#Zodipunc

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Book: Breakfast

Aries: You know, breakfast doesn't always have to be the first meal of the day. There's nothing wrong with defying the societal expectation and having some of it at midnight. If anyone questions you, tell them "you're escaping" and don't elaborate.

Taurus: What we eat varies greatly depending on where and who you are, and I don't think you'd typically have idlis for breakfast; that's more of a thing in the south. Tea is definitely universal though regardless of how your breakfast is scheduled.

Gemini: How unfortunate that the people of your culture had to persist in finding new ways to talk during the artificial rush imposed upon morning meals. Instead of family and siblings, the anchorman is your guardian and the radio is your coach.

Leo: It's truly sad: By attempting to give fair distribution and love to everything on the breakfast menu, you end up getting nothing. You'll be stuck in the drive-thru trying to narrow down your options while everyone just wants you to move on with it.

Cancer: There's far more that occupies your stomach than a hearty meal, and it leaves you longing to do more with your food than simply digest it. You fiddle with it like you're a lost scientist experimenting with tools he has no grasp of. Just put it up already.

Libra: Should a breakfast really be balanced? We're instilled to believe that every food product we see should be part of a balanced breakfast, but why is there such an insistence? Make it unbalanced: Put a gratuitous amount of sodium in it.

Virgo: It's long been understood that no breakfast can exist in absence of its constituent foods and their supporting structures such as plates and bowls, utensils, and toasters. A breakfast must self-evidently be “of” something to be considered a breakfast at all.

Scorpio: Hide what you eat from those with prying eyes at the cafeteria. After using as many covert tactics as you could to conceal your coffee and bagels, you'll find that those watching you didn't give a damn about what you were eating, as evidenced by your dead friend.

Sagittarius: It's disturbing how much destiny you attach to your breakfast. It isn't merely the most important meal of the day; it's the most important meal of *your life.* The amount of blood you'll spill over a sausage & egg biscuit cannot be justified.

Capricorn: Much like how language is the scaffolding of our minds, breakfast is the scaffolding of our diet. Can you imagine how we'd ever conceive of nutrition without our morning meals? Well, you're used to having missing language making up your mindscape.

Aquarius: Breakfast is wonderful because it gives you the time to collect the pieces of yourself that have fallen off your body in your quest from getting out of bed to sitting in the kitchen. The bacon replaces the muscle and the scrambled eggs replace the brain.

Pisces: You seem like the type to overindulge in the complexities of good breakfast planning and turn it from a one-and-done deal into a corrosive passion. Entire notebooks dedicated to the study of good breakfast surround you and create a throne of illusion.

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Book: Motion-Pictures

Aries: It's the introduction, and what's usually granted here is a scene of innocent daily life. Sure, it wouldn't make an interesting movie if this wasn't used as an immersive factor, but have you ever thought of something that retains this? More than a slice of life, yes.

Taurus: There is a long, panoramic shot of an isolated village defined not by what it has built to conquer nature but what nature has built to complement it. It's quite boring for there are no objects of focus that are immediately relatable. Better become a pebble!

Gemini: The sun is setting on a an island ubiquitously hinted as "tropical." The view we're offered is from the perspective of a ground-dweller looking up to the sky. There are large creatures that rattle the trees. Hunting? I think it's for sport.

Leo: Our protagonist ascends floor after floor of the giant tower that looms over the mountainside city. Each level grants them a new batch of ever-dangerous foes to combat. What lies at the top? Stick around and keep your head up high.

Cancer: It's a long drive home from your relative's place. Currently, you're on a bridge that goes over a considerable lake. It's pitch black aside from the glow of your headlights and the faint appearance of powerplants. For the moment, you are protected here.

Libra: The atmosphere is made a sandy yellow by the lazy decisions of the director. Your character is depicted as the outcasted and oppressed one, lurking in the crevices of society under cloak. At least here, you have the opportunity to feel integral.

Virgo: The landscape here is just a giant steppe, meant for nothing but focusing on what individuals are here to accomplish. The names of the people you'll meet here will stretch across your mental scape for literal miles. You're about to be murdered if it wasn't obvious.

Scorpio: The postmodern city illuminates with the iconography of man, each inviting a new agent to contribute something to the beast that is the economy. Our titular character moves through it as if they're wandering through a forest. They might as well!

Sagittarius: It's the archetypical state towards the end of the film, but this director's intentions are spiteful to your consumption. All of the symbols and messages you've neglected to take into account are laid out for you, depriving you of the opportunity of rewatching.

Capricorn: Ships arrive in a port of an arctic town freighting all kinds of goods. A mobster arrives to the scene carrying some cash and a worn blade. Despite what you think, they're here to meet their daughter who came back from a trip to Europe.

Aquarius: The apple of our eye resides in an area where, if you lived on it, you'd never be aware of the world outside of it. Why? For every step you take towards escaping it, you end up warping back to where you started. Is there a trial, perhaps?

Pisces: All that we can see in this world is an esoteric scape, giving brief pause for moments of humanity and familiarity that are washed away to keep the gaze consistent. Here is where we find that reality is completely in the hands of that who spawns it.

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SAGITTARIUS 2

V - This is clever: It sets up this dichotomy in which arrows stand in for the personality's sense of commitment and interest. Arrows are cheap, plentiful, and do the job well enough when it comes to giving attention where it's needed to the required and sometimes unnecessary animals found on the hunt. Harpoons are also a skewered hunting weapon, but they're used for much bigger targets, those being whales. Trying to hunt a whale is an immensely dangerous task and can often result in the hunter being dragged with their prey and succumbing to their will: Biting off more than you initially wanted to invest. However, it did do a good job of concentrating commitment to a single shot. 

VI - The conflict of interest for the hunter is knowing where to locate their prey: All of the discussion and intrigue around the prospect comes from this large area of intermediacy to lead up to the easy part, that being execution. While threats are easy and swift to take down for an experienced hunter, it's knowing where (and who) exactly are the monsters that seek to terrorize. Finding them can also refer to how swift elimination may not be the best approach to perceived monsters, in that one's vision and judgment in hindsight was cloudy and in the moment.

VII - The conflict of interest for the hunter is knowing where to locate their prey: All of the discussion and intrigue around the prospect comes from this large area of intermediacy to lead up to the easy part, that being execution. While threats are easy and swift to take down for an experienced hunter, it's knowing where (and who) exactly are the monsters that seek to terrorize. Finding them can also refer to how swift elimination may not be the best approach to perceived monsters, in that one's vision and judgment in hindsight was cloudy and in the moment.

VIII - Self-explanatory: The Sagittarian wants to be the provider for everyone because that's the ultimate purpose behind the hunter's ambitions, that being to provide sustenance and continuation for the family, the kin. Whether or not this is literal food or the continuance of valued tradition, it doesn't matter. The Sagittarian wants to provide for others to the point where it feels like there's an obligation, but that isn't necessarily the case. It often leads to someone who feels like they're being hunted by their own kin in their attempts to hunt for them.

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SAGITTARIUS

I - This refers to the overbearing personality Sagittarians can take on where they overestimate their ability to serve the required role in most situations they come across. By wanting to be a part of everything, they fail to recognize that they weren't built for everything.

II - This refers to the concept of how Sagittarians deal with persistent problems: Those that swell when left unattended to and eventually submerse into something permanent and now serves as a constant reminder of pain and the neglect that led to that pain. A conflict that was initially skin-deep leaves an emotional wound that strikes at the bone. 

III - This refers to the simple concept of putting one's heart on their sleeve but being more subversive with it: The idea is that your upmost vulnerabilities are always at the source that you put it in the most danger by having it constantly open. While your words may represent your true intentions, it also means that they're vulnerable to equally crushing counterattack that contradicts the narrative you've spun.

IV - This refers to the efficiency of the personality when dealing with memory and trauma: They are considered left behind, but the sense of meaning they had to the person are broken up, distilled, and then composted to create a new bloom. Sagittarius is a constant cycle of recognizing the impermanence of time as the arrow of destiny traverses it, going everywhere but always moving.

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SAGITTARIUS 3

IX - As a hunter, the Sagittarian is in frequent contact with death, death often caused by the wild or their own doing. The corpse is a symbol of all that's desirable to the burdened Sagittarian: They are existent things but have no responsibilities or duties attached to them. What may come about initially is a fear of the dead, and this makes sense if they're viewed as reminders of the dreaded past still continuing into your existence and your journey. However, the warning is to keep one's wits alert, as those who also share responsibilities and duty in the world of the living have the ability of duplicity and living decay. Living people can die and be reborn in the same body while the dead rebirth into something unfamiliar yet teeming with life. They are corpses who remain in motion, demonstrating the savage nature of demonstrating both cruelty and kindness, with all due respect to the state given.

X - After a long day of work (whatever a Sagittarian might call that), the body needs to rest so that it may be restored for what lies ahead. In this sense, of a personality obsessed with decay and bloom, every night spent sleeping is a transfer from the world of the old into the world of the new. Sleep is literally categorized as the sister of death in this metaphor, in that it's the facilitator of a change in direction while continuing onward. The sleep cycle is one of the guaranteed states that Sagittarians can't avoid no matter what, so to cope, they are mentally treated as simply teleporters for the arrow of destiny.

XI - In relationships with others, the Sagittarian will love out of a carefree whimsy about the world and the joyfulness of kinship. However, the way this is done about can lead to a sense of distraction ultimately from the main point, whatever that is along the arrow of destiny. The second stage of careless death occurs, as all the love spread across as many the railed agent touched results in a lack of care for that which was the initial focus, and as the arrow is strung along, it pulls the agent further away from those that most desire its love. Wanting to give so much but not caring about where it goes and who ends up defeated... 

XII - Speaking of defeat, this is the last card of the set. Taking the hunter and warlike themes of Sagittarius to its extent, this represents what victory means to a Sagittarian: The one who is constantly seeking a plan to break through and go where the soul may will. In either scenario, the Sagittarian can either be the loser or the victor, as the victor always spoils from their success and the loser always learns from their failure. The Sagittarian is simultaneously the loser and victor of war, never finding a ceasefire and never setting up any defenses, but just knowing how to direct itself to where it needs to go. All of this is adorned on the body: Covered from head to toe in metaphorical tattoos, representing every accomplishment and disappointment in life, outlining every vein in the nervous system. Freedom lies right within you.

