Dr. Pants McTurd's

            MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                    

           (not associated with horror or scopes of any ilk)

                                 

disclaimer: Satire should never be over cooked. It’s way better al dente and al fresco.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: Ultracrepidarian. Dude-seriously-- I really am an expert on everything.

Aries- The Rafflesia arnoldii, best known as the corpse flower is your power flora for the week. I’m not saying you stink, but you do have your own personal aroma that to me is like a snifter full of fine brandy that was lost at sea during the Revolution, and recovered by James Cameron. The corpse flower has no stems, no roots and no leaves; and it lives as a parasite off a rainforest vine. Why am I calling you a fetid hanger-on? Because here’s why it’s super cool neato wow—it is the largest flower in the world; probably descended from even larger individual flowers from night on æons ago that once ruled the planet—or at least ruler of all the other puny flowers. Flowers are all about a plant’s sex life and reproduction—which is maybe why we give them as gifts, especially in order to grease the wheels of getting some Friday night date night action. Google this plant and envision yourself as a powerful aromatic sexing yourself up for hot hot jungle sexy time.

Taurus- Our lives are a landfill, and I durst think that my particular pile of buried refuse is worthy of record keeping status. Yet…the type that would value the size of one’s trash producing largess, is probably someone with whom we might not wish to associate—like having drinks with OJ Simpson; or Nixon, or Custer, or Caligula—those who are drunk and addicted to power and selfishness and self aggrandizement—I tarry not with their ilk. Perhaps we are all refuse pilers. Perhaps we all hope to recycle and reuse, maybe even refuel the future---which is never as we plan. Irregardless and irreproducible, build high your pile of trash, and you will be blessed by cycles greater in size than you would ever imagine, as the wheel of Ka goes round and round. Nothing stays buried. Everything exolves.

Gemini- Chironex fleckeri, aka the sea wasp is a jelly fish that shoots off micro darts of poison into anything that gets in its way, pisses it off, or campaigns for states’ rights in your neighborhood on its watch. It holds enough venom to kill 60 humans. And peeing on the sting will not help. By the time you struggle back to shore, you’ll be lucky to even find your junk to start peeing on yourself, because the toxin kills in 3-4 minutes. That said---my advice to you this week is twofold: A) if you’re in Australia this summer which is the cool hemisphere’s winter, watch your ass while swimming; and B) be extra careful around anyone you know that has similar poisonous micro darts; give them a wide berth, and don’t try to change them. Jellyfish and venomous humans are who they are, usually for cruel environmentally determined reasons. Tread carefully.

Cancer- The gunslinger killed his mother. And the Line of Arthur Eld stopped dead in its tracks, and important faces were forgotten; and the leader of the pack of wolves, the Man in Black, he fled across the desert where the time had moved and was leaning toward the vampiric and the twisted and opposite the Beam’s Path; but if Ka willed it, there’d be water. Thankfully, we we are ka-tet, bound like Jake of New York with the Oy of olde Throkken times. These are the Near End Times, insane trains and thinnys and lobstrosities are abound, all seduced by orbs of fetid power. The Turtle, the Bear and the Eagle all have ways to help you find your way back to the Beam. Good advice for this week: aim not with your eye, but with your heart, and you cannot fail.

Leo- You are the highest paid taxi dancer in all of San Fran. Guys are lining up around the block for one song with you---preferably Private Dancer by Tina Turner. However, your lucrative dime-a-dance career will soon be shut down by the vice squad. Your Barbary Coast is now a mini mall with a questionable massage place next to a store that sells leather choke chains and bondage gear. All of our vices wind up busted up, and relegated to back rooms and dirty dealings. Above the water mark is where we can all keep an eye on our underworld activities. Bring all the stuff out of your own closet, or your inner spanking room, or the secret place you go to where carnal stings are allowed and encouraged to guide your actions. Moderate though, and stay out of the deep end---but you should definitely be getting your freak on, or out, or whatever. Party on, Garth.

