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.

                                       Dr. Pants McTurd's

                  MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                               (not associated with ‘true’ horror or scopes of any ilk)

               

disclaimer: Satire will not make you seem cool to people, or make you friends. It could, but more likely it will do the opposite. Just ask Hamlet’s Uncle.

this week: Next week the Pants are off. And so are mine. Have a good time with yourself.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: velleity. Since tomorrow’s the full moon in Pisces, increase the volition on this one. Save you, it could.

Aries- Woody Guthrie is your power animal for the week. Bad ass hillbilly reason number one: on his guitar was writ the phrase ‘This Machine Kills Facists’---Nice, right? Cause carrying pictures of Chairman Mao, ain’t gonna make it with anyone anyhow. Woody was so cool, Bob freaking Dylan came and sang to him in the hospital when he was sick. He influenced everybody. Make this your catchphrase and watchword: I am out to sing the songs that make you take pride in yourself and in your work. And go ahead, invoke Arlo this week too, who said, You want to know if I'm moral enough to join the army, burn women, kids, houses and villages after bein' a litterbug; for which he was convicted, disqualifying him of service. The Guthrie’s are bad ass moralists on the side of the average dude and dudette. Use their words and track their steps. Go Woody. Go hard.

Taurus- Windup, and pitch…Man suffers an accident resulting in a brain injury (I’m thinking a J. Gordon Levitt kind of guy), which develops into alien hand syndrome (yeah, it’s a real deal)---it’s when the two sides of the brain become disconnected and one arm begins to act independently, doing whatever it feels like and not telling the brain that’s doing it. So… after the accident, the man’s the man’s right arm starts writing in an unknown language. He finds a translator—turns out it’s in ancient Sumerian—and it’s a prophecy of some kind of impending alien invasion-- or space monkeys-- or time travel or whatever. I’m thinking it’s one we take to Ridley Scott, maybe Spielberg…or go the other way and call the Farrelly Brothers. Home run, I think.

Gemini- I reckon you’re the type of hombre that likes a solid cut of meat with their daily intake, possible avec un side du balls; taking chomper sized bites out of life, only to

re-ingest those atoms and empty space full of dark matter, into a defecation of nucleic goo, that seems solid, but may be part of some unseen matrix replete with Keanus of all sorts, both deific and base, made up of things that exist merely because there exists a field of Higgs and bosons, determining our reality as something less than transcendent, and leaning towards the tangible, the touchable, and the hands on experientiality that we all hope for, regardless of time, station, birth order, arbitrary planetary locale vs subspace frequencies of intolerable…frakking.. genius!---TAKE NO PRISONERS. TAKE NO SHITS--metaphorically speaking of course, don’t prove yourself a total fool. Your feelings serve you, but could be made to serve the emperor.

Cancer- Under the light of a blue filmed bulb, whilst I pondered my red pasta sauce covered with freshly shaved romanesque cheese, all the while reading about the likes and fates of Isaac, Jesus, Martin Luther King, RFK, J Lennon, and the countless children crippled by stray bullets from a legally sold guns…the plate-- it looks like blood, and in the blue light I drink it and eat it wholesale. And then amongst the unhinging of my alimentary floodgates, I wonder why everything must repeat. Why must flesh be made spiritual? It is flesh and never the twain shall meet…despite my bias? Even under the blue, blood glows red. But it is good, and I challenge you to deter me from my path….oh frak---the ebullient word fakes I have pounced upon you are irrelevant to the here and/or now. Life is not blood. It is mind and compassion and soul. Dive deep, and breathe.

Leo- The truth about the Curse of Ham is some pretty deep old testament pigslop. And we’re never going to know what really happened in that tent with Ham and his Dad. All we know is that Noah started a vineyard, took to drinking, fell asleep—maybe on top of a whore or another dude, or maybe a really beautiful goat—and his junk fell out of his robe. Sure, the junk could be metaphorical genitalia, but I don’t think so. Firstly, to have saved the world from flood by building a giant ark AND keeping rhinos from fighting alligators in close sea tossed quarters---all I’m saying is that the dude was probably hung like the proverbial Trojan horse. Or maybe he had a really small one, and after the tent debacle, everyone in Canaan knew about Noah’s shortcomings. Point is, what happens in Canaan stays in Israel. This week, keep an eye on your junk. Don’t let you crotch rip your social life asunder.

