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

5 Reasons Why Leo Types Are Walkin’ Motivation GIFs

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

5 REASONS WHY LEO TYPES ARE WALKIN’ MOTIVATION GIFs

& How YOU Can Cruise Along In The Slipstream!

Leo got creative heart in frickin’ abundance, tellya.

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

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

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

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs — The LEO Essence

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

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

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

Religious hymn shows, you sing along, right?

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

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

Positive deal, Leo combines abundant creativity with abundant generosity.

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

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

Aggressive, pouty, real hurt.

Real fuckin’ dangerous.

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

Cool thing is — that sumplace is YOU.

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs Hot Tip #1 —

It’s All About YOU

Wanna look outsideya self for motivation?

Uhm … that is called inspiration, sweetie.

Go check the dictionary — inspiration is about intake.

Converso-flippo, the motivation stuffs are all insideya.

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

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

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

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

It ain’t noplace other than YOU.

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

Wastea. Your. Time.

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs Hot Tip #2 —

It’s All About COURAGE

Again, we gotta be specific.

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

Sumtimes it jus’ means facin’ the music.

An’ that is what Leo does so good.

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

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

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

But what if they actschly got less than you?

Less soulful Self Power?

Jus’ a tiny flickerin’ flame?

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

So — go faceya own music, K?

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

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs Hot Tip #3 —

It’s All About GENEROSITY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kinda like Narcissus, she is self-obsessed.

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

Attention kinda goes to her head.

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

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

But Aeneasella was not generous.

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

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

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

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs Hot Tip #4 —

It’s All About SHOWTIME

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

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

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

Sheeeesh! Look away NOW!

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

Tellya, theater is an illoominatin’ superwindow on reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Otherwise, what is the fuckin’ point?

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs Hot Tip #5 —

It’s All About PRIDE

Do sumthin’ smart, you gotta own it.

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

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

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

An’ why so?

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

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

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

Not evrythin’ gonna work out.

Do sumthin’ dumb, you gotta own it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So take heart an’ contribute positively.

Motivation is all about YOU — reasonya heart beats.

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

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

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

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

Walkin’ Motivation GIFs — Go Step Out & Be One

You feel it now?

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

Then, hey — whatchya fuckin’ around here for?

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

Go make like a LEO.

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

Title Image c/o Plasterbrain @Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="10"></span> <span class="sdata" title="07, 2017"></span>

Sagittarian Firepower

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-07-11T07:47:12+00:00"></span> |Creativity, Fire Signs, Initiative, Motivation, Practical Astrology, Sagittarius|0 Comments

SAGITTARIAN FIREPOWER

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

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

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

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

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

Gotta figure life was tough before the Rennayesance.

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

Sum lousy Dear Diary that all was.

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

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

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

Anyways, to hell with alla that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cos you got your bow withya, right?

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

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

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

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

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

Then knock it, ready to fire.

*scowls*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sum sweet spot jus’ outta reach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wherein, quirka fate, lyethya twist?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*FFS … c’mon…*

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

We have those already; they are here.

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

Sit idle?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Semen here is jus’ a metaphor.

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

Or any coupla anythin’.

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

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

Whateverya got right now — call it out.

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

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

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

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

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

Wieldin’ that bowa yours gonna take sum physical aptitood.

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

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

But I wanna pullya up on sumthin’.

Bow weighs less than air, so whydya lean back?

Gotta stay upright, gotta stay on your feet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Point is, do not fix to fireya imaginary bow.

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

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

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

Fwoooooooooooooooooooooooossshhhh!

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

This a bunny worth eatin’?

Or didya jus’ target a dud?

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

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

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

*scowl* *pout* *poopy pants*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good stuff kinda jus’ starts stackin’ up.

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

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

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

I would so that, for sure.

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

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

But not always, an’ not forever.

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

Actschly, lemme rephrase that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heart to go seek, heart to share.

Otherwise what is gowin’ on?

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

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

Title Image c/o RoyalHoliday @Morguefile

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

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

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

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

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

Foretellismo

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

FORETELLISMO

Storytellin’ is written inta the fabrica the Cosmos.

