Beauty makes me hopeless. I don’t care why anymore I just want to get away. When I look at the city of Paris I long to wrap my legs around it. When I watch you dancing there is a heartless immensity like a sailor in a dead-calm sea. Desires as round as peaches bloom in me all night, I no longer gather what falls.
Even the best of changes come with risk. Allow time and space for processing the crappy parts of what you’re going through so they don’t seep into the good stuff. Things are going in a good direction; trust it. (SFBG)
Sometimes I fly in my dreams. The ecstasy is almost unbearable as I soar high above the landscape. But there’s something I enjoy dreaming about even more, and that’s running. For years I’ve had recurring dreams of sprinting for sheer joy through green hills and meadows, often following rivers that go on forever. I’m never short of breath. My legs never get tired. I feel vital and vigorous and fulfilled. Does it seem odd that I prefer running to flying? I think I understand why. The flying dreams represent the part of me that longs to escape the bonds of earth, to be free of the suffering and chaos here. My running dreams, on the other hand, express the part of me that loves being in a body and exults in the challenges of this world. Given your astrological omens, Taurus, I think you’re ready for whatever is your personal equivalent of running in your dreams. (Free Will Astrology)
Rather than brooding over what isn’t working as well as it should, figure out how refining your role could improve the situation. This is not about taking the blame; it’s about creating a positive response. (Aquarium Age)
this is an album that I like just for its sound (shades of Gemini). pleasant, poppy, a bit of noise/haze here and there to remind you that in 2010/11 being a niche-successful understatedindiepop band requires homage to the shoegazers your would-be cult following worships in principle
nah but Carmen, I think you might dig these guys.
Dug. Record player fixed, maybe this will help me pretend there isn’t another dumb month between now and March. April? I take what I get.
My senior year of high school, on some days, especially gray ones, the weird gnawing would start. Sometimes I’d drive my friends back or head out to work late. Wait until all the cars spilled out of the parking lot and sit on my hood, smoking a Camel Light of all things. I’d wander the halls and wave and float. Then I’d find my little brother, with his long hair and army coat, and the gang of miscreants I’d thrown him into, hanging over the catwalks, or fiddling with switches in the light booth. Knock on the door or just barge in and pull the big sister trump card. He’d eyeroll but go with me out into the senior locker bay behind the booth and I’d say, I just need someone to be nice to me for like, five minutes, and he’d hug me all tall and awkward and tight until someone walked by, jump, but be okay with it. And I’d get all gruff and tight eyed and try and mess up his hat and say thanks for that and amble off.
Talk it out, Taurus! This is the right time to overcome miscommunications and generally clarify things. If you’ve been struggling with internal confusion, use this energy to have a meaningful chat with yourself and figure stuff out. (SFBG-STFU!)
I find many of you Tauruses to be excessively self-effacing. It’s a trait that can be both endearing and maddening. Even as my heart melts in the presence of Bulls who are underestimating their own beauty, I may also feel like grabbing them by the shoulders and shaking some confidence into them, barraging them with frustrated exhortations like “Believe in yourself as much as I believe in you, for God’s sake!” But I’m guessing I won’t be tempted to do that anytime soon. You appear to be due for a big influx of self-esteem. (Free Will Astrology)
Jupiter moves into your Solar House of the unconscious, provoking internal affairs. Be prepared for increased dream activity. Also anticipate an expanded interest in psychology or meditation techniques. (Aquarium Age)
If you are maxed out, don’t add more to your plate or you’ll find yourself messing things up big time. Don’t look for solutions when you’re overwhelmed or you’ll just create more troubles. (SFBG)
In a famous psychology experiment, test subjects watched a video of six people passing basketballs to each other. Their assignment was to count how many passes were thrown and caught by the three people wearing white shirts, while ignoring passes between the three wearing black shirts. But there was a trick embedded in the exercise. Midway through the video, a person wearing a gorilla suit ambled into the scene, thumped his chest, and quickly departed. Half of the test subjects did not notice this intrusion. They were too focused on the task of counting the passes made by the players in white. (Watch it here.) In the coming week, Taurus, I expect that you will experience at least one similar trick. Look for the unexpected. (Free Will Astrology)
There’s no need to worry about what you can’t control. Sometimes things fall apart so that something new – and better – can come into being. Rather than insisting on a specific outcome, trust the process. (Aquarium Age)
It would be Horoscope Wednesday time, but the Bay Guardian is going to screw me over this week. It is the 12th, Jessica Lanyadoo. The TWELFTH. Maybe tomorrow, for what is bound to be a weary Thursday. I’ve been overflowing this week. Weird decisions, and narcissism, and something like a secret. Something I recently discovered, something I want, want, want terribly bad. More than I’ve wanted anything in so long.