Virgo- Your power animal for the week is Bill Richmond. Check this guy out: an African American born in New York in 1763, he worked for a british dude and was the guy who had to tie the rope to the neck of superpatriot Nathan Hale; but from there went on to become arguably the greatest welterweight bare knuckle boxer in recorded history. Bare frakking knuckle. There was little concern for blows to the head in the 1800’s. He would often fight bigger, meaner, drunker and Irisher dudes that often outweighed him by 4 or 5 stone—and he’d win. He narrowly lost to the guy who later became world champion---in the 60^th round! His wallet even said bad ass motherfucker on it. I’m not saying you should go start a fight, but you should channel this dude---use his spirit to rope the dopes that plague your life and times.

Libra- Are you Canadian? Cause I’d like to taste your bacon. You’re like a blow up gorilla on the side of the road; and your flailing arms are drawing me in and convincing me to take you for a test drive. You’re sitting, sans spinning, all tentacled and tapestried. You’re all over midtown, and your iMap says you’re right on target. You are the penultimate quacksonic horticulturismo that founded the university through which we all matriculate and extenuate. You’ve evolved past war and are currently designing new power supplies for all of us, and we will live forever in fusion powered robot bodies, and continually drunk with praise for you—you that have made this gift possible. Life without end, which gives us more time to love, brew beer that tastes like apples and eat chocolate that makes our robot junk bigger and harder. Nice work if you can get it.

Scorpio- The cheetah in my cummerbund is running full speed straight to your hot spicy chutney pot; and yet…we’re floating and clad, in my dinghy and jodhpurs, we’ll be a juggernaut in the jungle, you and I; all khaki and pundit and mogul, til pajamas and toddies fill our dreamscapes with punch filled bowls of smokable hashish and pancakes and blintzes and sushi and Æbleskiver. Transduce the preceding into something more keen: use your Hobson-Jobson for good and only occasionally for evil. Ride the snake and turn your eyes to the rising tides of wonderment of what is sure to be a perfect blend of you and someone you love. Hobbes—find your Locke. Freud—get out your Jung, you need him and he needs you. And hey, Dean---grab your Jerry. Let’s do it, let’s fall in love.

Sagittarius- Here’s a brief list of what not to do in your upcoming state of pleasantly received non self aggrandizing munificence in actualis that’s about to hit you facewise and heartsteady: 1) Clench tight the whortling baffles that may give you away. 2) Hold fast to beliefs that currently leave you pissed off, regardless of your previous assumptions of their logicality, 3) Don’t do that thing, because of a needless fear of waste or fraud or sin that probably plagues your soon to be kick ass mother truckin’ soul! There’s balls all over your court, man; and there’s no one to stop you. NO ONE! Just jump, the earth will catch you.

Capricorn- Lampreys have no jaws, and yet they are the purported murderer of Henry I. Besides the jawless thing, they’re known in science-type circles as a “true” fish due to some interesting morphology---well…interesting if you’re an ichthyologist. They’re like Mynoks without the wings---anyhowdy, how did a bunch of gilled armless eels kill the King of England? It’s Occam and his razor this time! Henry loved lampreys, probably even more than his mistresses, and especially in stew and pie form; and one night he got really wasted and had a bunch of problems on his mind…cough…the French….frog faced stew eaters….cough…and he ate a ‘surfeit of lamprey’. The modern equivalent of surfeit is shitload, btw. And Henry died, while simultaneously inventing the concept of what exactly is too much lamprey? I don’t know what your lamprey is, but don’t overindulge this week. You need to stay in fighting shape, and not sewn into the hide of a bull for your long journey home like Henry. Stay lean and stay away from all surfeits and shitloads.

