Monday, May 29, 2006

Caressing the Delicate Folds of My Soul or Why Do I Pay For a Therapist When I Have Google Horoscopes?

Dear Google Horoscopes:

No One.

No one knows me the way you know me. Such a shockingly intimate knowledge, such a fine, sweet insight you exhibit. I may not even know I'm cruising in cold emotional currents until you cue me in. In perfect, precise paragraphs you tell me how to handle the daily hairtuns in my own fate. Oh, Google Horoscopes. I told you one thing, ONE THING, about me. And you took six simple numbers (120674) and turned it into my roadmap in life.

Where do you come up with such insightful nuggets as
Be aware that your inner conflicts can confuse others and they may not be able to determine what you really want.
Give yourself the gift of magic, for your creative mind is more facile now than usual

And I already bought myself a two-headed quarter. You know, just in case I got into some kind of coin-flipping duel to the death. It knew I would give myself the gift of magic before I did.

Fucking Beautiful.

PS: Can you tell my mind is facile right now? It's totally facile. WAY more facile than usual.


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