Horoscope

Dear Pixie Snottincough,
I read into the glyphs and I’m ready to respond to your request for spiritual council. I have made my conclusion. It is sealed in the finality of fate.

Tekst Ibby E Okinyi Illustrasjon Levina van Winden

The positive cosmic trend, which seems to have been inspired somewhere around the Mediterranean and is making its way around the globe these days is that humanoids in quarantine go out in the evening for a one minute per day balcony pilgrimage under the celestial bodies to applaud the light workers. These include giving due acknowledgment to the hospital healers, the psychic kinetic truck drivers who teleport food and essentials, the cleaners (who sanitise both the physical virus and cleanse the negativity energy sinks) and all the other workers who do not get the chance to quarantine. And don’t get me wrong, these people are truly heroic and brave, light workers have big crystal balls … BUT!

I have decided to summon the whole bladder of The Big Dipper to wash those bastards off the balconies and keep your windows sterile. Understandably, If you wish to view the moon outside, then you would want it where it should be, placed next to Venus, not in the form of an asshole standing on two legs.

This is because Ms. Snottincough, I do sense your discomfort and anger in ascendance, and so I worry about your immune system chakras. Your justified anger cardinal points lie in the fact that other heroes like you, the mystics of no fixed address, that some call the homeless, the magicians on the front line, those who are there 24\7 defending themselves and society during the whole solar cycle, without reprieve … the druids who are not even allowed to sleep… because little shit for brains bloated up security guards on the cusp of manhood and childhood who are twenty years younger than you, who know fuck all about fuck all, wake you up, on the streets, in benches of desolate central stations even though it’s five in the morning … for little more than deeper than usual meditation, you’re not meddling with anyone’s orb, you’re fighting for us daily, exposing yourself to the virulent side of the human entity. The pestilence that shuts out everyone that differs from itself. It’s already 2020 but those who themselves are paranoid of the celestial bodies can’t even organise a roof for you despite seeing how massive emergency structures can be erected within weeks, but for you, Pixie, sadly enough, no applause, not from anyone.

You know what Ms. Snottincough, I personally enjoy state-sanctioned festivals, but this one minute stunt neither has the illumination, nor dress sense of those in other dictatorial regimes … so even though I am a slight fan… Sorry… Where was I …The balcony gathering was built on a principle of acknowledgment, however, it is eclipsed by the lack of acknowledgment of all the players on the winning team, especially the goal keepers on the last line, the homeless like you. So, I will stand in solidarity, and not acknowledge the praise-the-state circus. My decision is non biased, it is only partially based on the fear that my hair will be climbed by a princess frog and I’ll subsequently be married into quarantine, in the palace for the term of my natural life.

From a person of no address in the physical realm, to a person of no address in the physical realm, I would advise you to remain in solidarity with the nationwide curfew. So rock up at someone’s door with a sleeping bag and bolt cutters and don’t allow them to kick you out until the winter solstice in 2025.
Next evening at dawn when the hooligans emerge on their balconies and applause, I will not clap with them, I will not sing with them, I will not whistle with them, I will not show them the finger, I will not even infect them with syphilis or the clap.

I hope this renews your spirit.

Ibbyra Kadibbyra
Zodiac and Horoscope desk of no fixed metaphysical coordinates,
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