Wednesday, March 29, 2006
by Läps Trinity
Posted by Läps Trinity on Wed, Mar 29, 2006 at 12:00 AM
I used to be pretty convinced that fall was the most nostalgic of all seasons, drawing the unsuspecting sentimental type into dark reveries of mortality… But holy shit Aries! Every season is a catalyst for deep looks within! Spring is upon us, reminding us of snow-fed brooks, limpid tarns and skittering fauns. Goddamn it’s a cruel month. Fuck. Don’t be afraid to reach out if things get too bleak.
It’s a nice thought, starting all over again. But do you really want to go through those painful teenage years, bumping into the incandescent awkwardness of first lust, wrestling with the certainty of your own death, learning that it’s actually bad to wear white socks unless you’re playing tennis? You don’t. So maybe, Taurus, just maybe, a new haircut is all you need to turn things around.
Rooftops: An undiscovered resource. Think of all that lovely space, out in the soft dusky light, everything spread before you like the toys of your youth… Life is a grinding absurdity, filled with rules as arbitrary as the ether, but damn if it doesn’t hurt to simply reconfigure your perspective on the whole ridiculous mess every now and then. Gemini, get up there, so you can look down on it all.
Are looking for your songbird, Cancer? Are you looking for your sins? What exactly are you doing? Your willful persona as the eccentric noodler won’t hold up forever. As life’s inoperable responsibilities metastasize around you, the whimsical striped pants begin to lose their zing. Why’ve you always dressed like an overgrown French school child? Why must you mock me with your smock?
We all dream of our own small heaven: an improbably perfect set up that allows us to relax but is enough of a challenge to keep us feeling alive. Leo, I’ve found that setup: organizing interoffice tee-ball games. Shut up, it’s true. You get to work with people with nice clothes, and things are always changing but not so much you can’t take a nap in the supply room. It’s awesome!
Where are the heroes Virgo? Where are the bronzeate statues of purity who shine their brave light upon us, giving us hope where once there was none? Where? Nowhere. Sorry, but they never were. We’ll always be human, and though we’re capable of great things, we cannot ask perfection of even those among us who seem so grand… This goes for you, you know. Take it easy.
Some days you wake up before the alarm goes off, shocked into consciousness by phantoms of doubt and anxiety, your heart sinking as the sun rises, and you think you’ll never make it outside. Well, Libra, outside isn’t all it’s cracked up to be: it’s just an intra-subjectivity of spacetime events ruled by dull convention and tedious physical laws. Create a cocoon in your comforter, and stay there.
The sound of a cat trapped in a tin garbage can is not pleasant, it behooves a person to act — as does most any instance of cruelty or misfortune. But why is it, Scorpio, that good things so rarely catalyze action? Why doesn’t the soft breath of a new spring rain galvanize us? The smell of cupcakes baking in the oven? Let your newfound happiness move you, and move you to extremes.
Much has been made of the bicoastal divide in America, the so-called San Francisco-New York Effect. (And do you notice how all the coolest cities in the USA have two words in them? Los Angeles! Port Land! Awe Sten! Freaky right?) So if you’re going to move anywhere, Sagittarius, I would suggest bearing all this in mind. And if you’re not thinking of moving… maybe you should be.
You never could sing very well, could you Capricorn? Your enthusiasm was never in doubt, nor were your accompanying dance moves anything but spectacular — but in this life, the sooner we realize when we’re behaving like idiots, the sooner we can get on with life. So, to recap: you shouldn’t sing in public, it looks bad. And not funny-cool bad either, just embarrassing. Shit.
Shadows line up everywhere, waiting to march deep into the nighttime darkness; ravens tighten their Windsor knots, flash their beaks at passing traffic; the aquarium glass cracks; children sigh; the rain leaves angry marks where it falls. Today is going to be a bad one, Aquarius, I don’t know how else to put it. If you have the option, take the day off work and rent some Three’s Company.
The employment of martial analogies is not infrequently useful in providing clarity to life’s unpleasant situations. With that in mind, Pisces, let’s look at your present conundrum, aka the Siege of Leningrad. You’re tired, hungry, and running out of ammo; you’re trying to deal with one situation, but all this other crap keeps happening. Finally, you don’t even speak German. Oh no!
It’s a nice thought, starting all over again. But do you really want to go through those painful teenage years, bumping into the incandescent awkwardness of first lust, wrestling with the certainty of your own death, learning that it’s actually bad to wear white socks unless you’re playing tennis? You don’t. So maybe, Taurus, just maybe, a new haircut is all you need to turn things around.
