ARIES    MAR 21-APR 19

We miss you, Aries. Hell, we’re all soft and weepy, frankly. Where did you go? What has become of that person we knew better than the streetlights and the puddles? Every now and then, the weight of your absence descends upon us like a breathless fog and we are blind with sadness. But you don’t see this, do you? You can’t see it. But maybe you’re not looking hard enough.

TAURUS    APR 20- MAY 20

I saw a worm riding a robin the other morning, like a roughrider or a frothing Cossack or a dandy from the light brigade. It was half vision from hell, half heroic tableau, and it shook me, Taurus, shook me to the quick. The scariest thing was the face of the worm… that’s right, you know where this is going… it was your face on the worm! Ask yourself then, are you a Cossack or a dandy?

GEMINI    MAY 21- JUN 20

There is a certain look people get, almost without knowing it, when they’ve realized they may not be eating the short end of the stick. A half smile, furtive, measured, irresistible, that seems to say, “Ok, just don’t fuck it up now, you might actually win one for a change.” I’ve seen this look on your face a lot Gemini, and it’s getting perilously close to a full smile. Watch it. Keep those cards close.

CANCER    JUN 21- JUL 22

Down by the riverside we waste away; moss gathers on the soles of our boots; birds play desultory bridge in our unruly coiffeurs; and with every second the water comes ever closer to washing away our dirty sins. But what happens when the river freezes, Cancer? Will we skate across its iron-gleaming surface into a brighter future? Yes we will. For we are the hockey-playing angels.

LEO    JUL 23- AUG 22

Get a permanent! Buy a new crinoline! Wax the dog! Damn it, Leo, get out there and treat yourself to something special! I know you feel like you don’t really deserve it, but that’s just bullspit. You’ve put in a good 5 months, 14 days, 3 hours and 21 minutes. The weird thing is how freakishly intense you are about keeping everything so exactly timed. That’ll just give you a rash.

VIRGO    AUG 23- SEP 22

Talking to yourself is most certainly not a sign of craziness. It’s actually indicative of a refined mind. When you think about it, everyone’s pretty much a nutjob, the only difference is that the ones we label “wacko” are the ones who aren’t able to conceal the faulty wiring. So, Virgo, you’re not “crazy”, ok? You are, however, crazy. But at least you’re not alone.

LIBRA    SEP 23- OCT 22

Sometimes you sink, sometimes you swim; sometimes you get the bull, sometimes the bull gets you; but the toast always lands butter side down. Though they can become tiresome, clichés exist to serve us, like garden tools, or hang gliding instructors. So Libra, if someone tells you “your eyes are like deep blue lakes,” try not to laugh, it could really break someone’s heart [sob].

SCORPIO    OCT 23- NOV 21

The silent treatment is not a medically accepted way of treating a perceived insult. It’s the equivalent of the old Lappish fishwives’ healing wisdom that thinks cat penises are a good way of alleviating grumpiness. What I’m saying, Scorpio, is that you’re employing too many cat penises these days, when what you really need are dolphin dreams. (Used to cure insomnia. Try them.)

SAGITTARIUS    NOV 22- DEC 21

There’s an old saying, from some famous womanizer or another (Marlon Brando? Caligula? Gertrude Stein?) that every woman has something beautiful about her; and though I’m not normally the sentimental type, this little axiom gets my eyes all misty. Oh Sagittarius, I think you’re beautiful, inside and out, and if that makes me a gushy flatterer, you’re just gonna have to sue me!

CAPIRCORN    DEC 22- JAN 19

A spiritual/aesthetic world journey is what’s called for. First of all Cappy, we have to accept the sad fact that you won’t be taking any spectacular global tours in the near future. But the powers of food-pretend are great: baguette (France) with gouda (Holland) and olives (Spain) — see, you’ve already been all over Europe! The human superpower is self-delusion. I suggest you employ it.

AQUARIUS    JAN 20- FEB 18
The jackknife is your totem, Aquarius; it’s in your very blood, coursing sharp and thirsty through the pulse of your daily life, ready for all tragedy, all joy. So what does that mean for you? Well, try to avoid careers in which the atmospheric pressure changes a lot: elevator pilot, refrigeration mercenary, dog mimic... You really gotta take it easy — after all, there’s a knife in there somewhere!

PISCES    FEB 19- MAR 20
Sometimes perfect strangers can be more insightful about who we really are than our closest intimates. Just the other day I was out walking the dog when someone driving by yelled, “Hey! Great looking dog!” and I thought to myself, ‘yeah, I am a great looking dog.’ So when I tell you, Pisces, that you’ve got really lovely hands, I think you should just take that at face value.

