Horoscopal predictions for the week starting on the 31st of May.
As a growing, glowing impasse is building between between me and the stars, I am turning to other forms of divination. If you skepflicks and doubters make head shake that I was all night up look in my future know you have to big spit your ignorance flem into a spittoon of humble pie. I need not our starry bodied to tomorrow know. Far from it.
As was more than proved by my previous foray into talking to the dead, I am an expert in all forms of supernatural tomorrow telling. Over the next few weeks I am going to take you, my slavish readers, on a journey through all the forward calender flick tricks I have in my meaty brain grasp.
This week, I will by reading your future by analysing your chosen tea preparation. I was taught this deep, dark and disturbing practice of tea mix analysis by an aged master. He resided in the lost hills of Untacte (a land so obscure many assume it to be simply fictional) in a large castle made of tea-stained wood and regret. He is, on first impression, much more walrus than man. He was a cruel master. He made me drink more tea than there is fluid in the Pacific ocean. I wept tea but learnt and then mastered his mysterious ways. It was tough, like early morning meals of wallets, but I stuck with it. See readers, when I am on to a good thing I stick to it rather than fearfully fleeing no matter who I hurt like, for instance, just off the top of my head, Emma Rust.
But, I digress.
Using my powers I can see that the coming week for those among you who prefer an unadulterated cup of tea. Black that is. No milk. No sugar. All tea. See, you like keeping things simple. Under control. You are one to nicely subdivide your life, keeping all your little lives and friends and feelings in nest wee networks of boxes quietly swept away in your head. You spend so much time adapting to different situations, being different yous for different thems, that you have lost sight your real self. Your actual you is buried deep in one of those boxes, on the underside of your mind. Sometimes you’re afraid that you don’t even feel human emotions anymore. Sometimes you forget. But most of the time you’re fine. Dribbling through life, clicking all life switches. You found your balance, your stasis. Until this week. This is the week that your giant mind Jenga of metaphoric brain boxes falls, shattering and irreparably scattering your selves, your many mini-yous to the four winds. You will be found out for the shell you are. It will be caused by something as slight as a cafe filled to the brim with people from all your different walks of life. Your worlds will clash, crash and like a falling cement brick on a busy veterinary clinic, the hideous truth of your interior life will splat across all the horrified passers-by and bystanders. There is no way to avert this. It is fate. All you can do, black tea drinker, is brace yourself. Loin your girds. Toughen yourself. Because this week is going to emotionally scar the shit out of you.
Happier tidings are in store for you “Just some milk, please” tea drinkers. The coming week will be one of little whimsies. Tiny delights will pepper this seven day globe jaunt. A child will giggle on the bus. You will see a day trip of pensioners eating melty ice creams on a nice day, their noses white with creamy sugar mash. You will reunite with someone you haven’t seen for months and have just enough to catch up on. You will hear your new favourite joke. It will be about ducks. You will finish a really good book. You catch a fly ninja-like with your bare hands and your friends (who love you just for being you) will applaud unironically. You will get the correct amount of sleep. You will drink some fucking amazing tea. You will always have an umbrella when you need one. You dance. You sing. You discover a new talent for being both honest and tactful at the same time rather than wildly alternating between them as you are4 so want to do. You will look at the clouds and everything will be better and all the weight within you will life. You will floss twice a day. You meet a cat and no dogs will bark at you. You will just let things happen. You will tell a good secret and hear some too. You will never need a manifesto. You will remember. Everything doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be fine. You will have a good week and all just because you take milk with your tea.
This week bares greyer fruit for all of you whose hot drink equations Eat Sugar Tea = Mouth Drool. Out of ten you will charitably rate this week a five. It will be dull, unexpectional. Things will just happen with the dull clotted banality of every other godforsaken moment of your existence. A perfect slick stew of “It’s okay, I guess.” The world winds to the same click drudge that you have not yet quite learned how to self-medicate against yet. The food will be tasteless. An uninflected thousand yard middle distance stare will scar the optic holes of all around you. Your internet will be slow and you will be just as good at procrastinating as ever. You keep thinking you’re getting a bit sick as a handful of unwanted twinges clatter through your nerves every other moment or so, but annoyingly this week you are, once again, fine. You will continue to judge homeless people and cross the street to get away from charity collectors. You will your tea with sugar to sweeten your life. It doesn’t work.
For the mixers, the double-ups, the milk AND sugar AND tea people, this week is one of decisions. Being the only child that your are, you always have been very good at having it both ways. You know the thrills of the two way bet on the two way fight. Any situation, any outcome can be turned to your advantage. Your favourite move in rock, paper, scissors was always bomb. Bomb beats everything. Will it did. It used to. Because, this is the weeks where the cards will be on the table and for once you will actually have to choose a side. Don’t act surprised. Close your open hanging mouth. You knew this day was coming. You can only play both sides for so long. In your pores and bones you irked the roar of this coming wave of decision. So, feel lucky that you have this warning, this advance knowledge, because because when the time comes you will not have ponder clock. It will be a snap decision and without the forethought that this gracious warning is affording you, you won’t know what to say. Choose now, choose a side, else your life will sail away like an interior yacht of science catching an especially gusty wind. You have been warned. You won’t listen.
And if you , honestly, just prefer coffee, this is your week for gouging out your own tongue with a lady razor. Now, don’t get me wrong, coffee is fine and all. Good for a kick in the brains when you need a mental jog and your cerebral cortex can’t even roll out out of its macadam caked cot. But tea is just better. This is fact. It is a fundamental, logical, universal truth. Feel free to disagree. Write into Salient letting me know of your coffee love, tell me about that time that a cup of coffee saved you and your family from a violent intruder in your house while a mug of tea was crying in the corner paralytic with fear. You are more than welcome and I promise to respond to every single piece of correspondence on this issue. But I also promise that all my response will simply be a signed photo of myself with the caption ‘You’re wrong.’