Aquarius- Life sure can seem hopeless sometimes. And indolent. And stupid and slothful. And greedy and full of a sick need to purge; first, slashing, then on to the inevitable burning, and plundering, and destroying---all in an even sicker need to hit bottom, pull yourself up by what are hopefully, actual and literal bootstraps; pull on some pants, even be they sweat-ish in nature; grab hold of your literal junk and scream AAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, I’M MAD AS HELL AND I’M NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANYMORE!---a la Peter Finch circa 1975, and goddammit—I’ve been alive since then and frak it all if it doesn’t seem like the same crap we put up with then, we put up with now. The only difference is now we can tweet about it. Whoopity-shit. The secret fortune baked inside all this metaphorical horsecrap is that we have pants. We need to keep our pants up! Belts to the ready! Pants, to me!

Pisces- The Vice Squad is onto your parlour games and colouring sticks. The Sherriff means to end your days and congressional lampreys of both the means and ways that favor not the true nature of your intellect, nor your deepest desire, nor vice and verdict. For yours is a mind with a strong connection to the illogical heart--a rare perfect union of thought and emotion, like Spock said in that 80’s song—pure energy. Uggh, I can’t believe I went there…anyhowdy, your penultimate synergy is rampant with sonorous vibes and latent tendencies of acceptance, empathy and resoluteness. You’re a flag at full mast, a conjurer of missing consignments and you reek of the effervescence of enclaved mountain artists who crave solitude for company and nature for inspiration---the breath’s inhalation- being tantamount and precipitous of enlightenment.

                                    Dr. Pants McTurd's

              MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                     

               (not associated with horror, nor scopes of any ilk)

                                 

disclaimer: If satire makes you pissed, try repenting for your trespass.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: TARTUFFERY. My bullshit is all super honest—I swear to god.

Aries-  99 Luftbalons got way hard und sehr schnell and super fer reals. Two kids buying balloons---ooh, fun!, but then they release said balloons and radar somewhere picks them up and somebody (probably the french) start a nuclear war. Then after all the rubble and radioactivity, one kid is dead and the other, who has consequently grown up in a nuculearly desiccated holocausted zombie filled landscape, lets one more balloon go upwards, towards a german heaven, I guess, and hey—Prost! NUCLEAR WAR! Yay! I guess…or supposes I interpret how growing up in the times where nuclear war was my biggest fear, is inconsequential based on all the crapola we now face. The grass is always greener—try watering your lawn and festooning your iTunes.

Taurus- The Snake River Plain, when viewed from space, would blow your freakin’ mind. No doi and for reals. The “Grand” Canyon is cool, yeah…but think about Idaho for a millisecond! Imagine the forces at work to make any pluvial area---much less one like the oft forgotten, yet moderately impressive Snake River Plain-- compared with the likes of the big boys like Waimea (despite the sub-versal of lava for water), or the Chicamocha, the Baltis Vallis (somewhere super hot), or the Saturnalia Fossa (somewhere not drive-able from here) Balls! Water is a massive force! And while its origins may have limited debate…comets—(cough)---space debris—massive dump---similar to the flood that must have visited us in pre history…wow and frak! And, now, we control it via dams so massive that can be seen from space, to flow controlled and seepingly from taps, all fluoridated and potable. Take a larger view and be amazed.

Gemini- Some moments are portals in time. Some moments collide. Maybe you’re vacuuming, or doing dishes, or eating panned cakes with boysenberry syrup—and that particular flavor reminds you of some past memory, faded into the patchwork, that now blooms, fully representing from down deep the subcutaneous—clear as a crystal bell ringing centerwise in your town square; there it is--- a lost moment recovered, and you can live in it, for at least a moment—and it’s so clear that your brain shimmies and shakes and takes it for truth. The moment will eventually crash down like a wave upon the beach, smattering the past back into the tapestry of mind and neurons, to be called up and culled from a myriad of threads—a plethora of seemingly disjointed hiccups in time. Your work is fertile, and your pathways green lit from here to the end of “time”.

