<span class="sdata" title="20"></span> <span class="sdata" title="03, 2018"></span>

Why Spring Equinox Spells Trouble For Certainty

By |<span class="sdata2" title="2018-03-20T14:27:56+00:00"></span>|Aries, Fire Signs, Initiative, Motivation, Spring Equinox, Spring Fever|0 Comments

WHY SPRING EQUINOX SPELLS TROUBLE FOR CERTAINTY

Want my view on Spring Equinox rituals?

tbh, I figure the whole concept is kinda stoopid.

An’ here’s why.

All things ritual are essentially trad — wise counsel theatrified as participatory spectacle, passed down from generation to generation as a formalised routine occasionally involvin’ exotic dance maneuvers & fancy costooms, plus mandatory wailin’ an’ mebbe randomly slain goats.

Works mebbe for dooty-conscious Capricorn at Christmas … but right now we got ARIES SEASON.

An’ that is why Spring Equinox spells trouble for certainty.

Spring Equinox Spells Only Adventure

Lemme talkya through alla this Nouveau Equinox stuff — speshly anywan preparin’ to break into any so-called sacred sites wrapped in their livin’ room fuckin’ curtains & packin’ a stainless steel sickle offa Ebay.

Take a good look at the illo I used for this post.

(An’ while I am here, jus’ wanna thank alla the srsly generous an’ talented arts & photography types over at UNSPLASH whose supreme visyool mojo powers up mosta my stuff. Gotta srsly request my readers head over an’ soak up the glorious imagry on offer after I pan the druids in the frickin’ ass for bein’ so poncily LAME.)

We could metaphor on out on this image all kindsa ways cos it offers itself up so smarto for Astrology’s essential deal … ie narrative.

So let’s figure where we started out mebbe yesterday.

Yesterday — March 19 2018 — was the las’ full day in the old astro cycle we started this time las’ year.

Wanna name for this moment?

I respectfully proffer Chaumes Pisces.

Like a ripe old cheese gone real stinky, last daysa Pisces’re a real swampy sargasso, tellya — like evrythin’ been gowin’ down since Aries las’ bust outta the trap got blended all together in a kinda experiential soup.

These’re saturated waters — maximally fulla salt an’ undersea dust packin’ sharky flesh fragment brio.

I wrote more ‘bout this mysteriously enchantin’ vibe here las’ year if’n you wanna check it out, but the main deal to figure today is how an impenetrable deep sea cloudiness is so ubiquitous it offers opportoonity to touch on all things — kinda like a superfuzzy teleporter.

Asya reach out into the gloom, your fingers really could touch on anythin’ — cos it it all here sumplace.

Headin’ back to the illo I chose for this post, guy standin’ on the cliff edge reaches out … but he got FUCK ALL.

That is how the switchout from Pisces to Aries works — an’ it happens in an instant.

For sure, Aries wantsta reach out an’ grab EVRYTHIN’.

Only problem is — for all its edginess, Spring Equinox Nuthin’ got less definition than the Piscean swamp …

Spring Equinox … Spring Fever

Trooly, it is like we morph from dreamsy superaquatic marauders to creatures packin’ leap-powered limbs an’ a blind desire to spring ‘emselves the fuck into a noo kinda noplace.

tbh, it would make more sense for the guy in the illo to be floatin’ around in the uberamorphous water, ready to reach out onto the supertangible rocksa noo Spring Equinox reality — but that woulda meant I gotta sketch in sum random wibbly crustaceans an’ mebbe a sunken pirate ship for the visyools to be maximally convincin’.

Gotta figure y’allz’re here for my wise astro counsel & not my lousy art skills.

Anyways, point is, we gowin’ from the nebulous, ubiquitous & amorphous to the edgy an’ superspecifically unknown.

Cos ain’t that the deal with Aries?

How in hell else they get to be such edgy fuckers if’n they ain’t motivated so blind to go seek out danger’s ultimate precipices?

This is naive lust … not lame frickin’ rityool — an’ that is why I got no time for alla the clowns beachin’ up at Stonehenge dressed like comedy Wes Craven slashers.

For sure, I can see how Pisces might wanna spend the day before Spring Equinox ironin’ out the cowl on their 100% organic cotton Floaty Fuckin’ Wankbrain Regalia — but is Aries really gonna throw it on with innocence an’ zest soon as the Sun switches into her sign, same as they been dowin’ since Mama said, “the inherent principle of exploratory freedom is you do exactly as you’re told, forever and ever … so remember to wash behind your ears and repeat as rote the sacred incantations as you wave your rubber shillelagh at the heavens in the name of all things novel and never before seen or experienced”?