Virgo- I’ve had it. Tucson and muscle have no business having c’s in them. You gotta earn a C, man. C’s aren’t free, despite what hippies would have you believe. There’s no rest for the wicked, the road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions and TANSTAAFL still stands true. Bring your lunch money and succumb to the leftover sloppy joe friday that was tacos on tuesday. The steam trays of purgatory are merely spas that will massage your dead bones for their journey across the Styx, from whence we will go a-sailing, away, away and away—ever away. FRAK, STAY ON MESSAGE! What really poops my boner, is Jammies. Yeah, like the kind one might wear to bed, whilst sleeping. I just don’t get the hype and I’m not going to be on that train, I’ll tell you whaaaaaat. Howsomever, were things less competitive and awry, perhaps we would find ourselves deep amongst a cacophonous orgasmitron® of aural delight, and perhaps.. we could rest easy, at least for a spell, a sleep, a moment away granted by fairies and well meaning souls. Happy Birthday.

Libra- The days of dime store gun gurus and goobers are long gone. The soda jerks and fountains went out before even my time, along with Brady Bunches and tin star sheriffs. The future is riddled with armor piercing bullets and a distinct lack of taste or style. Radio flyers and fake guns that looked real and hopscotch painted right onto the black top, along with monkey bars cemented into firmity, and the angry post hippie generation whose music just turned angry, especially as the mistreated vets settled home and got pilfered even more by a government that merely needed pawns. Take no prisoners, take no shit! And then Atari happened and I was forced to kill asteroids in the middle of nowhere spacewise, probably to get some Lex Luthorian type some new viable real estate, clearing minefields for those who’s crest is cowardice, who use mere mortals as kabobs for the grilling, and fodder for useless crusades. Calm before the deluge.

Scorpio- Your upcoming spanking engagement will falter lest you undress the audience with your bestial and debauched proclivities and cross dressing curiosities. Wear some fishnets, or conversely, a jockstrap. Grab whatever junk you have, and delicately swab and daub it with salves, unguents and oils that will preserve your macho sex appeal and/or your primal ovaric hormone geysers. The skin should be turned a pinot style red, and pain should be pleasurable-- never permanent or jagged; but rather memory educing and palm squeezing—lovemaking to quake the plains of the ennui of speeches of paucity during times of full moon excess. This particular bull wants to be wo/manhandled, to be grabbed by the horns and wrestled, nay--‘rastled to the ground naked with the forthrightness of a first kiss; or an idolatrous imogen, all maiden-like and prowing her ship to full mast and release inside your inner sanctum. It’s going to be deep and wide, and cosmically epiphanic, echoing through your aural chambers that have longed for such vibration and liquid earth. The river is deeper than you could know.

Sagittarius- I don’t want to get weird, but this has to go straight into the vomitorium, and never past lips that would engender fraudulent lies and calumnies ‘gainst mine own cannon’s self slaughter, which has been doing a fine job so far. Your Light Brigade has been charging up San Juan Hill to strike at mere windmills ever since the late 14^th century. However, the Renaissance is over---it’s Action Hero time. You are due to be swooping in from on sky high to save damsels and endangered wildlife and common sense from extinction. Decency and good taste, btw are doomed; leave them to the Reavers. Get yourself a nice cape---not too long, nobody likes a floor dragger; and be the hero, the Keanu, the Bruce—or hey, carte blanche here, buddy: go Mel. Pop out your shoulder and live on prime real estate in Malibu in a trailer. Your path is lined with stars.