Rooftops: An undiscovered resource. Think of all that lovely space, out in the soft dusky light, everything spread before you like the toys of your youth… Life is a grinding absurdity, filled with rules as arbitrary as the ether, but damn if it doesn’t hurt to simply reconfigure your perspective on the whole ridiculous mess every now and then. Gemini, get up there, so you can look down on it all.
Are looking for your songbird, Cancer? Are you looking for your sins? What exactly are you doing? Your willful persona as the eccentric noodler won’t hold up forever. As life’s inoperable responsibilities metastasize around you, the whimsical striped pants begin to lose their zing. Why’ve you always dressed like an overgrown French school child? Why must you mock me with your smock?
We all dream of our own small heaven: an improbably perfect set up that allows us to relax but is enough of a challenge to keep us feeling alive. Leo, I’ve found that setup: organizing interoffice tee-ball games. Shut up, it’s true. You get to work with people with nice clothes, and things are always changing but not so much you can’t take a nap in the supply room. It’s awesome!
Where are the heroes Virgo? Where are the bronzeate statues of purity who shine their brave light upon us, giving us hope where once there was none? Where? Nowhere. Sorry, but they never were. We’ll always be human, and though we’re capable of great things, we cannot ask perfection of even those among us who seem so grand… This goes for you, you know. Take it easy.
Some days you wake up before the alarm goes off, shocked into consciousness by phantoms of doubt and anxiety, your heart sinking as the sun rises, and you think you’ll never make it outside. Well, Libra, outside isn’t all it’s cracked up to be: it’s just an intra-subjectivity of spacetime events ruled by dull convention and tedious physical laws. Create a cocoon in your comforter, and stay there.
The sound of a cat trapped in a tin garbage can is not pleasant, it behooves a person to act — as does most any instance of cruelty or misfortune. But why is it, Scorpio, that good things so rarely catalyze action? Why doesn’t the soft breath of a new spring rain galvanize us? The smell of cupcakes baking in the oven? Let your newfound happiness move you, and move you to extremes.
Much has been made of the bicoastal divide in America, the so-called San Francisco-New York Effect. (And do you notice how all the coolest cities in the USA have two words in them? Los Angeles! Port Land! Awe Sten! Freaky right?) So if you’re going to move anywhere, Sagittarius, I would suggest bearing all this in mind. And if you’re not thinking of moving… maybe you should be.
You never could sing very well, could you Capricorn? Your enthusiasm was never in doubt, nor were your accompanying dance moves anything but spectacular — but in this life, the sooner we realize when we’re behaving like idiots, the sooner we can get on with life. So, to recap: you shouldn’t sing in public, it looks bad. And not funny-cool bad either, just embarrassing. Shit.
Shadows line up everywhere, waiting to march deep into the nighttime darkness; ravens tighten their Windsor knots, flash their beaks at passing traffic; the aquarium glass cracks; children sigh; the rain leaves angry marks where it falls. Today is going to be a bad one, Aquarius, I don’t know how else to put it. If you have the option, take the day off work and rent some Three’s Company.
The employment of martial analogies is not infrequently useful in providing clarity to life’s unpleasant situations. With that in mind, Pisces, let’s look at your present conundrum, aka the Siege of Leningrad. You’re tired, hungry, and running out of ammo; you’re trying to deal with one situation, but all this other crap keeps happening. Finally, you don’t even speak German. Oh no!
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Horoscope
with Läps Trinity
Posted by Läps Trinity on Wed, Mar 15, 2006 at 12:00 AM
ARIES MAR 21-APR 19
Oh boy, here comes another tough one. Yeah, sorry Aries, but the hope train just left the station, and you know what that means: a spaghettini-stretched metaphor, all the way to Grand Central. But look at it this way, now you can enjoy the nave-like quietude of the empty platform, and as the sun goes down and all the trains go to bed, you’ll be left alone with your thoughts. All aboard!
TAURUS APR 20- MAY 20
We all have stories to tell, I realize that, they make up who we are — but there are moments when we wish we could just start fresh, jettison the nostalgic ballast and sail out into the beneficent sea air… a clean slate, or rather, a swabbed poop deck. Taurus, are you displeased with the person you’ve become? Though we can’t just throw it all into the sea, we can at least give the sails a scrub.
