Pisces Man Quotes

How dare he not give a fuck? What a luxury, the luxury of a man. The luxury of someone who looked at the ravages of time and went, “Eh.

Our estrangement from nature and the unconscious became entrenched roughly two thousand years ago, during the shift from the Age of the Great God Pan to that of Pisces that occurred with the suppression of the pagan mysteries and the rise of Christianity. The psychological shift that ensued left European civilization staring into two millennia of religious mania and persecution, warfare, materialism, and rationalism. The monstrous forces of scientific industrialism and global politics that have been born into modern times were conceived at the time of the shattering of the symbiotic relationships with the plants that had bound us to nature from our dim beginnings. This left each human being frightened, guilt-burdened, and alone. Existential man was born.

Signs and wonders, eh? Pity if there is nothing wonderful in signs, and significant in wonders! There's a clue somewhere; wait a bit; hist--hark! By Jove, I have it! Look, you Doubloon, your zodiac here is the life of man in one round chapter; and now I'll read it off, straight out of the book. Come, Almanack! To begin: there's Aries, or the Ram--lecherous dog, he begets us; then, Taurus, or the Bull--he bumps us the first thing; then Gemini, or the Twins--that is, Virtue and Vice; we try to reach Virtue, when lo! comes Cancer the Crab, and drags us back; and here, going from Virtue, Leo, a roaring Lion, lies in the path--he gives a few fierce bites and surly dabs with his paw; we escape, and hail Virgo, the Virgin! that's our first love; we marry and think to be happy for aye, when pop comes Libra, or Scales--happiness weighed and found wanting; and while we are very sad about that, Lord! how we suddenly jump, as Scorpio, or the Scorpion, stings us in rear; we are curing the wound, when whang comes the arrows all round; Sagittarius, or the Archer, is amusing himself. As we pluck out the shafts, stand aside! here's the battering-ram, Capricornus, or the Goat; full tilt, he comes rushing and headlong we are tossed; when Aquarius, or the the Waterbearer, pours out his whole deluge and drowns us; and, to wind up, with Pisces, or the Fishes, we sleep. There's a sermon now, writ in high heaven, and the sun goes through it every year, and yet comes out of it all alive and hearty.

The global triumph of Western values means we, as a species, have wandered into a state of prolonged neurosis because of the absence of a connection to the unconscious. Gaining access to the unconscious through plant hallucinogen use reaffirms our original bond to the living planet. Our estrangement from nature and the unconscious became entrenched roughly two thousand years ago, during the shift from the Age of the Great God Pan to that of Pisces that occurred with the suppression of the pagan mysteries and the rise of Christianity. The psychological shift that ensued left European civilization staring into two millennia of religious mania and persecution, warfare, materialism, and rationalism. The monstrous forces of scientific industrialism and global politics that have been born into modern times were conceived at the time of the shattering of the symbiotic relationships with the plants that had bound us to nature from our dim beginnings. This left each human being frightened, guilt-burdened, and alone. Existential man was

TIME TO SACRIFICE TAURUS This is the night of union when the stars scatter their rice over us. The sky is excited! Venus cannot stop singing the little songs she's making up, like birds in the first warm spring weather. The North Star can't quit looking over at Leo. Pisces is stirring milky dust from the ocean floor. Jupiter rides his horse near Saturn, "Old man, jump up behind me! The juice is coming back! Think of something happy to shout as we go. "Mars washes his bloody sword, puts it up, and begins building things. The Aquarian water jar fills, and the Virgin pours it generously. The Pleiades and Libra and Aries have no trembling in them anymore. Scorpio walks out looking for a lover, and so does Sagittarius! This is not crooked walking like the Crab. This is a holiday we've been waiting for. It is finally time to sacrifice Taurus and learn how the sky is a lens to look through. Listen to what's inside what I say. Shams will appear at dawn; then even night will change from its beloved animated darkness to a day within this ordinary sweet daylight.

I have always felt that it would be good to be a man. Not only have I always wanted to have my own dick—just to walk around feeling that weight between my legs, that power—but I have longed to escape the time pressures that my body has put on me.

I was no longer lonely but I was. I had Dominic, my sister’s diabetic foxhound, who followed me from room to room, lumbering onto my lap, unaware of his bulk. I liked the smell of his meaty breath, which he didn’t know was rancid. I liked the warmth of his fat belly, the primal way he crouched when he took a shit. It felt so intimate scooping his gigantic shits, the big hot bags of them. I thought, This is the proper use of my love, this is the man for me, this is the way.

Stars of Fire by Stewart Stafford At the Gate of Pleiades, Lies the playground of the Deities, At The Golden Gate of the Ecliptic, The Gods' plot and remain cryptic. Between the claws of Scorpio and Cancer, At the mercy of the great Zodiacal dancer. The dilemma on the horns of Aries, Brushes asides all adversaries. Venus trails stardust from her hair, As a supernova across the galaxy flares, A shooting star is the spear of Orion, More is the mane of Leo the lion. Man's Gemini may someday show before us, As chaste Virgo or the mighty Taurus, Or be inanimate as the scales of Libra, Or spread as Cancer or an unchecked fever. Perhaps these pilgrims have visited us before, When Sagittarius took the form of the wise Centaur, Or when Pisces flopped in an Aquarian boat, Or on a lazy hill to the Capricorn goat. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.