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Structural Isomers 3

Libra: 2,2,4-Trimethylhexane. <The familiar bell to mark someone’s entrance into the library chimes again. Yellen, after rubbing her magnifier for a comically lung time, peers up to greet whoever’s there. However, a striking intuition splashes her mind, which results in an aftershock of total disgust that needs to be disguised for the sake of etiquette> Oh, hello… you. «Good morning, granny. So, what’s new here?» <Yellen thinks to herself:> Goddamn Inez again. And here I was thinking he’d never come back! «Still holding onto all these worthless texts? You of all people should know by now that there’s nothing valuable here… Actually, I don’t want to be that harsh, but still: Necessity calls!» These works still hold considerable weight to our modern world, young man. «Keep up with the times; we’re on the edge of it being ‘postmodern’ now, which means everything here will become even more antiquated.» <Yellen thinks to herself again> Ugh, he’s put on this completely fabricated hatred of literature to justify his intentions of buying up the property here. So shallow, but at least I’m getting closer to knowing who’s paying him. The transition into a new world makes preserving older knowledge all the more worth it in my eyes <Yellen grips her wrinkly flesh around her pens.> «Heh, you seem aggravated by my progressivism.» Yes, because you’re violating one of the rules <Yellen pulls out a pristine paper, in which the second rule states “no political discussion”> I’d hate to be rude, but I think you’re overthinking and making up a ‘political issue’ again, and that leads you to discussing it loudly on the premises. That isn’t tolerated, as the politics (like everything else contentious) remains in the books here. «Oh, but the politics are happening right outside as we speak!» <Arduous and nonsensical conversation can be heard mumbling through the front door. Promptly, Yellen claps her hands once and the door becomes reinforced with sound-proofing, intimidating Inez> But this space is a different world with different rules, dear Inez.

Cancer: 3,3,4-Trimethylhexane. Time for a flashback way back in medical school. You know what you remember the most fondly? <Springe takes a puff from his cigarette: An almost disparate drag. He holds on this moment for dramatic effect and resumes speaking> Learning how to treat patients. <The lounge around him stares silently, thinking how out of character this was for him, and they were waiting for the inevitable fake-out> I’m serious, guys. Normally, I’m not an empathetic person, which makes you wonder why I got into this, but those instructors really beat those flaws out of you. They take the flaw you had before and make it into an entirely different character flaw, actually. «You went from not caring to caring too much?» Precisely, Luna! Passion took its cold, meaty hands and frightened the criminal in me. «How do you know my-» In anatomical dissection, the words of “you’re special because you’re human” kept banging in my head. It made me realize the place I was in while slicing through the fetus’s flesh. [,] Oh, it’s in my head with a permanent residence. <Luna mumbles to herself> «He’s way too cheery today; he must be manic again.» “You have quite a lot of sympathy for that pig you just dissected, Springe. We have all of those bones to protect that which is most vulnerable inside of us: The gross and mushy stuff.” To which I responded with “shouldn’t you be describing this in a more professional manner?” But I was the fool there, <Springe takes another puff from his cigarette> and the teacher said “toss it in with the rest.” That’s when they threw everything into a biowaste basket and I automatically passed that assignment. Thank God it’s that wonderful education that stopped me from becoming a shrink! <A nurse interrupts Springe, stating he has a patient to see> …What’s their history of cleft palate surgery again? Let me see here… Oh poor thing, it’s her first time.

Virgo: Nonane. It's blah, like my personality. «What about this one?» No, you don't understand; I want something deliberately tacky that we can all wear through the parking garage. «Bluma, there’s nobody here to see us; why do you care how we look?» It’s about how we look to ourselves! «So, you want to wear something you dislike? …I don’t get you.» I’m an expression you can never solve, Jouka. «Ah… Science has enabled man to split the atom and explore the cosmos, so one day, we’ll be able to solve the mystery of you.» Maybe you can solve this mystery! <Bluma playfully lifts the ephemeral capes from her studded leather boots, stomping them to the ground in a way to assert spatial dominance and showcase their fragrance> «H-holy shit! Where have you been keeping these, girl?» They’re imports. <Jouka ogles her boots while thoughts of how their previous goth fits were never truly complete because they didn’t feature boots like these. A mix of envy and pride fills their heart.> «Imports: How much did you pay?» Well- <skateboards can be heard echoing from the top of the parking garage: They indicate sharp and swift movement alongside a disregard for the physics of the structure> We’ve got company. «Ah yes, those skateboarders must be a threat.» No time for sarcasm, Jouka. «…I’m in agreement with you.» <Crumpled cans fall from the top floor, landing with a light grace and a hollow pang> They’re already attacking <Bluma quickly pulls out a retractable baton hidden in the new boots, making an intimidating clang.> Oh shit, I didn’t think you took that as that big a threat. «You agreed, didn’t you?» To a degree, hon. <Brandishing her boots once more, Bluma readies her legs to begin rushing into the building> «What’s the holdup: Are you not confident enough?» You let your worldview get shaken by what the books say: How are you more confident than me? <The cans from before explode violently, leaving a hazy smoke cloud in their wake. What happened to the two?>

Sagittarius: 2,2,5-Trimethylhexane. <Rossouw wipes the sweat off her brow and tries to avoid the pain she’s receiving from both the sunlight-induced headache and the memories plaguing her thoughts> Two parallel assholes in my life: Unbelievable! After everything I’ve been through, I’m at the end of the road again. I keep going at it, thinking things will change this time in an epic twist of fate, but fate always wins! The songs I sing, the art I make: All things I do to spiritually reinforce a positive ending get flipped on me. The mystics tell me it’s to learn a lesson, but I think that’s what they say to soothe the suffering. <Rossouw keeps monologuing to herself in a self-repeating way, constantly wondering what went wrong. This continues until she’s at the brink of realizing something life-changing, only for it to be interrupted by someone asking for directions> «Hey, do you know where these roads diverge?» <Rossouw communicates almost automatically> Yeah, they diverge about four miles down from this station. <Afterwards, she is utterly dazed at the fact that talking with this white man in a jeep completely erased her newfound knowledge. A great insecurity overtakes her, feeling like the opportunity has already left her, she tries to compensate immediately for the otherwise profound grief this would bring her> Hey, do you want to hear a story? «I got five more days here, so go ahead.» During my time where I was stationed in Uganda, I met a petite woman: She looked like someone suffering immense grief, like a massive opportunity was taken from her. I approached her and asked what was wrong, and she replied “my daughter’s gone: They took my daughter away from me!” I was immediately worried and replied “was it the terrorists?” And she replied “no, it was the American couple who came and took my baby!” Turns out, their child was stolen from them because of international adoption policies. That's fucked up, huh? «Uh, yeah. You know, I was expecting a more… wholesome story?» Right, right. I’m so sorry, holy shit. «Thanks, goodbye.»

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Structural Isomers 2

Leo: 2,3-Dimethylheptane. It’s just… my life is so average that I gotta force myself into others’ situations; how else am I gonna get a thrill? Do you feel me, Viz? <The amusement park ride begins to take off, revealing the mildly broad view of the Guatemalan cityscape. The smell of barbeque holds back the tears Oro was ready to shed because ferris wheels strike a particular emotional nerve for him.> «Uh… my advice is that what you’re doing isn’t necessarily a bad thing. To be philosophical, nothing anyone does is bad.» Even murder and like, murdering children? «Yeah, not even that can constitute you as a bad person. And that’s true ‘cause everyone alive now has come here with a purpose, and those purposes can manifest in many ways in our lives.» <The carriage buckles a bit, enough to make noticeable the snot on Oro’s hand> ...You sound like you’re heading into some wacky territory, but I’ll bite. <Viz takes another bite into the corndog that seemingly materialized from his pocket> «So, because of this highly encoded model of fate, that means that even the worst shit that happens to you happens for a reason.» Even cancer and like, terminal cancer? «Redundant, but yes.» Hmm… <Oro takes a small bite of Viz’s corn dog while he’s distracted> I think there’s some moral holes in that, Viz. «It’s funny ‘cause that isn’t real either!» Okay, you’re just fucking with me now; may Jesus find your lost soul. «Sounds like you can’t see past yourself!» <The carriage buckles again but harder, knocking the corn dog out of Viz’s hand and revealing the loogie Oro was hiding.> So you’re saying that it’s commendable for me to put myself where I don’t belong? «Hold on, I never said that, but… actually, you should just be proud for who you are. Take yourself as you are, and you can then begin to do the same to others. Forget about the idea of souls and deeper selves entirely.» Whatever you say, homie.

Taurus: 3,3-Diethylpentane. «Gresham.» <He peeks his head from washing the dishes to divert attention to the voice that called him> What is it, Sanjay? «Hmm, I was gonna ask you questions about how nonsensical this world is, but my mind immediately shifted to asking you how you got to this point.» This point? Like, the quality of life I possess currently? «What else?» I would’ve preferred to point out the ridiculousness of this whole ordeal, but I understand your shift. Shoot! «Do you think the ways you’ve gotten to where you are now were… unethical?» There’s a lot you’re holding in your mouth when you ask a question like that. As a lover of difficult questions, I won’t answer that until the day’s done. «Uh-» No complaining, or I’ll cut your pay by 30%. <Sanjay thinks to himself> That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to him about: He has to be aware, right? There’s no way his skull is that dense, and his jokes are too clever! <Gresham finishes washing the last remaining plate and slides it atop the rack. Afterwards, he walks back to his usual position in the restaurant and waits for any new service.> [...] <Sanjay flicks his used cigarette from his mouth and onto the elaborate ashtray outdoors. In impatience, he goes back inside and demands the accountability he thinks he deserves> «It’s been three hours and nobody has shown up; you want to start removing that answer’s date back?» <Gresham breaks his inhuman concentration to make a firm statement> Clean up your ashtray first. «Are you teaching me an ecological lesson? Is this some lesson of your Tantra?» No, I’m just conscious about any numbers of fires that could emerge from cigarettes. «Fine.» <As Sanjay begins to go back outside, Gresham speaks again> Trust me, I wish I could escape the clutches of this cast we thrive and suffer under. However, no matter where I go, the world still refers back to where I came from. Is there value in not persisting forwards but backwards? <Sanjay looks back with hesitation, thinks briefly “the Manusmriti?” but scoffs at his datedness> Also, If you walk out, I’ll assume you’re doing terrible things, so don’t. «What about the-» The ashes will know where to go. «Why do you put on this faux mystic attitude? You’re a restaurant owner!»

