Dr.
Pants McTurd's
MORE
Than True Horror-scopes
(not associated with horror
or scopes of any ilk)
Apropos Quote of the Week: 'If I cannot deflect the will
of Heaven, I shall move Hell.” –Juno, and much later,
Freud.
Doc P’s Word of the Week: kerfuffle. I do despise unnecessary disorder…
Aries- For a moment, let’s talk seriously about the awesomeness of James K
Polk, 11th President of the United States-- No. 1 awesome thing: he
promised to be a one term president, and he achieved every goal he set for
himself—every goal. He opened the Oregon Territory, christened the US Naval
Academy, and the Smithsonian, broke ground Washington Monument, not to mention
he issued the first postage stamps, and oh yeah, won the Mexican American War,
giving us Texas—the merits of which I’m not here to debate. He is the least
known consequential president. Wow, what a moniker. Forgotten, but mucho
importante. He is your power animal for the week. Be the Polk. Get your shit
done in a timely fashion, and earn your own mediocre moniker.
Taurus- In superhero movies, no one ever eats or gets
hungry. No one ever takes a piss, or orders a pizza, or filets a salmon. No
superhero ever has to wipe his own ass, or take a shot of whiskey to get
through the next earth shaking moment. Which I guess is the point—superheroes
aren’t weak—they’re super heroes, not
just regular heroes---unless they fall in love. And it’s usually in the second
movie in a trilogy, where the hero falls in love and wants to be just a normal
guy, white picket fence and weekend bbq’s and probably a drinking habit; so, he
denies his true nature, not realizing that what made him strong was the same
thing that separated him from the rest of us schlubs. Peaks and valley,
man...gutters and strikes…cat food and dingle berries. You’re lucky,
however—you get to be super and human, and you make it look so easy.
Gemini- History is replete with pointy hats—usually
worn by those in disreputably assumed authority, and by those who feel the need
to tell you what to do-- by hook, crook, or happenstance. Don’t listen to them.
Don’t lend them an ounce of credence. They’re charlatans and frauds, spitting
calumnies and slander and libel. I’m not saying you should be overly suspicious
of hat wearers at large, but the covering of the head usually means something
to the wearer. From the burke to the baseball cap, head covers denote who we
are to the other primates on the battlefield, or even junglewise, where so many
distractions lie; and our eyes and senses attune to them—biological markers
that help us navigate our environment. And their central theme is allegiance;
association, and fraternity with specific forces—which may or may not align
with your own. Dress carefully, and forego the hat. Reign with your head, not
your accoutrement.
Cancer- To
paraphrase the Great One, god does not
play dice with the universe. The details of what Einstein meant is replete
with riddles and misnomers. Is everything pre-determined? Or is there an
element of free will in the movement even of atoms and sub atomic particles? Is
our universe just one amongst several of god’s dice throws on the craps table
of existence? Or is every universe a separate and distinct reality where likelihood
interacts with an evolving individuality, creating untold variation on any
number of themes? Personally…I believe whatever the creator might be, it would
want infinite variety—infinite; which means that free will is part of the
evolution of tiny strings of energy. From the very small to the very large,
god’s will courses through us, but only the spirit, not any specific directive.
But you should decide for yourself. Peace out. And in. And forever.
Leo- Throughout history, there have been many
famous wearers of monocles. Yes, yes—the fixer of astigmatism—the monocle.
However, today, monocle wearers are unfairly portrayed as evil, misguided, or
uber rich. But trends always reverse themselves, and maybe someday the monocle
will come back into fashion. All we need is someone not evil—someone inherently
good to sport the monocle in some public way, and bring the monocle back to its
previous position of societal importance. I’m not advocating that it should be
you, but you are in a prime position to bring something back from the evil side
and into pop culture’s spotlight. People are waiting for your move. Choose
boldly. And whatever you do, don’t choose disco.
Virgo- Sexy in the Balkans does not equate to sexy
in Melbourne…and definitely not Tulsa. Banana hammocks in the south are frowned
upon, and who knows what they’re into down
under, where the water flows backwardways—they’re probably wearing
loincloths made from kangaroos and Kiwis. On a related topic, awesome sweaters
are knit by conniving loomers, not fools or cadavers—they have intrinsic
knowledge of know how to create life from nothing at all—alchemists of a
possibly divine nature—who, if you put them in a thong just seem out of place,
and awkward like an emu on a ship on a stormy sea during a storm of
incalculable energy. You are about to bring sexy back, my friend---just try to
keep it tasteful.
