In the wild an’ wacky worlda astrology, compatibility is the darnedest hot potater, tellya.
Alla that schwango about surefire an’ pre-ordained waysta bag the PERFECT soulmate for the PERFECT life with PERFECT you — is it really true?
Is it really gonna work?
More specifically, are alla those astrological mismatches doomedta fail?
Aw Gosh, I Hope Not! I Am In Such A Mismatch Relationship — And It Is Bliss! Please Don’t Tell Me I’m Being Delusional!
Tellya, textbook astrology compatibility scenarios orbit the internets, their dream solutions lit up by the twinklea the prediction-packin’ STARS.
Aries, you got Leo an’ Sagittarius — for fully flamed on love an’ adventure gonna rock out on verve an’ action.
An’ Taurus, you got Virgo an’ Capricorn — for a long term power duet fulla stability an’ trust gonna lastya.
Gemini, Libra an’ Aquarius can mix an’ match in infinitely intellect-tinglin’ ways, with plentya options for spicin’ up blendyjuicy’s boudoir.
An’ for full-on romance, spirityool bondin’ an’ tenderness, Cancer, Scorpio an’ Pisces make out in mebbe true love’s most expansive aquarium/desert area.
Leastaways, that is the kinda stuff I wrote out in my forthcomin’ Handy Astro Guides — an’ I got no desireta diss my own predictive fortune-dishin’ prowessitude aheada their release.
Hey! Quit Trying To Sell Shit Don’t Exist Yet, Princess! What Do You Think You Are — A Fucking Astrologer?
Hey — I dance an’ do yoga also, so go pick on sumone elseta rideya trope-assed one-trick pony round the Limited Talents theme park.
Point is, while these cosy, ‘single element’ matchups inviteyata tie up their fated certainties all sweet with a big ole booby doo ribbon — an’ even srsly mutant relationships like Taurus-Pisces an’ Gemini-Aries got cool link-up potential — the implication seemsta be that certain other combinations are kinda fuckoed from the outset, an’ ifya are stoopid beyond stoopid enoughta step out in such a maligned direction seekin’ eternal happiness an’ romance, the evil spirits patrollin’ the negative enda Fate’s spectrum gonna pee in a bucket bigger’n Saturn an’ sloosh it all over the bothaya in a surprise tsunami cataclysm whenya least expect it (most notably evry Monday, evry Tuesday, evry Wednesday…).
Cosmic Roolz’re clear.
Ifya are in anya these relationships…
Fixed ♥ Fixed — any comboa Taurus, Leo, Scorpio & Aquarius*
Cardinal ♥ Cardinal — any blenda Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn
Mutable ♥ Mutable — mix an’ match Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces
* though not all four together, cos that would be filth.
…then eternal misery be thine — on a platter, inya face, prolly even swampin’ ya armpits as an irritatin’ rash.
(Yeah, yeah — I know there are special weirdsy rules for polar opposites attractin’, but I am tryin’ to be super scientific here by glossin’ over that to make a pointa fact. It is the way right now in 2017, dontchya know.)
Thing is, life is fulla relationships break the rules alla the time.
See on Facebook where they got mice snugglin’ upta cats?
Sure, in life’s menagerie, you don’t get the kinda oppositesya see bustin’ outta the zodiac — what in hell would the oppositea a giraffe look like anyway? — but with the right beest whisperer an’ camera crew, most any *impossible!* combo is … possible.
(‘cept for mebbe a python an’ a shark — or an eagle an’ onea them creepy underground salamanders with no eyes an’ skin smoother than a dick pulsin’ out all woody.)
An’ you gotta admit — impossible or curious or plain weird combinations make the world spin sweeter.
FFS! First You Scare Me Into Thinking That My Perfectly Happy Relationship Is Compromised In Some Way — And Now You’re Insinuating That I’m Impossible Or Curious Or Plain Weird. Aaaand You Said I Was Stoopid Beyond Stoopid. Why Should I Read Any Further?
Read? Hey — you’re practically writin’ this thing!
But I guess that is my point.
Cosmic Roolz though there may be, it don’t meanya can’t break ‘em from timeta time — an’ neither does it mean nuthin’ gonna work ifya go break ‘em big time, nor even that no bountiful an’ happiness-packed good can ever come buzzin’ like kissed-out hunny bees from a union hitched up on the edgea OBLIVION.
Gotta figure there’re plentya godawful mismatches out there among people with no clue ‘bout astrology don’t even know how fuckoed they truly are.
“Let’s make out in the woods, where I can stick my tongue in your throat till you howl like a wolf,” says she, havin’ never consulted a horoscope, never checked in on astrology compatibility — an’ never found out she is Sagittarius.
“Fine,” says he, consultin’ a list longer than the Bayeux Frickin’ Tapestry, “but there’s the cleaning to do first — not to mention the administration, the ironing, and planning for our vacation in 2029. So why don’t you go walk the dog for a couple hours, and when everything here is spotless, I’ll wash and iron the bedsheets so they’re spankingly pristine and clean, and we can spend the rest of the day fucking one another’s brains out so hard and so good that this little ol’ place we call home will make the national news as an earthquake zone registering 9 on the Richter scale.”
(Most Virgos are smart enoughta know they are Virgos, but this guy is clearly a relative halfwit in that department.)
Thenya got other relationships pullin’ in some real power whoopee from a union fated to collapse don’t even realise their beautylicious existence depends entirely on rules they got no idea their amour flaunts — kinda like Donald Rumsfeld’s unknown unknowns, only with more provocative undergarments an’ mouth-wateringly curvaceouser insertables.
“Take me from behind! In a costume! Mouthing stream of consciousness gibberish in Ancient Greek!”