Aquarius: 2,6-Dimethylheptane. <Aukai finds herself awake in her unsheeted bed, further disorganized beyond possibility. She forcefully motions her lips and breathes words of lucid wisdom through her dry chords.> There’s an anxiety that grips me sometimes, and it’s that every passing second I don’t recognize the artistic potential of something, it gets lost to time. What I fear the most is my head getting cracked wide open, losing consciousness, and awakening to a future that robbed me of beautiful scenes for new pieces. «This anxiety seems… unlike you.» <Aukai is surprised by the fact that her client is awake. Fear would gain control of her if it weren’t for him snoring afterwards, indicating it’s sleep-talking> Men are more beneficially judgmental when they’re asleep, huh? Whelp, I can leave while the night’s still middle-age. <Aukai gets dressed, particularly struggling to get her galoshes back on to weather the incoming rain. Once outside, she dashes through the rain almost oafishly, betraying the expectation of feminine grace. She thinks to herself> Even beyond how ridiculous it sounds, the life of an artist is a religious one: One where we’re conflicting our reality with the one produced on canvas. Well, that’d make the process more like the foundations of a religion than the application of it. The completeness isn’t there yet, but hopefully I can figure it out by the time I’m home. <The moonlight becomes secondary as the artificial lights create new scenes at every corner, torturing Aukai’s poor, traumatized eyes. She simply looks into her hands to avoid all these temptations.> [,] <There’s now tears mixing in with the raindrops, and on the way home, Aukai is stopped by an obstacle she couldn’t see coming. Facedown in the asphalt, she looks up to see a beautiful scene, etching itself into her eyes to haunt her next gig.> G-goddamn you <Aukai pounds her fist into the ground.>

Pisces: 2,2,4,4,-Tetramethylpentane. <Maghazi is walking down the crowded afternoon streets of Dakar, gleefully filling his lungs with the smell of pollution and fried fish. Here, he feels at one with the natural world, leaving no space for false misconceptions of the monism he lives and, well, breathes. Here, there’s people he can both condescend and praise, leaving ample room to leave a web of both shrinkage and growth. His baggy pants are scruffed from the leftover paint of the bricks he vaulted and leapt over for the style of the action: Something to move the body he believes serves no purpose other than preserving the valuable brain.> Hmm, my ears are pointing me somewhere ambiguous: 20 meters away. <It appears he’s detecting something his senses designated as important to him. Despite this, he was never really the opportunistic personality, at least never one that took what was in front of them. Maghazi takes more determined steps, inching closer to the source> If I had to guess, it’s likely a drone chip. They don’t exactly make their existence a secret <He rubs a special knob on his glasses, enabling a process we can’t witness or understand> …Found them. <Maghazi stumbles upon the source, which is a group of teenage boys in an alleyway kicking around a hacky sack, which he believes to be the source of the signal. Wondering how to approach, Maghazi comes to only the most optimal method> Oh, it looks like I’m substituting today. «Man, who are you talking to?» You guys: Who else? ²«Nobody agreed on that.» I never said it was democratic. All I need now is to be in this space and access to that hacky sack. «Get your own.» What if I told you it was an explosive device ready to go off and I was the only one who knew how to disarm it? «We’d die happy then.» <Maghazi is irked as there’s no other plans of approach left. In defeat, he walks away with a hunched demeanor. He thinks to himself how humorous it’d be if the hacky sack blew up like in his absurd hypothetical, but he’s quickly disappointed by the unpoetic reality> Nothing’s gonna happen.

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Vacation Resorts 1

Aries: Adare Manor. “Our revenge will be the laughter of our children.” I don’t know who said that, but me makes me wanna act ballistically. «And why do you suspect that phrases like these trigger a response within you?» <Réamoinn pauses for a moment, stretches their arms into the air while using this opportunity to crack their knuckles further.> I honestly don’t know. I know saying ’I don’t know’ is a copout, but… «There’s no such thing as a copout here; this is a therapy session.» Right, right, but I feel like this is highly transactive, and I’m not offering anything of value: There’s “nothin’ in me noggin” as my mum used to say. «Well, just understand that not having the right thoughts available at the pristine moment is a perfectly normal thing in sessions, so don’t beat yourself up over it… However, I will inform you that I only have so much time for a single session of an entire day, so the more time you spend, the more you should ensure that your words are, uh, ‘quality over quantity’ as we say.» [,] <Réamoinn slouches to the side of the therapeutic sofa and begins to do that weird quirk where they jitter randomly: Likely an operative test of the body’s stimulate functions.> «Are you shivering? You look like you’re shivering; are you cold?» Aye, no. A thermostat’s not gonna heal the cold of my heart, doc. «Uh-huh, and what do you mean by the “cold of my heart”?» I thought the simile was obvious, but it basically means that I feel as if my ability to change things by myself has frozen over, and now I need something external to thaw it out of its icy state. «That sounds quite dramatic, so it must be a real detriment for you, I’m guessing.» Oh, you don’t know the extent of it, doc. You feel like a human time-capsule: Absolutely divorced from any power you have in the present to do something about the pit you’re being sucked into, and you have to accept it because there’s literally nothing you can do but wait for time to change your situation. «You know, I think what you’re describing is really applicable to a lot of other people.» I don’t doubt it, aye.

Gemini: Awanjiwo. <Thinking to themselves> I spilt goat’s milk all over my transistor, but it’s not like I needed that anyways: There’s a map of this entire scheme in my head, and it’ll be relevant so long as I keep using it. <A sudden change of psyche emerges> I could’ve given this back to that poor boy I saw earlier who had nothing for entertainment other than rusty cans, dirty footballs, and his flesh and blood companions. That kid could’ve grown to appreciate the internal workings of the radio, and who knows what education he could pursue after that… That kid could’ve became a stellar engineer! He could’ve founded the cure for cancer, mild discomfort, or working in general! No, what I decided to do with my time on Earth was keep something to myself that I never really needed: How will that reflect in eons when I’m gone? I won’t be relevant after that, but it still matters in the moment, right? But why does the ’moment’ matter; what even is the moment? Does anybody else experience the ‘moment’ differently? <A bird comes by to lick up the milk, now spilling onto the cabin floor: Rambling ensues in Truce’s mind as they contemplate why they’re here and what the radio’s dysfunction means for the ripples of the future.> [,] <A distant yelling is heard across the beach, and like that, all of Truce’s tangents cease and they perk their ears towards the sound.> Oi, what the bloody hell was that? <The signals become louder and resemble static more and more, beginning to overstimulate Truce.> Aargh, cut that crap out! Who the goddamn hell is there and why are they loud! <Truce’s hand-radio starts crackling, making them pick it up and inspect it. Suddenly, a rather clear transition comes through.> «Truce! Yes, you: The Truce who just came here from the western tip of Japen Island. Come in… Respond to me! I can see you right through my binoculars.» Then what’s the purpose of using the damn radio? Just yell at me if you’re that close for Christ’s sake. Lord knows you’re not the first stalker I’ve dealt with in my life. Fuck off, will you? […] «I mean regardless, we’re at a plane-crash site not far from where you currently are, so we’re at least worth interacting with, right?.» <Truce sets up a makeshift fire.> Yeah, get back to me before the plastic I melted collapses my lungs. <Truce throws his radio two feet out from him.>

Scorpio: Hanhwa Resort Seorak Sorano. Now, I interact with a lot of weird counselors every day, but the one I remember the best was from last year, and their name was Sonnim: They were short (as far as I’d know compared to my view), they’d always show up at the weirdest times, and they were always bossy but she said she’s like that because “you need to balance prohibited and bad behavior.” She made a big deal out of the most silly things, and I always wanted to say to her that I wasn’t really hurting anyone by doing it, so it’s not really bad. It’s worse because she also punishes me when I do truly hurtful things: She’s consistent! <Juyeon kicks her legs into the air from her spot on the bench, flicking one of her shoes off and narrowly hitting another kid.> It gets worse when I try to talk to her about it: She doesn’t seem to like honesty. <A cohort of red squirrels gather around Juyeon’s position at the recess bench.> Did I mention she’s short? I know my mom told me not to mock people for their height, but boy, she is short. I mean, I’m short even compared to other girls, but I take one glance at her and she makes me feel more confident about myself. <Juyeon kicks her legs into the air a second time, this time her other shoe remains on while the contrast between that and her shoeless foot is still present.> I’m bored… I don’t know, I think I liked it better before when there was less politics in all of it: It was about the raw fun of it all. <One of the squirrels from earlier returns to Juyeon after she kicked up an acorn beneath her feet with acorn in its cheeks: It stares down her contemplative reflection for a solid amount of time before moving onto another site in the playground.> Those weren’t even the worst parts of the whole thing… <Daylight fades and a moody night envelopes the sky: Colors start to glisten intensely as the emotions become stronger.> I don’t think she was even justified despite what she always told me. She was pretty mean all things considered. I remember her saying to me once “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”, and I respond with “I don’t kiss my mom on the lips if that’s what you mean; that’s gross.” <Electricity surges through the landscape which now looks like a mental breakdown visually translated. That one red squirrel from earlier races against the corruption with great finesse: This scene seems to be one of trauma, but that isn’t the case. All that’s there is just profound confusion.>

Capricorn: White Point Beach Resort. I hate just hearing the word “neat” in response to something positively eventful happening in my life, like showcasing the class a odd and interesting fact: “Odd and interesting” being the phrase I ingrained into myself to make me feel better. Just saying the word “neat” provokes an emotional response so barren and dreadful that one might as well not have said anything. There’s no desire to dig deeper into the cave of knowledge presented in front of people, and it’s especially more insulting when you discover that cave for them. I present my work to other people because I want to hear their perspectives too, but not everybody’s inclined to give their own unique perspective: If only they understood how truly irreplaceable and ephemeral it is, then they’d take stronger advantage of it… Back to how much I hate the word “neat”, if I just wanted to hear a word that invokes such a boring and unemotional character, like myself, then I would just recite what I think my character is in a mirror, like myself. What’d be more imaginative is the filler of words you’d usually associate with cussing, also conveniently monosyllabic, like “shit”, “cunt”, “fuck”, or “merde” if you’re feeling poignant. These words imply an insulting quality, but that’s arguably more unique than the thousands of “neats” I hear that become unique in their own collective nature. [,] I have no other emotions besides founded frustration and unfounded frustration, and that’s one painful polarity to define your life by, right? Good thing I don’t do that: Why would I? [,] If you’re gonna ask whether or not I know I sound like an asshole, I do. I think I do, but the subjective values of what makes someone an asshole are flipping my judgment to and fro. [,] I… I’m growing exhausted by all of this: It must be because of my exhaustive personality or the fact that this music is far too energetic for the situation at hand… Perhaps it’s because I camped out in freezing weather last night? No, my body is too resistant to the cold for something like that. [,] Am I in the wrong here? Nah, my students need to understand the value of liberal education through the brutality of its strict twin.

