! (Leastaways, till mebbe January 21st, when evrythin’ falls apart.)

Smart says … today is like evry other day … August 18th to April 29th to October 7th to whenevah. It is no more nor no less special than any other day beyond it is my own precious time to be alive an’ act/reflect on how the gifts I bring to the table might benefit myself an’ others — an’ our poor, beleaguered planet.

If’n you real committed ‘bout your life an’ potential, if’n you ain’t here to jus’ idle along an’ fuck around like fodder in sumone else’s stoopid schemes, this kinda daily diligence regardin’ howya wanna be prolly gonna takeya sumplace you want.

Real deal you got right now depends on groundin’ out more on mebbe what don’t feel so snug an’ comfy — askin’ yourself whatchya prepared to do to figure on buildin’ sum real cool shit for yourself come 2020 gonna max out on hardcore benefits if only opportoonity came rollin’ along.

Bcs 2018 is Noo Year AF — an’ Capricornian opportoonity gonna roll hard an’ regular till 2020 like a boulder primed to flatten all opposition.

That clear?

Title Image c/o cocoparisienne @ Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="9"></span> <span class="sdata" title="10, 2017"></span>

Joopiter In Scorpio, 2017

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-10-10T15:23:12+00:00"></span> |Death, Love, Mother Cosmosis, Motivation, Savin' The Cosmos, Scorpio|0 Comments

WHAT JOOPITER IN SCORPIO 2017 MEANS FOR EVRYONE

Let’s talk Joopiter in Scorpio.

Cos, hey — this is the way it’s gonna be from October 10th till next frickin’ November, an’ I would not wanna thinka nowan skimpin’ on the necessary leatherwear.

Thing is, summa you astro-sensitive types prolly felt this moment comin’ weeks ago.

Joopiter’s ride through Libra has mebbe not fixed up the harmony evryone imagined, an’ now the diplomats’re done with tryin’ to make shit sweeter, gotta figure it is time for the CUNTS.

Want shit fixin’?

Holler for Scorpio!

If’n she likesya, she gonna fix shit till what went before makesya gag with regret evry timeya thinka it!

(Course, if’n she don’t likeya, she gonna fix shit HER way. Those are the frickin’ rules.)

Plenty Scorpio action is linin’ up to happen … Sun, Mercury, Venus … but right now, we gotta muse sum on the clarion call to arms from Mother Cosmosis’ most exooberant red-eyed monster.

See, cos Joopiter in Scorpio is kinda … weirdsy.

Precisely HOW Weirdsy, O Princess, Is The Jupiter In Scorpio Deal Of Which You Speak?

“Real fuckin’”, Sweetie.

An’ why so?

Main deal is how Scorpio derives alla her darkly illoominatin’ mojo from Plooto an’ operates in the shadows (typically clad as a gothwraith specterdemon clutchin’ a switchblade) whereas Joopiter dishes his optimistic Nirvanalight an’ cheery bonhomie all kinda fluorescent cumshot over rompy stompy Sagittarius’ brazenly bared buttcheeks … as Nicki Minaj blareth maxo volume from a speaker stack taller’n a frickin’ skyscraper.

Tellya, when Joopiter an’ Scorpio link up as unlikely bedfellows, I would not wanna be the bed.

So we gotta think hard how we gonna derive astro benefit from the onslaught this union gonna bring.

For sure, there gonna be optimism an’ expansion, an’ for sure there gonna be Scorpionic drilldown an’ fixup — but it ain’t gonna feel anyways sweet as no kinda Pisces dissolvin’ in Neptoon scenario … nor even Taurus bumblin’ through Mars in searcha the perfect cupcake.

tbh, the vision first presented itself to Moi was a BIG BALL FULLA JOOPITER smackin’ up against a WEENY BLACK HOLE FULLA VACUOUS SCORPIO … an’ kinda squeezin’ itself insde sumhow.

Monster gas clouds shear offa the Jovian Plusso-Orb as it judders its way into the Abyss, an’ as it descends into the infinite darkness, singin’ away like evry boy bandya ever heard tossed in a blender, Joopiter is squeezed harder an’ harder … an’ crushed smaller an’ smaller … till he is mebbe like THE PEA TRANSFORMED THE PRINCESS INTO A BLEARY-EYED INSOMNIAC, all kinda spinnin’ in the void.

But then I figured this vision got too many sexshoal connotations — so I pulled out my Bethany Wiccasplatz Everscry Crystal Ball an’ called up Mother Cosmosis for advice.

Only she was on a date

Nightmare Scenario! As An Astrologer Of Considerable Renown, That Must Have Been Like The Fortune Telling Equivalent Of Walking In On Your Parents Having Sex With Your Boss And A Random Belly Dancer!

Tell me ‘bout it.

Thing is, Mother Cosmosis is nuthin’ if not polite, an’ the first thing she said after Fuck! Shit! Bastard! was … Shoot!

“What is an appropriate image,” I began, “for explainin’ to my blog readers what the Joopiter in Scorpio vibe gonna bring an’ how they can roll with the weirdsy energies without gowin’ loopzoid?”

“Princess. How sweet of you to call. Right now.”

(At this point, I heard whisperin’, an’ sumthin’ shufflin’ around. Guess at the time I figured it was her cat. Best I can do on the Scorpio deduction front, it seems.)

“In all fairness, it’s not easy to say,” MC continued. “As most astrologers and their devotees are aware, Jupiter’s energies favor expansive ideals in the open whereas Scorpio’s methods favor consolidating practicalities deep within, and these two forces are not easy to reconcile. Have you been visited yet by a vision?

“Yeah. But it was all kinda vibratin’ chocolate egg upya cunny, an’ I figured mebbe I needed sumthin’ smarter.”

“As a metaphor goes, your vision is very much along the right lines,” said MC. “Scorpio does indeed derive much of her power from sexual energies, and a vibrating chocolate egg is the epitome of jovian sentiment, but I believe you would strike the wrong balance between the planetary and the zodiacal by suggesting that the former be consumed by the latter. In addition, reference to a vagina might alienate some members of your audience who might better identify with alternative … Scorpio-themed insertion channels.”

“So what we gonna do?”

“Like I taught you on the very first day we met at Astrology School, you must remember that the PLANET rules the STAR SIGN — and not the other way round. Think of the Solar System like a giant celestial theme park where a dozen select children take it in turns to try all the rides. Each ride is different, and the children have their own preferences also. Sometimes, children —”

“Can I stopya there? Gotta figure mosta my blog readers’re matyoor adults, an’ they mebbe ain’t gonna take kindly to no kid stuff. I don’t wanna patronize ‘em.”

Mother Cosmosis sighed. “The problem with adults let loose in theme parks is that they often show up inebriated and throw up all over the rides. Neptune and Venus can bear the stains, but it’s murder cleaning vomit off Saturn’s rings.”

“Point taken”

“My main argument is that whoever takes rides on all the various planets isn’t necessarily happy with them all, and in the case of Scorpio strapping herself in for a roller coaster ride atop Jupiter — vibrating chocolate egg teasing away at her intimate parts or no — you must bear in mind how this will feel to her.”

“The egg or the ride?” (Wish I’d selfied my grin there.)

“Both. This Jupiter/Saturn period from now until next November is both experience-as-is and memory-to-be — and Scorpio feels both intensely. Any changes taking place now will become part of her personal narrative forever, so we must consider closely what they will be. Might I suggest that you imagine you are at heart an intensely secretive person … truly protective of the things you hold dear because your keen senses have demonstrated, over and over, how life is so much more dangerous than others perceive or believe … and now you must be exposed to the full glare of the world as you are lofted high into the clouds and plummeted deep into the faux Abyss on rails of shimmering steel — as the camera catches your deepest fears as a commemorative photo … or mug … or T Shirt … or (in its Jovian exuberance) showcases the entire ride live on your every social media outlet … beams images and screams to the phones of all your friends … and enemies—”

“K, I get it.”

“Does that give you enough to help you out there with your blog? I’m … rather busy at the moment.”

(This is when the penny dropped for Moi on the date deal. I figured I heard the cat again, but it was sum gal’s voice whisperin’ please can we order the sweet course? I really wanna go back to our room and lick you into submission jelly. Plus, the clouds parted in my crystal ball an’ I beheld an unfamiliar cleavage.)

“You fuckin’ sumone?” I said.

“That is perhaps not the best way to sum up the Jupiter in Scorpio dilemma,” replied MC, “even though — bizarrely — it is.”

Tellya, a glowa pride oozed right offa me at that point like a shivera pure horror.

Coolest part?

As my Wiccasplatz crystal ball powered down the celestial vapors, I swear I heard Mother Cosmosis mention sumthin’ about takin’ chocolate eggs upstairs to our room in a carry out…

So, What Should We Expect From This Jupiter In Scorpio Period, O Princess?

For sure it is gonna depend onya individyool star sign — an’ I will mebbe cover developments as they unfold over in my regular Monthly Horoscopes, my occasional Tumblr Frippery Blaaahg, my actyool OFFICIAL Prinno B Blaaahg, or fuckin’ Twitter — but for now, gotta think how Joopiter gonna crank up the Scorpio vibe.

Joopiter MAKES BIGGER an’ MULTIPLIES.

He EXAGGERATES, ADDS ON an’ GROWS OUT.

For signs got more immediate affinity with this kinda exposure — Aries, Sagittarius — result is an obnoxiously IYF fuckin’ bloodbath.

For Scorpio, alla this rompolicious growth gonna happen behind the scenes.

Gotta figure this comin’ period till November 2018 gonna witness plenty unseen subterfuge as the Underworld expands its horizons.

This mean evil gonna be unleashed an’ devils come bustin’ outta the faucet whileya are peelin’ avocadoes in a snowflake haze?

Mebbe — butchya gotta figure the risk is there for that kinda shit always.

rn, prolly evryone gonna wake up slowly to WHAT IS ACTSCHLY IMPORTANT. To them.

You mebbe had glimmers, hunches, clues — but now there gonna be no escape.

Scorpio realization is manacles — either the “if necessary” or “FFS, Yes Please!” varieties.