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

Truth is, nuthin’ moves without generatin’ narrative.

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

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

Feel them luscious lipsya got onya?

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

Now?

Yup.

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

Feel it?

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

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

You are jus’ kinda there.

Or here.

Or whereverya are.

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

Get To The Point. I Have A Life.

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

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

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

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

Thinka what happens evry month.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the planets got predictability, hoomans desire foretellismo.

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

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

Here it is:

foretellismo means astrology beats marketing

Want my opinion?

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

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

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

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

Foretellismo describes sumthin’ we all desire real bad.

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

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

Seems evryone craves mastery over that perpetually mutable sweet spot.

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

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

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

Problem is, foretellismo is an illusion.

Fake News? Sorry — I Am Outta Here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Librans! Ha! Tell Me About It!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An’ astrology is one such game.

Centuries old, it is equally bloodied an’ ferocious.

But, hey — who cares ‘bout that?

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

Gonna go write sum horoscopes now.

I am through bein’ quasi-academicalistic…

Title Image c/o Amber Avalona @Pixabay

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

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

cos I am a real lazy fucker.

<span class="sdata" title="20"></span> <span class="sdata" title="03, 2017"></span>

Spring Fever Cures All

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2018-03-21T07:56:03+00:00"></span> |Meditation, Motivation, Practical Astrology, Spring Equinox, Spring Fever|0 Comments

Tellya, Spring Fever cures EVRYTHIN’. Period.

But ifya wanna feel its power, you gotta let it in onya.

Jettison the Old, flip out fulla zest with the Noo, typea thing.

Commit to that kinda catalytic plan, an’ your life gonna rock out on positive vibes pumpin’ through its essential pipe networks all the way to the squirtyhosey tips, teats, pores an’ vestibularities, tellya.

Best part?

You get a hefty kick start up the motivation ass RIGHT NOW as…

THE SUN ENTERS ARIES

It is troo.  It is for real.  It is happenin’.

We got a noo Zodiac cycle beginnin’ as Pisces relinquishes hold on alla her exquisite dreams an’ fancies — an’ darin’ Aries grabs ‘em an’ runs with ‘em, bold noo frontiers in her sights.

(I got more on the recent Pisces dreamo phase HERE, jus’ for slooshie retro value.)

This is the moment when Spring Fever cures all!

An’ I would want this message to figure way beyond the Equinox, an’ last the whole year through — like Christmas kinda don’t.

Tellya, anythin’ you got that is lame, deadbeat, spent, exhausted or fuckoed gonna receive a celestial energy boost to revive, rejuvenate an’ resurrectya vision, purpose — an’ execution!

Mercury, Venus an’ Uranus are already pre-loaded in Aries, an’ when the Spring Equinox drops, dynamism gonna be fully reborn — along with plentya opportoonities for split pants asya leap in the air an’ kickya heels.

Thing is, such is the powera the energies gonna be released, I would not want anyone to be consoomed in the ensuin’ fireballs — nor waste the precious incendiary cargo on offer from this Aries-fueled Equinox fest.

So I got five pointers forya, gonna speedya along withoutya gettin’ all stoopid, K?

PRINCESS BALESTRA’S TOP 5 SPRING FEVER CURES

Here’s my hit list, plain an’ simple…

Body.

Mind.

Spirit.

Mojo.

Drive.

Spring Fever Cures BODY —

Throw On Sum Sporty Skimpies & Be In The Streets

This is no time for sluggin’ around in winter clothes or strappin’ portable heaters to your back.

You gotta cast alla that offaya like sum burlesque gal peelin’ downta the strawbos.

But remember, 2017 ain’t no torrid rompfest (more’s the frickin’ pity), so ‘steada bouncin’ out into the street in the buff, you gonna load up with super dinky, super skimpy sportsgear.

Trick here is absolute bare essentials, jus’ enoughta cover upya tinglydanglies, cos I wantcha to test the fresh noo air to the max — with verve an’ precocity.

Go cavort exotically!

Run! Leap! Skip! Hop! Cartwheel!

Whateverya got, get it out in the streets an’ soak up the energizin’ bravado on a SPRING FEVER CURES ALL ticket!