Dickbrain the fuck outta my face, Sister!

For sure, I see anywan in the mall today wearin’ apparel looks in the slightest way immodestly flared or flamboyantly fancy, ima rev me up sum Sagittarian Firepower an’ bite ‘em on the goddamn nose for colludin’ with the forcesa ASSHOLE.

Spring Equinox — A More Appropriately Aries POV

The innocently incendiary energy Aries packs points ever in the directiona novel adventures.

Raison d’etre here is precisely that certainty don’t actschwlly exist.

As an astrologer person, I got sum clue to what might prolly mebbe wanna go down later in the year — for example, when Hornzilla & steadfast Taurus rolls her billion dollar donuts into Uranus in time for Summer — but in truth I got no more genuine clue than the guy in the Unsplash illo.

Fyooture is equally vacant air an’ brute-edged rock — the realest fantasy landscape ever threw up its horizon.

An’ nowan gets the deal smarter than Aries.

For sure, all certainty comes in the end, but as we inhabit the Here & Now waitin’ to shape it, we kinda clueless.

We pack blind direction ‘longside zero compass — aw, an’ ain’t it such invigoratin’ FUN?

That is why Aries got so much revolutionary zeal — an’ why I srsly recommend evrywan mebbe set aside rityool an’ trad an’ alla the Spring Equinox faux certainty stuffs they roll out evry year like exotically clad druids pullin’ their Yak hair bootees from outta the Ritual Trunk for another stereotypical trot round sum stoopid ol’ fuckin’ rocks.

It is at this point I flash my TOTAL HYPOCRITE card an’ pointchya in the directiona what I wrote out for Spring Equinox las’ year.

This is not so much rityool as laziness — albeit suffused with considerable wisdom an’ practically useful smarts you gonna LOVE.

(Hubris buffs gonna be especially impressed.)

See, cos an Aries-driven Spring Equinox spells trouble for certainty precisely because it got real affinity for Spring Fever — that relentlessly insatiable desire for virgin experiences gonna catalyse an’ fire up meaningful change.

So go check in on my Spring Fever Cures All pitch — an’ power up Body, Mind, Spirit, Mojo & Drive.

Today, we all leapin’ from dreams to invigoratin’ reality’s edgiest ever rocks.

This is no time to throw on ceremonial fuckin’ loon pants, tellya.

You trip up on the hem … sure as hell you soon gonna discover even impossibly generous fabric ain’t no kinda parachute.

So plz evrywan have a uniquely 2018 Spring Equinox — so seared onta your experience as positive zestostuffs you ain’t never gonna wanna repeat it, step-by-step, bcs you GET THE FRICKIN’ DEAL …

Title Image c/o Leio McLaren @ Unsplash

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

Foretellismo

By |<span class="sdata2" title="2018-06-26T11:30:21+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.

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

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

cos I am a real lazy fucker.

<span class="sdata" title="3"></span> <span class="sdata" title="04, 2017"></span>

Why Is My Horoscope All Weird?

By |<span class="sdata2" title="2018-06-10T04:24:28+00:00"></span>|Choice, Cosmic Roolz, Scopes|0 Comments

WHY IS MY HOROSCOPE ALL WEIRD?

More to the point — why is my horoscope all weird right now?

I mean, c’mon — sumthin’ crazysnakes is clearly gowin’ down in the celestial vapors, palpable as a bug-eyed fly makin’ with a waterboardin’-style plip plip plip as it dips its mandibular feelo-suckers in runny cheese.

Don’t haveta read a word; you can feel this vibe so close up an’ personal it is likeya are gonna birth Cthuloid triplets.

But before I don my Astro-apparela Consummate Stargazy Expertise an’ answer the more specific question, lemme fix on sum general basics gonna beef upya Horoscope Awareness Talents.

Why Is My Horoscope All Weird? Prolly Cos I Am All Weird.

Libra excepted, this is almost always never true.

You may act on your horoscope, but inflooencin’ it is a harder trickta pull — unlessya are an astrologist or astrologer or astrolodjinni person, in which case you got sum control cos Mother Cosmosis grantsya special permission to write out the magic words.

Thinka what would happen if mebbe Leo got inflooential Weirdo Power over her daily ‘scopes.