Problem is, this kinda realization don’t meanya are in any position to make with the necessary fixin’ immediately, an’ it is here that the Joopiter/Scorpio deal is truly kinda lifeline refashioned from noose.

A deep (an’ mebbe lustily dirty) journey begins tamara for which nonea us may be prepared.

But Scorpio packs killer inner resourcefulness, an’ as Joopiter GROWS her an’ EXPANDS her energies, alla that real important shit — far off, impossible, heart’s Wanna Wanna Do-or-Die desire — gonna be reeled the fuck in an’ made to happen … even ifya eyeballs gotta bleed to fix it.

We ain’t pussyfootin’ now.

Joopiter in Scorpio is a noose … a lifeline … a lasso.

Trickya got right now is to follow through to the bitter end on alla the important stuff, dig deep an’ discover inner grit gonna transform the mess ain’t gowin’ away.

Life or death, lasso or noose, kinda thing.

ULP! Is That The Best Shot At Optimism Your Innately Positive & Jupiter-inspired Sagittarian Astro Wisdom Can Muster, O Princess?

Fuck off!

Title Image c/o uno smart mashup twixt

Hypno Art @Pixabay … an’ TBIT @Pixabay.

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<span class="sdata" title="18"></span> <span class="sdata" title="09, 2017"></span>

Autumn Equinox Rituals — Your Complete Guide

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-09-17T14:35:55+00:00"></span> |Autumn Equinox, Mother Cosmosis, Practical Astrology|0 Comments

YOUR COMPLETE GUIDE TO AUTUMN EQUINOX RITUALS

Gotta be honest here, but trad Autumn Equinox rituals kinda piss me off big time.

It is not that I am no astro heretic or nuthin’ … nor that I disrespect tradition an’ alla the committed souls past an’ present who been dootiful upholdersa The Way… nor even that I got a problem wearin’ the costooms or toyin’ with the regalia …

it’s jus’ I would want always for major astro celebrations to be as individyool an’ spontaneous as they are eternal.

So, hey — we are all thinkin’ ‘bout Mother Cosmosis’ imminent Summer-to-Autumn switcheroo rn, an’ we are all makin’ plans for how we gonna celebrate this celestially charged time, so I got sum suggestions for mebbe howya might wanna swooshie along with the 2017 take on Autumn Equinox rituals an’ kinda personalize it for the benefita your own unique booby doo.

I am nuthin’ if not no diligent servant regardin’ your 24/7 astro info lustiness…

Autumn Equinox Rituals — The Historical Perspective

Truth be told, Autumn Equinox prolly goes back to the dawna time, yanno, ever since Mother Cosmosis fixed up alla the planets.

Ritual part came way later — less’n dinosaurs got an angle on the deal or alla that amoeboid gloop we got right at the starta life on Earth kinda wiggled its collective proto-ass on a sympathetic vibe ticket.

Rituals only trooly start with people — world over, all kindsa styles.

An’ the main deal to understand here beyond the form alla those rituals took (an’ still take) is the essential content — the reason for botherin’ when actschwlly we got cool TV shows prolly gonna be more fun or (back in the day) bunnies to hunt down with spears made outta enemy bones.

Gotta figure evry Autumn Equinox we are celebratin’ onea the Earth’s major changesa heart — payin’ homage to life’s eternal cycles by wavin’ goodbye to our favo bikinis an’ breakin’ out the long coats an’ scarves … switchin’ out barbecues an’ fat guys showin’ crack for pumpkin soup an’ hallowe’en masks … rompin’ off for sex in the woods only to discover our goosebumps are bigger an’ stiffer than our strawbos an’ dicks.

Autumn Equinox shows, an’ the final walk back from the beach becomes the long an’ arduous trudge through wind an’ frickin’ rain to Christmas, whereupon enforced gaiety gonna collide with a real shitty selectiona gifts from relativesya hate an’ enough fatty garbage to guarantee the Noo Year boolimic puke-fest hurls an’ spews an’ regurgitates itself alla the way through to Spring.

Who wouldn’t wanna celebrate that?

What we got here with the Autumn Equinox is a self-evident reason to rejoice, whether ye be astro aficionado or astro skeptic.

However we argue among ourselves ‘bout the meaninga what is gowin’ on, the natural world has dominion over the spectacle we witness.

Evry astrologer person an’ astrology aficionado dies, planets gonna spin on, blissfully aloof as an Aquarian pop star refuses to sign autographs … give interviews or pose for the cameras … or actschwlly sing in frickin’ toon.

Always, there gonna be planetary dance an’ shimmy; an always, celestial energy gonna flux an’ spasm an’ renew as an ever-evolvin’ Cosmos demands.

Any creature comes outta that got eyes an’ life an’ heart gonna sit up an’ take real big notice, gonna reflect forevermore ‘pon the visuals, the changes, the flowa time.

Guess it is our turn now — post-gen Z to pre-Boomer — to fix on the marvel an’ draw succor from its immense stories.

Aries to Pisces, we all here this week, lookin’ on.

So we gotta ask — what is ritual?

Is it past tradition, kept alive like mebbe whenya reheat sum half-chewed frickin’ pizza for blearo-eyed breakfast after a party?

Or does 2017’s take on the Autumn Equinox ritual demand that it is uniquely US an’ uniquely OUR SHIT gotta dictate how we celebrate this yet-to-happen spectacle?

Autumn Equinox Rituals — As Cherished By “Those Who Went Before But Are Now Kinda Fuckoed”

Gotta figure alla those Deep Wicca spirits floopsyin’ around the Afterlife on their psilocybe- splattered broomstick-cum-fanjsmackers ain’t guaranteed to be deeply moved by anyone down here honorin’ the Autumn Equinox on a rote tradition ticket.

Most important thing about the Afterlife?

It goes on forever!

Las’ thing evryone in the Afterlife wants is a ritual goes on an’ on’ an’ on, year after year after year, same old same old after same old same old after same old same old.

Thinka how you gonna feel after listenin’ to Taylor Swift warblin’ [insert your total favo Swift song here!] back to back for like a frickin’ month!

Tellya, you suffer that assault onya sensorium, you gonna wanna try ANYTHIN’ BUT.

Anyways, alla the Zodiac got their own take on Autumn Equinox rituals, an’ a standard catch-all trope-packed astro workout — gleaned from learned tomes such as The 1688 Cyclopaedia of Starres, Philomena Schwimmer’s 1967 classic “Astrology for Liberated Californian Catholics”, an’ anythin’ written by Bethany Wiccasplatz before she denounced Eminem as a reincarnated poodle an’ abandoned astrology for marketin’ her own piss as a sleep sedative — weeeeell, you mebbe gotta figure alla the dead astro people we got floatin’ around in the Afterlife ain’t gonna be too pleased we can’t show ‘em sumthin’ noo.

Plus also, they are such cunts.

Aries simply ain’t interested what we all doin’.

Taurus prolly bringin’ herself off on a cloud sumplace.

Gemini seen it all before, so no way she gonna waste Eternity watchin’ your stoopid ritual ass.

Cancer don’t gotta care ‘bout nuthin’ no more cos worst case scenario (ie DEATH) already frickin’ happened … so why bother?

Leo gonna be busy performin’ her own song & dance ritual for any angels got the day off from patrollin’ Trump an’ Kimmee the Nooker an’ alla the other warmongerin’ fuckwits on their way upstairs any time now.

An’ do you really want Virgo lookin’ down onya, criticizin’ evry misquoted incantation an’ hollerin’ why you not ironed your damn robes decent, you incompetent slacker?

Afterlife don’t got no Librans in it anyways cos they all cum back down here to Terrorized Firma reincarnated as funky multicolored cephalapods go shimmer shimmer shimmer (it is troo — alla those undersea chameleon kaleidoscopes’re jus’ recycled Librans).

Scorpio is too busy figurin’ ways to escape so they can get reborn an’ re-establish their traditionally mysterious relationship with DEATH spooks ‘em out in ways that are familiar.

Sagittarius is bringin’ herself off on a cloud, same as Taurus, only she is hidin’ away on an adjacent cloud, gettin’ a real big hit offa watchin’ Ms Bovine Butt quiver slow an’ juicy.

Capricorn gonna be checkin’ the Autumn Equinox Rituals library an’ makin’ sure alla the killer secrets remain under wraps — ‘part from a coupla core inscriptions an’ sigils only she can interpret.

Aquarius is sellin’ finger spinners an’ savin’ for a way stoopid hairdo.

An’ Pisces mebbe gonna be makin’ the final touches to a dream she had ‘bout writin’ a steamy romance novel … “someday”.

So, please — do not even try to impress these useless fuckers!

They do not care.

Autumn Equinox Rituals — Your Day To Go Play In A Generous Cosmos

Wanna pick up here on sum themes I wrote out for the Spring Equinox — my 5-step Spring Fever Cures All plan.

If I’m honest, I actschwlly wanna jus’ repackage that old content an’ spare myself wastin’ valuable weekend FUN TIME writin’ out sumthin’ noo an’ specific, but I trooly only want the best for you guys … so that’s what I’m gonna do.

Autumn … Spring … hey — who fuckin’ cares?

Main deal is, life is kinda short (an’ I made that point HERE back starta Noo Year when the Reaper took holda 2016’s balls an’ scythed ‘em from reality in a manner most mortal an’ genuinely kinda cinematically propulsive), an’ we gotta squeeze alla the yummiest juice outta shit whenever it swells up with goodness before us.

Back in Spring, I set out a motivational action plan for boostin’ five key elementsa evryone’s lives.

Here’s what I hit on…

Body

Mind

Spirit

Mojo

Drive

(I know — original af.)

An’ I would now wanna suggest how any Autumn Equinox ritual you wanna figure — trad-packed to nowsumly spunky & buzzin’ — gotta fix on these essential considerations.

You want I take ‘em one at a time?

K, here goes…

Practical Autumn Equinox Rituals Theme #1 — Your Body

It is temptin’ to throw on a whole buncha uncomfortable robes an’ duct tape sum antlers to your head … but tbh, yoga pants an’ a T’re jus’ fine.

