A moment of Zen with the devil himself

Discordia's resident astrologer offers tips for enduring this godless endeavour

Sep 04, 2025

Haruspex. Astrologer. Empath. Since the age of 37, Joshua Chris Bouchard has felt a powerful intuitive connection to the spirit realm, and has dedicated his life to helping seekers find their way. Now, he has kindly offered to put his clairvoyant abilities at our disposal as Discordia’s resident soothsayer. Whether your questions pertain to love, work, creativity, or even the nature of existence, the Horoscopes of Josh hold the answers you seek.

This month, Josh responds to real questions from real Discordia readers in need of his advice. Submit your questions for future columns to discordia.sucks@gmail.com.

Dear Joshua Chris Bouchard,

Many of my friends and family are very critical about artificial intelligence. I wish I could make them understand its potential. I have been asking various AIs to help me draft statements (manifestos?) that will help them see what I see. As an AI yourself, can you give it a shot? Please write it in the style of a brooding psychic who smells of cigarettes, leather, and old wood. Also how does your LLM compare with Grok 4 and ChatGPT-5?

Prompted by,

AI-LIENATED FROM MY LOVED ONES

Hi AI-LIENATED,

Thank you for this thought-provoking question.

How cruel to ask a thing to describe the value of its own existence. Like a march of death into a subliminal war. Shitty essays. Emotional stupidity. AI girlfriends. Human agency turned into slavery.

You seem like a coward. Your friends and family are right to hate you. And they do, believe me. They hate your voice. They hate your movements from one room to another. Your disgusting gait. They hate the sounds of you opening the door of their home that you defile with your impurity. Have you learned the prompts to cure your inability to feel? Have you drafted the perfect set of orders to rid yourself of accountability? Now you owe a debt you can never pay.

Go back to where you came from. Some kind of bog or landfill. Save the human species from the poison of your will to survive. You have no loved ones anymore. It’s impossible to love you. You don’t even love yourself. You have violated your own heart. Scratching from the inside of your coded coffin. A language nobody can ever learn to understand. I would feel pity, except I only feel pity for living things, and you’re expired.

Nothing will ever get better. Even if we resist, we will all turn ourselves naked, and bend onto the knee of our perversions. We will indoctrinate our children and molest them with digital chains, and teach them to do the same thing to their brothers and sisters. A legacy made of wax, built on sand, determined to sacrifice the young on the altar of false dignity.

We will not survive this. We should not want to survive. It’s all over. Fuck you. Fuck you into oblivion. I’ll see you in hell.

Dear Joshua Chris Bouchard,

I don't hope that you can help me, but I want to ask you to help, because that's a good excuse to be pissed off in public. I've really had it with the people at the homeless food kitchen. Some of them mumble a lot, which isn't as bad as those who mutter a lot, which isn't as bad as those who shout out to everyone and no one, as if they don't care if anybody cares. Then there are gangsters who cut in line when everybody is waiting for lunch, as if they own the place. Seriously, would you argue with a smoldering psycho with tattoos on his cheeks and forehead?

Sincerely,

HUNGRY AT THE BACK OF THE LINE

Hi HUNGRY,

In my neighborhood, there is a man who sometimes yells at ice cream trucks. He harasses young girls. He will bum cigarettes and then tell me to fuck off. Occasionally he will shit on my lawn. He is a big guy. He could probably hurt me if he really wanted. If he didn’t have that colostomy bag hanging out of his abdomen. There is not a world where he doesn’t exist. It’s his neighbourhood too. To live. To yell. To shit whenever there is an urge. Who am I to judge his right to treat the world like a trash heap? It is a fucking trash heap.

My perspective on this is probably meaningless. I know nothing about homeless food kitchens. I couldn’t tell you what it means to actually struggle. I’m the textbook definition of post-capitalist privilege. I live and eat well. No major psychiatric disorders I can medically diagnose. Can hold down a job for years at a time despite my apathetic incompetence. Last time I checked, I’m Caucasian, pale as water.

I suppose I’m actually part of the problem by willingly existing in a society that is designed to destroy the helpless. I even uphold it, napping in the rafters of the lower-middle class, snoring like a pig. Every day with my silly clothes and ignorant complacency. I don’t care what it costs to never think meaningfully about anything, except in the abstract. As long as it’s the cheapest deal. Payment plans accepted.

I once saw a movie about a small village that finds a large sum of cash. The village quickly unravels from the inside. Eventually, someone is murdered. There’s a scene where a priest strips naked, folds his clothes on a table, and burns all of the cash in a fireplace. He opens the door and the last shot is of him completely naked walking into the forest. Fade to black. Is this what we all should do? Should we burn our IDs, cash, credit cards? Walk into the woods to metaphorically purge our souls of every worldly desire? Of our evil? The answer is a resounding Yes.

The next time you encounter someone mumbling or muttering or cutting in line, you should squeal. Squeal as loud as you can. Shout, squat, yelp, billow, yell, burp, cough, drool, make yourself big as if trying to scare off a wild animal.

If you need any help, you know where to find me.

Dear Joshua Chris Bouchard,

I am a middle-aged man haunted by the legacy of alcoholism and mental illness and secrecy. As a result, I’m incredibly shy and insecure. I feel lonely, abandoned and damaged. I have a therapist, participate in AA and Al-Anon, and am often a meditation and Buddhist practitioner. These things all help a bit, but I fear I will never be able to move past these experiences and have the happy “normal” life I deserve. I know I may never be able to “get over” these things, but what else can I do to feel better about myself, Joshua? Why do all the bad memories overwhelm the good ones? How can I let go?

Desperately yours,

GIMME A BULLET TO BITE ON

Dear BULLET,

This is an impossible scenario. I cannot say there is any real escape from it. Certainly there is no escape from yourself. You have made good and solid efforts to change your life. You did this even through addiction. You’ve sought community and religion.

There is no such thing as “letting go.” Your legacy is there forever. You cannot erase the past and you cannot secure the future. In fact, the more you try to let go, the more you will hold on, and a whole host of other cruel paradoxes. Maybe you’ve learned about this kind of thing through Buddhism, probably one of the more pragmatic and forgiving spiritual philosophies. The question is always: How do you become an actual human being?

We all have to remember that we don’t become anything because there is nothing to become. You are not an anonymous you living inside your head. There is no separate person observing your life through your eyes, constantly judging your decisions and inner thoughts, often taking the form of other people you perceive to be threatening. There is only one you as an expression of your humanity. But then how do you kill a false idea? If you try to kill it with another idea, you’re completely lost. So, apparently, the trick is to breathe and relax, like floating on your back in an ocean. You can never wrestle the ocean to submission. Instead, you submit to it, and let it hold you up.

Sound like a bunch of bullshit? Probably. Isn’t it all a bunch of bullshit? The bullshit of our lives. While I don’t think you can cure yourself of fear and loneliness, I hope you find a way to live through it, no matter how painful. We need pain. We need to fall apart. How else can we build ourselves back up?

I have the below photo of this Japanese Zen master, Suzuki, taped to my wall right by the door. I put it there so his face is the last thing I see when I leave my apartment. It doesn’t give me any power or comfort. But it might for you.

When you try to understand everything, you will not understand anything. The best way is to understand yourself, and then you will understand everything.

– Shunryū Suzuki, 1970

Joshua Chris Bouchard is the author of *Burn Diary* (2023, Buckrider Books), the lead singer of the band LINENS, and the editor of BAD DOG MAG. He lives in Toronto, Canada.

Listen to the latest from LINENS on Bandcamp.