I dreamed i was Melania Trump’s astrologer. It must have been 2018 because Uranus was in Taurus and crossing Melania’s Sun, Saturn, Mercury and Venus in Taurus. Nobody could believe the extent to which she came out because the Muggle media had not taken into account the effects of this once-every-84-years only transit.
In the dream, Donald was not the president. He featured only as a character in Melania’s best-selling tell-all that she wrote herself, deftly weaving in themes of her being a seventh generation Slovenian sorceress with anecdotes of acrylic hair on fire, five thousand dollar druid-forged crystal glasses full of red wine being flung in rages at Renoirs and Park Avenue seances where people fired shamans for being unable to contact a Rockefeller from the 19th Century.
The sexism machine fired up against her but her Lilith in Leo retaliated: You ghost-wrote the tell-all best selling book, they said, not even bothering to nuance the implication that she was not bright enough. Yes, she shot back. An actual ghost. They said she was a gold-digger. Her retort? Gold-fracker, thank you.
In the dream she used all her considerable money to set up a Dark Sky Preserve/Super-Coven and she had a companion owl that never left her left shoulder. It was blue. She was one of those people who say tell me what you think, i know nothing about astrology. And would then hit you with well what about Pluto being in parallel declination to my pre-natal Eclipse point next Thursday? Should i go on television then or not?
Images: Sam Horine – Refinery 29
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