Gather around kids. Relax, it is safe, I know I appear somewhat calm, but it is me, same ole Ragey, just a weekend smarter, and I decided to stop caring about you guys. You do fine, it’s me who needs fucking help. And you guys helped me, thank you. Yea, I see your sea full of dumb faces. Even with my Ray Ban’s retrofitted with welders strength glasses I still see your naivety shining brightly like a fucking sun on it’s own.

Think of this as a class of Rageycation, it is not education, it’s not even learning. It’s a glimpse into my life and how I think and operate. It’s gnarly, it’s beautiful, it’s neatly organized chaos, with the occasional glimmer of hope, a hallowed and shrinking hope, that some day, we will all be parting our ways, and never see each other again. You know, with a good feeling of satisfaction, in our gut.

That is when our job as humans are done. When we stand there, not a soul in sight. No feelings other than deep inner calm. No words on the inside, at all. Nothing. I went into this weekend caring about you guys, I created a lot of work for myself, I dutifully did the work too. I wrote about 5,500 words, a mega weekend horoscope that really wove the week together and tied it up neatly.

I even threw in some, if I must say so myself(which I must, for reasons that will become apparent, to you, soon enough), really brilliant Asstrollogy(I have a hunch that is the true pronunciation, don’t quote me on it though, my colleagues might lynch me). Cutting through the bullshit of astrologers like a hot knife through a stick of butter in hell. Yet brilliantly showing how astrology also can work to illuminate yourself in ways that still baffles me, and I KNOW it is hogwash and poppycock. In equal measures.

Yet, it work’s. At any rate, I will not publish it at all. Why? Simple; schadenfreude. A sense of glee. A tiny tiny pleasure of doing the opposite of what my conscience told me. I shouldn’t care about you guys as long as I have problems in my life. I lost 6 months of work because I got focused on tits on youtube. And I have the blue balls to think I could teach you anything? Come on, that is absurd.

You know it, I know it, our collective gut knows it. Something is wrong. It is my job to fix my own shit before I pretend to give you advice–you see, as long as I have my own shit, speaking to you is simply me abusing you for my own selfish reasons. A way to postpone obvious, glaring faults in myself. In the horoscope I wrote, I deftly unraveled how Saturn, retro, in Pisces somehow caused…..

“…. We lift our heads, look around and asks ourselves, how did I end up in this motel room, along highway 666, which incidentally leads to Sin City, in a rabbit costume.

Now that you have begun that journey, lets complete the picture. You have to account for that goat tied in the corner, dressed in latex, wearing pink underwear. You have to somehow explain to your partner about your cross-dressing secrets, and why you have been sneaking out lately to sell your ass on the black market for more of that degrading filth you call entertainment.

……..

You dressed that goat, you gave it a near fatal cocktail of ludes, meth and roofers, mixed with medicinal grade booze, tied it up and went to town thinking it was your wife. Your “Hey, I didn’t know Angel’s Dust did that to you!” skit doesn’t hold up in court. The pictures have already made their rounds in the backrooms of the akashic records. You thought they were professionals? Yea, right.

Heh. Inject a LOUD scoff from me at this stage.

It’s just a front end, the universe is basically manned by staff as professional as an early Monty Python skit. You know, one of those really weird ones that make you cringe. Yeah, in reality, that is what we have to deal with. …..”

It was a brilliant essay. And it was important. Just not in the way I thought. It shall serve as a lesson to us all. It was a whole journey, you may or may not have had a benefit reading it, I did, and that is all that really matter, today, now. I have done the journey for you. And instead of droning on and on, wasting my time, your time, every ones time. It’s the third quarter of this moon cycle, I may or may not write some articles. I will do what I must.

New horoscope on the next new moon, stay somewhat de-tuned, stay shady n cool. With all the care I can manage to muster right now, let me give you an unusually lethargic “Fuck You” and a series of images I made for the original text, yeah, the one you lot will never see.

A little PS. to you, real thought criminals, out there, that scrolled your way, to the bottom. I couldn’t even be arsed to reverse the order of the images. So, the last one, down here, is the beginning of the story. just a heads up. See ya, with the end in mind.. Au revoir