Capricorn- By hook, by crook, or happenstance; cheek by jowl, tried and trusted, easy bake oven and so are the pretzels. Sugar and spice, and not one thing nice. I’d eat you alive, just make it half the price. Tits for tats and baseball vats, I’m ridin’ this rocket to the end of the moon. The hoi polloi are hot to trot. The fox in their socks rocked the school of hard knocks. The radar’s pumpin’, the joint is jumpin’, and my shoes are wired to the Dj’s bumpin’. Cause there’s no… sleep... til Brooklyn. The big bad Bodhisattva’s been brawling, he’s been searching for souls, breaking some prose, and never touching ground in daylight. Like a deep blue light-- from the bottom of the sun-- don’t paralyze from all the analyze. Go deep mode, have it ala mode, cause it’s the mother lode. And it’s meant to be…

Aquarius- The absolute best way to pack a carry-on bag---has been up for debate seemingly for centuries. But not really-- because it’s a total non-issue. Just some crap that a marketing committee squandered together, probably at the last minute because they were too busy studying the art of ripping everyone off completely; regardless of soul, piety, dignity, grace---merely the fecund remnants of a life sold to the individual corporation, though while headed by bodies, and lobbied by sources close enough to home to be called fraud outright, backed by the full force of the law and punishable by some sort of regulation---crimeinitaly!, what don’t we get?, about the greed factor, that’s now backed by exponential madness in the form of actual science, flowering with over populated systemic too big to fails everywhere---wait, screw that… deep breaths. Go slow. The river knows where to flow. Come downstream, the water’s pefect.

Pisces- I refuse to be a man of constant sorrow. It befits not a forward thinker such as I-- nor you. Tarry not; for you will nary bury me for many a year, and even in death will I not sleep. Flowery words and pointless prose, however, do not bestow us onto the merry ship of foreknowledge and past the pointless obligatories. This is the part---this here, whence offices and hangars and beachheads are turned upward and turvy like, as in non times, like in Finn’s Paradox, where slaves dwindled from a common hist- or hyst- ericaltheme into history, only to end at a deadened branch of no consequence-- because the tree of life is filled, in this timeline-- with Green and Growth and Optimism-- ever higher, and ever bolder. For the sakes and in the hopes of your ancient ice cream and ocean wanderers---remember your charge, and forget not your destiny, laying brilliantwise ‘mongst fields of stars of pure unadulterated azure. Have at it. Drink deep. The world is an orchid, home from hot climates and is ready to propel your cancer into plowshares.

                               Dr. Pants McTurd's 

        MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                 

                                 

disclaimer: Satire does not give you the right. But it can give you a hard left.

this week: My personal square root was not, is not and will never be any of your business. However, it’s super close to 3.1415926535897932384626433832795.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: phthisis. As in... phthisis away again in Magarittaville.

Aries-  Your proverbial ship is right now a-righting itself, never a-wrong, and eternally tilting ever closer, closer I say!-- to an axis of freedom, where it will spin for æons in fascinated orbit ‘round a fairer star, sans the burns and spurns of freebooters’ skid marks, and vapor trails that often ride roughshod over the faces of all but the blind—for they are worthy of the truest salvation---not us, Nay!—never respite for those wicked of soul, purloined and masticated under malfeasant jaws and malingering fogs—the yellow kind that jam our gums and restrict our freedom loving intent upon the world. We are newly anesthetized amongst the newly biopic embryos from golden days of yore. Wake up, bring out your arvae, for we burn daylight, and the winds are seeking new sails to fill.

Taurus- Every four years, we’re forced through another election cycle of lying, paraphrasing, misrepresenting, apologizing, and epithet mania. And every four years, at least half the country prays that the other crazy guy doesn’t somehow win the office, ushering in another 8 year era of misguided spending and who knows how deep or evil the bush hole goes, especially when the vice president seems to be an oil magnate with a private safe bigger than a person, and the right to shoot people in the face without repercussion. Ooh-- my bad, pal, sorry about the direct hit, I thought you were a moose. Happens to me all the time. One minute you’re calmly discussing the merits of fiscal policy within the constraints of a reasonable conscience, and the next, my finger just slips and, BOOM: your face meets my counterargument. For the near future, sane winds are at our backs. Fret not-- our future will require shades.