GEMINI MAY 21- JUN 20
Happiness is elusory. Happiness, some would say, is in fact illusory. But hell, we all have things that make us happy, instantly, above and beyond their intellectual value. I, for example, I’m immediately cheered by the sound of rain on the windowpane. Gemini, are you also cheered by the sound of rain on the windowpane? If so, we should take a trip in one of those glass-covered train cars! Yay!
CANCER JUN 21- JUL 22
When someone says something like, “The sky is pocked with stars,” we must take it to understand they are not in a good mood. Perhaps there is a problem with their neurochemistry, and they just need a glass of chardonnay. If this is the case, Cancer, you should really just give it to them. Quit messing around, damn it! Give me a fucking drink, you sanctimonious prig.
LEO JUL 23- AUG 22
The poet once said, “You just gotta give it a little love.” But while you’re at it, you might want to prepare a nutritious, balanced meal. Alimentary equilibrium is important, Leo, in the health of any burgeoning relationship. Simply feeding the creature with the words it wants to hear isn’t going to allow it to grow. Unless you change, it’ll end up with little flipper legs (cute, but awkward).
VIRGO AUG 23- SEP 22
Every now and then it’s nice to pretend you’re an intrepid explorer journeying through life, delving into unknown zones of darkness and mystery — but sometimes, Virgo, you need a guide. Allow me. You’ve lately been prone to some pretty bleak thoughts — your instincts tell you to go deeper, but I think you should just opt for the all-inclusive tour to Oblivionville. Where everything is fine.
LIBRA SEP 23- OCT 22
I’m not a young Laplander anymore. Used to be I could ride naked through the night on the back of a lactating reindeer, splashing fennel-root vodka across my glistening withers with nary a sniffle come morning. Libra, time is an icy boulder, rolling slowly across the silver tundra, and there’s naught you or I can do to change that. Unless you invent a giant space ray gun to melt the ice caps.
SCORPIO OCT 23- NOV 21
You’ve been listening to the lyrics a little bit too much these days. And when they say sad things, it’s even sadder because of the melody… And damn it, Scorpio, you have no business being sad. Things are looking up; and even if you don’t particularly believe that right now, you’re just going to have to trust me. Hell, from my angle, things look fantastic. Just keep in touch, ok?
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22- DEC 21
Everything you do, you do out of love, don’t you Sagittarius? You can pretend you don’t, pretend you’re a mean old sonofabitch, but I’m not buying it. I know you’ve been rescuing kittens from the fascist dog police, ferrying them to safety on your whiskey-powered pramulator — I think you’re a hero, you big softie, and I think you should take some more credit for the good things you do.
CAPIRCORN DEC 22- JAN 19
Stress is like a crossbow. It winds ever so slowly, to tension levels close to a hundred pounds an inch, creaking toward taut potentiality… and then, it snaps. If you’re lucky, it hits an invading Hun, if not, a fellow defender of the castle walls. That’s the thing, Capricorn, though you think you can control the deadly force of the stressbow, you’re wrong. Try a poleaxe instead.
AQUARIUS JAN 20- FEB 18
Gauchos, buccaneers, bandaleros, dumbwaiters… These are the exciting characters of our nostalgic youth, the romantic leads in our childhood fantasies. What happened to those dreams we held so close to our hearts, Aquarius? It’s as if a small child has left our toy soldiers in the sun and they’ve melted into misshapen oddities. Save them from the sun won’t you? Lend a hand?
PISCES FEB 19- MAR 20
Just as the moon crests that stand of trees over there, on the other side of the lake, a great blue heron splits two crooked, white birch trees, rises majestically up over your dumbstruck head, and you think to yourself, “Why haven’t I ever traveled to foreign lands, done odd things, worn hats?” These are important questions, Pisces, I suggest you take them seriously.
Oh boy, here comes another tough one. Yeah, sorry Aries, but the hope train just left the station, and you know what that means: a spaghettini-stretched metaphor, all the way to Grand Central. But look at it this way, now you can enjoy the nave-like quietude of the empty platform, and as the sun goes down and all the trains go to bed, you’ll be left alone with your thoughts. All aboard!
TAURUS APR 20- MAY 20
We all have stories to tell, I realize that, they make up who we are — but there are moments when we wish we could just start fresh, jettison the nostalgic ballast and sail out into the beneficent sea air… a clean slate, or rather, a swabbed poop deck. Taurus, are you displeased with the person you’ve become? Though we can’t just throw it all into the sea, we can at least give the sails a scrub.