For example, the spring equinox of the ideal year takes place on the fifteenth day of the month called Nisannu. This is the first month of the Old Babylonian year, like our modern January 1, but Nisannu was comparable to March or April. If a star or constellation is first visible when expected, then nothing needs to change. But if the star arrives a month later than called for on the ideal calendar template, then that year should be a leap year. “If the Fish [the constellation Pisces] and the Old Man [the constellation Perseus] become visible on the 15th of Adarru, the year is normal. If the Fish and the Old Man become visible on the 15th of Nisannu, this year is a leap year,” the text reads, in one example.[3] The MUL.APIN’s second scheme for calibrating the calendar, and the more relevant for the Nebra sky disk, tracks when the Moon is in conjunction with the Pleiades. On the ideal calendar, this should happen on the first day of Nisannu.

David, in particular, possessed a distinct way with words; Nancy’s originality of perception and phrase can without any doubt be traced back to him. It did not come from Sydney, although she was a natural writer, which David was not. Of the two Sydney was also much the more logical and consistent. It was from her that the Mitfords inherited their ability to express themselves clearly and in a sustained manner. A revelation in preparing this present book has been the quality of Sydney’s unpublished writings. But though this material has, particularly for us who knew her, an evocative and special charm, and although it is shrewd and in places funny, it completely lacks the Mitford iridescence – the stylistic fantasy, the queer, sudden illuminations. This iridescence is Nancy’s particular quality. It comes straight from David, and it is a paradox that this man, who was in most ways so conventionally masculine, had a mind that was entirely intuitive, non-logical: the kind of mind often thought of as feminine. Changing one’s mind is said to be a woman’s prerogative; no woman has changed her mind as suddenly or as repeatedly as David, though at any given moment his views appeared solid as a rock. (It is curious that adherents of the pseudo-science of astrology have the opportunity to nod their heads at all this and say but of course, he was a typical Pisces subject.)

So every once in a while, a long while, the sun rises one morning in a new sign. It has slipped right out of one and back into the previous one. Right now it rises on the spring equinox in some early degree of the sign Pisces. But it’s always on the move—relative to us, that is, it’s really us who are on the move; and pretty soon—well, astronomically speaking pretty soon, a couple hundred years or so—the sun will begin to rise in the sign of Aquarius. Thus the end of the Piscean Age, which started two-thousand-odd years ago, and the beginning of the Age of Aquarius.” Two thousand years ago, the Piscean age, the world shifts from BC to AD. Jesus. And Jesus was a fish. Oh. “Oh,” said Pierce. “Always precedes, you see,” Earl said dreamily. “Precedes. Before Pisces was Aries the ram, and before that Taurus the bull, and so on.” Moses had ram’s horns, who overthrew the golden bull-calf. And then comes Jesus the fish, two thousand years on, new heaven and new earth, and shepherd Pan flees from the mountainsides. And now the world watched and waited for the man with the water jug.

I'll come,' Celeste cuts in. There's something very tantalizing about the chance to see for herself the man who dared to replace her in Gemma's life. The work aspect is another huge perk, which Gemma had mentioned in her account. 'It'll be good for the project if we went together, right? Why don't we kill two birds with one stone? Piss off your ex-fiancé and secure our chances of a cover story. I want this cover, Gem. It'll be my very first one.' Gemma groans. 'Your Gemini and Capricorn placements are showing.' Celeste is taken aback by the random segue. When her brain catches up, she asks, 'You remember my signs?' Gemma sighs dramatically. 'Gemini Sun, Capricorn Moon, and Scorpio Rising. But also, Gemini Venus and Virgo Mars. Basically, a hot workaholic who loves drama but hates emotions.' A surprised laugh escapes from Celeste's mouth. 'Gem,' she says. ‘And what are you...a Pisces?' Astrology is a common gay pastime, and many of Celeste's queer friends- especially the ones who live in LA- are deeply involved in it, sometimes even using things like astrocartography to determine where to travel or relocate. Meanwhile, she herself always has trouble remembering the different signs and who is what. 'Yup,' Gemma says with another loud sigh. 'Pisces Sun, Taurus Moon, and Cancer Rising. With a Leo Mars and Aquarius Venus at that. Basically, a stubborn ball of water that loves people a bit too much.' 'I don't know that much about astrology, but I know enough to know that I love your Big Three. I have friends with some of the exact same placements. So adorable.' 'Even if it makes me a stubborn ball of emotions?' 'A cute ball of emotions.' The moment she says it, Celeste bites her lip. Somehow, they've gotten dangerously close to flirting. Gemma clears her throat. 'Anyway, I have to go. I'll text you the information about the party. Thanks for agreeing to do this last minute. And for listening to me vent.' 'Great,' Celeste says. She does her best to switch gears so her tone is once again clipped and professional. 'And you're welcome. See you.' She hangs up, hoping she didn't make a huge mistake.