HOLIEST DAY

November 1st of any year is the holiest day because I say it is. Selah.

"You're going to reap just what you sow." 

 

Huginn has been telling me to write for a few years now.  
I've been telling Huginn to fuck all the way off.
"Huginn. Writing doesn't put the delicious tacos on my plate."

 

That's what it's about on this planet. Putting delicious tacos on your plate. We all know this. But tacos or no tacos, I have to write. It is in my blood. Sangre. Writing is in my sangre. I don't know where this fire came from. It didn't come from my Taurus dad. It didn't come from my Gemini mom. We are a little bit our parents. We are a little bit our environment. But we are much more than that. I look to Western astrology for clues. I have Mercury in Pisces in the seventh (house of Libra) square Saturn in Gemini in the tenth (house of Capricorn). Tight. Mercury, my chart ruler, opposes my first house Virgo moon. I have to write.

Today I woke up and scribbled in my spiral notebook. I recorded my ramble and uploaded it to Patreon for my top two tiers. The ramble was regarding Saturn in Aries. The last time Saturn was in Aries was 1996-1998. Aries is my eighth house, the house of Scorpio. I died in 1996. I died in 1997. I died in 1998. I died in 1999. I'm not talking about a near death experience. I'm talking about pain. I'm talking about hurting so bad you wish for death. In January 1999 I turned off all the lights in the house in Greenwood Forest (off Junction Highway, in between Kerrville and Ingram, Texas) and played Billie Holiday in the dark. I drank cheap blush wine from the bottle. I drank vodka from the bottle. I swallowed a few allergy pills. I screamed at God. He was deaf. He was mute. There was no response. I looked for my Virgo stepdad's pistol. Couldn't find it. 

I'm here. I'm in pieces. I'm whole. I'm fragmented. I'm a mess. I'm intact. I'm energetic as hell. I thrum. I myself am hell.  I am deliberate and afraid of nothing.

I see a culling process. I see a harvest. Saturn moves into Aries in February 2026. Boots on the fucking ground. Die or be killed. That will make sense if you think really hard, harder than you are used to. People are lazy and entitled and looking outside themselves for all the clues and answers. Watch a YouTube tutorial. Consult the stars. Consult the cards. Shake the Magic 8 Ball. Better not tell you now. But you will come to a place where the only thing you feel are loaded guns in your face and you'll have to deal with pressure.