Scorpio for this week:
In my homeland of Northern California, four of the most overused terms are “juicy,” “sacred,” “radical,” and “wild.” I haven’t made a scientific study, but I’d guess that maybe 30 percent of all workshops and self-help books originating in this part of the world have at least one of those words in their titles. As a connoisseur of language, I naturally try to avoid them myself. Nevertheless, your long-term astrological omens demand that I invoke them to describe your destiny. In fact, I’m duty-bound to predict that 2006 will be the Year of Juicy Sacred Radical Wildness for you Scorpios. Do your best, please, to express the primal potency of these words.
Heh, wait till you see the shit I’m drafting from my myspace blog. Should be interesting, as will this year. As I’ve said before, I’m itching to drop my skin and explode into the being that I am slowly becoming. Instead of waiting in my coccoon, I want to grab a knife and slice my way out, however imperfect I currently am.
I love dead roses…
Because they are dead. Well, not really…
The rose, specifically the red rose, is a symbol of love. Least, that’s what we define it as in this culture. To dry them for display, you have to dry them upside down, which allows them to close up into a bud again. For me, this is love at its spark, and for each person that I love, I have a bouquet of dead roses to remind me why I love them. It’s important, because if I don’t have that initial spark of theirs, my love for them cannot grow, and theirs for me is stuck in perpetual stagnation. I hold on to these for the bad times, for the times that there is anger and hatred and times for when I doubt in myself and my capability to love. I hold onto these, even after my love for a person has grown and passed into transition to perfect love.
The uniquness of this collection, is the fact that I have never bought these roses, they were all given to my by the individuals they represent. There is only one bouquet that is missing, for means of destruction of a love that was based on false pretenses. Does that mean that the feeling was not love? Of course not, it was a true feeling for me, however much the knowledge following changed my colouring of it. Those roses were given in sacrifice to the fire, for a means of me moving on and acknowledging that love, while unique and perfect, is flawed by the fact that it exists in a flawed being. It was a lesson for me, a hard hitting one.