An’ I am thinkin’ ‘bout Shaney Skelangro here — yanno, the gal from Maine with the goofy teeth an’ zero control over her Crush Squee Siren?

Yeah, that Shaney.

So she is sittin’ in her room with her (frankly stoopid lookin’) dog, an’ she reads romance is in the air for you, Leo, so go breathe it in with pranayama verve and expect love to come knocking!

Forget for a sec that Shaney is a geeky kinda gal an’ would never practise Yoga less’n she got abducted by mindful aliens checkin’ hoomanity for physical bendiness.

Point is, prolly her dog gonna flee downstairs at this point as decidedly non-yogic (an’ essentially weirsdily habityool) squee breaths fire offa her lungs with such ballistic venom she is gonna need a frickin’ ribcage replacement by the agea 24 if’n she don’t sort herself out on the love thang.

(An’ for more on the love thang, check out how astro compatibility got isshoos here an’ replay Valentine’s Day here to figure how eacha the signs figures in the Romance & Eromance departiemente.)

Gotta figure that readin’ your horoscope indicates you got sum kinda desire for self-improvement, most likely based on evidence your life currently sucks, so that last parta the ‘scope is really gonna set Shaney’s pulse racin’ — hence the hyperventilational gymnastics.

Love knocks, an’ physiological wappocraft kicks off — in that order — an’ when Shaney re-reads the breathin’ to blendyjuicy narrative suggested by the ‘scope, her immediate experience (dog has now slashed its throat outta pure terror btw) kinda says this horoscope is all weird because I am all weird.

Result?

By the enda the week, when Quentinola de Prescioquincunschwangoglossen drops career recieves a boost today as flirty Mercury hooks up with charming Venus, Shaney’s funeral is greeted by fam and friends alike as ‘the outcome of desperate plea to find true love in a harsh and cruel world that mysteriously coincided with the frenzied decapitation of her beloved Schnauzer Legolas at the hands of the family breadknife’.

So is your horoscope all weird because you are all weird?

Trust me — you do not wanna go there.

Why Is my Horoscope All Weird? Prolly Cos Evrythin Is All Weird.

Stoopid thing is, that sounds pretty accurate to Moi.

Assoomin’ evrythin’ includes alla the planets whose intertwinklin’ is responsible for alla the celestialvapor-swishin’ zodiacal action allows gifted astrologer persons to formulate horoscopes in the first place, then if an astrological entity like The Moon forms a significant aspect with, say, Mars, while elsewhere in the orbital dance routine Joopiter hits real subtle on Pluto with a once-in-a-generation aspect got more syllables to its name than Scorpio can down cocktails in an hour an’ still stay standin’, then this specific (nay, weird) celestial combo is precisely the raw material gonna fuel horoscopes for eacha the signs.

Or from where else is alla the astrological schwango derived?

Catch here is how EVRYTHIN’ (weird or no) can inflooenceya HOROSCOPE (weird or no) — an’ yet YOU (sum small parta evrythin’) (an’ most certainly weird as batshit in my book if you are hangin’ out with Moi) CANNOT.

Do not ask me to resolve this thorny issue right now.

I am not a frickin’ botanist.

Why Is My Horoscope All Weird? Prolly Cos Life Itself Is All Weird.

I like this very much.

It is organic an’ fluid — indicativea heart, passion an’ mutual adventurepops.

Gotta figure most people look upon their horoscope as a kinda touchstone momentarily reconnectin’ ‘em with values, feelings an’ aspirations they hold dear.

Sajjo jus’ loves readin’Sajjo stuff, I guess — same as resta the Zodiac drills down on their superpersonal 8.3%a the astro action.

Sure, we got other stuff also, like favo shoes, places we like to go, structurally bizarre lizards we keep under the bed an’ get out at night when we cannot sleep (Shaney Skelangro’s bestie does this, btw), but where shit goes wrong is when people confuse considered prediction with certainty an’ view their horoscope as a script or instruction manual steada the producta sum drunken harridan a kinda landscape or blenda zeitgeists/potentialities — or jus’ a plain ol’ selectiona stuffya might wanna consider today.

Truth is, astrology got no more claim on the fyooture than money guys gamblin’ on their assets, politicians advocatin’ values, an’ anyone bettin’ thousandsa dollars on the boxer with the biggest dick.

Eacha these predictive disciplines got past form gonna inform — but it is only partial.

Jus’ cos astrology takes in’ evrythin’ don’t mean it is the final word on anythin’.