You got sumplace cosy an’ private, get naked FFS.

Point is, you wanna be comfy, relaxed — an’ healthy.

So ease back on chocolate, narcotics, an’ alcohol excesses from mebbe Toosday, do sum Yoga or sports, an’ address all bodily hair issues.

Tellya, Equinox drops, she won’t wanna see her diligent devotees sportin’ last month’s dishevelled hairdo, next month’s armpit-fluff-to-be, or any kinda Unkempt Pubo Emergency situation.

All transformations got a deeply sensyool component an’ so mucha astrology fixes on how we feel, so whatever your ritual (an’ this is especially troo for anyone plannin’ to go trad an’ invest in summa them $50 Astro Antlers they got on special offer in Wal-Mart), stay focused on your body an’ show compassion for any feelings flow on out.

Serene reflection to capes an’ candles to makin’ with the solo masturbationals, Autumn Equinox says you gotta relax all chillsum an’ be super comfy inya beautyflesh.

Practical Autumn Equinox Rituals Theme #2 — Your Mind

This Autumn Equinox moment is about eternal change.

Year on year we get Summer switchin’ out to Autumn, but back in the day, people had way different ideas ‘bout shit than we got now.

Their thoughts reflected their times, an’ their reactions to those thoughts betrayed their mortal vulnerability.

So the world is as it is rn, an’ prolly you can’t change much ‘bout that.

An’ your life is how it is rn, an’ … mebbe you got more options for transformation gowin’ down here.

Gotta listen out for that — the bittersweet discourse gowin’ down in your personal space, day to day, week to week.

See, cos there’re changes comin’, a whole world spinnin’ beyond your control.

But you got motivational action power over evrythin’ you do, an’ alla that begins withya ideas an’ dreams an’ desires.

Plz be sure to figure summa that inya ritual — pay special heed to the moment as it plays out in alla that neurocerebral schwango you call thinkin’.

Practical Autumn Equinox Rituals Theme #3 — Your Spirit

If we gonna be super scientific, we gotta conclude how Spirit got sumthin’ more dinkily YOU ‘bout it than either Body or Mind.

Flop a boobie out, take holda your dick — you got a beautiful chunka YOU there, but evrythin’ ‘bout alla that wibbloflesh been parta sumthin’ else in the past.

Before alla those shaft molecules an’ nippo atoms got to be orbitin’ Locus You … kinda like the planets orbitin’ the Sun … they was mebbe parta sumone else’s dick or boobies.

Mebbe they was gorilla boobies … or ant stomach … or jus’ a lonely boulder way down bottom in sum prehistoric lagoon.

An’ alla them thoughts you got, inextricably bound to your recycled boobie body — they really YOURS?

Tellya, you been on Twitter, Tumblr or Buzzfeed in the las’ 20 minutes, likely your head gonna be fulla asshole memes, fake nooz, an’ a whole buncha other garbage routinely clogs up an’ sullies hoomanity’s Mutually Shared Cerebellosphere like alla that crappy plastic we now got swillin’ round our oceans an’ fuckin’ on fishykind.

So you gotta set aside a space, apart from Body an’ Mind, that more trooly shimmers benign an’ beautysum with your SPIRIT.

Ain’t gonna presoom to tellya what this is — you alone got privileged access, always — but whileya are cavortin’ about the place as the Equinox drops (adherin’ to proscribed trad antlercraft or bustin’ out on your own unique ticket), please wanna be aware that you persist an’ exist beyond mortal boobiedinkies an’ anythin’ you may be thinkin’.

Spirit don’t sound like no tangible entity, but when super signiffo astro events like Equinoxes play out (an’ remember, such times are so signiffo, they matter to astro skeptics also) you got sumthin’ you can touch on that is neither Body nor Mind.

Plan to see this, discover what you got.

Practical Autumn Equinox Rituals Theme #4 — Your Mojo

Tellya, one meme we got doin’ the Shared Cerebellular Rot rounds is alla that stuff ‘bout 90%a our problems bein’ cozza our POV.

More specifically, it says how shit happens, but the worst kinda shit follows from our unhelpful reaction.

I would wanna quibble the exact 90%, an’ I got issues also with sweepin’ motivational mantras an’ ideas can read kinda weird ifya play around with the context … so like this sentiment could figure as a cool way for a super rich elite to oppress a poor or enslaved underclass … but I figure Mojo is essentially self-created.

Mojo is mebbe a stance toward reality you gonna adopt — a positive outlook got no negative opposite.

It is either there to sum degree … or it ain’t.

Tbh, whatever your view on the Equinox, its essential theme is TIME PASSES.

That means (d’oh) it reminds us how all life got a narrative — past, present an’ fyooture.

You gonna gaze into the fyooture, you mebbe gotta take a positive stance (an’ I would want alla the recent Virgo vibe to have primed evryone to fix on sum practical action plans like I mentioned recently on my Tumblr Blaaahg).

So, again, I really don’t give no fuckin’ shit ‘bout howya celebrate the Equinox, but ifya are botherin’ with any kinda ritual at all, you are locatin’ an’ intention or wish an’ schloppin’ it in a frame as the past gives way to the fyooture.

Mojo is the wish goes in your frame, an’ you gotta take a positive stance toward what you expect from yourself in the comin’ months — despite evrythin’ I said about frickin’ Christmas.

Practical Autumn Equinox Rituals Theme #5 — Your Drive

Ha!

The more I think about it, the more I recall wantin’ to be thorough when I wrote out my original Spring Fever Cures All plan last Equinox.

Jus’ offerin’ four suggestions seemed kinda stingy, so I threw in sumthin’ extra to round my Super Wise Counsel package up to five.

As it turned out I figure I made a useful distinction between two things mebbe perceived often as the same.

After all, what is Mojo if not Drive?

Weeeeeell … I would wanna consider how Mojo is kinda proto-potential.

It is the energy waitin’ to burst out in a thunderclap, the lava swillin’ round in a volcano before it cums.

Gotta figure with any Autumn Equinox ritual howya are wantin’ to identify an’ refine your magical energies an’ pay heed to other forces playin’ out in the world.

Body, Mind an’ Spirit toonsya in, Mojo firesya up — but what fuckin’ happens next?

See, cos we are nearin’ the enda the ritual here — that moment whenya set gratuitous astrology down an’ go back to your job in the bar as a flirty Gemini, back to your college class as a kickass Virgo … back to your regular Aries-to-Pisces deal, whatever that be.

Ritual don’t change nuthin’ for whenya step out from her confines, what is the fuckin’ point?

So, antlers or no, you gotta invite the potential for change an’ subsequent noo action … so you can walk outta your ritual space renewed an’ replenished.

Wanna thinka this right from the start … an’ the start begins NOW as the Equinox looms, heralded but as yet unborn.

Wanna be changed so your energy got new flow.

Wanna touch on your people with refined an’ re-energized heart.

That is what I am gonna do.

Ain’t decided yet my exact planna action — antlers, Wiccasplatz or chocolate dildo — but I am thinkin’ ‘bout it all now, seekin’ for noo life an’ energy, wantin’ for my super-yet-to-happen Saturday self to be changed for the better by the Equinox (an’ my reflections thereupon) in ways I can experience troothfully, articulate accurately, an’ act on with verve an’ spunko.

Autumn Equinox Rituals — Concludin’ Comments

So, thereya go — a monster practical Autumn Equinox Rituals HOW TO blaaahg post don’t actually tellya what to frickin’ do!

Tellya, Zodiac Cops gonna shoot the butt offa my ass, they find out.

But like I said right at the start, you got opportoonity to bring your unique potentials an’ desires to bear upon a unique astrological phenomenon: Autumn Equinox, 2017-style.

Jus’ cos we know so much about what is comin’, just cos the Afterlife is fulla floaty Zodiac beings handed down tradition ‘pon tradition, don’t mean you gotta play along with anya that schwango.

Be yourself, make your own day … an’ FFS play it how you wanna.

But mebbe spare sum thought for Body, Mind, Spirit, Mojo & Drive, huh?

Title Image c/o Pablo Basagoiti @Unsplash

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<span class="sdata" title="3"></span> <span class="sdata" title="07, 2017"></span>

Alla Your Moon Sign Horoscopes Are Belong To Bats

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-07-03T13:20:49+00:00"></span> |Moon Signs, Mother Cosmosis, My Apartment, Savin' The Cosmos|0 Comments

ALLA YOUR MOON SIGN HOROSCOPES ARE BELONG TO BATS

‘Fraid so.

Li’l fuckers crept into my apartment overnight an’ made with the whole BIG TIME THEFT deal — an’ now lunar astrology is toast!

Thing is, when I first graduated from Astrology School, Mother Cosmosis took me to one side an’ warned me this might happen one day.

“Moon sign horoscopes are truly precious auguries,” she said, “and when you are composing them, your initial drafts must always be locked away securely from prying eyes.”

I laughed. “So the trick I pull shovin’ my passport under my panties won’t wash?”

“Indeed not. It’s so important that you guard your moon sign horoscopes with your life lest villains creep in at dead of night and steal them — or worse still, amend them with malign intent, thereby placing the Cosmos and all its inhabitants in terrible danger.”

So, hey — guess which total frickin’ ditz left her last batcha scopes under her bed las’ night?

You Lost The Moon Sign Horoscopes? You Asshole!

I got no excuse, but it has been a busy week for Moi, so lemme try explainin’— Cosmos gonna come crashin’ down on evryone next week, I figureya prolly deserve to know why.

Thing is, I got a call from my agent las’ Monday sayin’ how Portable Restroom Operator Magazine needed a celebrity astrologer for their monthly horoscope column.

“It would be a great opportunity for you,” said Sal (cos that is my agent’s name). “Only problem is they never heard of you.”

“That is the deal with true celebrity,” I replied. “Thinka alla those droids an’ weirdo aliens in Star Wars — the instantly recognizable ones like Jabba the Hutt, Yoda an’ C3P0. Now ask yourself who the fuck are those guys? Tellya, true celebrity demands mystique.”