Gemini- Bananaquits are no bullcrap. Yeah, I make up lots of words, but not the bananaquit, aka the honeykeeper, aka sexual innuendo mucho sexy time boom boom...Anyhowdy, it’s a bird, apparently, mostly in tropical regions. It’s yellow like a banana. Or something really yellow. And then the other day, I heard this ‘accredited’ science goon on NPR, whose theory was that yellow didn’t exist until we had created something yellow from our natural environs—rubbing dandelion on your arm for example. Cripes. This esoteric semantic line drawing must be indicative of a dearth of anything intelligent to talk about amongst the overwhelming numbers of grad students with nothing better to study during their break at Starbucks. The same school of thought postulates that the indigenous populations of the ‘New’ World couldn’t see the ships of the conquistadors because they had no prior experience of viewing such a sight. Bullcrap--I’ve never seen a spaceship, but I will know it when it lands in my yard. Bananaquits, Dude. Therein, lay the only objective truthiness. Cling, and find your power animal’s color.

Cancer- Ahhh, to be a nectaravore-- flitting flower to flower, usually amidst the warm sunlight and humid air accompanied by monsoons and rainy seasons; sucking up sweet plant sex juice through an extra long proboscis, or some other tube-like sucking device that evolved beautifully according to the planned-out free will of the multiverse; whose math may presently escape us, but that is nevertheless findoutable®. Oh frak—the free will kerfuffle. Okay…despite my love of Rush---the band, not the crappy movie, and not the Premium Rush, now available, probably on dvd by now, which is probably good if for no other reason because Levitt is pretty cool---free will is a construct, in this author’s official opinion, not true by any standards, save for those decided upon by faith or fear or outside pressure. Your time to decide is nigh. Choose with your heart and nothing can go awry, and sweet sweet plant sex juice will be ripe and juiceilicious®.

Leo- As an an illustration of irony, I posit the adorably named village of Upper Slaughter on the River Eye in Britain. Its little known distinction is that it’s one of a very small number of towns that suffered no casualties from either WW I or II. Nobody, not one guy didn’t come home. And the town’s name is Slaughter. Granted, one guy came home with syphillus because, like Ben Franklin said, “these french whores--they are really tres nice!” Point is, that the people of Upper Slaughter are unbreakable. And that is where we will run, when the zombies come. You and I will merge our beautiful genes into the pools of those that even war cannot destroy---not even world wide ones! We alone will save the human race from ugliness, with a new generation of unbreakable zombie killing adepts.

Virgo- One furlong per fortnight is very nearly 1 centimeter per minute (to within 1 part in 400--duh..). The speed of light may be expressed as being roughly 1.8 terafurlongs per fortnight. That said—the beard-second is where our deepeth concern layeth. Yes, a beard grows at a speed we can measure--roughly 100 angstroms, or 5 nanometers per something something. We measure time by things that happen at levels of reasonable sensory perception for every human on the planet; save for the select few who are in tune with frequencies beyond our ken, those destined to be transcendent of mere timespace. You’re not one of them btw. You and I are destined for a purpose maligned and mundane and pedestrian, but that is actually de- and be- atific to a max that is indeed hardcore and extreme and tubular. It will hit you when you are quiet, when your mind stops being you for a good five seconds. Let go and be what you’re like, be like yourself. 

Libra- Hey world—let it be known that I own this: SCHNERD!®. And yes, my Pops can share credit, but I’m the one doing the legwork and I’m the one taking this to the next level—SCHNERD!® It’s a unit of measurement that is equal to a mmpphhhner-- which I could only dream of owning; but alas that divine right belongs to the kings---the Sagan, the Seldon, the Clarke---food for gods beyond my ken and ability to ken, both noun and verb, simultaneously future and past…Shithowdy, no, I refuse to be distracted from destiny: the SCHNERD!®--- a distance equivalent to: “this much minus two times the power of splitting the difference”, end quote and bless us everyone. I bring this novelty to your attention because you need to move a SCHNERD!® to your left—emotionally that is. Not too much! Just enough to see around the white elephant that been blocking your view of the Taj Mahal that’s right in front of you.