Cancer- The earth exists to massage and catch us; a rivulated net, curvated and twisted and oddly uniform. And it is never planned, it’s always spontaneous, like that kiss you wish you could bestow, but that the timing is never right and there are convictions and conflicting testimony as to what’s right and what’s desirable. The earth can also break convention, internal heat radiating like a convection oven turned to broil, to maximize the soul’s infusion into lips and sweat and naked longing made real and permanent. There is a time for decision! There is a when for jumping and being made skyclad! There is a moment that will be right and opportune and momentous. And it is near.

Leo- The box huckleberry, aka the box-leaved whortleberry, might be the oldest living plant, with the exception of the Audrey II…and it is pissed. It reproduces clonally; it’s Appalachian and it’s self-sterile---and worst of all---it’s woody—SUPER WOODY. No self respecting conifer would ever live near it. No self effacing aspen would clonalize anywhere but uptown; leaving the downtown to the huckle and buckle of the berry known to any and all flora, as the self proclaimed king of salubrious skullduggerous shrubbery! They’ve survived since the previous ice age—and will likely last through the next---(due to start around 2040 based on current climate models anyway!) This week, your power animal is the huckleberry. Steady and moderately paced wins the race.

Virgo- The best part of waking up is not Colombian—it’s not being dead; which theoretically, should be pretty awesome, and there might even be time for a cup of joe, before we begin our travails and rev our engines ‘gainst the mighty legends of times past. Now is the time. NOW, the when that is super attenuated to the will of a certain someone—an individual with outstanding moxie and balls made of transparent alumium. in this case---YOU, you silly son of a bastard. YOU, with your pretty frock and coattails that are infamous about this town. YOU lucky so and so…We’re all jealous, man—fer real. Now go out there and kick some ass of some kind. It’s not Tony Danza---YOU’RE the BOSS. Now get outta here, kid, ya bother me.

Libra- One of the most poisonous animals in the world is a cute little yellow frog. Known in the amphibian underworld as Phyllobates terribilis, it is esoteric and irrelevant to note that it is poisonous, not venomous; meaning it won’t bite you or spit at you, but touch it once and you’re dead. Luckily, elephants don’t occur naturally in Columbia, or we could see a real life David and Goliath competition. Altho, it would probably end Hamlet style, with a dead frog smooshed by the elephant, who would later die from touching the frog. Will the cycle of frog on pachyderm violence ever end? Will we ever stop pitting mismatched animals against one another in to the death cage matches?? I doubt it. It’s part of the beauty of capitalism. But I’ve digressed. This week, take a shower and wash off all the poison on your back and let someone touch you. Get a massage and don’t kill anyone, amphibian or otherwise.

Scorpio- The lesula is a newly discovered species of monkey. And their butts are bright blue. And their faces are so human, I keep confusing them with this photo I have of my great uncle Chesticles, who fought in the Peloponnesian War. My whole family is still really anti-Sparta. Anyhowdy, somewhen in old olden times, it became advantageous to have a big blue butt; and that trait has lasted until today times, at least in Congo anyway. And since the french and belgians left behind such stability and equanimity after the pillaging of Congo became less profitable, the outlook for the blue butted lesula is not great. My suggestion to you is to paint your butt in your favorite butt color (mine is dirigible red®), and show your tail feathers to friends and prospective mates. The key to your entire future lies in your butt.

Sagittarius- The saguaro wages wars of attrition and the prize is Arizona. Not sure what second prize is, but I bet it sucks only slightly more. Currently gun crazed hypocritical bigots run Arizona, but with the world ending in December and the survivors envying the dead and all, the saguaros once again will be crowned king--the all mighty Despot of the Sonoran Desert. For centuries, long before any human migration into the area, these giant cacti that always seem to be flipping us off, took over the southwest---and they looooove Arizona. The Saguaro Nation previously ruled Texas, “New” Mexico, and oddly enough halfway around the world in Delaware. But their bellicose nature and need for dominance forced other plant species to bond together to keep out the green spiked menace, and trap them in the Phoenix, which is truly hotter than crap on a stick that’s on fire. Phoenix. Ashes. Rebirth…wait—piece this together and be fruitful and multiply.