Desire as a Japanese folding book, page after page of it sort of falling away from the spine in whatifs and how it could bes. Things seeming too perfect. Bank accounts, schedules, preparations, clothes, how it seems like it could hit right now. My own dumb puppy eagerness and excitement and fear getting in my way, foal and colt hooves. Something I want to keep quiet but something I keep telling people, in the hopes that some weird collective unconscious good vibration power could get me over a hurdle, in a door.
I’m an earth sign type with air sign tendencies, though, and continue to prop myself up with things like, This is Meant To Be. Or: Perfect for Me. Or: Timing is Right. The Pentacle Ace was upside down, and the wands are the things keeping one side of the boat calm. There is always the giddy relief at realizing there are still options that can get me sort of excited.
The Decemberists - Here I Dreamt I Was an Architect
And here in Spain I am a Spaniard I will be buried with my marionettes Countess and courtesan have fallen neath my tender hand when their husbands were not around. But you my soiled teenage girlfriend while you furrow like a lioness we are vagabonds, we travel with no seat belts on and live this close to death.
Make direct communication your BFF this week. By overcoming ambiguities, you will have more peace and less confusion! You will also have to be more responsible. The trade-off will be worth it, Taurus. (SFBG)
What confusing commotion would you like to walk away from and never come back to? What lessons have you learned so well that you’re overdue to graduate from them? What long-term healing process would you like to finish up so you can finally get started on the building phase that your healing will give you the power to carry out? These are excellent questions to ask yourself as you plan your life in the next six months. (Free Will Astrology)
It looks like a difference in attitude, and it acts like a career crisis, but in reality, the intensity is pent up frustration about how to satisfy your need for safety and security. (Aquarium Age)
Now I see: we’re still kids and buses longing to be free.
Gentle comedown from constant hedonism. A comfortable ache, hibernating ennui. Oxytocin drop. Been taking to old t-shirts and hairstyles, running into old faces. If the me of seven odd years ago (old, old, wearing my trousers rolled) is what peers out, then reflects back at me, what is the creature split in the between? Is age a liminal thing? The new days of this year seem to point to the old days of long ago: slovenly, secretive, slackeriffic.
Drunk and charming on New Years, a girl confided in me she wouldnt’ve believed the friendships she kept from adolescence. Also, that I’m a gateway queer for hasbians and straight girls, but more on this for another time. I think of myself then, and now, and how I feel exactly the same except fleshed out. Cleaner lines. Better lettering. It’s all this stupid Mercury throwbacking, and New Yearsing, and strange feelings. Sometimes I wonder what smaller me would take of me now. Surprised, but maybe a little relieved. Or raging inside and urging less caution. I’m not sure. Maybe say: more blue nailpolish, more Garbage and Scissor Sisters and Ramones, more escape, more what you want, less compromise.
The suburbs were small, even though they just never ended. Oakland was small in so many different ways, because the place felt big enough to run forever. Ocean, mountain, alleys, port. This city seems to be shifting on me. Or maybe it’s just this album that will not get out of my head. How it seems like the life you might be settling into or pushed into is swelling against the shards of the one you had, or the remnants of the one you wanted. That lately things do seem treacherous and tentative, on the brink of collapse. Only maybe it’s just the curtain that the Suburbs put up, the constant calling everyone back before dark, expectations that became necessities and threats and rules and now, look, the what if is a giant quagmire of baristaing and loan payments and synthetic clothing and who knows. But maybe also cold, dark bike rides and the Bloomingdale trail and fierce fumbling in bathrooms and sparkling eyes and really bad jokes and talismans and soup and rhymes and trains. As though I’m on the brink of something and I’m not quite sure what, but all I want is to scratch it open before it’s too late.
Wasted hours before we knew where to go and what to do.
Wasted hours that you make new turn into a life that we could live.
Poetry, definitely. Adventures in curiousity. Concerts, absolutely. Better whiskey, better beer. Caution meet wind. Butcher better things? Focus. Intention. Magic tricks. Bread, pie, pickling, preservation. Formalism. Clarity. Blurring limits (they’re blinds). Dance. Pants. Dresses. Hair cut crutchery. Owning zines, books, comics, good cheese, spices, cured meets. Banjo or, better, ukelele. California, to be certain, other whereabouts. Money and mouth. And fuck money anyway. Drive. Wands are good. Conscience. Tempest times. Cataloging and etymology. Words and words and words and words. That there’s change. There is.