“Quit being a smartass. You know exactly what I mean — and I figure you could use the money right now. Don’t ask me why, but the portable restroom people want to start with moon signs. Deadline is next Tuesday. Can you fix that?”

“Sure,” I said — then totally forgot about shit till las’ night, mostly cos I was busy scryin’ the heavens for my own regular monthly horoscopes … an’ scrapin this Jamie Oliver monkfish curry offa my kitchen wall after the fucker exploded.

Las’ night was the first chance I got to write stuff out — an’ by 2am my tequila fuel had kinda knocked me out, an’ alla my half-written portable restroom inspired moon sign horoscopes musta slipped offa the bed.

Next thing I know, it is 9am an’ my entire apartment is splattered with frickin’ guano — an’ alla my scopes have vanished.

Surely You Had A Moon Sign Horoscopes Emergency Backup Plan?

Not exactly.

I tried summonin’ Mother Cosmosis on my crystal ball, but I got a problem with the touchscreen right now.

Jus’ won’t frickin’ swipe.

That left either Google or the dog-eared Medieval Miscellany Encyclopaedia I had since I was 6.

Natchrly, it was no contest…

Accordin’ to my encyclopaedia, witches in the Yookay were regularly stalked by bats lookin’ for arcane secrets.

Turns out the reason Henry VIII shut down alla the monasteries had nuthin’ to do with religion an’ everythin’ to do with destroyin’ prime bat territory.

Trash the bats’ most sought-after rafters an’ you got fewer winged critters flyin’ around stealin’ secrets offa witches an’ subsequently wreakin’ mayhem on hamlets an’ castles.

Anyways, point is, the bats ain’t quit on the deal, even though it is 2017 an’ mosta the world’s superexotic esoterica is freely available on the dark web an’ alla the witches have moved on to girl bands an’ porno.

Jus’ my luck, I guess, but las’ night those darn bats came lookin’ for Moi.

An’ now evry las’ membera the hooman race — an’ evry livin’ creature in the Cosmos — is threatened with imminent extinction.

Tellya, those bats amend what I wrote out, an’ their misappropriationa celestial forces an’ energies gonna tear reality apart.

Thankfully there is a solution!

But I am gonna need sum help, K?

Princess Balestra’s Moon Sign Astrology Bat Emergency Solution

If we can assemble 12 select bats — one for each signa the Zodiac — an’ bind ‘em (not with magic or anythin’ cos that is jus’ weird, I was thinkin’ morea usin’ duct tape) then we can reverse anythin’ calamitous they done.

So we need an Aries bat, a Taurus bat — an’ so on, alla the way through to Pisces.

But cos this whole frickin’ disaster centers on moon sign horoscopes, we are lookin’ at moon signs ‘steada Sun signs for these guys,

Y’all gonna help out, you gotta knowya bats — an’ also your astrology.

So here is my handy guide for spottin’ the fuckers, moon sign by moon sign.

Your mission is a simple one.

Get out there an’ round ‘em up, peoples.

Dig out a net an’ go huntin!

Alert evryoneya know.

Twitter. Instagram. Snapchat. Facebook.

Or mebbe even jus’ go visit ‘em in the actual frickin’ flesh for once.

Take photos an’ capture spirityool batty essences.

Then sendya pix to Moi via my contact portal here.

I’ll fix evrythin’ from there, nail this emergency real good.

Right now, here’s what to look for…

Bat Identification By Moon Sign — Your Definitive Guide

Aries — Feisty flapper. Flies into windows. Rarely seen in colonies (that is the bat word for herd or bunch btw). Difficult to tame. Noisy. Will chase motorcycles down the freeway an’ play Russian roulette wingin’ between the wheels. Loves bitin’ shit an’ drawin’ blood.

Taurus — So frickin’ lame it rarely flies an’ cannot be assed to hang upside down. Sleeps on the floor in a heap. Compulsive masturbator. Real soft fur. Reacts abominably when bombarded by flash photography. Can consoom twice its own body weight in candy.

Gemini — Flits so erratically no mathematical formula can define its flight path. Zero sonar capability cos it always got headphones on. Loves shittin’ on people an’ hidin’. Occasionally advertizes lingerie on its wings. Real twitchy. Boss-eyed specimens common.

Cancer — Teaches its young aikido an’ other passive self-defense strategies. Flies sideways. Rolls itself into a ball for protection if attacked. Unusual rangea facial expressions for a flyin’ rodent-beest. Prefers its worms heated up. Confirmed wet dreamer.

Leo — This is the bat lands inya hair. Understands the cinematic powera silhouettes. Mastera the surprise entrance. Larger specimens can suck up spaghetti through their nostrils. Not especially covert for a nocturnal creature. Dangerous if cornered.

Virgo — Statistically more likely to be tagged by environmental scientists — typically in Latin. Always flies straight, but hangs upside down at a jaunty angle jus’ to be different. Licks fur constantly. Spooks cats for experimental purposes. Can count to 1.

Libra — 100% unscary. Regular contributor to Hollywood movies cos it adores make-up an’ costooms. Wide wingspan for its species. Highly sensitive sonar. Will never eat a baby frog. Sleeps with both eyes open. Unusually exotic arterial patterns on wings. Never farts.

Scorpio — Milks the vampire myth for strategic effect. Terrifies insects with sophisticated extortion rackets. Limited telepathy. Real leathery wings. Stands in for ravens at funerals if there are egg sandwiches an’ cocktail sausages. Fully understands its Omen Potential.

Sagittarius — Often seen ridin’ weasels. Never seen inside a bat box. Fountainous pisser. Shows up anyplace — desert, tundra, fuckin’ Moon. Wings often look glued on for a joke. Sumtimes hangs out with birds. Frequently electrocuted by accident. Certified hazard.

Capricorn — Basic nest-buildin’ talents. Kinda ugly lookin’. Hates hooman contact. Prefers to hang out in taller buildings. Flies long distances to follow Libra bats so it can gobble baby frogs. Unusually amorous when it finds a mate — which is typically never.

Aquarius — Believes itself to be a fruitbat, whatever. Folds wings into Origami dragons when nowan is lookin’. Assymmetric claws. Long hair common. Crash lands in soup or beer on a whim. Fucks hairbrushes. Has a thing for toothpaste. Fears spiders.

Pisces — Loves gettin’ lost in the fog. Would prolly fly into a warship’s path to save a dolphin. Attracted to syrup. More curvaceous than scrawny. Mimics cellphone tones at will. Above average radioactivity levels. Loves lickin’ sleepin’ babies.

Let’s Save The Cosmos!

So thereya have it — my best shot at a plan for savin’ the Cosmos.

Nets at the ready, evryone!

An’ be sureta keep the worldwide astrology community up to speed with any sightings by usin’ the #balestrabats hashtag on Twitter & elsewhere like it was sum incantation gonna flesh outya dick or boobies all ultra delicious (or, ifya already got neat lookin’ or meaty tinglydanglies, manifest $500 in online gamin’ vouchers or coupons to blast on seductive undergarments).

Meantime, you want more Zodiac-themed blog posts, why not go check out tombstones an’ bras?

If we are all still here by next weekend, mebbe make time also for FUCK OFF — my most inspirational an’ motivational blog post evah.

Gonna go dig out a matchin’ pith helmet & telescope set offa Ebay.

Let the moon sign bat hunt commence!

Title Image c/o Alexas Fotos @Pixabay.

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<span class="sdata" title="15"></span> <span class="sdata" title="05, 2017"></span>

Astrology Compatibility Apps Gonna Fuck On Your Brain!

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-11-25T21:13:28+00:00"></span> |Astrolodjinni, Mother Cosmosis, My Apartment, Relationships|0 Comments

ASTROLOGY COMPATIBILITY APPS GONNA FUCK ON YOUR BRAIN!

So, hey — Mother Cosmosis stopped by my place again at the weekend.

It is always a surprise to Moi (despite my uncannilly accurate astrologer’s  predicto prowess), but there was sumthin’ ‘bout the way her vapors coalesced into view atop my sofa that got me wondrin’ if’n I’d maxed out on MORTAL KLUTZYBOOBSIE.

* Like — was it wise to offer 1920s exercise advice to today’s Capricornian thrusters in their May horoscope?

* Or — was callin’ my recent Stars as Epitaphs blog post a ‘Handy Death Astrology Calculator’ merely hyperbole segued with hoobris?

* Or even — was it stoopid to confront the couple upstairs an’ demand they fuck quieter cos I was tryin’ to meditate on the annual blow hot / blow cold cyclea Uranus?

“What’s the gripe?” I said, as Mother C’s rapidly manifestin’ curves bundled my anxieties to one side.

“We have to discuss the Astrology Compatibility App Conundrum! En pointe astrology counsel delivered as a seer-free 99c Android or Apple add-on! Trust me, Princess — the Cosmos and its eternal synchronized dance routine is in danger! And our very existence as horoscope delivery experts is under threat!”

The Astrology Compatibility App Conundrum — A User’s Guide

Turns out the internets have not always existed.

This whacko truth kinda crept up on me while I was ODin’ on movies las’ month.

Recent films got plentya scenes packin’ alla the latest tech — phones, tabs, laptops — but not evry frickin’ scene got reference to the internets.

Superheroes smackin’ one another, lovers gettin’ flusho in the sack, hyperpixelified bunnies hoppin’ their way inta contemporary childhood’s future moral locker — they all got plentya on-screen moments packed fulla lazer-eyed snogsy CGI devoida internets references.

An’ yet, you kinda know alla that 21st Century webular superfunky is hummin’ away in the background, waitin’ to bust out.

Go back in time awhile, seems entire movies’re based on this internets-free pause.

Only it ain’t so.

It is actschly a total internets vacuum cos the internets ain’t there.

Cos ifya were Tom Hanks sneakin’ up on the Nazis in a Virgotastically orchestrated kinda WWII swoop, pants drenched with danger an’ excitement — surely you would selfie the shit outta the show?

“Huddle together, guys. Shame we ain’t got no U-boat looming in the background to make this nightmare panorama look extra dramatic.”

It’s A Fucker!

Tellya, I was a shamed in that instant.

Princessa insights I presoom myself to be, I kinda realised how lame I was.