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Vacation Resorts ?

Yo, what’s the difference between the impact between self-aware and unaware art? The feeling of nascency is too strong to shake off for the latter, but the refinement of the former is too effortful to dismiss in the name of the grand nascency of art that is unaware of its perimeters. It’s like comparing the twisted caverns of ancient cave systems to the unspoken awe of gazing upon the sunlit rolling hills laid before you. Also guys, this is the opposite of an ad: Don’t go back and play the Flash game Climate Chaos starring that stupid blue bunny.

[mynameisdreartblog]

Romantic Composers 1

Aries: Amy Beach. Instigation is such an amazing concept: there can be absolutely no why behind any of your actions. For instance, I could pick up this turd out of my toilet and throw it against the bathroom wall. «Yes, but will you? Heaven knows you can’t commit.» Ah, you see, that’s the point: I don’t have to commit. The mere thought of it is already changing the circumstances we reside in. «I can agree: I went from thinking your weird to thinking you’re incredibly weird: The turd-slinger lifestyle took a hold of you.» Mór, I’ll toss as much shit as I desire. […]  <The setting shifts towards a misty field, where there is a howling wind blowing the red fumes of a nearby cauldron. They lead back to a druid’s cave, known as such because there’s a sign that says there’s a druid in it.> «Ha ha ha! What lies instore for our duo? I sense irrational actions and grievous misfortune.» <A stereotypically timed lighting strike occurs in the background.> […]  «Réa, what’s up with you? You’re looking out at nothing with your hands on the toilet seat.» …Fucking hell, I think I sensed something devilish among here. <Réamonn takes their other hand out of the toilet, still soaked from the toilet water. Mór grabs their hand and shoves it back into the toilet bowl with an angry expression.> «What? No. If you’re gonna be here, you should commit to the bit!» <An argumentative feud erupts between the two.> Aye, you fucking cunt! I know when to stop, and you’re the one taking this too far. «Not to be a joker, but you’re far too deep in the shite to quit now.» […] <We return back to the mist of the druid’s cave, and here we can see him cackling at the recent misfortune he brewed.> «Ha ha ha! I’m the mastermind behind all of the world’s divisive pitifulness! So much that I killed my previous assistant over scratching my rings!» <The druid’s crow squawks at him, because druid’s have birds now.> «Right, I know that’s a horrible tale, but nobody’s around to hear it!» […] <We cut back to Réamonn and Mór fighting.> «What’s gotten into you?» That’s, argh, what I’m, humph, trying to f-figure out! <Toilet water begins to splash all over the room.> «Right, next thing you’re gonna tell me that you decided that you’re the plumber.» <So, the two mess around in the bathroom for what seems like an hour until Réa’s mum comes in to yell at both of them.> «What the fuck are the both of you doing? I’ve been trying to take a shower in the other bathroom this whole time, and the only thing that’s been running is water colder than the farmer’s bog in November!»

Gemini: Louis Gottschalk. I smell someone, someone fishy here. It smells like someone here has a recent history of being too comfortable with colonialist apologia for French actions. Hmm, who is this person? I guess we’ll never know: We may never be able to find the baguette. Mmm, I can just smell the sweet, delectable French bread from here. Mmm, mmm, mmm… <Heavy sniffing starts to occur, with it rampantly becoming more violent.>  Damn, it just smells SO GOOD. The French did nothing wrong except make these beignets way too damn mouth-watering: Mmm, mmm, mmm. Damn, I’d love me some of them right now to fill up my gullet. I just can’t control myself around that sweet French bread: I haven’t harmed anyone yet, but if they got in the way of my French bread, you’d have no idea what I’d do to get it. MMM, MMM, MMM. That French bread just makes me wanna <scronch>, and then <freerf>, and then <sus>. Mmm, mmm, mmm, I can smell it from here: It tastes so good; I need it in my tummy immediately. I never had a full piece of French bread before. FREERF, YEERF, SLUUURP, GADORF, MEONG, PADOOK, GURK LURP, SCHLIPPITY SCHLURP, PUHTAW, OOKARH, MEONG, DING DONG, KALOOKA, NOISOME, MMM. I love bread a lot, more than I loved my own family: My own family was turned into bead and sliced up by this maniac who loved pizza as much as I loved bread. I am a yeast of my own parts, I denounce my citizenship and move to France, I am now the one sane person left in this world. GAJOINK, BREKKIE, LOLISH, NAMBODE, ANGKOR WATT, MIRANDA WARNING, ZOOMIES, BOOMIES. I love bread. […] As you know, I’m quite the fan of bread, and I have a loaf of it right now. I think it’s time to "dive right in" as they say. [,] PUHTAW, that was awful! I took may too much bread in my mouth, but that was my favorite onomatopoeia to describe how this bread came out of my mouth. TIGERS JAW, SHOSPEL COLUPIS, SWOOCE, FUNNY BREAD, BREAD FUNNY, WOO, YAY, HURRAY FOR BREAD. ’Cause if you don’t <freerf>, then you can’t <swooce>, so how are you gonna <sus> or <jodge>? It just doesn’t make <se-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ns.> Hamburger: You make a hamburger with bread. Can’t have a hamburger with no bread! MMM, MMM, MMM, I love hamburgers. <jodge.>  […] But seriously, we all know that defending empires is bad? I don’t care if that empire gives you as much bread as you want, you’re still a slave and only through that empire can you get measly bread: Not the fulfilling kind of bread, the crumbs of the crumbs.

Scorpio: Giuseppe Verdi. <We’re greeted to a bustling city scene, there are many people on the street: Some wacky, some not so wacky. Here, we see Juyeon walking with her mom to the local market because she’s short of cabbage.> Mom, why are we here? «Your father always eats an absurd amount of cabbage, sweetie. And he gets very grumpy and resistant to doing chores when he doesn’t have it, so that’s why we’re here.» <Juyeon never believed that story; she never saw her dad eat a single piece of lettuce before.> Okay <she says in a very unsatisfied voice. All the while, the bustling of the urbanity dominates the atmosphere. Somehow, in the midst of this crowd, Juyeon’s ears pick up on a particular voice.> «I’m a lost adventurer, looking for the rest of my forgotten crew! Who wants to volunteer to be the child character in the middle of an adventure group that has to travel through hell and back? We’re looking for any psychic children to help aid us on our journey.» <The lost adventurer kept yelling this ad from the cat-corner, and in the midst of those words, the term "psychic children" caught Juyeon’s ear.> Say, mister! <Juyeon notices her mom eyeing cabbage, and takes this opportunity to investigate something her mom would normally disagree with. Hesitantly, the adventurer noticed Juyeon wobbling towards them.> You said something about psychic children, mister? «Why, yes! You must know that, prior to this, I was part of a band of four with the guts like me: We travelled many lands many dimensions even. We were all so young and filled with a look of wonder towards all we did.» Lots of kids have done what you said, but you’re trying to say there was something special about yours? Also, this must’ve been a long time ago ’cause you look like you’re my mom’s age. [,] «What you never knew is that we were all blessed with psychic powers… Long story short: They ended up being a burden to ourselves after our journey was done, and we tore each other apart spiritually.»  [,] All of that sounds cool, but I feel like it’s a bit too, uh…  «Hamfisted?» It has nothing to do with ham, but I kinda get the "fist" part. [,] It’s a bit… «Ominous?» Isn’t that like, a fruit? I don’t get it is what I’m saying. Where does the psychic stuff come from? Why did you end up here out of all places? Why did you grow out of it? Like, ugh, I don’t know… I thought this would be cool, but now I’m not sure. [,] «Hmm, I can tell, whenever you came into my line-of-sight, that there was something whimsical about you: A part of you that has yet to transcend into regression with age. You’re asking where the psychic energy comes from not out of cynicism but curiosity… I might as well demonstrate to you where it comes from.» <The lost adventurer points their fingers up into the air, channels an energy, and a bolt of technicolor light courses through it from above. As soon as Juyeon would be able to understand the demonstration, her mother angrily grabs her and pulls her back into the market.> «Don’t run off like that!»

Capricorn: Hector Berlioz. <There’s a grand trunk that spikes out from the rest of the wetlands: It towers over all the other ghostly trees. It seems to represent a glimpse into the future: One emphasized by its continued existence over the temporariness of the other woods around it.> «Are those wetlands, Mr. Robichaux?» You know, I like to say there’s no dumb questions, but that’s a dumb question: We are miles away from any wetlands. <The shuttle-bus hops up a bit as it goes over a bit of uneven road, causing Ikto to lose their hold on the window.> «I don’t know, it looks pretty swampy to me.» All swamps are wetlands, but not all wetlands are swamps. You learned this in third-grade science, c’mon now. <The shuttle-bus full of the band kids rolls over yet another snag in the road, causing turbulence that allows a mic-stand in the back to fall over.> Oof, that sounded like it was expensive: Good thing it’s not coming out of my paycheck and I can still afford ravioli. <As soon as that sound was created, the neglected oak remarked about earlier had water vapor gravitating towards it, an unusual sign in nature for sure. We cut back to Vinnie attempting to fill out a crossword puzzle about sewing terms: Something far out of his purview and a task made only more difficult by the rocking of the bus.> Itko, er, <Vinnie forgets the real name of the student.> Do you know what they call the machine involved in all yarn production processes? «That’s called a spinneret, Mr. Robichaux.» Is that spelled with two Ts and an E? Because that doesn’t fit in the boxes given. «There’s only one T with no extra E at the end.» Ah, perfect. <The water vapor condenses more and more around the grand trunk to the point where, despite the bus being two miles away from it, has already spawned storm clouds around its natural base. We cut back to Vinnie filling out #9 on the crossword puzzle.> «Nobody told us it was gonna rain outside today. Look, there’s already grey clouds in the sky!» <That could be heard from another student in the back of the bus: Vinnie either didn’t hear this or he willfully ignored it. He begins to whisper angrily to himself:> What kinda question is that: "Disengages all but the bobbin weaver?" Like I’m supposed to know any of this! <The collected water formed around the tree stump brings upon a ferocious storm: One with a name and a vengeance. Immediately, the storm moved at unreal speeds towards the bus. «It’s really windy right now!» How do you know that? Is it because you’re sticking your hands out the window, like you shouldn’t be doing‽ «I wasn’t sticking any of my limbs out the window!» Yeah, right. <Audible thunder edges closer to the bus, prompting the bus-driver, Elm, to push harder on the pedal. Ikto speaks up again.> «Mr. Robichaux, I’m scared of that tree.» Relax, it’s only the sign of a story before heading onto the highway: It means nothing and it’s distracting you. <A beam of concentrated lighting zooms past Vinnie’s window, likely a missed shot from the vengeful oak. Vinnie is too busy focusing on the puzzle to even notice.> Why are you all being so loud?

