Dr.
Pants McTurd's
MORE
Than True Horror-scopes
(not associated with horror
or scopes of any ilk)
Obscure Quote of the Week: Satire is a
sort of glass, wherein beholders do generally discover everybody's face but
their own. –J. Swift
Doc P’s Word of the Week: Hapax legomenon. I’m not going to
repeat it…
Aries- I love Wikipedia—pretty much anything with wiki in front of it. It
sounds quick and accurate, like alleged buses in Honolulu. Sorry for the big
BUT, but the existence of a Wikiquote page for Scoobey Doo, makes me doubt my
entire reality, and fear that we take “art” too seriously; as if art no longer
reflects life, but IS life, and we model our behavior after what we see on a
vid screen, sucking information through the eyeballs of our teeth that grind
endlessly on bones of internetted info, pre-dispositioned to drag us this way or
that, like the will of a fisherman, trolling where his will and knowledge go,
with the tides and with his/her angler’s balls. From a macro perspective,
perhaps it’s always been this way. Currents of space dragging us somewheres.
Grab a paddle, but rest easy—the ocean is a friendly one.
Taurus- I’m pretty sure nothing good comes in slurry
form. A flurry sounds like ice cream and a blizzard probably has bits of cookie
in it, but slurry evokes images of dangerous chemical processes and profit
driven multi nationals, bent on paving over the world with their newest form of
lab borne goo. It’s oozing down all our throats the second a television is
turned on. Like the Blob, it rolls through your neighborhood, trampling your
tulips and strangling your house pets. Fight the future, I say! Slay the slurry
of discontent that makes light of our struggling masses. Fear not the river of
rotten that attempts to encircle our camp. Say no to bullshit and slurry, and
you will ever be free.
Gemini- What’s in a name? Perhaps we should ask Sojourner Truth; or Increase Mather. How about Christian
Ponder or Andrew Luck? Or to be
safe, let’s stick with John Brown or John Doe. Keep things simple, lest we
assume a mantel greater than our ability to carry throughout our boulder pushing
lives. Regardless of your name, heavy lies the crown of centuries of forbears
and antecedents, those poor brave souls who came before you, and donated some
eggs and sperm, hopefully for the betterment of the future, and a permanent
place in the timeline of earth. I’m of the other school of thought—one’s name
is merely for the first part of the voyage. Once asea, and trials and hardship,
and personal growth toss your ship about a bit-- one should choose their own
name. I’m going with Stargazer Bonafide. Find your name, and claim it. You’ve
earned it.
Cancer- Red
state, blue state—bullshit, walks—and often talks. Radical change equals the
buzzword of the day, and I feel for you in the strangest and most ethereal way;
like we’re angels or fairies, bound here for centuries, trying to make it one
more day-- one more day til union, one more day til the boulder we’re pushing
uphill finds an apex, and we rest together, peacefully sanguine and relatively
unharmed by the mere passage of time. The challenge is to always be seeking
balance—which might not normally be your forte, or even in your list of
qualifications. Balance to weigh the good of love and cognitive sonorance, with
the illogic and evil of the entropic world. Love all that you see, but with a
wary eye that leans towards mercy and absolution. Purple state. Walk the walk.
Leo- There is a balance to be had between power
and control and assumed autonomy, and the allowance for the innate free will of
people at large. At least, I would hope. But the matrix of all this is tenuous
and predicated on a rube-goldberg machine, that we hope ends up at the right
place after we drop the ball in the bucket and hit the golden dinger. First you
get the money, then you get the power. And then the women. Or men, depending on
your taste. Or maybe its chocolate-- or gold, something impermanent and
tasteful, that jacks up your sense of well being and fortitude. Your travails
are legend and taoistic and well travelled, and I assume you know the way of
several cultures. Drop the dime, and save the time---the machine is already in
motion—Reap the whirlwind.
Virgo- The history of human migration on this here
planet is astounding. Centuries upon centuries of scouring the earth in order
to find sustenance, a frontier, a reason to exist, and possibly a way back to
whatever god that created us. Take the Inuit for example, also known as the
Thule people, who were pre-dated by the Dorset culture, made it all the way
from the Bering Strait to Greenland, and possibly met the Vikings; and
hey—people being people, they may very well have done the Ice Age Horizontal
Mambo®, spreading DNA all the way back to Europe and into the Americas. We are
all one---literally—one species. You’re a smart cookie though, and I don’t want
to give you more of the same juice you’re already drinking. My point to your
face and mouth hole is this: The world is massive, far bigger than you have
ever imagined, and that’s saying something. Consider the possibility that
you’re not Hamlet, but rather Horatio—or the grave digger. Take heart and grab
a shovel.