Thing is, for eons stretchin’ back almost to the dawna time, astrology stuffs have been ladled from the ether by real live astrologer persons.

So … uhm … mebbe it is 1272 an’ you are in the YOOKAY.

I dunno, ridin’ a horse or sumthin’ stoopid.

An’ by the roadsideya spot a weird lookin’ tent.

Wind blows the sigil-mottled fabric open to reveal an even weirder lookin’ guy — an’ you are compelled to dismount an’ go investigate.

“Heya, weird guy,” you say.  “What is gowin’ down in your curious tent?”

Guy strokes his beard and throws you a look. “Actually, I’m a lady. But it is in the nature of the astrology business for its practitioners to sport the mantle of witches — so I slew a wild boar and stuck its wiry hide to my face.”

Astrology?  That a new drive-thru franchise?”

Resta the conversation is confidential, cos it’s at this point that all real live astrologer persons make with the secret astrology chant an’ kinda lure their prospects beyond idle curiosity to the Surefire Horoscope Secret Package retailin’ at JUST $whatevah (though, acourse, back in 1272 evrythin’ was in groats or sickly nephews).

Central problemya got with the Astrology Compatibility App Conundrum is how it factors the real live astrologer person the fuck outta the stargazy equation.

Guy on the horse got the app, he got no need to check out the sigil-mottled tent — or cough up the moolah gonna keep the real live astrologer person in frickin’ cat food.

Misses out on the $350 Suckywucky Bonus also…

How Can We Combat This Astrology Compatibility App Nightmare, O Princess?

All Of Us — Working Together As An Astro-defending Team, Kinda Like The Avengers?

So, yeah — Mother Cosmosis jus’ came out an’ said it.

“The more these wretched astrology compatibility apps proliferate, the fewer real live astrologers there will be. I fear the future may be one where convenience muscles out genuine prescience. It isn’t just retail and factory workers who should recoil in horror at the advance of robots and AI. It is you and I.”

She looked kinda shaken. I fixed her a cocktail an’ flopped down before her feet in my best Lotus, smilin’ like a real drippo. “An’ you want my advice from an internets perspective? That it?”

Her nod told me evrythin’. Ha! Too much frickin’ tequila.

“Thing is,” I said, pullin’ out sum stoopid scifi book I been readin’, “if history demonstrates anythin’ it is how flesh an’ blood people gonna prevail always. Ain’t that the deal with the whole Taurus vibe? Material substance movin’ mountains, kinda thing?”

Mother C looked pensive. “It’s true that hipsters have rediscovered vinyl along with potentially erotic facial texture, I suppose. And I’m heartened to see the return of printed books to the planet’s coffee shops and trains. Are you suggesting the lure of these evil apps is likely to be short-lived?”

“Two things,” I said, helpin’ her out with her drink. “First, you gotta wonder what happens if alla this don’t stop. Losers in this scifi book I read don’t figure no inner thoughts. Evrythin’ they perceive is voiced aloud, kinda the ultimate share.”

“And do they like this?”

“They do not. You should read it.”

Mother C catches the book. Time for a refill.

“Those poor suckers got no secrets,” I said, pullin’ out sum bigger glasses — an’ another bottle. “An’ when the science genius guy fitted their cranial whatevers with ThoughtShare, he figured alla the bad stuff we got would be flushed out an’ alla our finest virtues kinda grown an’ finessed. Only evryone jus’ regressed into a permanent statea STFU. Mankind spawned its own zombie apocalypse.”

Mother C eyed her worm. “What does this have to do with the astrology apps? Are you suggesting they will have a similarly destructive effect on peoplekind?”

“Opposite. I guess people’re havin’ fun right now mixin’ an’ matchin’ love, lust an’ blendyjuicy, starsign tango by starsign tango on sum stoopid app — but nuthin’ ever gonna beat sittin’ in a real live tent askin’ ‘bout sum real live potential fuckfest with sum real live sex bomb in the presecncea sum real live astrologer person — especially if said astrologer person is hot af an’ leavesya with enough cash inya pocket for a decent burger.”

“Do you still have your tent? If I remember correctly, just shortly after I anointed you in the Pool of Celestial Wisdom Unbound, you suggested you’d fly out to Egypt and sell it in exchange for what you coyly termed funtime leatherwear.”

That made me snigger sum!

“Turns out the smarter deal was hirin’ it out at weekends. I got kids’ parties, teen adventure sleepovers, live-in seniors’ secret biscuit eatin’ hideaways. Jus’ gotta warn people not to pull on … yanno …the sash opens up the spirit world & possibly summons Satan.”

Astrology Compatibility Apps — Your Killer Defense Strategy

Solution we came up with was the App 2 Braino Virus.

Here’s how it works…

You pull outya tab.

You check in on CyberScoper.

Robot astrology algorithms match your starsign with nearby hot singles.

Evil death rays leap the fuck outta your tab an’ infectya brain with a killer frickin’ virus.

AN’ THEN YOU DIE!

You guys cool to spread this benevolent fake nooz around sum?

To allaya friends, besties, fam, pets — whatever?

Cos I figure by doin’ so, you gonna be savin’ astrology, savin’ the planet, an’ savin’ lives — startin’ with li’l ol Moi.

Here’s sum linesya can mebbe use next time anyone whips out their tab for a consultation with the Evil Augury Squad…

* Hey, sis — did you know that using an astrology compatibility app can fuck up your brain worse than spice?

* Your thoughts are so beautiful I love hanging them on my ear, but if you keep on fixing dates with that stoopid astrology compatibility app, ima need a bucket to catch your liquified skull contents. Do I gotta repeat that, cosya look real BLANK?

* Yeah yeah — stoopid frickin’ app gonna roastya brain an’ prolly frazzleya tinglydanglies off.

Gotta figure you are sufficiently inventive to think up sum examplesa your own — less’n the processa cerebral decay already got started.

This is how all resistance begins, tellya.

Fake nooz, steady drip, brain by brain.

App 2 Braino Virus.

App 2 Braino Virus.

App 2 Braino Virus…

Title Image c/o FirmBee @Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="8"></span> <span class="sdata" title="05, 2017"></span>

The Stars As Bras

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-05-20T11:11:17+00:00"></span> |Brassiere Blasto, Mother Cosmosis, Motivation|0 Comments

THE STARS AS BRAS

Best thing about packin’ boobies?

Bras!

So excitingly exotic! So tantalizingly varied! So subliminally raunchy — even in the wash!

Thing is, Mother Cosmosis got plenty to say ‘bout the nipparel we throw over our zestychesty yummiture.

She stopped by my place last week to return sum panties she borrowed for Valentine’s, an’ while she was raidin’ my refrigerator for high-brainfuck alcoholic flooids, she came out with onea her trademark edicts.

“Princess,” she said, diggin’ deep between alla my salad stuffs, “you should run a blog post about the stars as bras.”

“As in bras for evry signa the Zodiac, typeathing?”

“Yeah. Everyone is getting off on that shit right now, and it’s a convenient way of introducing complex astrological truths to the masses.”

For a gal jus’ ran a quinteta monster celestial retrogrades, gotta say Mother C was lookin’ purdy good to Moi.

Kinda inspirin’.

So I took a real deep breath an’ said, “toss me a cucumber willya? Ima need plenty big time nootrients to fix this fucker!”

Anyways, that was my Wednesday.

Project engaged me so much I even skipped yoga.

Tellya, bra research is a tougher academic exercise thanya think — especially whenya keep hittin’ the BUY NOW button asya flip through a zillion open browser tabs.

But I figure I got this Stars as Bras deal nailed — how evry kinda boobie from pert & perky juicebombs to 10 ton squidos gonna max out on the Zodiac’s 12 highly individual astrological essences via the humble bra.

Uhm … no … waitaminute — what was it Mother Cosmosis said before she made off with alla my lettuce?

Oh yeah — “Keep it simple, Princess.”

So here’s how astrology gonna power upya titties…

the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Aries hearts
the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Taurus hearts
the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Gemini hearts
the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Cancer hearts
the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Leo hearts
the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Virgo hearts
the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Libra hearts
the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Scorpio hearts
the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Sagittarius hearts
the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Capricorn hearts
the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Aquarius hearts
the stars as bras reveal secrets close to Pisces hearts

Want More Fun Shit To Look At?

The Stars as Bras got the perky — but ifya want Zodiac-themed DOOM an’ DEATH, mebbe try these funky astro tombstones.

Want serious pussy?

Alla your Zodiac kitties are over on my Tumblr.

Want horoscopes?

Want motivatin’?

Hey — I am always here.

Stop by regular. Suck on my jugular. Move on dinkier….

Title Image c/o Alexas-Fotos @ Pixabay

Other deliciousness enboobulates thusly…

Aries c/o kblaw @Pixabay
Taurus c/o Foundry @Pixabay
Gemini, Leo c/o sabinemondestin @Pixabay
Cancer c/o luctheo @Pixabay
Virgo c/o fsHH @Pixabay
Libra c/o Unsplash @Pixabay
Scorpio c/o Bobine @Pixabay
Sagittarius, Aquarius c/o Klaus Hausmann @Pixabay
Capricorn c/o alejandroruelas @Pixabay
Pisces c/o bestfotoartist @Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="24"></span> <span class="sdata" title="04, 2017"></span>

Your Definitive Dragon Astrology Compatibility Primer

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-05-20T11:21:33+00:00"></span> |Mother Cosmosis, Relationships|0 Comments

PRINCESS BALESTRA’S DEFINITIVE DRAGON ASTROLOGY COMPATIBILITY PRIMER

Wanna reach out to evryone in the Yookay been thinkin’ ‘bout heroic knights — an’ dragons.

See, thing I get asked real often in my capacitya Wise & Allurin’ Astrologer Person Packin’ Max Wise Counsel & Occasional Filth is what is my dragon astrology compatibility?

tbh, I do not mind bein’ asked such lame frickin’ questions, but what bugs me is how it happens all too often when I am takin’ a pee in the mall.*

* In the bathroom, not the actual mall. I may be Sajjo, but I am not an undomesticated voyeur-entrappin’ piss-beest FFS.