[mynameisdreartblog]

Romantic Composers 2

Leo: Johann Strauss II. I’m gonna prank-call a Domino’s in San Juan, give me a minute. «Oro, we’re in the middle of the sea, I doubt there’ll be a good enough connection or a cell-tower near enough to let you-» <Sudden static is heard, and a gruffy voice comes on.> «Este es el Domino’s; ¿Qué te gusta probar nuestro nueva pizza stuffed-crust?» <Oro gives an impossible look at Viz, implying that he never doubted himself, but that Viz was a total moron for doubting him.> Yes, I’d like a, uh… <Oro’s eyes begin rapidly scanning the environment for clues.> Anchovies… Pineapples… A Hawaiian pizza, basically: That’s the mellow flavor I’m feeling today. «¿Algo más, señor?» Oh yes, I’d also like those marble brownies for a dessert, and an Orange Crush for the drink. <Viz wonders how Oro is able to receive a cellular connection in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico.> That should be it… Oh no! «¿Señor?» Augh! I fell off this pier, and I think I’m d-drowning! Please, send someone to help; I can’t swim! «¡Mierda!» <Viz watches Oro kick his feet through the water, making very convincing splashing sounds. He then begins to produce fake choking sounds, leaving the Domino’s worker quite terrified.> «Why did I ever agree to come out here with you.» <Viz punches the makeshift sailboat the two are in, startling Oro and causing him to drop his phone.> Viz, what the hell? I still had 3 gigs of data left on that thing! «Data? It’s a flip-phone. Smart phones haven’t been invented yet because they’re a science-fiction concept, dipshit. Now you have some terrorized soul in an island hundreds of miles away from here.» Actually, he’s at the bottom of the ocean. «Don’t speak to me again, I swear to God.» […] <The scene of the discord fades away as we peer into the bottom of the ocean, where we find the phone there, still on call. The voice rings out and says:> «¿Crees que está jugando conmigo?» […] Man, wouldn’t it be hilarious if I did that? <We cut back to reality: Oro is sitting in the front seat of his banged-up truck, killing time while Viz lays half-conscious in the back.> «That’d kind suck. I mean, who’s gonna be on the ocean? Nobody’s that stupid: The ocean’s big and scary.» You and me both, but don’t deny that isn’t hilarious. «Heh, I did appreciate the joke about the phone at the bottom of the ocean: You were setting that up miles in advance.» [,] Shit, am I getting a phone call?

Taurus: Frédéric Chopin. "The automobile is perhaps the only invention that is at once phallic and womb-like. As columnist George Will once remarked, “the real reason for progressives’ passion for trains is their goal of diminishing Americans’ individualism in order to make them more amenable to collectivism.” While his comments are laughable for a number of reasons, collectivism as a goal (or even a word) smells of Cold War-era mildew. Will does hit on one truism: Humans love cars to an irrational degree." Hmm, that’s a very interesting think-piece you have here. But tell me, why should I care about Americans and their car-culture? I hike up here every day, and when I have to travel lower, I take a moped like everyone else. Though, mine’s bigger for obvious reasons. «Don’t blame me; I just put the papers on the table. Those crazy op-ed writers will publish just about anything to get people’s anger brewing.» You’re right… The morning’s been quite inactive though, and I just wanted something to talk about. Heaven knows I talked about every trinket in this place. «You can try talking about the cuisine, specifically how I can learn from you. That’s just something you’ve been stubborn about lately, and maybe this boredom is just the karma of that.» I knew you’d say that, but you need to realize that my cooking is something you can only experience, never narrate. I let things speak for themselves a lot, and I never found a purpose in taking down notes that do nothing but become clutter later on. <Bodhi whispers to themselves> «That’s the guy I know: Always asking you to live out things fully because understanding things holistically is better than growing personally.» [,] You whisper too long but also too sweetly. Please keep doing it until we have a customer coming so I can feel like there’s some activity here.  «Bullheaded as always.» […] <Gresham takes a meaningful sip of tea, it fails to burn his old throat, but can punch through the atmosphere to reveal a friendly puff.>  A lot of the time, I’m tired of being so cynical: Where’s the room for being clumsily sincere? I have to refuse making money by telling dirty jokes or other obscene things like, ugh, phone usage. <Like he never said, he’s not too old, it’s that technology doesn’t catch up to him for his liking.> [,] The window is just soothing enough to warrant not cleaning it yet, but I don’t wanna get another tourist complaining about how they don’t have the best mountain view. Whoever sits here will have to learn how to appreciate the fault… I’m complaining to pass the time again: Not a healthy habit, Gresham. […] Nothing strange, just a nice day: A little foggy though.

Aquarius: Giacomo Puccini. How would I describe the graphical style of the game Little Red Hood for the NES if I were to use persistent, geographical allusion? Well, I’d say that it’d be like what would happen if you tried to translate the geography of Afghanistan onto 8-bit graphics hardware, particularly how it appears near a strong river like the Helmand: It provided that Galilean backdrop that so many directors used in their films about Christ. Now, that’s what I did think back in my flawed memory of the game, but now that I look back at it again, the landscape is definitely more inspired by that of Florida, particularly around the parts where sawgrass is heavy and palm trees are native, but it’s not a tropical landscape per se, nor is it an entirely swampy one. It’s particularly the presence of palm trees that struck me as confusing, because my brain has always associated the odd, yellow colors of its groundwork to that of a renovated Pacific area, but the game proves that it doesn’t use the palm trees throughout the entire game. But the opening levels still confuse me because the story of Little Red Riding Hood that the game’s based on originates in various parts of Europe, and the foliage we see in the opening act doesn’t reflect that of any European landscape. It could just be an artist interpretation in the case of making the presentation of the game think you were in a Pacific island or near the heartlands of Okeechobee, but I think it might’ve just been a case of “not giving a shit” as they say. There’s more to talk about with how my brain subconsciously linked my flawed memories of the game’s graphical presentation with that of the riverbanks of the Helmand; I guess I just wanted to prove my initial biases and not examine how the game doesn’t even commit to even my ideas whenever I think of Afghani scenery, but maybe even those are failing to catch up with the fact that there’s so many different aesthetical implications within the vastness of the nation of Afghanistan that, uh, I don’t know: I just like Afghani landscape. Have this picture of a village in the Bamyan desert. [,] «Aukai, what the hell are you talking about? I’ve been eavesdropping back here since you started and I still don’t understand.» I’m t-trying to paint this scene in my head, but I don’t have my tools to do it, so I’m thinking loudly about it. «…Whatever.» […] There’s no doubt in my mind that he’d make a great tamer: Our protagonist of this beautiful world, now ravaged by corruptors that his world has gone to hell for trying to stop. He’s the only one who can control the beastly and brutish forces of the corruption that infests his world. <The one earlier who was questioning Aukai opens her door and holds out a hand full of paint-brushes.> «Here, take these, please. I liked you better when you were quiet.» <Aukai is insulted and satisfied.>

Pisces: Franz Liszt. I’m fucking devastated: My favorite rap-battle channel on YouTube just deleted their channel. Not only that, all of their social media accounts are gone. They had such great works as "Goku vs. Rick Sanchez", "George Washington vs. the Invisible Man", and "Luigi vs. Slenderman." I don’t know if I can keep going the same route of content consumption knowing that the only ironic rap battle channel deleted everything. «Hold on, your favorite video-channel on the Internet was ironic? I don’t think I’m getting this, Maggie.» Let me explain it: It was good because it didn’t take itself seriously. For a while, that was it’s niche, and certainly other creators arose to copy it, but they were always the first. «So, is this like, some independent person making all of these or is there an entire network of people collaborating to create this music?» You’re right the second time: They used to be part of this collaborative effort to make these videos, but the guy I like, in particular, broke off from the bigger picture. Now, their content is what I like; I haven’t seen the uploads by the other creators ’cause it’s not really the same experience, is it? «That’s crazy… and they just deleted all their content after how long they’ve done this for?» I’ve been following it for a year, but they were their most active near October. [,] «You actually have me interested in their music now. I mean, I know you can’t play it anymore, but do you at least have backups or remember how some of them went?» I think I have backups, but I know some of these by heart, man. What I’m trying to say is that it’d be far better if I could recite these to you than if I just played them. «So, what you’re saying is that you don’t have any backups?» Do you have any backups, or do you wanna see me recite some of the best lyrics you’ll ever hear? «Let it rip.» [,] "I got the Dragon Balls; I’m gonna win. I’m gonna eat your pickle, Rick. Oh wait, SHIT! Your mom licked my Dragon Ball(z); I’m just Super Saiyan. Kamehameha, I ain’t playin’. Rick Sanchez always wanna start drama; don’t make me do Dirty Sanchez on yo’ mama! I bet your only comeback is you making a burp. Rick Sanchez winning? Stupidest shit I’ve ever heard." At this point, Rick Sanchez would offer up his verse to Goku, and his verse goes something like "thirty-thousand witches in Goku’s house! God isn’t real; I touched Bulma’s blouse. I got like, seventy more episodes with Morty, and being with Morty just makes me real-" «Stop, this is way more awful than I expected.» Well, I’m the only one you can get these bars from, and now you’re saying you don’t want them? I don’t have to recite them. «You have backups; you lied to me earlier. I don’t care about them now, but look: You got potential outside of just reciting those bars. Maggie, you got your own talents.» I’m not a lyricist, but thanks. «You’re a poet, that’s one-or-two steps away from being a lyricist.» I rapped purely for the purposes of recitation; I don’t know what you’re getting at. «Nah, I’m convinced that only you can write something this absolutely… passionate. You made up this entire channel, this entire guild, this entire deletion scandal: You made it all up so you can kickstart your career.» I’m not- Okay, we’ll roll with it this time. [,] Yeah, I’m starting my own rap battle channel in the wake of the one that deleted itself. «Are you gonna cash in on the ironic rap-battle market or are you trying to be more sincere with this?» Of course it has to be ironic! I’m following in the master’s footsteps thanks to you, and now I can’t disrespect his legacy. «That’s cool, but it’s not enough: You gotta make it one of those ARGs.» ARG? «Like, some game of Clue you send your audience on to discover interlinked details that seem to form a bigger picture but end up getting nowhere, and it’s all for the purpose of promoting your brand.» Oh, I see. I can include like, hints in the middle of the jokes in the verses, and I’d make an entire fictional universe of followers that leave behind clues. «No, you don’t even have to do that: Just get a random mugshot, make up some believable names and accredit them to your project, get some weirdos on a message-board to write about it for you, and you’re set.» …If you’re gonna be this disheartening, I don’t wanna continue with it. «That’s not what I meant!»