GEMINI MAY 21- JUN 20
Happiness is elusory. Happiness, some would say, is in fact illusory. But hell, we all have things that make us happy, instantly, above and beyond their intellectual value. I, for example, I’m immediately cheered by the sound of rain on the windowpane. Gemini, are you also cheered by the sound of rain on the windowpane? If so, we should take a trip in one of those glass-covered train cars! Yay!
CANCER JUN 21- JUL 22
When someone says something like, “The sky is pocked with stars,” we must take it to understand they are not in a good mood. Perhaps there is a problem with their neurochemistry, and they just need a glass of chardonnay. If this is the case, Cancer, you should really just give it to them. Quit messing around, damn it! Give me a fucking drink, you sanctimonious prig.
LEO JUL 23- AUG 22
The poet once said, “You just gotta give it a little love.” But while you’re at it, you might want to prepare a nutritious, balanced meal. Alimentary equilibrium is important, Leo, in the health of any burgeoning relationship. Simply feeding the creature with the words it wants to hear isn’t going to allow it to grow. Unless you change, it’ll end up with little flipper legs (cute, but awkward).
VIRGO AUG 23- SEP 22
Every now and then it’s nice to pretend you’re an intrepid explorer journeying through life, delving into unknown zones of darkness and mystery — but sometimes, Virgo, you need a guide. Allow me. You’ve lately been prone to some pretty bleak thoughts — your instincts tell you to go deeper, but I think you should just opt for the all-inclusive tour to Oblivionville. Where everything is fine.
LIBRA SEP 23- OCT 22
I’m not a young Laplander anymore. Used to be I could ride naked through the night on the back of a lactating reindeer, splashing fennel-root vodka across my glistening withers with nary a sniffle come morning. Libra, time is an icy boulder, rolling slowly across the silver tundra, and there’s naught you or I can do to change that. Unless you invent a giant space ray gun to melt the ice caps.
SCORPIO OCT 23- NOV 21
You’ve been listening to the lyrics a little bit too much these days. And when they say sad things, it’s even sadder because of the melody… And damn it, Scorpio, you have no business being sad. Things are looking up; and even if you don’t particularly believe that right now, you’re just going to have to trust me. Hell, from my angle, things look fantastic. Just keep in touch, ok?
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22- DEC 21
Everything you do, you do out of love, don’t you Sagittarius? You can pretend you don’t, pretend you’re a mean old sonofabitch, but I’m not buying it. I know you’ve been rescuing kittens from the fascist dog police, ferrying them to safety on your whiskey-powered pramulator — I think you’re a hero, you big softie, and I think you should take some more credit for the good things you do.
CAPIRCORN DEC 22- JAN 19
Stress is like a crossbow. It winds ever so slowly, to tension levels close to a hundred pounds an inch, creaking toward taut potentiality… and then, it snaps. If you’re lucky, it hits an invading Hun, if not, a fellow defender of the castle walls. That’s the thing, Capricorn, though you think you can control the deadly force of the stressbow, you’re wrong. Try a poleaxe instead.
AQUARIUS JAN 20- FEB 18
Gauchos, buccaneers, bandaleros, dumbwaiters… These are the exciting characters of our nostalgic youth, the romantic leads in our childhood fantasies. What happened to those dreams we held so close to our hearts, Aquarius? It’s as if a small child has left our toy soldiers in the sun and they’ve melted into misshapen oddities. Save them from the sun won’t you? Lend a hand?
PISCES FEB 19- MAR 20
Just as the moon crests that stand of trees over there, on the other side of the lake, a great blue heron splits two crooked, white birch trees, rises majestically up over your dumbstruck head, and you think to yourself, “Why haven’t I ever traveled to foreign lands, done odd things, worn hats?” These are important questions, Pisces, I suggest you take them seriously.
Horoscope
with Läps Trinity
Posted by Läps Trinity on Wed, Mar 15, 2006 at 12:00 AM
ARIES MAR 21-APR 19
Oh boy, here comes another tough one. Yeah, sorry Aries, but the hope train just left the station, and you know what that means: a spaghettini-stretched metaphor, all the way to Grand Central. But look at it this way, now you can enjoy the nave-like quietude of the empty platform, and as the sun goes down and all the trains go to bed, you’ll be left alone with your thoughts. All aboard!