Scenario typically goes like this…

I got noo shoes or sumthin’, an’ my bladder is swillin’ with coffee, so I go multitask on the pee & peek deal.

Then, as I am unwrappin’ my shoes, I hear sum gal whisper, “hey, you see Princess Balestra sneak in the cubicle with her magic toad?”

An’ sumone whispers back, “she goes shopping with the toad from her secret sanctum? How cool is that?

Next thing I know, evryone in the mall is scramblin’ to get their heads over the cubicle door like the zombies from World War Z…

toad-free astrologer hits the mall in dragon astrology compatibility mode

Image c/o Brad Pitt an’ his cinema pals.  Gotta figure I am allowed to use this cos it is free promo for the film guys — an’ if it ain’t OK, who fuckin’ cares cos they are prolly zombies IRL an’ therefore totally oblivious to what is gowin’ on.

…an’ they are screamin’ shit like my fish is a fire sign; is that even allowed?

an’ I got weird lumps on my nipples squirting foul-smelling black discharge everyplace. Can you help me? I am a Scorpio!

an’ the inevitable what is my dragon astrology compatibility?

an’ I am like pullin’ up my knickoes real speedy yet dainty an’ makin’ with a 15-minute TED-style lecture, delivered with heels hooked over the rimma the john cos I do not wanna puncture the lid.

Ain’t gonna cover the fish an’ nipples questions today, but the dragon astrology compatibility conundrum is an easy fix…

Let The Cosmos Abound With Weirdsy Animals

Gotta start at the very beginnin’ — with Mother Cosmosis.

Back in the day, there were no horoscopes or astrologer persons or zodiacs, an’ fuck all in the waya stars — till Mother Cosmosis embroidered ‘em up an’ colored ‘em in.

She coulda gone with a dragon insteada a crab or a lion, I guess — but, see, astrology dragons’re Chinese.

An’ this is where we haveta switch out our science focus from astrology to brute logic.

Ask yourself — in a Cosmos that only moments ago began packin’ stars, whereya gonna find any fuckin’ Chinese people?

There ain’t even no Earth yet.

Truth is, dragon astrology figures a whole eon later, an’ from here flourisheth the whole dragon astrology compatibility deal.

“I am a dragon and my partner is a monkey. Is it against my regal nature to let her lick my asshole?”

“I have the hots for my dragon lecturer and wake each morning desperate to throw myself at his feet and make with the mutually orgiastic writhing. Please help me. I am a dog.”

“Me and my partner are both dragons, and we are desperate not to have dragon kids because we are both so impossibly EVIL. Can you fix us a pig or a rooster? I dunno, cast a spell or something?”

(For the record — I do not take my toad to the mall. I do not even OWN no frickin’ toad.)

Dragon Astrology Compatibility Conundrum Solvin’ Demands No Amphibians — an’ Proffers Only Vile Birds

Answer to these questions is, I am not a Chinese astrologer.

I only fix up the deal with the bulls an’ the rams an’ the fruitbat physiology half-goat half-fish fuckin’ mutants — like in this dinky post HERE.

Pitch me Chinese astrology queries, an’ I am ‘bout as much use as a giraffe advisin’ on limbo dance technique.

It’s real neat those Chinese guys figured on so varied an’ exotic a rostera beasts to illustrate the hooman condition in all its subtlety, an’ mebbe I woulda picked up on alla that with the same zest I got for what my bestie Amy calls the regular buncha stoopid Zodiac crapola — but I srsly do not like roosters.

More specifically, I do not like that scraga flappy wappy flesh hangs offa their throats.

It is like a lost & lonesome labium — or the void ballsacka sum sad eunuch.

Plus, roosters shit evryplace an’ sing real bummed-out songs gonna screwya ears tight insideya skull for wanta silence.

Gotta figure birdkind is real pissed off with ‘em also.

“You do not belong in our excloosively avian gang, vile creatures!”

Listen close — sparrow, eagle, ostrich — they all can chirp that refrain, tellya.

Ahem. You Were Saying … About The Heroic Knights?

Oh yeah, I kinda forgot about that St George guy.

I got no desireta diss a national Saint, nor call into question the pluck an’ spirit shown by Yookay citizens as they maraud worldwide with their own particular branda ultra reserved devil-may-care, but I would wanna suggest kneejerk dragon slayin’ is mebbe a thinga the past.

What in hell they all done wrong?

Yeah, for sure, the dragon in The Hobbit prolly erred too much on the sidea evil — just — but FFS Benedict Cumberbatch!

See, if it had been Moi seekin’ out the dragon hoard insteada Bilbo, things woulda been waaaay different.

First, I woulda made with the tantalisingly revealin’ chainmail bra an’ panties — an’ packed a real sturdy quarterstaff I could grab firmly in both hands.

Then I mebbe mighta sidled upta Sonorous Shakespearean Speako Central an’ whispered, “ain’t it weird how a rooster’s flappy wappy flesh thing is kinda disturbingly insubstantial?” before workin’ the conversation round super tactically till I got my head restin’ sweet in his lap within tongueshota sublime pleasure incarnate.

Thing about the George dragon is, it was real mean.

Women-eatin’ beests ain’t nice.

But that don’t mean any dragons show like tonite inya local neighborhood gotta be evil by default.

Personally, I would always wanna take any flame-spittin’ dragon roarin’ overhead on its own merits.

I am ultra tolerant that way, I guess.

So I got a proposal gonna settle the dragon astrology compatibility conundrum forever, fix up a strategy for how hoomankind could mebbe deal with dragons in the fyooture (kinda like Asimov’s ground rules for hangin’ out with robots), an’ if I can get alla that sorted before my lasagne is done cookin’, I may even showcase my top 10 tips for fruitful masturbation whenya hands’re covered in paint, oil or other substances best kept away from naked flesh.

(Only jokin’ bout that last part btw, but this is the ADD internets an’ I figure summaya might wanna go look at cat pictures rn & kinda needya stimulatory perkies flushin’ out on a juicier option. Welcome back.)

Princess Balestra’s One-Size-Fits-All Plan For Hoomanity (Dragon Section)

Thing is, sum people got hair bustin’ outta places they shouldn’t.

I am not talkin’ gals with unshavable muffs here — jus’ how random wisps an’ tufts kinda feature in hoomankind’s hirsuteness options locker.

You ever done that Lookit What Crazy Stuff I Can Do thing?

First night at college, first sleepover, first noo job social event?

“I can bend my fingers right back to my wrist because I have hypermobile joints!

“My skin is so elastic — see how I can stretch out my cheeks like bat wings!”

“Observe the huge chunks of hair sprouting from underneath my eyeballs like miniature Persian rugs!”

Waaaaauuuugggghhhh!

Accordin’ to legend (read fake nooz for real stoopid people before the internets or books), alla these weirdsy hairs belonged to the devil.

Get evryone together had ‘em sproutin’ outta their non-crack flesh an’ — SHAZAM! — instant fuckin’ SATAN!

That kinda got me thinkin’.

What about we all got parta sum celestial dragon insidea us?

Alla us, evry last one?

Beautiful an’ majestic creature ain’t never gonna come together, cos so manya us are either dead or unborn, but I figure potentially she persists as an ever-present lifeforce breathin’ superdraconic energies into one an’ all.

(Gotta figure this never comin’ together deal applied also to the Satan hair scenario, meanin’ he was never ever gonna manifest — which only goesta show how much smarter ‘bout stuff like that we got since the Medieval epoch. FFS, those people were so frickin’ lame!)

When any two hoomans meet up, opportunity always exists for ‘em to hack one another’s inner draco.

An’ the more peopleya got together — sportin’ event, music festival, astrologer-hungry mob in the mall — the moreya gonna hear fluttera wing, feel heata flame, hear musica dragonsong.

Aries to Pisces, we can all zen out on draconic energies without pullin’ in a potentially contradictory viewa the Cosmos involvin’ irritatin’ roosters (an’ frickin’ snakes also — no way am I havin’ no serpent undulatin’ disturbingly round my apartment!) while adoptin’ a broad philosophy sees dragons in a positive light.

So the Asimov dragon rule would be kinda we are all inherently compatible as hooman beings, so go sweet on one another.

That cool?

But … I Still Get My Asshole Licked, Right? By A Monkey?

Maaaan — ever get the feelin’ you are jus’ talkin’ to your frickin’ self…?

Title Image c/o Josch12 @Pixabay

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Thing is, this person’s profile page leads with a whole buncha shotsa schloopy snails.

They are so juicy an’ squishy an’ sucksy!

Prolly you could moosh one inya navel an’ get a real cool suck effect. Schloop schlooop schloooooop typea thing.

Go see! They are so cool!

<span class="sdata" title="10"></span> <span class="sdata" title="04, 2017"></span>

Your Handy Horoscope Checklist

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-04-15T12:56:11+00:00"></span> |Astro Checklist, Mother Cosmosis, Practical Astrology, Scopes|0 Comments

YOUR HANDY HOROSCOPE CHECKLIST

One question people often ask me — in my capacity as astrologer person maxin’ out on celestial wisdom kudos — is do you have any handy tips for getting the most out of reading your horoscope, I dunno, like some kind of horoscope checklist?

Answer to that is an easy one.

“Sure,” I say, flushin’ my smile fulla the easy swankiness often seen in electrical stores where the trained electrical store person is sellin’ a monster TV to sum total fuckin’halfwit, “when Mother Cosmosis first anointed my chart preparation paraphernalia with her special magicks, she passed on to me a 10-point hit list fulla hints an’ tips for what she termed horoscope readin’ etiquette, but which I simply refer to as a horoscope checklist — an’ for your information, I got this pinned up on the bookcase next to my readin’ chair so I never forget to follow through its 10-step plan, either while I am readin’ my own ‘scope or (more importantly) fixin’ up regular monthly horoscopes for the resta hoomanity.”

Thing is, we are livin’ in way difficult times, O sweet observera wonders.

Too many world leaders’re plain assholes, too many people suffer needlessly, an’ evry timeya go see a noo Marvel movie, you gotta deal with that real mean naggin’ sensation says what happens when the old guy with the glasses an’ mustache don’t figure no more in the quirky cameos?