[mynameisdreartblog]

Devilish Deals ?

Like Robert Johnson, I managed to encounter a devil in the middle of two crossroads. This issue took my quite a long time to create: More than normal, and that’s because I was conversing with demonic figures to see if they want a subscription to my catalog. They didn’t appreciate it, and I had to record my experiences staying in hell for far longer than I’ve expected. As I was in my last days of hell, I distinctly remember a loud, blaring siren becoming louder and louder as the skyline in the place became redder and redder. Something was probably going to happen, but I didn’t know what that was per se. Thankfully, a portal back to the earth realm opened, so I hopped through it quickly like the badass I am. […] Reminder to any kids reading this: Dealers can trade in all sorts of valuable things ranging from drugs to your life; stay safe! This fits in with today's theme of Zodipunc being deals made with the devil or any sort of malicious deity that seeks to ruin you through temptation. Or do it, I don't care; I'm not your priest.

[mynameisdreartblog]

Devilish Deals 3

Libra: Offered cool-ass, hellfire bullets. On my route to work, there’s several things I always remark a subtle difference of change in whenever I pass them by: The color of this single window that portrays a lovely dining room scene, the angle the traffic lights hang at, and the name engraved on a rather fancy mausoleum to long-dead celebrity. I can’t tell if I was endowed with a foresight to detect the incredibly subtle, or if it’s an involved process like deciphering anagrams. Regardless, certain messages have been changing to be something that corresponded with recent events within my life. Two years ago, a supply that was supposed to arrive at six in the afternoon was late by another six hours: I checked outside the coordinates they gave me, and I ran only to find out that the site was abandoned. The truck was still there, but it was torn nearly in two and the books were gone. Witnesses had nothing to say before casting their attention to darker corners, alluding that something had happened here that they didn’t want to tell me. [,] The morning after, I passed by that window and it was tinted an irradiated yellow that reflected just enough sunlight for you to avoid seeing what’s behind it. Then, I passed by the traffic lights and they hung at an unusual angle that was 30° facing north from where they’re positioned normally: Not only this, the second light was duller and quite hard to make out. Finally, the mausoleum located in the bottom-right corner of the local cemetery said that it was honoring Yisrael Katz, who — last time I checked — was still alive somewhat. I was passing by the first two attempting to avoid how they were calling to me until I got to the last sign: At that point, I had to ask someone. So, I got off my horse and approached a gravedigger in the cemetery… But he refused to look towards me and instead to arbitrary corners: Indicating that someone was there I couldn’t sense. Suddenly, I was back on my horse towards my workplace as usual. […] Later I was approached by crossing guards who took their duty very seriously, though the ones that stopped me didn’t wear brightly colored vests and actively carried military weaponry. That was something that wasn’t out of the ordinary, so I forgot all about the paranormal disturbances from earlier and I continued on with my day… that was until today where the crossing guards weren’t carrying assault rifles. [,] «Cool, that’s… actually quite interesting. Spare me another story will you?» Heh, and here I was expecting the same old sarcasm from you.

Cancer: In a bus. It was a cold, drowsy morning: One that told you God listened to too much loud music and it started giving him early symptoms of tinnitus. Here, we zoom into a quiet corner of the Patagonian landscape into a somewhat isolated townscape that’s aching with the fog that surrounds it: Even the dry plateaus felt misty this morning. In the center of this village, the statue of Blessed Whoever stood as unquestionably incompetently as you’d expect, decorated with the linings of bird defecation. From its mighty stone finger pointing eastward, there could be seen a low-end shopping center that served as the fourth quadrant that made up the village square. All was quaint except for two villagers having a troublesome argument near the fountain. There’s nothing else for us to do here as eavesdroppers from inside the walls, — the one they just so happened to lean on when they began to fuss — so we’ll take whatever information we can receive from the outside. [,] Peer into a life you were never meant to understand and ask yourself questions: Why are they arguing? Are the typical, emotionally logical reasons why it’s occurring, or is it strange, esoteric reasons? What’s the tone of voice being used by each party? Are they pious people or secular snakes? Is it about the, uh, family business? […] We’ve been eavesdropping for so long that the sun has turned a noticeable fifteen degrees in the sky. And for as much as the sun had turned, the conversation had turned for the worse. Both of the voices were becoming louder and more parched as the subject matter shifted from academic performance to finances. Each party is becoming more thoroughly stubborn in their assessments. It seems that it’s in our interests that no compromise is reached if we’re continued to lay near this building and pretend we’re only homeless in the moment. You lived long enough to know that getting too far up one’s own ass is a very real thing, and you’re aware of the epiphanic powers that one’s inner self holds in how the reconsiderations never leave the space where the self feels trapped oftentimes by their own causation. We’ve spent long enough invading privacy; let’s leave, Kokin: We’ve done enough amoral narration for now. […] Oh, I meant this literally; I have no idea why you thought I was talking about arrogance when I mentioned shoving one’s head up their own ass.

Virgo: By dancing for them. Like the band Paramore (whose recent work was pretty good; I don’t know why so many think it’s lackluster just because it’s not traditionally punk), we must complete an arbitrary number of world-records to the tune of a new power-pop track. <Bluma turns toward the crowd of unamused city-folk gathered around her rather dignified soapbox.> I see you must’ve all come here for a reason, and we mustn’t disappoint. <A small coughing can be heard in the back of the crowd, and another person reacts with disgust over the cougher not covering their mouth with their shoulder.> Before we perform, we must list all of the feasible, previously uncontested world records that we’ll attempt to perform today. Refer to the whiteboard above me, read it, and understand the potential records as its followed so you don’t become confused during the process. <The whiteboard is shown, and all the records are written in a dried, green marker that makes the text hard to read.> [,] For those who still can’t grasp it, I’ll read them out: 1. The highest stacking of Starbursts. 2. The fastest time to teach a child how to comprehend Baudrillardian thought. 3. The farthest-reaching skipping stone. 4. The most amount of ding-dong-ditches in the span of six hours. 5… <Those of the audience who wanted to see some action left as they became bored through the persistent listing, adding to Bluma’s plan.> [,] Now, those of you with the proper faith left to trust us, we’ll be performing in T-minus sixty seconds. I’m Bluma, and this is my band: Gamerghazi. «Wait, was this supposed to be a concert? I thought it was just a demonstration.» <Bluma drops down from her soapbox and kicks it into the crowd, indirectly hitting the one who asked that question.> Well, actually, it’s not really a musical band: It’s an unclear organization of people that doesn’t fit into any neat category, so I just call it a band for simplicity’s sake. I named it Gamerghazi after an existing indie band from Canada. <The questioner, now on the ground, responds> «Oh okay, that’s neat.» […] <While in the midst of completing the second record, Bluma triggers a supernatural event> In that moment of silence that broke everything — and broke more world records for me than any of those Guinness books I stole in my childhood — I felt like I was in a space of reality completely tailored towards who I’ve become to be over this quarter of a lifetime. There was a serenity that I somehow knew wasn’t meant to be there, and had to come at the cost of removing the presence of others to restore a sense of balance. It’s as if all of those years of listening to the powerful anthems of contemporary pop music — that which was calling for world domination via style alone — made all the sense in the world to me. <Bluma awakes to find out that she’s been accused of faking the first record by using non-traditional flavors of Starburst.>

Sagittarius: For some job experience. I forgot what time this took place… It seems to have shifted so much, and I feel like someone can live on the same planet that I do but be a hundred years ahead in terms of how quickly than can coordinate action. There’s someone out there who’s an exact pinpoint reflection of myself and the path of life I’m tracing out, and that almost everything about them is identical to myself, yet having such varying differences in how they merely comprehend knowledge. They’re probably some sorta silicone-based lifeform, and they probably have a civilization that chose to etch its language into a more insane physical material through a process I can’t even begin to imagine… Might be that they live in a solar system the same as ours, only that they inhabit a slightly modified version in which Venus became the most hospitable place for life. They likely would’ve inhabited Ishtar and had a funny accent compared to those on the island of Tellus, but they’re too self-conscious to admit they have their own funny way of pronouncing Lakshmi words. «Let me guess, you’re projecting your desire for exploration on fictional worlds again, aren’t you?» <The atmosphere of the scene is settled in with the intrusion of Swayo’s words make their case. The exposed comfort of the campfire lights the entire scene, and Rossouw lowers their flask of gin. It was a far call from the nakedness of the AC back at home-base: Something that she had to finally accept as her new home and pass on by as if she’s never had a concept of stable living.> I feel like too much time has passed between your friendly intrusion and my monologue, but please, sit down and gaze further with me. [,] It’s not often that I engage in these; I generally despise sit-downs that I didn’t form myself because I’m paranoid that they’re gonna attempt to redirect me rather then the preferred: That I redirect them. But, I’ll make an exception for you because you broke my focus, and that warrants the punishment of getting to know me. «Uh, I just wanted to ask about your shirt.» Then why the comments from earlier? I was gonna make this at least somewhat heartfelt and now you’re just proving my point that any glimpse of peace I can have is just ripped away by people who didn’t even mean it, God. <The fire begins to die and the gin in Rossouw’s bottle begins to reach its last drops. The wind that feels like an AC returns at the small sense of comfort she had began to dissipate into usual expectations. It was a close call to the nakedness of the AC back at home-base.> [,] I’m gonna pretend you didn’t interrupt me...  You’ve seen it on the news, and you’ve heard it in stories of abduction, sometimes we’re just granted with biological technology around us that grants us something that pushes us “ahead” in certain areas. «Where did you get that shirt, though?» I feel like too much time has passed… in general. I hope my otherworldly self has a home.

