Viewport width =
August 3, 2009 | by  | in Opinion |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

Your Horoscope

For the week of 3–10 August 2009

Yes. This one is for you.

You think you have overcommitted yourself. Your first instinct is to lighten the load. Maybe take a few days off to get a grip of the situation. This will only make things worse. You need to lick more stamps. The crab stick that is lick-spittle sitting on your time‑table’s shoulder is only there because you keep chewing it. It tastes good, I know, but it will only become more when dancing.

You cry too much. Try screaming more. Why talk when you can scream? Nothing shows affection and understanding more than a quick gob in the eye and tirade or two. Punching someone in the ear and calling them a ‘****ing ****retcher’ is like a hug but better but butter. Milk your making monster and cancer a cranker. Dive live into maggot places. Not literally, obviously.

You need new shoes. Try using your hands. Or flying.

Stop counting your carbon credits. No one cares.

Have a go at talking to birds more. Birds can be much more understanding than they seem at third or fourth glance. Monologue madness at the feathered ear hole counterkicks dick lickery. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Your parents are dying. They just haven’t told you yet. They think you can’t deal with it. You’ve let them down before and you will let them down again so they can’t trust you with this. Not this time.

When alone you fall apart a little. Embrace this. Make it a party. When the carefully crafted artifice of your reality begins to sag like a dank tye-dye tea bag on the washing line, let the grief wash over you.

Have a bath in your failure. Try a bath bomb of self-loathing and soon you will be right as reindeer.

Write more letters to people you don’t know. You are feeling disconnected from the world and the best way to remedy this is to send threatening letters to strangers. Try to make them disturbingly obscene. Really reach out by including some of your own bodily fluids with the letters. Spunk dunk lickle writey places live around your lonely place and dance out to shitty chicken places.

Have a good week!

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Uther was one of the two arts editors in 2009. He was the horoscopier and theatre writer in 2010. Alongside Elle Hunt, Uther was coeditor in 2011.

Comments are closed.

Recent posts

  1. Laneway: Luck of the Draw
  2. Cuttin’ it with with Miss June
  3. SWAT
  4. Ravished by the Living Embodiment of All Our University Woes
  5. New Zealand’s First Rainbow Crossing is Here (and Queer)
  6. Chloe Has a Yarn About Mental Health
  7. “Stick with Vic” Makes “Insulting” and “Upsetting” Comments
  8. Presidential Address
  9. Final Review
  10. Tears Fall, and Sea Levels Rise

Editor's Pick

This Ain’t a Scene it’s a Goddamned Arm Wrestle

: Interior – Industrial Soviet Beerhall – Night It was late November and cold as hell when I stumbled into the Zhiguli Beer Hall. I was in Moscow, about to take the trans-Mongolian rail line to Beijing, and after finding someone in my hostel who could speak English, had decided