So I wanna share what I got.

For free. For nuthin’. For you.

An’ I wantchya to know I am gowin’ out on a limb here by revealin’ these horoscope checklist secrets…

A Lesson From History (Albeit One I Ain’t Mebbe Learned Too Good)

Prolly you never hearda Vincent de Chabrier, but I gotta tellya he got stiffed back in France roundabout 1760-sumthin’.

Similar deal to Moi right now, I guess — he got a hand-embroidered Les Etoiles Comme Bassins De Lit napkin bestowed on him by M.C. which he turned over to the citizensa Lyon.

(Actschly, rumor has it that he wiped his ass on it after hittin’ the wine real hard one weekend, an’ the decision to offer his astrological relic up to the public maya had more to do with shame than generosity, but that is how it goes with history, I guess. Mostly rumor.)

Thing is, Mother Cosmosis got real angry with him, an’ she swooped down from behind Plooto (where she was fixin’ it up, ready for its eventual discovery in 1930) an’ spanked his ass so hard he was unable to wear any kinda pants for a whole frickin’ month.

I could be in biiiiiig trouble here for what I am about to do, tellya — an’ I wantchya to know that asya read on in the spirita gratitood…

Your Handy Horoscope Checklist — How This Works

Deal is, you got a 10-point plan here pretty much constitoots the ultimate HOW TO guide for readin’ your horoscope.

Such things’re not to be taken lightly, an’ I gotta tellya, ifya follow these steps through to the letter, you gonna derive max possible benefit fromya horoscopes evry timeya read ‘em.

Wanna surefire way to hit on a smoother augury?

K, so here it is — all powered up by the very latest Apply as you Scrytm technology!

My Mother Cosmosis original won’t photocopy cos it is hand-weaved from super delicate ethereal wispofibers, so I deployed my very best artistic talents to generate an ultra handy infographic forya phone or tab you can kinda whip out real easy whenya wanna augury on down withya own personal Zodiac consultation rompo.

Oh, an’ Les Etoiles Comme Bassins De Lit is French for ‘The Stars As Bedpans’, btw.

horoscope checklist infographic helps everyone whatever their starsign

You can save this image, but I gotta tellya it is gonna read like it been licked by a frickin’ dog.

So mebbe download the swanky pdf file for max visyool pleasure.

Your Handy Horoscope Checklist — What To Do Next

Gonna giveya the same advice I offered sum professional Tapir hoof swallower consulted me las’ week.

With any kinda plan, there is no subsitoot for puttin’ shit into action immediately.

So get my handy 10-Point Horoscope Checklist downloaded onto your phone or tab an’ go checkya horoscope.

I figure mostaya are no professional Tapir hoof swallower gonna choke half to death (his fault, not mine). so you can go crazy with the NOW! NOW! NOW! zest, K?

An’ if you figure my counsel on this score is cool, my 5-step Spring Fever Cures All Plan would jus’ LOVE to get sweet withya mind, body, spirit, mojo an MORE!

That sound like a deal?

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

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

<span class="sdata" title="13"></span> <span class="sdata" title="02, 2017"></span>

The Stars As A Valentine’s Day Smoochfest

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-04-08T13:36:08+00:00"></span> |Blendyjuicy, Love, Mother Cosmosis, Relationships|1 Comment

Valentine Astrology Forecast

Man, this is so frickin’ weird.

I was gonna spend the evenin’ at my desk typin’ out a special YOUR VALENTINE’S STARS kinda blog post, but right now I am sat squat in the cornera the lobby Googlin’ incinerated bean bag.

Why so?

Here’s the deal with bein’ a minxyditzy astrologer.

The real cool part.

Coupla times a week, Mother Cosmosis opens up a secret portal to her Celestial Vapors in my apartment an’ foreshadows the future by tossin’ crap through it — all too often while I am takin’ a pee.

Las’ week, she festooned me with baby bunnies as parta sum “Seer Special Offer” Spring Equinox Trailer deal, an’ it took me three days to detox the place.

That leveled up my chopstick skills, tellya.

Anyways, right now, I got alla the Zodiac rompin’ round upstairs, eyes fulla amour, skin flushed red with passion, an’ tinglydanglies gorgin’ up for action.

So to hell with the academic treatise I had planned.

All I gotta do is make notes on what jus’ happened

Saturday Night Chez Prinno B

Cool thing is, Aries bust through the portal first.

FFS what else is gonna happen?

I had my vacuum an’ pajamas on, so it took me by surprise.

An’ by “it”, I mean Aries itself.

Wouldn’t make no sense for Mother Cosmosista bowl me, say, six gals an’ six guys, cos that would mess up summa the potential romantic combinations.

Straight only for Fire an’ Air? Or mebbe gay only for Earth an’ Water? Nah — deal don’t work like that.

So the zodiacal spirits I got were kinda either/or stroke neither stroke both — gal one minute, guy the next, jus’ so they could max out on a strobe-style morphin’ sexuality ticket.

(Jus’ so’s you know.)

How Absolutely Bizarro!

Tell me ‘bout it.

First thing Aries did after I whacked the fucker with my suction pipe (a purely reflex action btw — I am not a habityool psychopath) wasta rifle through my smalls drawer for a paira hi octane knickoes — an’ switch out to a guy.

“Intrestin’,” I said. “What’s the plan?”

Aries grinned. “Something quick. I still gotta make the gym. Gonna scramble up on top of your bookcase and pounce on whoever is next through the portal.”

“Saves schemin’ for decades onlyta findya sweetheart dieda old age, like a Capricorn, I guess.”

(Ha! I got no problem bein’ snarky, but sumthin’ ‘bout Aries always stokes me up, an’ I blew my cool by gigglin’ at the end.)

Uh oh! Noises off from the bedroom!

I figured Taurus, cos she … he … it comes next in the Zodiac roster — only I got Cancer.

An’ bless her, she got chocolates an’ roses an’ some dumb Valentine’s card she made herself, an’ she was fluffin’ up the bed, makin’ evrythin’ warm an’ homely.

I pulled the door shut an’ indicated the closet. “Quick! You gotta hide!”

“You got someone in there?” hollered Aries, boundin’ down the corridor. “I demand immediate conquest!”

“Uhm … no,” I called, bundlin’ Cancer to safety. “It is my … crocodile.”

Aries’ scream shattered alla the glass in the window. “Nothing inspires me for hot action in the sack like risking my life to battle a dangerous throwback from the dinosaur age!”

Door flew open — gulp — as did my knickoes — *blush* — an’ Aries barely blinked before hurlin’ himself through the window’s glass dagger halo an’ out into …. well, let’s jus’ say I do not live on the ground floor.

Thing is, bein’ a Sajjo, I shoulda been straight after him, but I am not without sensitivity, an’ as Cancer’s whimpers blubbed from behind the closet door, I thoughta how crumpled my favo dragon kimono gonna be after she’d done squishin’ it with her fat frickin’ ass.

“Seems you’re something of an expert pipe-bender.” Voice from behind me was sexy, an’ I figured sum Leo was makin’ a flatterin’ pass — only it was Virgo, holdin’ out my vacuum.

“I can fix it, if you like,” he said, “and if you want some help tidying that germswamp you call a kitchen, I always travel with a set of brushes and three pints of assorted cleaning fluids.”

“Hey — I know you Virgo types got a reputation for bein’ super kind, an’ I got an anxious Cancer here in my closet could use a little TLC more’n my mountaina unwashed dishes, so couldya be a sweetie an’ mebbe mop up her tears while I change outta my pajamas?”

Gotta love a diligent Virgo. No one does No Problem better. Best thing, he seemed kinda pleased when Cancer crawled outta the closet, fully masculinoed up.

“I feel unsafe here,” said the crab-man. “Broken glass has ruined the romantic atmosphere, and I know the situation will only get worse. Would you escort me to a quiet coffee bar till Scorpio shows up? I’m very badly shaken.”

Thing is, there is a rubycon beyond which No Problem jus’ becomes Stoopid, but Virgo prolly ain’t seen it yet. Guy was so sweet — he took Cancer’s hand, made big time reassurin’ with his eyeballs, then transformed into a ravishin’ redhead before fixin’ up my vacuum, emptyin’ the dust bag, an’ headin’ off in searcha java.

Gotta mention — Aries jus’ whooshed past me on a skateboard, with Libra in pursuit, swingin’ a buncha bananas round her head.

But I will get to that part later.

Bring On The Evolutionarily Quirky Quadrupeds

Problem I had was alla the broken glass — an’ the lurkin’ suspicion that the firstborna Mother Cosmosis’s foreshadowy Valentine’s Zodiac specter-cum-polysexuals lay splattered on the sidewalk below.

Gotta tellya, we astrologers face stiff penalties for bustin’ stuff we get sent from anya the various Beyonds — only las’ Halloween sum stargazer from New York ate a whole buncha candy he shouldnta, an’ Mother Cosmosis turned onea his ears into a frickin’ carrot.

Luckily for Moi, Aquarius swung in through the window packin’ more cosplay gadgetry than Batman flauntin’ his techiest kit.

“Who’s the hot, naked, somersaulting gymnast guy?” it said, its momentary androgyny so exquisitely … hooman.

I rolled my eyes. “Aries.”

“Typical,” said Aquarius, shifting all Harry Styles. “So how’s it going with the luminous popcorn, the hilarious customized Cards Against Humanity deck — and the porcupine in the sack?”

My eyes switched sides. “What?”

“It’s a party, right? Gotta have some freaky party food, especially stuff makes your burps glow in the dark. And if we’re playing Humanity later, gotta have some new and risque cards to keep everyone on their toes. So I printed off a whole bunch of stuff from my shrink’s Skin Disease Encyclopaedia and made up some shit about buggering horses.”

“And the porcupine?”

Aquarius threw back his head. “Don’t tell me you’ve never played Feel The Prickly Mammal — for cash!”

“Listen,” I said, hand on the guy’s shoulder, “it is Valentine’s, so’ I figure people will wanna pair off an’ make with the smoochie.”