[mynameisdreartblog]

Cars 2

Leo: Audi Quattro. Yo, does anyone remember the time where I was buying Ben 10 minifigures from a cash-grab machine at the skewered chicken grill? Damn, you could really see the smoke coming off the grill there, and it was like, situated directly in a corner and accompanied by a window directly in front of it… floor three, wasn't it? Baby, come home… yeah, my thick alligator baby… come home. […] What? Wh-what was that? Ugh, Viz, goddammit: You have something to do with that probably. They’re the only person I know who could alter my subconscious to make me attracted towards plump alligators. <Oro is suddenly interrupted by a steep drop off of an unidentifiable platform; it’s hard to see in the dark atmosphere of the room.> Oof, that was almost as bad as when I got on that kiddie trike and it nearly impaled my taint. There’s no goop dripping off my body, and there’s no sensation that I’m nude either, so I’m not in a Matrix-like situation either. […] Ah, my phone, yes: The communicator. If I’m right, it should be situated in my right pocket, — the one with only one white stripe pattern — and if I turn it on, there should be a background image of Remigio Ángel González as required for opsec in the case that our operations are compromised… <The room Oro is within suddenly lights up, revealing a brick-layered second-floor with a unique and prominent detail.> Forget the phone, the phrase “somos los segundos nefilim” is written all over the walls. I think it’s a weird, religious thing, but the agnostic in me feels it’s related to general flooding, like that you’d find clogging up the pipes. [,] Viz? «Hello, I thought you were writing up a thesis to expose fireworks manufacturers; what gives?» I think my father’s job as a plumber is coming back to haunt me in ways I don’t like: Maybe it’s retribution for plunging that kid into the toilet once… «Cool; I don’t care. Just tell me where you are now so I can get an idea of your status.» Uh, second-floor, religious scrawl on the walls, darkness turned to light, hallucinations of thick alligators, and- <The walls begin trickling water.> Err, I’ll call you back.

Taurus: Maserati 3500 GT. Good morning, how can I interest you at all in- Good Lord! I could tell immediately that you’re spiritually exhausted: If it wasn’t obvious, your face looks like it was peeled off like the skin of a potato. «Uh, what does that mean? I’m coughing up something funny here, big guy, and I don’t have time to deal with the metaphors.» Oh no, don’t get me wrong; You came into my establishment not for the purpose of nutritional sustenance, but rather the mystical services I offer on the back of the sign. «Is that sexual implication?» Can you believe the degradation of this man’s morale? Do you wanna look through my Zen Cat calendar until you feel an improved fighting spirit? «I am the governor of the state of Goa, and this is the treatment I receive from shop-owners in the north? I was nearly killed just making it… Oh no, he caught the tone-switch.» <Gresham leaves a pillow for the weary man who claims he’s the governor of Goa, leaving him with the Zen Cat calendar that he didn’t request.> [,] «Did he notice the façade, or did he actually buy it? If I just stay here, admire the atmosphere, and pretend I’m hurt in some way, he’ll still buy my story. That titan of a man can’t know that I work for the CWW or that he’s wanted by th-» Heh, sorry about that, I was trying to look for that Zen Cat calendar ‘cause I thought you needed it, but apparently you’ve had it with you the entire time. Silly me: I always forget that there’s spare calendars below the restaurant calendar. <The CWW agent breathes with relief and continues pretending to be the sickly president of Goa: Offended attitude from poor service still maintained.> Your condition clearly hasn’t improved much since I left to aid: This is a healing that’ll require a lot more than simple yoga. Your atman (true self) is still locked away behind many layers of grief and domestic malnourishment which keep you hindered back to cycles that have washed you away. This isn’t a naturality according to my senses, and must be the work of minor demons attempting to prod at your well-being. Natuk, bring me the Soma! «<The CWW agent mumbles under his breath> Either this guy is a nutjob, or he plays a really sincere act as a nutjob.» Do you fancy the Zen Cat calendar? I favor the Himalayan cats out of all. «Typical.»

Aquarius: Mini. “Oh, hello. I see you two have come in the corner of Paula’s Sports Cards, and, sorry to say, but if you came here for the tourney sign-up, we’re currently not listing right now. However, we’re making some special deals for you. We also sell Magic the Gathering singles, but they're the really shitty ones that nobody wants."  […] My plan to help these teens outta Magic cards isn't going too well, <Aukai thinks to herself.> «Yeah, whatever, lady. We saw the flyer at the noodle shop and I wanted to fulfill my cardboard crack addiction.» <Aukai contemplates dropping the act of a shady dealer for just a moment, then she returns back to a more aggressive form of the same act.> “Eh, don’t compromise this deal, buster, I only have several, ultra-rare cards stored between my boob wedge, and being dismissive to my game is bound to get you kicked out.” «Just show us the cards and tell us what you’re offering.» [,] Ugh, fine. <Aukai drops the act: The one that had brittle legs to stand on. She then begins to monologue with the cardboard-addicted teenagers as she literally takes the cards out of her bosom.> You know, I was on board on a cruise ship once, — that’s usually not my style; I’m the one manning the ship more often — and I saw this cute magician who blew me away, and I thought imitating her style would help me, but I guess I’m better at this merchant personality when I’m selling ship parts. <The teenagers are thinking if her cleavage possibly damaged the material of the cards, but they don’t question it: They’re battle-hardened players.> «Yo, is that a Judge Foil Elesh Norn, Grand Cenobite?» <Aukai reflects on what Tehura told her regarding the basic cultural knowledge of Magic, and she grinned somewhat deviously, knowing that she can present as malicious.> “I could make you cough up $400 for this card, but do you know what’s a better investment than this?” «Literally nothing else, just give us the cardboard crack,» <Said the teenagers in a creepy unison.> Yeah, but teacher-learner skills when it comes to the game are way more important than what cards you can get your hands on. <One of the teenagers breaks the creepy, unison speaking to speak their thoughts.> «Actually, I’m intrigued by what she can offer to us in terms of both real-world and game knowledge. The fact that she was able to get her hands on such cards tells us that she’s more than meets the eye.» <The two other teenagers counteract in unison.> «Shut the hell up; she stores cards in her boobs.»

Pisces: 1948 Tucker Torpedo. “Copulation is just the insertion of an appendage into a bodily orifice for the purpose of expelling a juice containing seed that is absorbed into the body for the purpose of procreation.” I’ll use any disgustingly medical and biologically-existential definition of human biological functions to make me as repulsed by humanity as possible. For the previous time, I attempted to embrace naturality as much as possible by isolating myself from what I perceived as corruptive forces of civilization, but then I found out that I ended up terrifying whoever came along with me, and that I was guilty of several counts of potential assassination, so I had to call that one off. But now, I’m a changed man: I seek to embrace a transcendence beyond my natural form as quickly as possible. […] «Oh, my son Aleep? Yeah, he’s in one of those moods again where he tries to see if he can flex himself beyond humanity. I don’t get it, and I think it’s the corruptive influence of too much television and tinkering around with electronics that’s getting to him. I preferred his older hobbies of ambitious poetry, but now, I don’t know what he’s doing anymore.» I can hear your valid criticisms, mother! The walls in this house are made out of cardboard and so are my feelings! «He likes to engage in these dramatic monologues or whatever, and he’s saying it’s leading up to some “connective truth” as he calls it. He’s a bright young man, but he’s kinda flippant.» <Only silence can be heard from the upstairs room where Aleep stays. It’s like this for a good two minutes, and Aleep’s mother assumes he’s busy and likely didn’t hear the continuation.> I seek to busy myself in the virtual world since my mother is already occupied with introducing a false image of me to her regular guests; they probably think I’m so gross hermit, when the truth is that I’m a well-kempt hermit. The boys at my gym class thought that my locs were sexy, and that’s all the confidence boost I needed for the week. […] I look around my abode and I see nothing but human unnecessariness: The floors are covered in years of shedded skin, rolling around as it were a wasteland, and the windows are marred with the remnants of oils excreting from the human hand. It disgusts me, and I see it fit that only the world of human exclusion can save me now… Olligestaia, here I come. <The Olligestaia theme starts playing from cheap speakers.>

[mynameisdreartblog]

Your Favorite Martian Songs

Aries: Doin’ Your Mom.

Taurus: 8-Bit World feat. Hoodie Allen.

Gemini: Stereotypes Song.

Cancer: Tig Ol’ Bitties.

Leo: My Balls (Alt. Rock Cover).

Virgo: Shitty G.

Libra: Complicated.

Scorpio: Stalkin’ Your Mom.