Want it. Desire it. Make it happen.

If’n you wanna, you could mebbe chant summa these astrology-themed Springtime mantras (an’ by chant, I mean bellow tillya spook all nearby canines the fuck outta their skins.)

I have Aries energy! I am lusty! I am gutsy! I am one revved-up bitch / SOB!

Life is about falling down 7 times and getting up 8 — unless you STAY ON YOUR FEET and KICK EVERYONE ELSE OUT OF THE WAY!

Gonna ram hard against reality till pearls spew out from under its shell!

Lo! I am Initiative’s Brightest Avatar, Bravery’s Staunchest Champion, Snogging’s Thrillsumest Breathtaker!

Watch me karate kick like a S.W.A.T. team ballerina as yawps to shame Walt Whitman bust my throat clean offa my frickin’ neck!

Yeah, yeah, I know summa these’re totally OTT — but that is the fuckin’ point right now.

You gotta get out there with pioneerin’ brio rompin’ roundya bloodstream — an’ beat Spring to the Equinox.

Those’re the rules.

Spring Fever Cures MIND —

Make Thrillsum With The Meditative Chillsum

Gotta figure a thrillout is the ultimate chillout.

Sumtimes, yogic flopout or serene reflection is the only wayta go if’n you wanna chill down on the stresso or flipya actschly OK rn tvm braino into a higher gear.

(Remember: meditative types do not sit cross-legged, flauntin’ their undercarriages, solely to get hitched in the sack.)

But the deal right now is not so much gowin’ with the stillness flow as keepin’ pace with the fireballs ragin’ all over — an’ maintainin’ composure in the facea their incendiary onslaught.

Thinka it like swimmin’ with dolphinsa flame: you gotta get close up an’ personal with the action — no sittin’ back, no jus’ lookin’.

So what we got on offer here is a real active stillness, an’ I would wanna suggest takin’ sumthin’ like T’ai Chi or a 10-move Yoga flowout sequence an’ uppin’ the speed on the mechanical cranko.

Canya maintain the same levela calm an’ composure at increased tempo asya would ifya wentya regular way?

If so, speed up sum more, bearin’ in mind you got a finite structure don’t want or need damagin’— this is still meditation, not sum killer ballistics porno.

Prolly you should start out with sumthin’ like my Stillness for The Volatile meditation, then carry that spirita flame into a pepped-up reflecto-workout.

If you wanna, mebbe you could punctuate the action an’ the flamogazo like alla the trooly pumped athletes who tone up an’ zone forward with HIITs.

Point is, this is more about the mind than the body (an’ I am not bein’ no heretic dualist here when I make this suggestion) — your focus in alla the movement is stillness while alla the Spring Fever energies rage in an’ outtaya.

How still canya be when fire threatensta obliterate or consoomya?

Prolly you won’t know tillya try it.

spring fever cures all when the Equinox fires up in Aries

Spring Fever Cures SPIRIT —

Race To The Edgea Danger

Gotta drop sum hardcore astro here, so ifya are jus’ cruisin’ by lookin’ for personal development tips or motivational strategies gonna thrustya toppa all known success pedestals — with no desireta have no astro schwango dumped onya — mebbe you should throw a bag overya head for 60 seconds an’ wait this one out.

I will hang on forya whileya locate a bag.

(An’ remember, the bags gonna suffocateya are mebbe the same semi-transparent blindfolds gonna enableya to cheat by readin’ on for my motivational success tips, an’ I would not want anyone dyin’ or sufferin’ a full blown cognitive dissonance attack — so be sureta go with a PAPER bag, or mebbe a wicker basket, K?)

Also — it is OKAY to read THIS PART — orya won’t know WHAT TO DO.

Got a bag?

K, so jus’ put it on an’ count to 60.

cya later. ☺

Meanwhile, devoted astro aficionados, I wanna jus’ say a few words about innocence, naivety  — an’ gettin’ super fresho with noo experiences.

That is the Aries spirit.