Water bearer rifled through the cell phones danglin’ by string from his belt for the one said BATTERY 2%, then tossed me a quizzical look. “What year is this?”

Prolly wouldn’ta mattered what in heck I’d said, but that’s when Leo pitched up an’ ignited my livin’ room in a balla flame.

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!

Leo’s plan for romance centered on a decorative 22-tier cake sizea The Rock an’ a theatrical fire-eatin’ routine set to a buncha Queen songs, an’ while sum folks (Moi included) mighta found such a spectacle impressive, Taurus was fuckin’ Scorpio on the sofa an’ did not take kindlyta havin’ the hairs seared offa her fanjo by sum showy clown in a swashbuckler outfit.

Aquarius fired off his water cannon, but nuthin’ could douse the flames, so evryone hadta dash out into the corridor before the emergent inferno took holda the synthetic bobblesa crap in my bean bag an’ poisoned the wholea the Earth’s atmosphere.

Coulda used Virgo’s return jus’ then, if only to talk Taurus down from stranglin’ Leo to death an’ snap the heels offa Scorpio’s weaponized boots, but when I opened up the elevator there was only Pisces — clutchin’ two empty wine bottles.

“I started early,” she drawled. “Where’s the smokes? I wanna get trashed.”

Any other situation, Pisces gets sidelined as the buildin’ goes up in flames, but tonight her random intervention was perfect.

First, Leo got to live as Taurus an’ Scorpio turned on one other.

(“She’s mine!”

“No — she’s mine, you filthy bull!”

“Hey — quit pullin’ my hair, you bitch.”

“Leo burned it off, remember? That’s your fuckin’ dick, you shapeshifter asshole!”)

Second, the big cat squared up to the plumesa smoke pourin’ from my apartment door.

“This is all my fault,” she said. “So let me be the one to put things right.”

I kinda expected her to dig out an extinguisher an’ brave the flames solo, but Pisces’ diaphanous evenin’ gown shimmered with the glowa elemental water from beyond time an’ space, an’ Leo siezed the initiative.

If you ever seen onea them magic shows where the magician rips a tablecloth from under a whole buncha cutlery an’ dinner plates without disturbin’ a thing, it was kinda that — only on this occasion, the glamorous assistant (Pisces) fainted insteada grinnin’ like she got the only teeth in the universe.

Gotta be glad I caught her an’ broke her fall.

She was lighter than a bird, smelleda pure exotica.

FFS, there goes Aries again. An’ Libra is stripped to the waist now…

Speculation An’ Prediction Gotta Be Certain, No Contradiction

Point about the Courageous Leo Emergency Epic (as Leo herself named it) is how it is gonna be turned into a movie.

Coupla flapsa Pisces’ evenin’ gown was is all it took to snuff the flames.

Thing is, Leo was real cool about evrythin’ — swallowed her pride an’ offerdta replace my sofa an’ shit, all while she shaped out into sumthin’ half Matt Damon, half Benedict Cumberbatch.

On another night, that mighta turned my heart, only we still had four signs left to show, an’ I figured on keepin’ my wits about me — no mean feat seein’ how I am such a ditz, tellya.

Mixin’ a cocktail as I cleared the smoke, I set my astrologer’s brainta work, see if I could predict what was comin’.

“Lemme see,” I muttered, throwin’ on jeans an’ a T, “we got Libra, Cappy, Gemini an’ Sajjo — unless Sajjo is covered by Moi to save on polysexual specter manifestation magicks. So that’s three, mebbe four, stillta come.”

Way I saw it, Libra an’ Gemini coulda made a workable matchup scenario — or a threesum if Aquarius stole himself away from my impossible coffee table puzzle — leavin’Cappy to drop last an’ shut up shop before stompin’ around stoically till mebbe the Summer cos nuthin’ worked out … again.

Only he showed first.

An’ he was fuckin’ drop dead.

Ear Muffs Rising, Midheaven Fulla Cacophony

“Hi,” said Cappy, cool an’ soft an’ denim-stickyin’. “Seems you’ve had a difficult night.”

I nodded like sum nervous rabbit. An’ giggled. Frickin’ shoot me.

“What say I treat you to dinner? And a movie? My limo is outside.”

Gotta tellya, Capricorn an’ Moi don’t see eyeta eye, ‘spesh when it comesta the blendyjuicy, but I felt weird, kinda impulsive an’ secure all at once, an’ I opened my mouth, ready to whisper YES, THANK YOU SO MUCH, when Gemini strolled in an’ said, “Woooooooooooow, what in hell kinda action has been going down here? No, wait! Don’t tell me! You burned your Valentine’s dinner? Am I right? Incinerated your finest meringue and boiled all your gravy to a carbonized slab? Fifty bucks says that was the deal. Ha! Reminds me of a night in Rome last year — or was it 2015? 2014? Hell, who cares? — a blissful time I spent with a beautiful stallion by the name of Luigi. He was hot on looks, big on romance, and pleasingly expansive on the slack-to-stiff ratio in the boxerbuster department. We took in the Colosseum, Mussolini’s Typewriter and Big Ben, then we danced the night away under the stars and … no, wait — that was London. And it was Simon. Or was it Benjamin? Aw, who cares? Don’t you just love clocks the size of skyscrapers? And those guys with the helmets look like huge furry grapes? Yanno, the ones escort the Queen of England back and forth to the Eiffel Tower? Or wherever?” Gemini quit blinkin’. “Hey, who are you guys anyways? And what was I just saying?”

“He’s in the frickin’ livin’ room,” I said. “Hopeya like porcupines.”

Strap Me To The Dinner Table With Filamentsa Purest Style

Gotta tellya, I had a cool, quality time with Cappy.

Evrythin’ was perfect, an’ he took real good carea me — even when his beard slithered up his face into a pert an’ pristine bob midway through the Vichyssoise.

As a Saj, I am usedta bein’ kinda slapdash, kinda whatever happens, but when romance is done proper, it really makesya wonder ifya might want that deal more often.

Anyways, after mains — sum weirdo fish I’d never hearda — we chatted about Virgo an’ Cancer, an’ both agreed the crab-man-gal-thing gonna be OK.

“Virgo won’t let her down,” said Cappy, an’ I figured she truly meant it, but there was sumthin’ in her eyes, like a flickera sadness. I dunno.

“That is Earth, I guess. Real reliable.” Ha! I was tryin’ to be empatheticalistic, but Taurus’ phantom butt cheeks revisited me momentarily as a ballistic blur over my napkin, an’ I splorfed out sumthin’ filthy made the waiter blush.

Kinda worked on Cappy though, an’ when she drove me home I felt so warm an’ secure I almost forgot she was merely a celestial whisper.

Cometh The Hour, Cometh The Asshole

I figured on sealin’ a nighta adventure by relaxin’ for an hour in the tub with mebbe Libra readin’ me poetry an’ strokin’ on my hair, but Gemini really had picked up on Aquarius’ porcupine deal, an’ the paira ‘em were locked in for the night, behavin’ abominably.

I walked back to the lobby. No Libra.

I took out my tab an’ started writin’ alla this down. No Libra.

Mebbe I was right about the threesum; mebbe Libra was up there makin’ out with her fellow airheads — under the gazea sum watchful spiny beast.

*Omc, it is so salacious an’ dirtya Moi, but I started thinkin’ all kindsa stuff.*

Never got too racy though, cos Aries roared inta the lobby doorway, sweat drippin’ from evry incha her ravaged clothes.

“What the fuck cunt fuck is going on?” she screamed, punchin’ hard at the walls. “I was on fire. And I ran all fucking night. For no one! Why does this always happen to me? What did I DO? What is so wrong about wanting to start shit up?

Tellya, I was scared. Aries in a paranoid rage is truly dangerous, an’ I hadta trust it would blow over, like it always kinda does.

What I did not expect was a flowery hairdo to end all flowery hairdos to come skippin’ in from outta the night with a frickin’ violin’.

“Please don’t be angry,” said Libra, pirouettin’ round the scarlet-faced monster by the wall. “Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Fiddly-dee, fiddly-doo, fiddly-dum.”

Aries snapped her fingers into a fist. “There IS no other person, you fucking asshole! That is the fucking point!

Libra danced sum more, played his strings sweeter. “Fiddly-dee. Fiddly-doo. Fiddly-dum.”

Gotta tellya, when I facepalm, most times it is cozza embarrassment, but right then, seein’ Aries ready to flare all terminal, I had fears for my own eyeballs.

“Fiddly-dah,” whispered Libra. He reached out a hand, moved gently in on Aries — an’ cupped her shakin’ body in a tender hug.

Ha!

Took the smarmy fucker mebbe 15 seconds tops.

Tellya, that is not romance, that is frickin’ art.

Gimme the replay, gimme a month to bone up, an’ there is still NO WAY I can do that.

Anyways, that was mebbe forty minutes ago, an’ shit has kinda developed since then.

Aries has gone from explodin’ like an ancient volcano to flopsyin’ out with alla the jollitya sum doe-eyed Disney bunny, an’ she is tearin’ about all over with Cap’n Frickin’ Karaoke, playin’ out goofy historical combats — mosta which’re derived from Shakespeare if I hear Libra right an’ am not confoosin’ shit with The Empire Strikes Back.

So, Yeah — Happy Valentine’s, Evryone

Best thing is, seems I was right about the Sajjo deal.

No need for Mother Cosmosis to foreshadow crap for Moi, cos I am here, an’ I got the gift.

So, listen — I gotta go party now.

Virgo jus’ texted to say she is comin’ back with sum special keys gonna get me into my apartment, so I guess it is mindfuck time for Moi till alla the Air guys get sucked off back through Mother Cosmosis’ Celestial Vaporhole.

An’ btw, turns out Cancer met up with Taurus in a pizza place along the way, an’ Scorpio is soberin’ Pisces up in the elevator with a viewta managin’ her career as an exotic dancer in Leo’s movie franchise.

Ha!

Was gonna start out this blog post with the line As an Aries, you are impulsive in love.

But true romance is kinda messy, I guess — an’ that is the fun part…