Viewport width =
May 24, 2010 | by  | in Opinion |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

Uther Dean. Drinks Tea. Looks Wise.

Horoscopal predictions for the week starting the 24th of May 2010.

This week as I gaze into the tea leaves of the past as they swirl through the mostly sipped tea-cup of time, a few noodles of knowledge are surfacing like drowning children grabbing on to the side of a full life raft. These pasta shapes of future come in letter designation-shaped lozenge bullets of truth.

So, what the stars speak for people whose name begins with a vowel is… uncertain. The normally crystal lucid future is fogged by mists of doubt. Like a far too milky cup of coffee or a nerve gas attack. This can only mean one of two things.

On one hand, it means death. As in you are going to die this week. And when I say die I mean expire and when I say expire I mean cark it like a lark-it. Sorry. I guess, there’s no way to really cushion that as a bit of news. You’ve had a good run. Unless you’ve wasted your life. Like I have. Kinda regretting all that fast food aren’t ya? Those few cigarettes? The weekly games of Russian roulette? You always knew that all your little naughtinesses would catch up with you, but not right now.

Not like this.

On the other hand, it just means that plans are changing. Your future is hazy because, well, you don’t know what to do. You had some plans but they fell apart like a mouldy sponge in an aged kidnap victim’s bleeding mouth. You’re so lost that not even the stars can see a future for you.

Sort your shit. The stars are pissed.

Now, people whose name begins with a consonant. How’re you? Good. Me? I’m good. Well, okay. Acceptable. Actually, I’m not great, if I’m honest. Things have been a bit bleh for me. I’ve just been through a rather tough time, y’know. Things are kinda getting on top of me like a giant jumping electric hippo. And I just… I look.

I’m gonna be honest. I don’t have a horoscope for you guys this week. I… The stars aren’t returning my calls. Oh, man. I… I’ve messed up so bad. I’ve fucked up.

I’m [sob] so [choke] sorry. I…

I just yelled at them [the stars] a bit, I said some things I didn’t mean and, now they’re not chatting with me.

What do I do? I’m utterly upfucked without them. I need…

Look. Stars? Are you listening? I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean it.

I need… I need you to forgive me.

Oh god. Everybody hates me know.

Look away… Look away.

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 (1)

Trackback URL / Comments RSS Feed

  1. Brentos says:

    Theres a message at the bottom of this page telling me to leave a message. So here goes… i think i love uther dean. Much love xx

Recent posts

  1. An (im)possible dream: Living Wage for Vic Books
  2. Salient and VUW tussle over Official Information Act requests
  3. One Ocean
  4. Orphanage voluntourism a harmful exercise
  5. Interview with Grayson Gilmour
  6. Political Round Up
  7. A Town Like Alice — Nevil Shute
  8. Presidential Address
  9. Do You Ever Feel Like a Plastic Bag?
  10. Sport
1

Editor's Pick

In Which a Boy Leaves

: - SPONSORED - I’ve always been a fairly lucky kid. I essentially lucked out at birth, being born white, male, heterosexual, to a well off family. My life was never going to be particularly hard. And so my tale begins, with another stroke of sheer luck. After my girlfriend sugge