Thing is, so mucha what makes Aries so … Aries is all too often presented in the forma child imagry or narrative — yanno, alla that “Aries is the baby of the Zodiac, followed by Taurus the toddler”, and so on — all the way upta “Pisces the wizened old crone, baring her neck like a martyr before the Reaper’s shiniest sickle slices her tits off” typea thing.

There is narrative in that imagry — cos we are right at the starta a great noo Zodiac journey here rather than runnin’ down the final daysa sum spent old cycle — but I would not want the trooly adult qualities Aries got to be diminished by this (frankly arbitrary) viewpoint.

In my forthcomin’ HANDY ASTRO GUIDES, I touch on how Aries got a real life challenge.

Aries is edgy cos she got a real clear viewa life’s precipices — an’ she wants to run there so very much cos it is EXHILARATIN’ an’ it is LIFE.

That spirit does not belong solely to children (or youth), an’ in informed an’ conscious adult hands it delivers the entreprenoorial zoomo to effect much-needed change.

That, I guess, is the spirit I see on offer here as Pisces lays down an’ Aries rises up.

An’ we can all touch on summa that, if we wanna, cos that is how Spring Fever cures all.

Gotta remember, cyclic as the Zodiac wheel is, this 2017 spin ain’t never happened before.

(An’ ifya drop into my HOROSCOPES section, you can hop ahead to my 2017 Astro Summary an’ discover how inevitable planetary movements an’ interactions gonna ENSLAVE YA! Ha. Only jokin’.)

Like all novel phenomena, 2017 has edges, precipices — an’ dangers.

An’ what the Spring Equinox is sayin’ as it swells with dancin’ flame is mebbe you should get up offaya comfort zone bean bag an’ go experience noo an’ excitin’ adventures.

Jus’ gotta welcome back evryone put a bag over their head for that last part.

I figureya got the basis for mebbe a Halloween mask ifya cut out some eye slits an’ make with the menacin’ hues.

Jus’ don’t wear it yet, K?

Equinox may be all about adventure, but rompin’ around in a ghost mask alongside purty blooms don’t figure as onea my Spring Fever cures for anythin’.

You jus’ gonna look frickin’ stoopid.

Spring Fever Cures MOJO —

Ignition Is An Activity Never Has The Option To Grow Old

Perhaps the cruelest trick life plays is whenya got alla your favo stuffs close up an’ personal — an’ yet sumhow shit don’t work out.

I figure evryone got their own Dream Day they are mebbe pointin’ alla their aspirations toward.

I dunno, mebbe you are on a beach with allaya friends, cocktail in hand as the Sun plays a perfect panorama into a sensual miracle.

But what happens when Dreamo Days no longer cut it?

You are THERE doin’ THAT THING with THOSE PEOPLE — an’ yet sumhow, what you’ve experienced as dreamo alla your life lacks its usual luster.

Truth is, tarnish happens, even to the best an’ shiniest stuff we got.

It is a truth universally unacknowledged that time is a monster, I guess.

An’ though her intention is never to kill when she digs her teeth into our mortality, she can wound us real mean with the relentlessnessa her chompin’.

That is why we sumtimes walk away from Dreamo Days like we are bleedin’.

Tellya, I have yet to enjoy a single weddin’ cozza alla the Happiest Day of My Life people bein’ fuckin’ cunts to one another.

Point is, time demands change of us, whether we like it or not — an’ no matter whetherya are a motivated zealot intent on life-transformin’ supermorpho, or a comfy-bunny slacker dissolvin’ in blissful inertiasoup, seemsta me evryone responds to our inherently mutable Cosmos like shit is forever.

Time is a Dream Eater gonna stealya Dreamo Days fromya.

Starts with small things like the stoopid hamburger guy slippedya an unwanted gherkin or your teenage heart throb marries a total loser with a face like a frickin’ horse — an’ ends with you bedridden, energies all spent, while snotty grandkids fight over chocolates you ain’t got strength to taste, let alone eat.

When time challengesya Dreamo this way, feels likeya Mojo is down, never gonna rise up again.

But for Aries — an’ spring eternal — this is NEVER, NEVER, NEVER true, least not for long.

Thinka that last Mojo phrase as an internal monolog for a second.