TAURUS APR 20- MAY 20
We all have stories to tell, I realize that, they make up who we are — but there are moments when we wish we could just start fresh, jettison the nostalgic ballast and sail out into the beneficent sea air… a clean slate, or rather, a swabbed poop deck. Taurus, are you displeased with the person you’ve become? Though we can’t just throw it all into the sea, we can at least give the sails a scrub.
GEMINI MAY 21- JUN 20
Happiness is elusory. Happiness, some would say, is in fact illusory. But hell, we all have things that make us happy, instantly, above and beyond their intellectual value. I, for example, I’m immediately cheered by the sound of rain on the windowpane. Gemini, are you also cheered by the sound of rain on the windowpane? If so, we should take a trip in one of those glass-covered train cars! Yay!
CANCER JUN 21- JUL 22
When someone says something like, “The sky is pocked with stars,” we must take it to understand they are not in a good mood. Perhaps there is a problem with their neurochemistry, and they just need a glass of chardonnay. If this is the case, Cancer, you should really just give it to them. Quit messing around, damn it! Give me a fucking drink, you sanctimonious prig.
LEO JUL 23- AUG 22
The poet once said, “You just gotta give it a little love.” But while you’re at it, you might want to prepare a nutritious, balanced meal. Alimentary equilibrium is important, Leo, in the health of any burgeoning relationship. Simply feeding the creature with the words it wants to hear isn’t going to allow it to grow. Unless you change, it’ll end up with little flipper legs (cute, but awkward).
VIRGO AUG 23- SEP 22
Every now and then it’s nice to pretend you’re an intrepid explorer journeying through life, delving into unknown zones of darkness and mystery — but sometimes, Virgo, you need a guide. Allow me. You’ve lately been prone to some pretty bleak thoughts — your instincts tell you to go deeper, but I think you should just opt for the all-inclusive tour to Oblivionville. Where everything is fine.
LIBRA SEP 23- OCT 22
I’m not a young Laplander anymore. Used to be I could ride naked through the night on the back of a lactating reindeer, splashing fennel-root vodka across my glistening withers with nary a sniffle come morning. Libra, time is an icy boulder, rolling slowly across the silver tundra, and there’s naught you or I can do to change that. Unless you invent a giant space ray gun to melt the ice caps.
SCORPIO OCT 23- NOV 21
You’ve been listening to the lyrics a little bit too much these days. And when they say sad things, it’s even sadder because of the melody… And damn it, Scorpio, you have no business being sad. Things are looking up; and even if you don’t particularly believe that right now, you’re just going to have to trust me. Hell, from my angle, things look fantastic. Just keep in touch, ok?
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22- DEC 2
Everything you do, you do out of love, don’t you Sagittarius? You can pretend you don’t, pretend you’re a mean old sonofabitch, but I’m not buying it. I know you’ve been rescuing kittens from the fascist dog police, ferrying them to safety on your whiskey-powered pramulator — I think you’re a hero, you big softie, and I think you should take some more credit for the good things you do.
CAPIRCORN DEC 22- JAN 19
Stress is like a crossbow. It winds ever so slowly, to tension levels close to a hundred pounds an inch, creaking toward taut potentiality… and then, it snaps. If you’re lucky, it hits an invading Hun, if not, a fellow defender of the castle walls. That’s the thing, Capricorn, though you think you can control the deadly force of the stressbow, you’re wrong. Try a poleaxe instead.
AQUARIUS JAN 20- FEB 18
Gauchos, buccaneers, bandaleros, dumbwaiters… These are the exciting characters of our nostalgic youth, the romantic leads in our childhood fantasies. What happened to those dreams we held so close to our hearts, Aquarius? It’s as if a small child has left our toy soldiers in the sun and they’ve melted into misshapen oddities. Save them from the sun won’t you? Lend a hand?
PISCES FEB 19- MAR 2
Just as the moon crests that stand of trees over there, on the other side of the lake, a great blue heron splits two crooked, white birch trees, rises majestically up over your dumbstruck head, and you think to yourself, “Why haven’t I ever traveled to foreign lands, done odd things, worn hats?” These are important questions, Pisces, I suggest you take them seriously.
Oh boy, here comes another tough one. Yeah, sorry Aries, but the hope train just left the station, and you know what that means: a spaghettini-stretched metaphor, all the way to Grand Central. But look at it this way, now you can enjoy the nave-like quietude of the empty platform, and as the sun goes down and all the trains go to bed, you’ll be left alone with your thoughts. All aboard!