Scorpio- Consider this a quick first draft of one of my upcoming theses on the language of evolution, infuturely® published by whatever unknowable entity can efficaciously publish literature for the science minded yet lazy of degrees: The Tree of Life (the Haekel version) is a nifty early analogy for understanding the shape of evolutionary progress. And here’s my underlying postulate: some trees, like aspens, form clonal colonies, meaning that all trees in a given area are part of a singular organism that spreads by its roots. Therefore: the Tree of Life is more accurately a clonal colony, with a nifty third dimension, so that we can travel through timespace along evolutionary lines, better illustrating our relationship to everything else, not as one tree heading ever skyward, but multiple trees over time spread throughout the galaxy, like a virus or a plague, or collective human thought and intention. The world is, the world is love and life are deep. Maybe as your skies are wide…

Sagittarius- Your power animal of the week is a buttonquail. Thereforergo®, keep a wary eye out for sheathbills and megallanic plovers, for they tend towards the stabby end of the avian spectrum. If you encounter a fairy warbler, be not concerned howeversomewhat, for it is your ally, and will ride down to hell with you, should the need arise. Also, they have access to the best drugs. Now…there are nicators out there who will tell you that it’s all bushtits and field mice and bopping ‘em on the head. But I’m here to tell ya, the real danger is the shrike. A shrike kills its prey by impaling it onto thorns. These birds invented the kabob. They make the megallanic plovers look like the Amish. Maintain the buttonquail in your mind at all times. Get a buttonquail tattoo on your most delicate private part. It’s the smart move, and you’ll be safe and unimpaled.

Capricorn- You are a bourbon democrat that utilizes aggressive mimicry to achieve your fowl ends and corny corollaries concocted by cannibals from Ceylon’s Isle of way olden times gone by; times left for dead, lain strangling and gasping on foreign beachheads and lonely strangways; time that would sooner eat your liver over a millennia than let you destroy it through self anointed inebriation and insultation by next Thursday. You are crepuscular, utilizing the dawn or dusk for true inventiveness, shying away from the bright light of day for fear of the circling brain predators; who would steal your thunderous inspirations to hold as their own, being empty headed thieves and jealous knaves. Get your own lightning. Make your own boom stick. You are the plethora of independent awareness. And if anyone tells you what to do, just kick ‘em shinward, and say, you can speak your mind, but not on my time.

Aquarius- Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny. And, no, I’m not just whistling dixie cups. Patterns, patterns, patterns. And often I ask myself whether my point of view is objective enough to understand all these patterns. Am I really seeing the world with the clarity and distance, or do I always see what I want to see, because that’s what makes sense. Make the facts fit the theory, because odds and Occam agree with me. Do the rules of the very large translate to the world of the subatomic? Does this Higgs field contain anything that is not formed first in my imagination. And is distance even possible in a world that only exists because of some will, a god, a creator, a thinking and desiring machine that spins world upon world from an unseen loom hiding deep in the zero dimension where odds and Occam will never travel? One cannot be separate from that which you are synecdochous.

Pisces- There are a million things to be whispered softly and aurally that could benefit your current state of affairs. There are a billion salves that might ease whatever pain you might be swimming in right now. There is a googol of nepenthes and succors that exist in this ‘verse, some beyond your scope that could provide you comfort from cyclonic embolisms and recurring seasonal fracases that mar and bloody your nasal pride and empathetic urges. A googolplex exists for your perusal and plucking, that most likely contains the seeds of inspiration and rainbow means of travel to propel you to the next big stage-- the place and time amidst timespace where you own everything and no one can take it away. However, here’s the rub: you are the source. You are the salve. You are a font with enough water to last for eternity. The font of strength inside you is nowhere near depletion because it cannot be depleted—ever.

      Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True         

                            Horror-scopes®

                  

disclaimer: Satire is not without pitfalls, just like the old Atari game.

this week: Last week the Pants were off. This week, the Pants are fully on, loosely buckled and ready for the party.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: Anastrophe. As in, "If once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny, consume you it will, as it did Obi-Wan's apprentice."

Aries- A-B-C. A-always, B-be, C-closing. Always be closing! Always be closing!! A-I-D-A. Attention, Interest, Decision, Action. Attention -- do I have your attention? Interest -- are you interested? I know you are because it's fuck or walk. You close or you hit the bricks! Decision -- have you made your decision for Christ?!! And Action. A-I-D-A; get out there!! You got the prospects comin' in; you think they came in to get out of the rain? Guy doesn't walk on the lot unless he wants to buy. Sitting out there waiting to give you their money! Are you gonna take it? Are you man enough to take it? The coffee is for closers. (But that’s all crap. Have some coffee, add some Bailey’s and/or whiskey, and meditate about opening, and maybe never closing—who knows, it just might work.)