My Mojo is down, an’ I am never gonna rise up again.

I figure evryone has said that kinda thing to ‘emselves at sum point — an’ felt the hurt.

But whatchya are really sayin’ is how you been bruised by change an’ desire the past’s return or continuation as a crutch gonna keepya gowin’ forward.

D’oh!

Say frickin’ what?

Truth is, to re-igniteya Mojo, you gonna need ignition.

But ignition is an activity never has the option to grow old.

Prolly it is truer to say ignition is an activity dies as it is bein’ born.

Combustion happens, ignition is OVER.

So you want ignition inya life, you gotta keep makin’ it happen over an’ over.

Start up, step out, stand anew.

Mojo is not like furniture. Or memories. Or mantras penned in blood.

It is momentarily fickle superpower blastin’ off cool stuff at the edgea your unfoldin’ life.

And dontcha frickin’ forget it!

Spring Fever Cures DRIVE —

Drill Down On Whatchya Want An’ Fire Off In THAT Direction

Gotta remember, Aries is a trooly active sign, thrives on thrills an’ adventure.

Single-minded an’ independent, Aries gets a fix on sum direction an’ jus’ goes for it.

Energy like that — real direct, real intended — is a useful commodityta have around.

Cos sumtimes we procrastinate or self pity, talk ourselves down or get stuck in sum forlorn rut from which it is darn near impossible to extricate ourselves.

Where other signs would ponder or wallow or reflect or experiment or reason or alla those other not immediately useful kindsa things, Aries gets the fuck outta the hole.

Blind direction, sort the rest later.

What we saw with the recent Pisces Noo Moon (an’ what has been rollin’ along for the past month) is alla the sortin’, resolvin’ an’ rearrangin’ aheada noo life, energy an’ initiative bustin’ outta the Zodiac trap.

But Spring is here.

Today.

An’ asya read these words, even the muscles flippin’ your eyeballs into actively engaged saccades’re burnin’ up the novelicious Arian carbs an’ oxygen.

Way I see it, you are either fast outta the trap or you are dead in the water right now.

So whatever plansya got, throw yourself at ‘em like Wolverine’s claws swooooooooshin’ from them thar Hugh Jackmaknuckles.

Tippa those blades got drive, direction, purpose — an’ zero time for assholin’ around.

One Last Thing

Like I said, Spring Fever cures all.

Flaggin’ body gonna be revved up, mebbe even primed for spontaneous an’ furniture-destroyin’ blendyjuicy.

Weary mind gonna step up as it chills out, alert to its own raw potentialities.

Lackluster spirit gonna flush out fulla zeal an’ hunt down opportoonity around evry corner.

Dented mojo gonna thrive on emergin’ adventures an’ strengthenya creative resolve.

As for drive — whaddya really wanna happen right now? As in ima get offa my stoopid fat ass an’ go DO THIS.

Gota warnya straight out — when the Sun hits Taurus later in April, alla this noo-found verve gonna mebbe come to a halt whileya go eat cake an’ get massaged tillya are liquid form an’ smell sweeter than Narcissus’ fruitiest ever farts.

Aries-powered Equinox wantsya up an’ hummin’ RIGHT NOW.

Get started, an’ mebbe Spring Fever cures gonna last all year.

So c’mon, quit the STAIR-RIN ADD-DA SCREEEEEEEEN deal — an’ go make sumthin’ real smart happen…

Title Image c/o Cindy del Val @ Unsplash

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

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

Stillness For The Volatile

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2018-04-01T16:09:29+00:00"></span> |Creativity, Fire Signs, Meditation, Practical Astrology, Stillness|0 Comments

STILLNESS FOR THE VOLATILE

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

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

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

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

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

But what ifya are a Fire person?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To hell with stillness!

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

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

Go Take Big Time Action Onya Chilled Out Reflection Meditation Stuffs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*beep squeep bweeeeeep, booby doo*

*fleeeep fleeeeeep squeeeedeee boooo*

Tellya, I frickin’ love dolphins…

Cool Kinda Stillness Tips For Fire Fiends Got Smackohot Lips

K, this is gonna take like 10 minutes.