Ophiuchus: 𐑚𐑵𐑥 𐑣𐑧𐑛𐑖𐑪𐑑, 𐑚𐑵𐑥 𐑣𐑧𐑛𐑖𐑪𐑑! 𐑢𐑧𐑯 𐑞𐑦 𐑨𐑤𐑚𐑩𐑥 𐑛𐑮𐑪𐑐𐑕, 𐑢’𐑽 𐑤𐑱𐑒, 𐑚𐑵 𐑣𐑧𐑛𐑖𐑪𐑑! —  𐑲 𐑕𐑑𐑧𐑐 𐑦𐑯 𐑞𐑦 𐑼𐑰𐑯𐑩; 𐑲 𐑜𐑦𐑑 𐑥𐑲 𐑯𐑳𐑒𐑩𐑤𐑟 𐑒𐑮𐑨𐑒𐑦𐑯’. 𐑲 𐑑𐑮𐑲 𐑑 𐑒𐑰𐑐 𐑦𐑑 𐑒𐑤𐑰𐑯, 𐑚𐑩𐑑 𐑣𐑵 𐑯𐑴𐑟 𐑢𐑳𐑑 𐑒𐑫𐑛 𐑣𐑨𐑐𐑩𐑯. 𐑞𐑱 𐑕𐑱 𐑲 𐑯𐑻𐑛 𐑮𐑱𐑡, 𐑲 𐑕𐑱 𐑞𐑱 𐑛𐑴’𐑯𐑑 𐑳𐑯𐑛𐑼𐑕𐑑𐑨𐑯𐑛; 𐑒𐑰𐑐 𐑑𐑭𐑒𐑦𐑯’ 𐑑𐑮𐑨𐑖 𐑚𐑦𐑗. 𐑯𐑲 𐑜𐑮𐑨𐑯𐑛𐑥𐑭 𐑿𐑕𐑑 𐑑 𐑑𐑧𐑤 𐑥𐑰 𐑢𐑳𐑯 𐑛𐑱 𐑲 𐑢𐑫𐑛 𐑚𐑰 𐑒𐑦𐑙, 𐑨𐑯𐑛 𐑞𐑨𐑑 𐑦𐑑 𐑒𐑫𐑛 𐑚𐑰 𐑥𐑰 𐑑 𐑐𐑫𐑑 𐑞𐑰𐑟 𐑛𐑮𐑰𐑥𐑟 𐑦𐑯𐑑𐑫 𐑩 𐑕𐑤𐑦𐑙 𐑯 𐑓𐑤𐑦𐑙 ‘𐑧𐑥 𐑤𐑲𐑒 𐑩 𐑚𐑫𐑤𐑩𐑑 ‘𐑑𐑦𐑤 𐑞𐑱 𐑚𐑰𐑥 𐑞 𐑣𐑴𐑤 𐑮𐑵𐑤𐑦𐑙 𐑮𐑩𐑠𐑰𐑥, 𐑨𐑯𐑛 𐑞 𐑥𐑧𐑤𐑩𐑯 𐑞𐑨𐑑 𐑲 𐑑𐑧𐑤 ‘𐑧𐑥 𐑞𐑨𐑑 𐑲’𐑥 𐑜𐑳𐑯𐑩 𐑮𐑱𐑯 𐑕𐑵𐑐𐑮𐑰𐑥 𐑤𐑲𐑒 —  𐑚𐑵𐑥 𐑣𐑧𐑛𐑖𐑪𐑑, 𐑚𐑵𐑥 𐑣𐑧𐑛𐑖𐑪𐑑! 𐑢𐑧𐑯 𐑞𐑦 𐑨𐑤𐑚𐑩𐑥 𐑛𐑮𐑪𐑐𐑕 𐑢’𐑽 𐑤𐑲𐑒 𐑚𐑵𐑥, 𐑣𐑧𐑛𐑖𐑪𐑑! —  𐑢𐑻𐑒𐑦𐑙 𐑧𐑝𐑮𐑰 𐑢𐑰𐑒 𐑨𐑑 𐑩 𐑡𐑪𐑚 𐑲 𐑒𐑨’𐑯𐑑 𐑕𐑑𐑨𐑯𐑛. 𐑭𐑤𐑢𐑱𐑟 𐑑𐑧𐑤 𐑥𐑲𐑕𐑧𐑤𐑓 𐑞𐑨𐑑 𐑢𐑳𐑯 𐑛𐑱 𐑲’𐑤 𐑚𐑰 𐑞 𐑥𐑨𐑯. 𐑢𐑳𐑑 𐑢𐑰 𐑜𐑳𐑯𐑩 𐑛𐑵 𐑑𐑫𐑯𐑲𐑑 𐑚𐑮𐑱𐑯? 𐑢’𐑽 𐑜𐑳𐑯𐑩 𐑑𐑱𐑒 𐑴𐑝𐑼 𐑞 𐑢𐑻𐑤𐑛, 𐑜𐑳𐑯𐑩 𐑑𐑱𐑒 𐑴𐑝𐑼 𐑞 𐑢𐑻𐑤𐑛, 𐑜𐑳𐑯𐑩 𐑑𐑱𐑒 𐑴𐑝𐑼 𐑞 𐑢𐑻𐑤𐑛. 𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭, 𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭-𐑯𐑭. 𐑢𐑳𐑑 𐑢𐑰 𐑜𐑳𐑯𐑩 𐑛𐑵 𐑑𐑫𐑯𐑲𐑑 𐑚𐑮𐑱𐑯? 𐑳𐑯𐑑𐑦𐑤 𐑲 𐑥𐑧𐑑 𐑿… 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑, 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑, 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑 𐑢𐑻𐑤𐑛 (𐑿 𐑯𐑴 𐑢𐑰 𐑤𐑦𐑝𐑦𐑯’ 𐑦𐑯 𐑩 ) 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑, 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑, 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑 𐑢𐑻𐑤𐑛 (𐑢’𐑽 𐑕𐑲𐑛𐑕𐑒𐑮𐑴𐑤��𐑙 𐑦𐑯 𐑩) 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑, 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑, 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑 𐑢𐑻𐑤𐑛 (𐑒𐑩𐑤𐑧𐑒𐑑𐑦𐑙 𐑒𐑶𐑯𐑟 𐑦𐑯 𐑩) 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑, 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑, 8-𐑚𐑦𐑑 𐑢𐑻𐑤𐑛 (𐑢’𐑽 𐑯𐑧𐑒𐑕𐑑-𐑤𐑧𐑝𐑩𐑤 𐑤𐑲𐑒) — 𐑚𐑵 𐑣𐑧𐑛𐑖𐑪𐑑, 𐑚𐑵𐑥 𐑣𐑧𐑛𐑖𐑪𐑑! 𐑢𐑧𐑯 𐑞𐑦 𐑨𐑤𐑚𐑩𐑥 𐑛𐑮𐑪𐑐𐑕, 𐑢’𐑽 𐑤𐑱𐑒, 𐑚𐑵 𐑣𐑧𐑛𐑖𐑪𐑑! — 𐑧𐑝𐑮𐑰 𐑛𐑱, 𐑛𐑱, 𐑯 𐑧𐑝𐑮𐑰 𐑯𐑲𐑑, 𐑯𐑲𐑑, 𐑲’𐑥 𐑜𐑳𐑯𐑩 𐑓𐑲𐑑, 𐑓𐑲𐑑, 𐑓𐑲𐑑 𐑑 𐑢𐑦𐑯. 𐑢𐑰 𐑚𐑮𐑦𐑙 𐑞 𐑣𐑬𐑕 𐑛𐑬𐑯. 𐑧𐑝𐑮𐑰 𐑛𐑱, 𐑛𐑱, 𐑯 𐑧𐑝𐑮𐑰 𐑯𐑲𐑑, 𐑯𐑲𐑑, 𐑲’𐑥 𐑜𐑳𐑯𐑩 𐑓𐑲𐑑, 𐑓𐑲𐑑, 𐑓𐑲𐑑 𐑑 𐑢𐑦𐑯 . 𐑢𐑰 𐑒𐑮𐑳𐑖 𐑬𐑼 𐑧𐑯𐑦𐑥𐑰𐑟; 𐑢𐑰 𐑚𐑮𐑦𐑙 𐑞𐑧𐑥 𐑑 𐑞𐑺 𐑯𐑰𐑟. 𐑧𐑝𐑮𐑰 𐑛𐑱, 𐑛𐑱, 𐑨𐑯𐑛 𐑧𐑝𐑮𐑰 𐑯𐑲𐑑, 𐑯𐑲𐑑, 𐑲’𐑥 𐑜𐑳𐑯𐑩… 𐑴𐑣 𐑯𐑴, 𐑦𐑑’𐑕 𐑩 𐑮𐑴𐑚𐑪𐑑 𐑚𐑸 𐑓𐑲𐑑. 𐑥𐑻𐑛 𐑮𐑱𐑡, 𐑯𐑻𐑛 𐑮𐑱𐑡 𐑲 𐑜𐑪𐑑 𐑞𐑨𐑑 𐑯𐑻𐑛 𐑮𐑱𐑡. 𐑯𐑻𐑛 𐑮𐑱𐑡, 𐑯𐑻𐑛-𐑻𐑛, 𐑯𐑻𐑛 𐑮𐑱𐑡, 𐑯𐑻𐑛 𐑮𐑱𐑡, 𐑯𐑻𐑛 𐑮𐑱𐑡, 𐑯𐑻𐑛-𐑻𐑛. —  𐑚𐑵𐑥 𐑣𐑧𐑛𐑖𐑪𐑑, 𐑚𐑵𐑥 𐑣𐑧𐑛𐑖𐑪𐑑! 𐑢𐑧𐑯 𐑞𐑦 𐑨𐑤𐑚𐑩𐑥 𐑛𐑮𐑪𐑐𐑕 𐑢’𐑽 𐑤𐑲𐑒… 𐑿 𐑱’𐑯𐑑 𐑕𐑰𐑯 𐑞𐑰𐑟 𐑚𐑭𐑤𐑟.

Sagittarius: Mr. Douchebag.

Capricorn: Transphobic Techno (Bitch Got a Penis).

Aquarius: Grandma Got a Facebook.

Pisces: Orphan Tears.

[mynameisdreartblog]

Teachers ?

Rossouw is not an alcoholic; you're just stupid. She was referring to Nokhu. […] Anyways, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, this horoscope was an oldy that Lisette said she started making in the beginning stages of her astrological career. She told me that she didn't much care for it anymore, and it was tossed to me as if I was some kinda housedog that comes out and eats whatever scraps its owners throw at it. I think she's come around to what I offer for her career, even if it's beginning with getting the ideas she didn't want: it's like the opposite of Dollar Babies. […] Oh man, this has to be some of her worst writing yet; it's completely lacking the surrealism of the newer entries, and it's trying so painfully to create coincidence: it's so naked in its cleverness that it ceases to be clever. And this is back when she tried to give legitimate astrological advice instead of the whole "broad application" thing she does now by listing what type of car you drive via your sign. Oh my God, «don't let the guillotine in your mouth become dull», what does that even mean? We gave up the guillotine symbolism nine weeks ago, Liz. Wow, now you’re telling me I used the same theme for both Aries and Gemini? You’re really reaching at the bottom of the barrel, huh? OH, and I repeated it again with Leo and Aquarius? Amazing, you’re just dead-set on pointing out my laziness.