Taurus- Since its inception and trademark, Lego claims that over 400 BILLION(!) Lego pieces have been created (probably not all of them equal). Point is, there’s a guy I know of in Sacramento that makes like 150K a year selling used Legos on EBay. (Thank you, George Lucas, I guess..). Even fifteen years ago, such a business would not have been possible. It’s the beauty of diversity and ever changing environment and elastic genomes, that stretch to fill whatever space needs filling up. As my pal Gordon once said, ‘Everyone I know is lonely / And God is so far away / The fat man in his garden / The thin man at his gate / My God you must be sleeping / Wake up, it's much too late / Please take the space between us / And fill it up some way / Take the space between us

And fill it up some way….’ And maybe visit LegoLand for some blockish, yet interlocking inspiration.

Gemini- Ok, here’s my plan to kidnap god: I hear from certain angelic sources within the administration that he/she/it/holy plasma, is planning a fact finding trip to Columbia. While god’s getting a personal tour of the Medellin coca fields, we distract the Medellins, grab god, jump into a Piasecki H-21 paramilitary helicopter, and head for the Galapagos; where no one will ever think to look for god, because it’s just a bunch of turtles and endangered bird crap. Then we shoot a video to show how serious we are if our demands are not met, that we send to the President. No President is going to let god get tortured by tortoises, especially in an election year. We’ll be rolling in billions and sipping mai tais on some Malaysian beach, where we make the laws, and justice is free to all, or at least us anyway. First you get god, then you get the money, then you get the power.

Cancer- For your consideration, let us ponder the poorly designed lawn darts known as Jarts; which are absurdly dangerous and could pierce an armored tank if thrown from a decent height. Back in ‘my day’, Jarts could be purchased right alongside toy guns, mostly old timey western style ones-- not the glocks and automatic armor piercing types of today’s blood tipped killing machines that emulate the very firepower which we are trying desperately to deal with and contain: the Columbiners, the Batman movie-emulators, the McVeigh’s, the Kaczynski’s, or the guy who casually walks onto a military base with full credentials and explodes our soldiers who aren’t even in the literal midst of war. Anyhowdy, my advice is to make sure all your toys are for building rather than taking down.

Leo- Let’s go down to the crib and let it all hang out-a. Where soulful people knows what it’s about-a. So, it turns out the word crib, has been in use for years. 21rst century Hippity Hoppers ain’t got nuthin’ on the Godfather of Soul, and in this futurist’s opiniation—the greatest entertainer of all time. James Brown stopped a riot with music---try that today, Adelle---Rumor has it, Rumor has it…frak that, dude; rumor has it that that song is annoying. Surely, the colloquial crib had been used prior to James, but he’s the one who injected that hot beefy word usement into our metaphorical communiqués, so that we could, from my aural interpretation, get past the people, get past the hoot-ma! A continued happy birthday, and bless the rains down in Africa.

Virgo- Drunken trees are not alcoholic arboreals that drive under the influence mowing down innocent shrubbery. Forests that grow in permafrost areas such as the Yukon or Siberia generally grow straight because their roots are encased in icy ground. But as the permafrost melts, and chunks of earth shift, the trees can start leaning every which way, similar in appearance to a bar full of drunks who smell of wine and cheap perfume. These trees were meant to sing the blues, and for a smile they can share the night, and it goes on and on and on. Drunken trees tilting and swerving, up and down the boulevard; their shadows searching in the night, living just to find emotion…or at least the return of the permafrost of the Little Ice Age, likely due for a quick 21rst century return, after a short period of temperatures spikes and hot air blowing from our collective mouth holes. Drunken trees and disappearing bees, don’t stop believin’-- hold on to that feelin’. A new age is nigh.