First 3, you spark up an’ get comfy.

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

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

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

Gonna mellow asya roll along.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aries — Here Be Stillness

This is where Aries starts out.

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

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

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

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

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

Think on that, Aries.

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

Gonna strike out, gotta have sum clear direction.

An’ here it is.

All you gotta do is sit with it awhile.

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

Leo — Here Be Stillness

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

Gotta be humble here before this baby.

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

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

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

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

Protect it, an’ it gonna protect you.

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

Think on that, Leo.

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

Here it is, that peace.

All you gotta do is sit with it awhile.

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

Sagittarius — Here Be Stillness

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

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

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

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

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

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

Think on that, Sagittarius.

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

Here is it, inspirin’ glimmer sparks the journey.

All you gotta do is sit with it awhile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An’ this is only the starta what might happen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fire!

Fire!

Fire!

You wanna go play with that?

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<span class="sdata" title="1"></span> <span class="sdata" title="01, 2017"></span>

Fuck Off

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2018-04-01T16:14:43+00:00"></span> |Choice, Mother Cosmosis, Motivation, Resolution|0 Comments

astrology says fuck off

Yeah, I know — this is the worst possible headline to suspend with wilful dangliture as the first blog post on a virgin astrology website ever.

But I figure it is cool to be honest about the direction I am takin’, ‘specially as it is Noo Year an’ nuthin’ much has been spoiled yet beyond mebbe stomach linin’ an’ a zillion carpets.

So I will say it again — only this time without the assistancea sum zesty headline font.

Fuck off!

Dear Sweet Jesus, This Astrologer Is Clearly A MONSTER.

Get Me The Hell Outta Here!

Oh, butya gotta understand I do not mean YOU, sweet observera wonders.

I am jus’ clearin’ decks on 2016 in a kinda out-with-the-old, in-with-the-noo fashion, cos I guess starta the year is when we all reflect sum on the passagea time an’ our place within its unrelentin’ spinola.

An’ anyways, 2016 is gone.

She can no longer hear our cries, be they fuck off or fuck on, an’ her power to bless or corrupt us has transformed from fullnessa presentpulse magnitude to eternal gonesterismo, like all her rage an’ love an’ despair an’ hope was jus’ sum waya burnin’ off calories before she got to lay down her pretty head an’ go sleep.

So, we are here now, big Janno 1st kinda day — an’ if your head ain’t still throbbin’ with party time booby doo, prolly you got a whole lista stuff you wanna figure this year — buncha dreams, big ideas, fashion schemes etc.

An’ that is cool.

Sorry. I Still Believe You Are Totally Nutzoid, Princess Ba … whaddeva.

Why Should I Indulge Your Evident Foibles By Reading On?

Because you are curious, possibly even cute.

Thing is, all anyone gotta do is say fuck off fuck off fuck off — an’ they lure the world toward their incredibly uncrass secrets like storm clouds cummin’ electricity to birth a Frankensteinian taboo.

All I am doin’ is makin’ this much-documented process difficult — cos I know howya love feelin’ exclusive.

Ha!

Tellya — you got this far, we prolly lost 75%a the flip-thru socmed-crazy Zombie Lost between us.

Those bozos’re so certaina their direction they will clickeddy-clickeddy-click from link to website to link forever to find it.

So give yourself a celebratory Noo Year pat on the back for hangin’ on in with Moi.

Prolly meansya ain’t as stoopid as evryone says.

Gotta land yourself in the top 25%a stuff, right?

Hey … Quit Beginning To Make Some Kind Of Sense, You Loon…

Aw, c’mon.

Stop bein’ sucha poopypants an’ show me your ALLORNUTHIN’ beforeya read any further.

Way I see it, ifya are gonna fuck on withya lista dreams an’ ideas an’ fashion schemes an’ shit, you gotta be sure you are worthya Mother Cosmosis’ precious time in her capacity as Bitch-queen-in-chief O’er The Whole Shebango.

Cos she is sooooo batshit busy out there in the void, fillin’ up alla the nuthin’ with alla the sumthin’ an’ gracin’ evythin’ with an orchestrated whirl jus’ so’s alla the assholes stranded down here on Terra Firma got sum kinda show beyond peerin’ into one another’s eyeballs an’ concludin’ no one is frickin’ home.