Capricorn- I spy with my little eye, a big pile of pigshit. And I don’t want to point any fingers, lest they find their way into any such piles; but I am looking in your direction. Don’t act shocked. Lies do not become the intimacy of our relationship. Your mouth is a brigand; and your constitution is troubled by remnants of uncivilized thought. I urge to bring your full honesty to bear. Pry lose the boulders of incontinence and the serpentine rock wall that dominates our globe. The idea!---that you could put up a fence that would not ultimately fence you in---like from the world and shit. I spy with my watery eye, the need for skylights and ultimately, release from your safe prison of interminable solitude. Cry havoc, and let slip the poop of peace.

Aquarius- Before you place that psychoactive toad under your tongue, consider this: there are easier ways to visionquest than licking strange amphibians. Speaking as someone who’s mos def been there with the frog thing, it is unpleasant and awkward if you have a working relationship with said amphibian, or worse yet the frog is your boss AND your roommate. Chapter 8 of my memoirs will be about that; but here’s the not so delicate point: You’re already a traveler; a warp speed mind that flips off the entire Higgs Field as you streak by at supertemporal® speeds. But now it’s martini time--time to chill the frak out, and get paid, get laid and spread those sexy greased up legs. Fear not, for the earth will catch you.

Pisces- Some people desire to be elite. As if there’s a pride that’s unattainable to the naked man in the street, who’s probably begging for help, crying in pain, and we—WE who are world weary and welded shut with nuclear bonds, whose half life is millions of years in the making—WE who are frozen in time, probably because ours is a perpetual winter; and the river of time is a frozen skating pond for indolent time wasters and manipulators of destinies—who else could waste so much time, save for those who believe themselves elite, effete and untouchable because of some arbitrary moral code, that surely we must all agree on. Some people... But now it is down to just we, and moreover and more importantly—YOU. Nothing can stop you…but only if you try.

                                       Dr. Pants McTurd's

                MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                       pantsmcturd.blogspot.com

                            (not associated with horror or scopes of any ilk)

                                 

disclaimer: Satire doesn’t always have pathos. And yet…

Doc P’s Word of the Week: Scaramouch. Will you do the fandango?

Fear not...lest ye take faith from thy breast to thy head...thou art perfectly made for branch stepping and jet stream gliding...as only skydivers know, the earth is made to catch you...                

--Legum the Fatuous circa 1283

Doc P’s tip for grokking: try reading from the top on down rather than being a typical actor and just looking for your lines. This meandering liturgy may yet hold sense, but only as a whole.

Aries- The humanly designed zodiac starts with fire by no accident or improper planning. Nay rather, the ‘verse started with fire—a brilliant blast of nothing into something, that eventually spread out into the nothing that didn’t exist beforehand, creating strings of weird crap and strange gyrating math quizzes that will ever befuddle our limited scopes. The path of the beam flows thusly: fire into earth, from earth springs air, which carries water from high to low, saturating our existence and known plethora into being. Higgs, you do us proud. You are no frankenstein—you are the flame---the torch—the fiery whatnot that began our intrepid search for self. Burn, baby—burn, but not before reading.

Taurus- Here’s the blasted rub: if our present species of humanoids, beat out all the other species for eco-dominance®, all the Australopithicae, the Erectae, and the Neandertalish- those of high and low brow that ran along side our massive stride---homogenizing our identities to a single framework, because evolution in this case, preferred one species to many. The needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many, the popular, or the majority, regardless of their moral morass. Further, evolutionary homogenization continues to this day with culture vs identity vs (hopefully) self aggrandizing beatification. I swear we are one. Yet the evidence purports that our modus operandi must be nefarious and secular. And yet Allah praises infinite diversity. As does Yahweh and Jesus and Confucius. But it was Darwin who put a provable name to ethereal falderal. Environmentally supported infinitesimals and a constant drive to unify, under any banner, so long as the end is the beginning of heaven. Rub not thy fate, but rather see thou diversity. You could become more powerful than you could possibly imagine.