Libra- ‘Less Lust, By Less Protein: Meat Fish Bird; Egg Cheese; Peas Beans; Nuts. And Sitting’, as touted by the self proclaimed Protein Man of great Britain, is the surest way to a better life. Eat less protein, which will decrease your lust, which is the root of all evil in the entire scope of human society, and then don’t forget to spend some time sitting---it’s fun and not horny---and you will be free of all earthly and natural, yet non-Victorian approved emotions and drives that if we didn’t have, would probably engender more pajama tv watching Ho-Hos eating during daylight hours; rather than burning neurons into new ideologies and strapping on our future cones with gentle yet pornographic intent. In the meantime, don’t eat graham crackers, or anything Kellogian until you do some research and hey—let’s engorge our nerve endings with life blood and wanton lust.

Scorpio- Let’s talk cuckoo. This suspect avian has us all fooled. Its biologically inherited cleverness has somehow switched around 20^th century-wise to mean something stupid or crazy. Not even! The cuckoo lays its eggs in other birds’ nests in a span of about 20 seconds; and the host bird who ends up caring for the foreign baby never knows---although some do, but even they can’t tell the difference once the egg is hatched. And this is just the tip of the cuckoo iceberg. Now, let speak of the gowk stone…Cuckoos often bring the first tidings of spring---and gowk stones are remnants of glaciation, just big ol’ rocks sitting in the midst of nowheres--- through which the spirit of the cuckoo beatifies itself…spring comes earlier and earlier at the end of an ice age cycle, and these rocks and these birds will ever remind me of you and your inescapable tenderosityness®.

Sagittarius- The ancient greek pentathlon went like this: foot race, wrestling, long jump, javelin and discus. Purportedly, the events were modeled after a finely honed soldier’s skills---and while I want to know exactly how you could kill a man with a discus, I’m not here to discuss today’s discus related killings. The modern pentathlon goes like this: ride an unfamiliar (and likely pissed off) horse, fight with a pistol and then a sword, and then run really far and swim a lot---much like every 19^th century cavalryman had to do in order to avoid having your leg amputated in the field by a guy with a hacksaw and a bottle of bourbon. What should the 21rst century pentathlon contain? X-Boxing, Jaeger shooting, Tivo-ing®, keg stands and beer bongs? Your unique skill set is about to be called upon. Prepare yourself.

Capricorn- A Muse is a must. For some it could be flowers. For others, maybe pizza. On the weird side, it could be buying lots of fresh mackerel and drawing a cold bath for some alone time. If you believe Marcus Aurelius and/or Dr. Lechter, we fall in love with what we see every day. And you are a most potent obsession. There are powerful forces at work in what I espy in you; and all of them are true. You are the vessel, the way and the light, and your spirit is mightier and more beautiful than any sword. I leave you with this, friend: ‘they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. Amen and thanks for hanging out so resplendently.

Aquarius- You haven’t looked at me that way in years. You’re my black market baby…a diamond who wants to stay cold-- my chocolate jesus. I’m gonna change my name to Hannibal, or maybe just Rex. I look good without a shirt, I’m gonna drive all night, gonna get some speed. Maybe get some pasties and a g-string, beer and a shot-- Portland through a shot glass and a buffalo squeeze. You send me blue valentines, though I’ve tried to remain at large. And the ghost of your memory, baby, it’s the thistle in the kiss. But your hair smells like meadow grass on the tide, and the raindrops on my window, and the ice in my drink. So a secret kiss brings madness with the bliss. Pretend that you owe me nothing and all the world is green. We can bring back the old days again when all the world was green. Take my hand; I’m standing right here—hold on.

Pisces- In theory and per se, what would jesus do? What would mohammed do? What about walker texas ranger? Yes, I refuse to capitalize what should be venerated, but not idol-ized; but rather be kept holy in spirit in a mentally figmented fashion. The blood of a martyr and a thousand million others who have died for this cause or that; all in praise of a metaphor made literal for the benefit of the ego driven, the usurpers of decency, and the absconderers of justice. This matriarchally oriented pile of arbitrary evidence---which all testosterone and y-chromosomally leaning lords would deny and forfeit—tells me what the wise and judicious would do to save themselves from drowning terror of empty nights and fruitless days. What would they do…? First, they would forgive and bless and give a metaphorical roundhouse kick, maybe Swayze style. Anything that follows is organic and righteous and made from your own being-ness.