TAURUS APR 20- MAY 20
We all have stories to tell, I realize that, they make up who we are — but there are moments when we wish we could just start fresh, jettison the nostalgic ballast and sail out into the beneficent sea air… a clean slate, or rather, a swabbed poop deck. Taurus, are you displeased with the person you’ve become? Though we can’t just throw it all into the sea, we can at least give the sails a scrub.
GEMINI MAY 21- JUN 20
Happiness is elusory. Happiness, some would say, is in fact illusory. But hell, we all have things that make us happy, instantly, above and beyond their intellectual value. I, for example, I’m immediately cheered by the sound of rain on the windowpane. Gemini, are you also cheered by the sound of rain on the windowpane? If so, we should take a trip in one of those glass-covered train cars! Yay!
CANCER JUN 21- JUL 22
When someone says something like, “The sky is pocked with stars,” we must take it to understand they are not in a good mood. Perhaps there is a problem with their neurochemistry, and they just need a glass of chardonnay. If this is the case, Cancer, you should really just give it to them. Quit messing around, damn it! Give me a fucking drink, you sanctimonious prig.
LEO JUL 23- AUG 22
The poet once said, “You just gotta give it a little love.” But while you’re at it, you might want to prepare a nutritious, balanced meal. Alimentary equilibrium is important, Leo, in the health of any burgeoning relationship. Simply feeding the creature with the words it wants to hear isn’t going to allow it to grow. Unless you change, it’ll end up with little flipper legs (cute, but awkward).
VIRGO AUG 23- SEP 22
Every now and then it’s nice to pretend you’re an intrepid explorer journeying through life, delving into unknown zones of darkness and mystery — but sometimes, Virgo, you need a guide. Allow me. You’ve lately been prone to some pretty bleak thoughts — your instincts tell you to go deeper, but I think you should just opt for the all-inclusive tour to Oblivionville. Where everything is fine.
LIBRA SEP 23- OCT 22
I’m not a young Laplander anymore. Used to be I could ride naked through the night on the back of a lactating reindeer, splashing fennel-root vodka across my glistening withers with nary a sniffle come morning. Libra, time is an icy boulder, rolling slowly across the silver tundra, and there’s naught you or I can do to change that. Unless you invent a giant space ray gun to melt the ice caps.
SCORPIO OCT 23- NOV 21
You’ve been listening to the lyrics a little bit too much these days. And when they say sad things, it’s even sadder because of the melody… And damn it, Scorpio, you have no business being sad. Things are looking up; and even if you don’t particularly believe that right now, you’re just going to have to trust me. Hell, from my angle, things look fantastic. Just keep in touch, ok?
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22- DEC 2
Everything you do, you do out of love, don’t you Sagittarius? You can pretend you don’t, pretend you’re a mean old sonofabitch, but I’m not buying it. I know you’ve been rescuing kittens from the fascist dog police, ferrying them to safety on your whiskey-powered pramulator — I think you’re a hero, you big softie, and I think you should take some more credit for the good things you do.
CAPIRCORN DEC 22- JAN 19
Stress is like a crossbow. It winds ever so slowly, to tension levels close to a hundred pounds an inch, creaking toward taut potentiality… and then, it snaps. If you’re lucky, it hits an invading Hun, if not, a fellow defender of the castle walls. That’s the thing, Capricorn, though you think you can control the deadly force of the stressbow, you’re wrong. Try a poleaxe instead.
AQUARIUS JAN 20- FEB 18
Gauchos, buccaneers, bandaleros, dumbwaiters… These are the exciting characters of our nostalgic youth, the romantic leads in our childhood fantasies. What happened to those dreams we held so close to our hearts, Aquarius? It’s as if a small child has left our toy soldiers in the sun and they’ve melted into misshapen oddities. Save them from the sun won’t you? Lend a hand?
PISCES FEB 19- MAR 2
Just as the moon crests that stand of trees over there, on the other side of the lake, a great blue heron splits two crooked, white birch trees, rises majestically up over your dumbstruck head, and you think to yourself, “Why haven’t I ever traveled to foreign lands, done odd things, worn hats?” These are important questions, Pisces, I suggest you take them seriously.
Wednesday, March 1, 2006
with Läps Trinity
Posted by Läps Trinity on Wed, Mar 1, 2006 at 12:00 AM
ARIES MAR 21-APR 19
I finally threw out my old drum set the other day. Sad. Then the rain started to fall. And it made a pretty little tinkle on the timpani. I thought to myself, “This rain is playing the drums better than I ever could.” I wasn’t particularly bummed at the thought, but my perspective bloomed wide like an African violet: Aries, sometimes you just have to let nature take its course.