Gemini- The Road to Dushanbe is littered with well meaning content, intended for lighter minds to convey a more meaningful sense of ironic urgency and plans for inaction and/or flatulency. Our irritated bowels stink of poppies grown for warlord pleasure, enslaving the mind AND soul AND FUTURES OF MEN AND WOMEN OF EQUAL WEIGHT, VOLUME, VOMIT AND INTELLECTUAL DISPLACEMENT—merely for more coin of the realm, more heartless power struggles and intrigue ‘scaping, like we are all hedges needing to be trimmed. Hold—cruelty and disharmony and mistrust—all favor survival; not a pretty one to be sure, nor moral, nor jesus man worthy; but a win is a win, right? Even the gods had to battle one another, til there was only one. Monotheism cost us dearly, and limited our scopes. Harvest Demeter; she will accompany you on the Road to Dushambe and aide you in sorting the riches of existence.

Cancer- Our dissonance is not yet tactile, miles lay between us…which in olden times, meant how many wheels, do ya kennit? Likely spent in a limited environment with few options and even less chance for betterment. Imagine a yurt circa 15,000 BCE somewhere near Alberta, Canada’s fat yet comely cousin---but to wait for you…is my only choice. I will fool myself into believing that my choice is worthy…but it portends a certain ominous moment, whence our paths do cross, and the intended seriousness of our meeting comes to a forced point, a fork in the road, where we must choose to bond, or flee….but if there could be, in the midst of atoms and alignments and certain luck---that moment where you and I locked eyes and determined one way or t’other, your gaze was never going to leave my sight.

(If there be any hope to sense making, try reading from the top down.)

Leo- I don’t believe myself, of course. Romantical idealism couched in the vague erection that I’m just a human person, and regardless of the imposed limitations, whose boundaries are pushed constantly by tides of never ending grace and repetition---devotion to massaging the earth, ever gentler as time’s arrow shoots starwise. The earth moves toward the gentler side of the stream always, a violent past ever farther behind---it’s all pure math…masses and volumes and physik and Bauhaus, but without the jingoism, and replete with jasmine overtones flecked with lavender barbs of real time saturnalia…like being cooked in the cokiest coke plant, under the fire of the flatulence of the gods who would bestow us life, at even the greatest cost---the lives of the gods themselves… and here we sit.

Virgo- The other day, my old car did something I haven’t seen before. I preface this with the knowledge I had, irrefutable in nature, that I had 1/3 of a tank of gas—for reals and for certain, so attests the always perfect hindsight. Anyhowdy, the gas needle literally started going up and down, from a third to zero, the 1/8 of tank warning light flashing on and off to the random beat of time, acceleration, gravity and the emotionality of the Higgs Field. I wanted to take this weird needle behavior as a sign, an omen, harbinger, an augur or prophecy that would provide foreknowledge, and therefore safety from the coming storm, and safety for all my demons hiding in closets hidden and root cellars unknown. The depths—the bowels, the fervent desire to show our roots to heaven, and skyclad ourselves in suits of joy and freedom. 

Libra- And here I must reiterate that quality of mercy is not strained. It doth falleth like the gentle dew and what have ya. But I’m talking about real time here…in the now. If I wish to bestow mercy…A) is it mine to give? or is’t yours to claim, like birthright or perfect oneness? B) thou must show mercy upon thyself because if god grants forgiveness, it would be the first wish he/she/it/holy spiked lemonade—would give you…and then in theory, the only denier is thyself…god wants everything for us—for you specifically, but it must test faith (evolutionary trickery) through the polar opposite---from one frozen end of the globe to t’other. Blast and crikey! More conspiracy minded fools no doubt wouldst be up in pretended arms, kicking and belching their opposition to this dense wild or that pure virgin; all the while blocking me from paucity and saving me from myself, so that they will stand for me, so that I can stand for me…and freedom equals freedom.