You want her to smile sweetly onya (an’ alla your re-solootions), you gotta show sum commitment, sum faith in whatya believeya want, cos no divine bein’ ever illuminated a half-assed heart — ‘specially the ones never existed in the first place till we made the fuckers up.

Butya gotta remember Mother Cosmosis don’t dictate your lista dreams, nor decide if it stands or falls.

She is, like alla the tweety birds an’ cutesy animals in Snow White, jus’ another summonable ally you can call on asya stride out into a milieu packin’ evil witch persons fulla bad intent.

An’ stride you gotta, sumhow.

Cos those are the frickin’ rules.

Way I see it, progress is inevitable, an’ without people like you guys — passionate an’ animate, thoughtful an’ beautiful — all we got goin’ in our cornera the Cosmos is a bottomless, topless, sideless, shapeless VOID — a whole buncha rock an’ dust an’ ice spinnin’ time’s finite energy downta zero on the dial till all scrapsa matter squish out through sum humongo black holea oblivion, forever consumed, forever destroyed, forever dead an’ gone.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

I know.

Progress is a real bitch that way, I guess.

But hey — while we are waitin’ for Armageddon, we still got burgers.

An’ pop icons incapablea not bein’ frickin’ assholes.

All vomitin’ forth from the progeneratively onward marcha time.

That is why it ain’t still 2016 — an’ when 2016 got started, why it stopped bein’ 2015.

(Might takeya a while to get the idea, but trust me — you can repeat this mathematical process alla the way back to zero an’ then keep on gowin’. I got a numbers guru pal tells me such things are possible.)

Oh, but now we are gonna get real serious, real down to the wire…

Because prolly you do not believe in astrology.

Bein’ super smart an’ super savvy, you are connected, you got a vision, an’ your future is entreprenoorially whimsome, vimsome, an’ shimmersome — entirely independenta Fate’s fickle finger teasin’ the rimmaya butthole an’ fillin’ you fulla reflex kicks 24/7.

But see, great ballsa stuff beyondya hearts’s desires, more colossal mebbe thanya could ever imagine them to be — they been circlin’ in cool kindsa unison since beforeya best smartphone fingers bust as pre-finger polyps from outta the primordial swamp back when the pre-2016 progress numbers were negative as shit.

You with me now?

Hapless in form an’ deed before more colossal and unified gravity than you will ever possess?

(Note to self: do not overplay the melodrama here, Princess, especially on an astrology website whose virgin post proffers the headline FUCK OFF.)

Ahem … So … Uhm … Positive Booby Doo, Make Withya Bestest Optimismo

Before This Blog’s Fledgling Readership Shoots Its Frickin’ Self

So, listen — I would wantyata think real hard ‘bout that lista stuffya been scribblin’ out between wrappin’ presents for alla your loved ones, eatin’ way too much figgy poodang, an’ offerin’ up your memoriesa 2016 to Death’s ever-whirlin’ scythe.

Cos in that ole wish list, you got tiny seedsa beautiful possibility, desiresya wanna grow — even if it is jus’

* quit smoking

* locate missing blue sock

* iron tights like a pro

* purchase anti-boner strap for the pool

or

* be a decent person in the face of oppression, danger, rejection —

and abduction by flibble-faced aliens

Or else what is the pointa wishin’?

Why not jus’ stick with what is here?

Picture that scenario…

Do Not Shutya Eyes To Picture This Next Part

Or You Gonna Miss Alla The Detail I Wrote Out

“Aw gosh,” you say, as a yawn splitsya face in two, “what a fun day December 31st has been!”

Thenya flopya head on the pillow, dream allaya best dreamisum thoughts, an’ rise the followin’ morn with the sun onya pretty l’il face an’ Noo Year carpe diem determination pumpin’ roundya biddy widdy heart alla the way inta catalytic networka your arterial zoomtree.

“What a miracle it is that nothing has changed!” you mutter, pluckin’ ballsa crusty slumber fromya eyes. “All is as it was, in perfectly suspended stasis! A fluid EverNow flowing forever undiminished into the future!”