TAURUS APR 20- MAY 20
Hiding out is nice. Going on the lam under a fake name is nicer. If we couldn’t reinvent ourselves every now and then, Taurus, we’d go absolutely mad. You, for example, who were once so prudent, have really grown into a superfun, extroverted partystar. But what’s next on the list? Where do you go from here? This next step could be a long one, so make sure you’re comfortable about it.
GEMINI MAY 21- JUN 20
Everything I know about reading the stars, I learned from the lovely Gunnhild, my father’s wet nurse. To fully engage with the firmament, old Gunnhild would transport her bulky frame out to the middle of the snowy hemp field, lie down, make a snow angel, and connect. That’s what you need, Gemini, some time apart, to connect. Try a parking lot. And some kind of burlap suit.
CANCER JUN 21- JUL 22
The sound of a piano playing in a distant room can be melancholy or terrifying, depending on the tune. It also depends on whether or not the floor is carpeted. And the time of day. You know, Cancer, everything depends on random circumstances, unseen factors (the bus driver’s neurochemistry, the wind) that can change our lives forever. So maybe wear the yellow sweater today.
LEO JUL 23- AUG 22
A one-of-a-kind Bonobo monkey suit of armor? $80,000. The very first antique, cedar-powered word processor known as the “Word Chipper”? $8,500. The key to your beloved’s innermost heart? Around $2,000. Yes, love is simple, Leo, you just need a little financial stability before you can relax and enjoy the finer points of your paramour’s personality. No cash, no happy. Sorry.
VIRGO AUG 23- SEP 22
It’s kind of impossible to believe, but spring is right around the corner. I know, it’s muddy and grey, and winter lies like a deep fog on the valley of your soul, but there always comes a moment, if you have a little faith, when the sun hits your back at the right angle, and all the stress and upset of the dark months melts away. But Virgo, you gotta get outside first, before the sun can do its work.
LIBRA SEP 23- OCT 22
A good manservant is hard to find: someone who’ll press your slacks, make your tea, remove your crusts, and help you get out of those unfortunate romantic entanglements that are a byproduct of scandalously aristocratic English living. Yes, Libra, I know that you’ve been scaling the latticework, nipping into Lavinia’s boudoir… take care old chap! This time you’re on your own.
SCORPIO OCT 23- NOV 21
You’ve been trying some really odd diets of late, Scorpio. Chewing on rawhide soaked in lemon juice to fend off hunger pangs? Deep-fried eggshells? Foodstuffs beginning with the letter B? C’mon you eedjit! You’re gonna die before you finish all of your earthly designs, and none of us wants that. Here’s some advice: a nice cheese sandwich on rye bread, with a schmeer of mustard. Ok?
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22- DEC 21
Sitting underground can be good for the soul. It’s cool (but not too), quiet, and you needn’t fear wild marauders. The “fear of wild marauders,” Sagittarius, is one that you’ve been keeping secret for too long. I understand that you firmly believe you’re the reincarnation of a 9th-century Irish monk, but I really don’t think the Vikings are coming. But sure, sit underground all you want. Fine.
CAPIRCORN DEC 22- JAN 19
You know when you’re waiting for the bus, and it’s taking a long time, and you think to yourself, “Maybe I should just call a cab…” but you’ve already invested a significant portion of your life on that sad little stretch of sidewalk so you might as well stick around to see the thing through? There’s a word for that, Capricorn: stubborn. He/she just isn’t gonna call. Time to move on.
AQUARIUS JAN 20- FEB 18
I was out walking one night in El Jardin Real in Madrid, taking my leisure before an evening at the opera. I came upon a young child sitting quietly reading from a notebook. The child’s lips were moving and there was the faintest sound coming forth, of which I was able to make out the following: “Aquarius, you worry too much about what other people think. Be yourself…” Freaky right?
PISCES FEB 19- MAR 20
You think you’re hungry? I haven’t eaten in at least 13 years! Yours truly has been on a special diet of polka dots and moonbeams for over a decade… and I think I’m ready to dig in and chow down. But I’m not sure what my first meal should be. Clams? Yams? Quince paste over phyllo with a bed of frisee? Sometimes, Pisces, it’s all about me, not you. You’ll just have to deal.