“Handcuffed to the ceiling and free swinging like a pendulum — or with the both of us sealed in the leather cocoon I hand-crafted from prime buffalo hide in my secret mountain hideaway?”
(Any fully functional Libra-Capricorn pairings out there recognize this scenario? I figureya gotta have not the faintest frickin’ clue what is gowin’ on astrologically, spiritually — an’ prolly even financially — to enjoy that baby.)
Gotta figure also that Moons an’ risin’ signs, Venus an’ Mars — an’ even frickin’ Plooto — all got plentya inflooence down deep in the astrological mix.
Coupla mismatched Sun signs up top could work out real sweet if evrythin’ links up compatible an’ perfect down deep inya planetary undercarriage.
Want my opinion?
This whole system is a frickin’ mess, tellya.
What Do You Propose As A Solution To This Astrology Compatibility Conundrum, O Princess? (And I Must Tell You Here That I Am Only Sticking Around Because That Last Part About Ironing The Bedsheets Really Turned Me On And I’m Hoping For More Of The Same, Preferably Involving A Washing Machine, Please.)
We kneelin’ on top together — or layin’ our fanjos out flat on the metalwork for max vibe power?
I guess the thing is, this whole astrology compatibility deal is all about how adventurous you wanna be.
How comfortable, how risky, how rhythmically functional, how fraught with peril.
‘Steada Cosmic Roolz — unbreakable — gotta figure on a hierarchya possiblilities — all makeable (but mebbe with consequences).
Playin’ for the home team is prolly easier than mixin’ it up with the away side — allaya Mojo Suite (emotional, sexyool, spiritual, financial, practical, aspirational etc) fully catered for an’ powerin’ out inta the blue on a tightly defined directive ticket — but the green grass on the other sidea the hill got advantages also, as in how that very same Mojo Suite gonna mebbe bust out on a more uncertain an’ potentially rewardin’ growth ticket, pullin’ in challenges, setbacks an’ unexpected discoveries as furniture an’ dinner plates are thrown about at random.
An’ I would wantchya to think about that.
Earth, Air, Fire an’ Water all got their own ways they wanna be.
A Fire partnership mebbe gonna be intrinsically more volatile than its Earth counterpart, but it still has a tightly defined directive ticket.
Not so the Sagittarius-Virgo relationship I mentioned earlier, before I sat up top on the washin’ machine withya to drill down, max spin, on my concludin’ vibe.
In this relationship, Sagittarius gonna open Virgo up sum, an’ I wantchyata know how powerful a force this kinda Earth Revved up by Fire combo can be.
Gotta thinka Star Wars here — only insteada the Jedi pluckin’ Luke Skywalker from his day-to-day tedium, they chose Cinderella.
On the flipside, what does Sagittarius really need?
Another fire sign stokin’ ‘em up, aggravatin’ their violent tendencies, an’ urgin’ ‘em to yell CUNT! alla the time?
Jus’ as the Cinderella story got its own transformational punch, there are plentya cool narratives out there in books an’ movies feature the upstart whupped inta shape an’ saved from herself by sum kinda ‘informed master’ figure— or himself ifya are thinkin’ Dr Strange … an’ I wanna thinka Dr Strange, trooly I do, O Benedict, Benedict, Benedict…
As anyone watches Joopiter an’ Saturn knows, journeys can be equally about expansion an’ compromise, abandon an’ rigor, exploration an’ diligence — an’ sumtimes these qualities flip over.
For Sajjo, is not the Virgoan rulebook a kinda ultimate wilderness survival escapade, diligence turned exploration?
“I am Sagittarius — romping o’er hill and dale in search of freedom, tail swishing freely about my gorgeously toned equine ass.”
“Fine. But I am Virgo — and I’m gonna sit you on a rock in the middle of the ocean till you quit fucking around and squandering your life. Want freedom? Okay, so go wanderlust yourself the heck outta that panorama, you self-destructive bohemian buffoon!”
An’ on the flippo…
“I am Virgo — passionately bound to routines and strategies for teasing precisely what I want from life with my forensically-honed cerebellular colossus.”
“Fine. But I am Sagittarius — and I want you to know you are wasted in that stupid lab working for that asshole takes advantage of your generosity. So I say we move to Japan, throw out all our old clothes, and get you the intermittent urinary catheter design technician’s salary your nitpicky fucking brain deserves.”
For Virgo, is not Sajjo’s boundless optimism an’ lust for travel kinda compromise transformed into expansion? Diligence turned into exploration?
Same intrinsic Virgo deal, only bigger an’ better?
I am only speculatin’ here, an’ I am only usin’ a few limited examples, but I hopeya get the picture.
First The Washing Machine…And Now The Intermittent Urinary Catheter! Are You Trying To Bring Me Off Here Or What?
Hey, I jus’ wanna bring evryone onboard here.
With the deal.
See, astrology is not set in stone.
FFS alla the planets’re spinnin’ in thinnest vapor, an’ mosta ‘em are either ice, gas or crap.
Only permanence is the math underlyin’ their synchronized flingo (an’ I will say more about that another time).
Rest is kinda open season — energies an’ archetypes playin’ out as pan-MMORPG narrative.
Truth is, fate is options, choices, decisions.
Hard an’ easy. Sweet an’ bloody. Washin’ machine an’ intermittent urinary catheter.
An’ much as we wanna hitch evrythin’ up all perfect astrology compatibility fixed done sunset credits roll, sumtimes…
…oh, jus’ a few sweet sumtimes…
… the rightest wrong person ever swoops inta our life from outta frickin’ nowhere — an’ we gotta be real smart ‘bout what we choose gonna happen next…
Title Image c/o Alexas-Fotos @ Pixabay
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