Libra- My
dreams of you are dangerously intimate, and lie ‘cross a temple of
verisimilitude that I can only assume implies the true nature of our company to
be bed-worthy and prone happy. In the shelter of arms, lay the mercy of two
virtuous souls, who crave security and an understanding of love, and of trust
and of wabi sabi with the rest of the multiverse. There exists an irregularity
to the symmetry of our lives…but this is the google map—this is the logic:
patterns are often inaccurate, believe them not, till thou engage the whole
pattern—which is if not impossible, at least improbable. The world is indeed,
not enough; not enough for the time we’ve spent kissing, or the tables we’ve
shared ‘mongst wine and/or candles, maybe some artichoke dip and micro-waved
chicken fingers—with dipping sauce. Wake up, it’s much too late…
Scorpio- Your quiddity is inscrutable. Your haecceity is
unmistakable. And don’t get me started on your hypokeimenon. Your sub strata of
whatness and why-osity strangle my objective observational capacity. I know not
if ye be dark matter-- tis no matter; or some future form of plasma that defies
our current understanding, but I do know there is no chalkboard or abacus that
can handle your numerology. I can’t put my finger on you and I desperately want
to. Your symmetry of being is radiant and effulgent, and I may have just soiled
myself. Dig, excavate, plunder through ashes and reliquaries and ancient
ossuaries and sepulchers: I need not dare you. You’re already there—creeping
through layer upon layer to discover the roots of the tree of you. And hey,
while you’re there, don’t forget to fertilize. No sense in discoveries that
destroy the local environment.
Sagittarius- Contrary to popular belief, the vomitorium is
not a special room for ancient roman bulimics. Granted, the romans were known
for some pretty sick shit; but building a special room just for binging and
purging was not in their purview. Likewise, the Whore of Babylon was not
literally a prostitute or a slut. She represents either the church, or rome or
both; or any conglomeration of power and arbitrary authority that sets rules
and presides over our entrance to heaven. Absolute power corrupts absolutely—a
common theme amongst the mathematics of human numbers. Yet, I say to thee: give
no credence to the popular vote, for thou art manipulated and denigrated by the
upper echelons of the pyramid of power we’ve developed. Yet, I don’t encourage
insurrection, or upheaval, nor even glorious chaos—merely an acknowledgement of
the total picture before you determine your fate, and make decisions that you
cannot repeal or amend. Tread judiciously, and carry a quiver of clever
cacophonies to cover your cough.
Capricorn- Grievous injury is usually a life changing
event. A laceration here, an auto accident there—why, we’re all moments away
from a Skylab falling on our heads unannounced and unwelcome. But as you well
know, living with the sword of Damocles over our heads is just exhausting. It
would better serve us to hold our focus in another direction. Never focus on
the negative---unless you can do it objectively; like a bookie figuring the
odds and making mathematically flavored choices in a continuum that technically
doesn’t exist; I mean, unless it does; look, I just work here…and I’ve
digressed…And what if the injury is emotional in nature? Internal? Metaphorical, even? Use your
central voice; the one that knows for sure, like in your guts, like in your jeuvos de ganas…Don’t think. Drive.
Aquarius- Sometimes I remember everything all
at once. It’s like a flood, or a race. Like my neurons are having a lightning
storm, and it’s all I can do to not curl up into a ball until the storm passes.
I just have to find the key. The images are often fleeting like old film stock:
they fritter and freeze, and I can almost piece together the missing seconds:
which if you split down to infinity, never end. We can’t remember everything
all the time, it just isn’t possible--one would go crazy with the details. And
we are not one. We are individual—at least, I think; and one must assume that
the collective unconscious is like the iCloud—information available to
everyone, so long as the infrastructure remains intact. Don’t fret about every
iota of detail. Think big picture, and let the details flow to the minutia
minded. We are meant for larger concepts. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
Pisces- Hades has five rivers, not just the Styx (the
river of hate). The other four are: Acheron (river of sorrow), Cocytus (river
of lamentation), Phlegethon (river of fire), and Lethe (the river of
forgetfulness). Cut to: a modern interpretation of this territorial directive:
hate leads to sorrow, sorrow to lamentation, which electrochemically erupts
into fire, in the hopes of transformation, and then hopefully to
forgetfulness…because the living must move past the tragedy and the sorrow and
the hate. And therefore we hold certain days to be sacred for remembering a
forlorn forgotten past—those souls who touched us, but who are now ethereal and
pure of spirit. Life is a river, like consciousness; We’re all afloat amidst
rapids of undeterminable fate. You are Aeneid and Homer, moving between worlds
searching for salvation, and hope. Your journey is right on track. Happy
(belated) All-Souls Day.
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