Tellya, in that scenario, it is like evrythin’ is sorted, all neat an’ tidy.

An’ all endeavor, strivin’ an’ initiative’re jus’ hummin’ along by default.

But, see, thenya go do sumthin’ real frickin’ stoopid by lookin’ in the mirror.

Prolly you figure allya doin’ is brushin’ your teeth or fixin’ your hair or seein’ how smooshied your make-up is from the night before.

But whatcha really lookin’ at is Death.

Gulp. ‘Fraid So.

Thing is, Death’s touch is ever onya, slowest singular caress in the historya IRL porno.

Means only one thing in the end, whatever the Here & Now, whatever the presence or absencea reflection.

Thing is, sweet observera wonders, your skin gonna rot, your teeth gonna drop fromya mouth, an’ your life gonna burn up till it snuffs out an’ is gone.

Cos you know, deep down, how that person from yesterday kinda never quite made it through to now, dontcha?

Same as the gal from January 1st 2016.

The guy from January 2015.

An’ alla the goofy lookin’ kidsya once were, back in the dead forever day.

An’ ifya spin time aheadaya, fix on sum numbersya mebbe don’t wanna think about too much right now — 20, 30, 40, 50! — numbers that might seem impossible forya truly to figure, you gonna reach a point beyond which no person has ever made it through.

(Google informs me this point is 122 years 164 days — some French gal called Jeanne Calment. Tellya, I ever get reptiles for my apartment, I am savin’ that monicker up for my dinkiest terrapin.)

So ya gotta be brave an’ face the music.

Dance, eternally in motion, forever pulsin’ forward on unremittin’ change.

You gotta walk out, continually renewed, travelin’ light with Mars an’ Venus an’ Joopiter — an’ alla their funky friends.

Cos in the end, we are all intimately conjoined win-wins or lose-loses.

Alla us spirited or unspirited things rollin’ round together — or not here at all.

An’ that is why your lista resolootions is kinda important.

If change is inevitable, you gotta get somea it on your team.

Be its agent insteada its slave.

That way, stepsya take gonna mebbe make sum kinda difference beyond mere vegemechanical footfalls fillin’ up the days — long asya remember evryone else got the same deal gowin’.

Days, weeks, months, years, decades — mebbe even centuries ifya are lucky as Jeanne Calment — evryone steps out, always, into a world spinnin’ round a balla fire.

Evryone is spinnin’ in a void.

So when sumone other than yourself flies pastya, gotta figure sumplace for ‘em onya lista resolootion stuff.

Or no fingers gonna hook ‘emselves together, no palms gonna reach out for hugs, an’ no kissin’ ever gonna happen.

Welcome To 2017 — Another Final Frontier Yet To Pack Dust

So whattya hangin’ around here for?

Wastin’ your time readin’ astroschwango whenya could be cartwheelin’ out into your personal cornera the world, pumped so fulla go-gettin’ motivation powerya could freak out a Giant Redwood an’ still have spook factor left overta mix it with mebbe wolves or sharks?

Actschly, I guess it is because you are not an asshole.

I figure yours is a more refined an’ considered pumpin’ wherein flexa muscle is measured insteada ballistospasmal.

Cosya wrote out a lista stuffya kinda wanna hit on this year, right?

I like that.

I like that very much.

So mebbe stick around, huh?

This stoopid buncha unborn days got ‘2017’ looped around it like sum glitter-spangled asteroid belt prolly gonna be intrestin’…

top astrology blog hotsies for a planet fulla misplaced mojo

Aw, But This Is All Old Nooz Now!

If’n you want noo stuffs so fresh they all joocy like a bippidy boppidy baby’s myconium, then why not try out my motivatioinal resolution stuffs for 2018?

Better still, keep up to speed on what is gowin’ down in the heavens above by followin’ Moi on Twitter an’ checkin’ in daily for Today’s Astrology Story.

Call me a hubristic smartass, but I figure botha these strategies gonna putchya way more aheada the astro game than sidlin’ up close to sum other stoopid fucker.