I do not like any kinda situation where EVRYTHIN’ may inflooence or control US, but we don’t get to reciprocate.

Enter into such an arrangement wilfully, then I figure you are fuckin’ stoopid.

So I would want horoscopes always to be touchstones.

Small an’ illoominatingly regular skips through time an’ space upon which you might wanna reflect so you can better effect changesya wanna see.

You are cast in all kindsa ways — butya are also FREE.

Think I said sumthin’ about this starta 2017 when I considered what it might mean to be resolved whenya desire for change comes up rough against … ulp … evrythin’.

Why Is My Horoscope All Weird Right Now?

Becauseya are not alone.

History shows how the world evolves through successionsa definable epochs.

Problem is, whenya are dumped right in the middlea one as it is playin’ out, day-to-day speculation wins out over proclamatory epochulation.

Truth is, we trooly DO NOT KNOW what is emergin’right now, an’ until science fits us all up with time-warpin’ cyberboobies, gotta figure our lives’re so brief we cannot revisit earlier times an’ look for clues gonna help us (beyond mebbe bonin’ up on shit don’t come offa the internets).

Drillin’ down smaller, you mebbe got sumthin’ to work with — an’ that is why I run regular monthly horoscopes.

Once evry 30 days, you can drop on by an’ touch base with sum small fragmenta the Cosmos’s divine wonder as manifested in 300 wordsa incandescently profound garbage.

(I am quotin’ my beta reader here.  Do not blame me for any praise currently orbitin’ Moi.)

Thing is, you seen April before, you got feelings for her, an’ despite only 11 months passin’ sinceya las’ met up an’ hung out, she cannot be relied upon to be exactly the same.

There is noo stuff, there is always noo stuff — besta all there is noo stuffya made for yourself.

As a free agent inflooenced by EVRYTHIN’, no less!

Natcho, you want this freedom to continue, an’ your horoscope figures alongside alla the other stuffya got gowin’ down inya life narrative armory, but April 2017 got a planetary showdown gowin’ on kinda makes consultin’ your horoscope touchstone almost DANGEROUS.

The heavens blaze with ardent an’ impassioned FIRE — not the warmin’ Leo kind nor the inspirational Sajjo variety, no no no we are talkin’ the weaponized, carbonizin’ Aries kind — while the people-friendly sweetheart planets  — Venus an’ Joopiter — play dirty c/o retrograde energy sickness alongside THE REAL FUCKIN’ MONSTERS — Mercury, Saturn an’ Plooto — havin’ a MUTUAL BAD HAIR DAY GROUCH FEST an’ seekin’ only to DESTROY! DESTROY! DESTROY!

Easily irritated Arian violence meets a quintuple cuntfesta SMOTHER, SWAT, STIFLE, STING an’ STUFF HARD UP THE POOPER.

Sadly, that is not weird — it is the truth.

So, yeah — “Horoscope All Weird” prolly sums up where shit is at right now for most evryone.

But what else d’ya want?

Horoscope All Same Old Same Old — Exactly As It Was When My Dear Grandaddy’s Gandaddy’s Grandaddy Consulted HIS Horoscope Touchstone And Smiled With Duped Contentment That The Cosmos Existed In Such Near-Permanent Stasis He Went Round And Round And Round And Round And Round And Round And Round And Round In The Same Old Circles Till His Teeth Fell Out And He FUCKIN’ DIED?

C’mon — I am tryin’ to saveya here.

Title Image c/o Steve Buissinne @ Pixabay

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

Your Aries Noo Moon Date With Audaciously Tweakoed Fate

By |<span class="sdata2" title="2018-06-08T08:25:17+00:00"></span>|Aries, Creativity, Fire Signs, Initiative, Luminous Tattoo, New Moon|0 Comments

YOUR ARIES NOO MOON DATE WITH AUDACIOUSLY TWEAKOED FATE

It is time to preen up an’ head out.

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

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

Whateverya got — get it started.

Whateverya want — take action.

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

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

An’ tonight, that ritual is simple fable.

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

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

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

Your Aries Noo Moon Date With Inspirational Fable!

Once upon a time there were three Billy Goats Gruff.

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

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

Nuthin’ else remarkable about ‘em, I guess.

I mean, c’mon — goats!

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

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

But, see — they ran outta grass.

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

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

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

But Baby Billy Goat was havin’ nonea it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be smart.  Be audacious.  Be brave.

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

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

Title Image c/o Pixel Sepp @ Pixabay

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