Libra- Let’s talk some fancy root words, yes? Inspire. Conspire. Transpire. Now
consider the relationship betwixt the twains of these beguilers three: Inspire means to animate with life,
literally to breathe life. Conspire
means that we do it together, two make one. Transpire
means to let out the air of life, so that those atoms may find their way to
their next destiny after being transformed within your lungs, giving your being
life, chemically altering oxygen into fuel, and releasing CO2. Breath in. Let
us breathe together, and then breathe out. And then repeat for a lifetime.
Brilliant. And the best part is, that’s all you have to do. The rest of the
universe will lay itself out as your feet walk the path. Breathe.
Scorpio- Life cannot solely be comprised of wholesale
destruction and wanton widespread orgies. All things hidden and secret, taboo
and non secular—are merely to entice your mood. And they are merely half the
coin. Yet, as one needs an anthropological frontier, one must also assume one’s
place in history—or not, I guess I don’t really care, but point is, that we
dig, and we dig and we dig, in the hopes of discovering out purpose, our
origin, and our future—that we temporarily plant a flag in the underwater ice,
like russians or counter terrorists, affirming our survival. Transformation is
your key word and lodestone. Use it wisely, for ig-naughts abound.
Sagittarius- The level at which you operate
is oft maligned and never truly understood. You take the good, the prehistoric
and the positronic, and you fine tune your amplitude into an effective, usually
gastronomic amplifier, that mollifies your sin and redoubt, qualifying you for
the level of sinner turned saint—a cosmic phoenix from the ashes, and whatnot.
You are fire that gives life, the glow that emanates from all of our
centers—our chakras—our ancient places of rebirth right here in our own bodies.
You are ancient, despite the newness of your energy. You don’t ride on the
wings of eagles—you are the eagle—the sky lord. You are skyclad in feathers of
pure light. Nice work if you can get it. Ride on, Valkyrie.
Capricorn- Over time, there have been many people of
societal importance. Some sway more than others the tide of history and the
effect of this dimension. You got your Lincoln, your Napoleon, your Buddha, a
little Moses, some Michael Jackson, etc. However, if we go with the butterfly
effect—not the Kutcher movie, but rather a sound principle in chaos theory—the
smallest action can create massive action in the future, hence the butterfly
who flapped its wings in China 6 months ago that caused Hurricane Sandy this
week. You may not hold the brush that makes broad strokes or swaths of
you-colored paint in this multiverse; but your actions have impact greater than
you can imagine, or will ever be lucky enough to witness. Flap away, my little
monarch, and wait for the bang.
Aquarius- Knowledge of everything is elusive by nature, or at the
very least, the idea that the sum total of everything is calculable--nay,
definable...is a burden that inspires our motor function, and the burning race
of synapses, and the chemical change of intuitive foresight into real and
usable material, with which we may plan better, feel better, and live better—if
we choose. BUT… even if we choose, the future can always throw curveballs and
change-ups, gutters and strikes—regardless of the intended aim of our arrow of
truthiness. God just might play dice with the universe—electrons existing in
all places simultaneously, creating the fabric of spacetime, so that we can all
experience a small section of it, and if we’re lucky, a synecdoche, pieces of
the whole that represent the entirety may be ours for the opting. Bon chance,
mon ami.
Pisces- Your deep seated membranes and
a ionic, iconic and/or ironic plagiarism confounds even the scurviest of dogs,
be they flagless freebooters or captains of industry, why—the power and
corrigible authority lies in your will. Brain stems, elastic like preternatural
axotyls, living cavelike and disjointed, psychic yet all undaunted, bereft of
beach and foundering sans light and hope, save for the mercy of the empath.
You, who can feel all moods and penetrate all false fronts-- you must be
exhausted...and yet you fight on. Pushing for further mutation, more amplitude,
and hopefully endless love—like an ocean of love that transcends, transforms
and is indeed, the very7 engine that drives our souls through the multiverse.
You are ready for any albatross that comes your way. Save the bird, save the
planet.
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