Scorpio- Yet this tail is mine—nary yours, thou feline trampler and scoundrel of trifles, thou truffle scuffler ye! Yet fret naught---for I harvest every rock, distance and polarity that canst, wouldst, and demandeth an iota of attention from bleary minded foolish foals that wander amongst your titties and/or tambourines. Walk not forward, I pray and parry you; and tarry not! Instead, Keanu this one---translate it via the blue pill, all déjà vuey, and Fishbourney---sojourned down one rabbit’s hole and transversed up and into a plane---or better yet, a brane not entirely sectarian, and most certainly sexual, yet always diplomatic and unbiased. The failures of our own egos are mere trinkets for display, medals chestwise and value short, save those of true valor---the ones that give without offer of penance or moment of doubt---the rare ones---the fallen whom we name in heart and song, and on our daily prayers and committees. Rise up on me; espouse and regale me with your taut little tale.

Sagittarius- Posit. Posit…posit!: in re the gregariousness of your innards---and yes, I wholeheartedly refer to the intestines, or guts, or…entrails- no mundane politics here---naysomever, I must ask again this ridiculous question. When the world favors only the orbital---or the plane of false negation—No. I mean that in perpetuity, is the annual tax beneficiaryosity of the average middle class wage earner---no doubt a product of environment and reaganomics, but still---could I—a mere middleman twixt foul error and titillating numb nippleness benefit from knowledge and planning aforethought? Yayeth, I sayeth. Dumb down, but not out and internal pressures aside, don’t squat for naught but shit or shinola—and blessed be ye shouldst thou knowest differences twain. Stand and deliver that pizza.

Capricorn- And now let us to the Havelock-- a monument of pyramidal grandeur, and whathaveyous. Right typical gent—a parlour boarder and Stockton-on-Tees, died of dysentery after a distinguished career, but thankfully after the day had been won, and those who died, rewarded heavenside and triple homicided unto the likes of (nearly) Issaac, or Job, or Pryor, and countless thousands outmatched by british steel, and practised wargames. The subcontinent surely thanks his valor, regardless of original sin, with a statue—I’m thinking near trafalgar---but surely no---not a man of the First Afgan War. Not the Russians mind you---and no, not the US, but the brits who began conflict in order to bring about empire. You are an island capable of conquering the world, or at least a lagoon or two. Get in the boat, and fear not the wind, for like ‘Lizbeth of Olde, it is at your back.

Aquarius- We are coureur des bois---runners of the woods; addicted to the promise of adventure and the freedom to roam, whether that be the backwaters of new france, or some far away planet that cries to be acknowledged; or the fertile oceans of thought and intuition that exists betwixt our ears in endless azure plains and branes of imagination turned reality. We make friends with strangers, even though we be the stranger in an ever stranger land. Survival depends on amity. Luckily, marriage à la façon du pays suits us well. We are married to the search and to the seeking, a true appreciation of emptiness that only the aboriginal can understand. We will intermarry thusly, saving our pursuits for the not yet known, seen, or pondered over. And when woods cease to be, we will find new ones, or ways of making new ones. Rien ne sert d'être vivant s'il faut qu'on travaille. In other wordliness, seek thou not to make a living, but rather make a life.

Pisces- And now, let us to piscesan waters that drown reason and pitfall all travellers. Water is the universal solvent- tidal cumin and salt and bromide that tans all hides further and farther toward a muddier and sloppier solution. I now know you are water borne plant—meaning that the evolution of water, combined with essences of matter and silt and fine cosmic dust have evolved greenwise and chlorophyll and heliotropism, yearning ever greater for a further star. Pisces are water, become plant, become light, become stars, become nurseries of cosmic birth orders pumping from nebulae to nebulae, birthing galaxy upon hoarder of life bespectacled and hen speckled merely by these wayward sons of mother earth; paving the road to hell with love and fortitude, because Pisces is the alpha and omega, and Virgo merely a looky-loo, staring at galaxy collisions in mid town traffic. You, Pisces, are backwards living, but hella forward dreaming.