ARIES MAR 20 — APR 19

Turns out trailer culture is a ruse. Literacy levels in 9 of the 10 largest trailer parks in the US are higher than 9 of the 10 most affluent neighborhoods in NYC. And all that ripped denim and Spam? It belies Paul Smith boxers and roasted fig chutney. How did this happen, Aries? Well, as we let our prejudices metastasize into truths, we lose sight of that which grows in front of our very eyes.

TAURUS APR 20 — MAY 20

Putting off today what you can do tomorrow ain’t always a bad thing. Eventually, those things that were never destined to get done (the unimportant things) are pushed off the to-do list till they slide into the great western sea of forgetfulness. Occasionally, Taurus, you get so obsessed with checking off your lists and chores that you just don’t live. Which is only one step away from dying.

GEMINI MAY 21 — JUNE 20

The white collar boy sits down to eat lunch beside the blue collar girl. The sun banks low off a Manhattan office building. Their hands touch accidently. She looks up, but where her eyes are supposed to be, are two tiny TVs! Ahhh! Gemini, wake up! You’re having that dream again, the one that ends with you flying through Times Square in your underwear. Lay off the chili before bed, ok?

CANCER JUNE 21 — JULY 22

Was that the piano tuner sneaking out your back door the other day? I thought you’d kicked the habit, Cancer. But I guess sometimes people just can’t break free of their addictions, and you’ll always be a piano user. Hey, Bill Burroughs lasted well into old age, and he tried every controlled substance known to man, so who’s to say you can’t out outlast a little Chopin? Play on piano man.

LEO JULY 23 — AUG 22

Have you ever raced washing machines? It’s pretty awesome. But what you fail to consider is the deleterious effect on the poor appliance. It turns out, Leo, that most machines only make three or four appearances in their careers, after which they are cruelly discarded like so many greyhounds. Leo, please don’t break my heart. I’m more than just a washing machine.

VIRGO AUG 23 — SEP 22

If only daily life came complete with its very own horn section to back up your comings and goings, your good times and your bad, a brassy, ballsy boomp-boomp to match your strut and shuffle. Well now it can, Virgo! All you have to do is use the unlimited power of your imagination! Or wait. Why don’t you just break down and buy one of those MP3 listening devices, you cheap bastard. 

LIBRA SEP 23 — OCT 22

You need a swear jar. You know, every time you say a bad word you throw in a quarter and at the end of the year you take all the money and buy a big plastic bottle filled with tequila, and then you think your friends will come get drunk with you but they don’t. What were we talking about, Libra? Oh yeah. The only way to be honest with your lover is to be honest with yourself. Whatever.

SCORPIO OCT 23 — NOV 21

What happens when you’re all grown up and you’re still not what you’re supposed to be? Do you crawl into the back of the closet deep beneath that slightly rank pile of laundry? No, you don’t Scorpio, because you’re a hell of a lot tougher than that. The main problem here, is that your lifelong dream of being a famous explorer is just not realistic. Recalibrate your goals my friend. 

SAGITTARIUS NOV 22 — DEC 21

What happens when you find out your secret hideout isn’t so secret? You start to cry right? The invasion of personal sanctuary is no small matter, Sagittarius, it can be deeply, psychically damaging for all involved. But on the flip side, inviting someone to share your hidden fort creates the possibility for tremendous spiritual growth. So which will it be? Invasion or invitation? It’s up to you.

CAPRICORN DEC 22 — JAN 19

One rarely hears of the greatest mail carrier of all time, one Romi Dismey — and it’s a damn shame. Dismey, also a Capricorn, will go down in the postal annals (not a pretty place) for her heroic delivery of a single, perfect rose to a dying child in the middle of an ice storm. The amazing thing was that the tag on the flower said only: “To her who needs it most.” [Weeps softly into screen.]  

AQUARIUS JAN 20 — FEB 18

Nobody gives good curse anymore. These days it’s all, “may your documents become disorganized,” or “pass me the olive terrine.” These are not curses people! Aquarius, whatever happened to, “may your testicles turn green and float,” or “thy gaze shall ruin love”? Must the passing of time dull the bright edge of human vengeance? You’ve got grudges — embrace the old-school curse.  

PISCES FEB 19 — MAR 20

Maybe it’s all going to be ok, Pisces. Last year was a tough one for a lot of people. But the oh-six promises to be a mind-blowing thrill ride of cyclonic proportions! But I strongly advise you wear a helmet, because even though everybody loves it when the good times roll, there are scary moments when they roll over us and crush us. And crushing is bad. Bad for people. So... helmet?