I finally threw out my old drum set the other day. Sad. Then the rain started to fall. And it made a pretty little tinkle on the timpani. I thought to myself, “This rain is playing the drums better than I ever could.” I wasn’t particularly bummed at the thought, but my perspective bloomed wide like an African violet: Aries, sometimes you just have to let nature take its course.
TAURUS APR 20- MAY 20
Hiding out is nice. Going on the lam under a fake name is nicer. If we couldn’t reinvent ourselves every now and then, Taurus, we’d go absolutely mad. You, for example, who were once so prudent, have really grown into a superfun, extroverted partystar. But what’s next on the list? Where do you go from here? This next step could be a long one, so make sure you’re comfortable about it.
GEMINI MAY 21- JUN 20
Everything I know about reading the stars, I learned from the lovely Gunnhild, my father’s wet nurse. To fully engage with the firmament, old Gunnhild would transport her bulky frame out to the middle of the snowy hemp field, lie down, make a snow angel, and connect. That’s what you need, Gemini, some time apart, to connect. Try a parking lot. And some kind of burlap suit.
CANCER JUN 21- JUL 22
The sound of a piano playing in a distant room can be melancholy or terrifying, depending on the tune. It also depends on whether or not the floor is carpeted. And the time of day. You know, Cancer, everything depends on random circumstances, unseen factors (the bus driver’s neurochemistry, the wind) that can change our lives forever. So maybe wear the yellow sweater today.
LEO JUL 23- AUG 22
A one-of-a-kind Bonobo monkey suit of armor? $80,000. The very first antique, cedar-powered word processor known as the “Word Chipper”? $8,500. The key to your beloved’s innermost heart? Around $2,000. Yes, love is simple, Leo, you just need a little financial stability before you can relax and enjoy the finer points of your paramour’s personality. No cash, no happy. Sorry.
VIRGO AUG 23- SEP 22
It’s kind of impossible to believe, but spring is right around the corner. I know, it’s muddy and grey, and winter lies like a deep fog on the valley of your soul, but there always comes a moment, if you have a little faith, when the sun hits your back at the right angle, and all the stress and upset of the dark months melts away. But Virgo, you gotta get outside first, before the sun can do its work.
LIBRA SEP 23- OCT 22
A good manservant is hard to find: someone who’ll press your slacks, make your tea, remove your crusts, and help you get out of those unfortunate romantic entanglements that are a byproduct of scandalously aristocratic English living. Yes, Libra, I know that you’ve been scaling the latticework, nipping into Lavinia’s boudoir… take care old chap! This time you’re on your own.
SCORPIO OCT 23- NOV 21
You’ve been trying some really odd diets of late, Scorpio. Chewing on rawhide soaked in lemon juice to fend off hunger pangs? Deep-fried eggshells? Foodstuffs beginning with the letter B? C’mon you eedjit! You’re gonna die before you finish all of your earthly designs, and none of us wants that. Here’s some advice: a nice cheese sandwich on rye bread, with a schmeer of mustard. Ok?
SAGITTARIUS NOV 22- DEC 21
Sitting underground can be good for the soul. It’s cool (but not too), quiet, and you needn’t fear wild marauders. The “fear of wild marauders,” Sagittarius, is one that you’ve been keeping secret for too long. I understand that you firmly believe you’re the reincarnation of a 9th-century Irish monk, but I really don’t think the Vikings are coming. But sure, sit underground all you want. Fine.
CAPIRCORN DEC 22- JAN 19
You know when you’re waiting for the bus, and it’s taking a long time, and you think to yourself, “Maybe I should just call a cab…” but you’ve already invested a significant portion of your life on that sad little stretch of sidewalk so you might as well stick around to see the thing through? There’s a word for that, Capricorn: stubborn. He/she just isn’t gonna call. Time to move on.
AQUARIUS JAN 20- FEB 18
I was out walking one night in El Jardin Real in Madrid, taking my leisure before an evening at the opera. I came upon a young child sitting quietly reading from a notebook. The child’s lips were moving and there was the faintest sound coming forth, of which I was able to make out the following: “Aquarius, you worry too much about what other people think. Be yourself…” Freaky right?
PISCES FEB 19- MAR 20
You think you’re hungry? I haven’t eaten in at least 13 years! Yours truly has been on a special diet of polka dots and moonbeams for over a decade… and I think I’m ready to dig in and chow down. But I’m not sure what my first meal should be. Clams? Yams? Quince paste over phyllo with a bed of frisee? Sometimes, Pisces, it’s all about me, not you. You’ll just have to deal.
