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

Why 2018 Is New Year AF Till 2020

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

WHY 2018 IS NEW YEAR AF TILL 2020

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

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

The whole resolootion deal is smart because

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trooly, I feared The Reaper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.”

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

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

“In fuckin’ January?

“Point taken.”

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

The Romance is exactly as I pitched it, Sweetie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck is alla that schwango about anyways?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tellya, Capricorn resolootions are such CUNTS.

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

That is what makes ‘em so unapologetically hardcore.

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

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

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

an’ screams …

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

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

Capricorn says …

Hard reset. No escape. No easy ride.

saturn in capricorn pulled strings on fate back in 1991

Best parta the deal?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prolly these were nuthinny kindsa days, I dunno.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That clear?

Title Image c/o cocoparisienne @ Pixabay

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

Joopiter In Scorpio, 2017

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

WHAT JOOPITER IN SCORPIO 2017 MEANS FOR EVRYONE

Let’s talk Joopiter in Scorpio.

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

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

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

Want shit fixin’?

Holler for Scorpio!

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

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

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

See, cos Joopiter in Scorpio is kinda … weirdsy.

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

“Real fuckin’”, Sweetie.

An’ why so?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only she was on a date

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

Tell me ‘bout it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what we gonna do?”

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

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

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

“Point taken”

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

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

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

“K, I get it.”

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

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

“You fuckin’ sumone?” I said.

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

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

Coolest part?

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

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

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

Joopiter MAKES BIGGER an’ MULTIPLIES.

He EXAGGERATES, ADDS ON an’ GROWS OUT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We ain’t pussyfootin’ now.

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

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

Life or death, lasso or noose, kinda thing.

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

Fuck off!

Title Image c/o uno smart mashup twixt

Hypno Art @Pixabay … an’ TBIT @Pixabay.

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

Pisces — Suspense, Solution & Ultimate Resolution

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2018-03-31T14:18:46+00:00"></span> |Creativity, Illusion, Pisces, Resolution|0 Comments

pisces blog headline shows solution and journey

PISCES — SUSPENSE, SOLUTION & ULTIMATE RESOLUTION

The momenta blisstasmal dissolution is upon us!

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

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

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

pisces personality traits indicate fortune

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

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

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

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

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

Evrythin’ dissolves as of the weekend.

reach for the stars with pisces motivation fish

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

Allowyaself to be consoomed, gazmoliciously intoxicated.

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

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

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

See? I jus’ made sumthin’ up already.

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

pisces loves February 19th

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

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

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

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

That sound like a plan you want in on?

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

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

I am such a frickin’ loser, tellya.

<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.