MAR 21 — APR 19
When life gets tough, we like to think of the universe as some particularly malicious agent that’s out to destroy us with trial after trial. This is our way of contextualizing the unfairness we perceive — something or someone must be out to get us. Well, Aries, that’s poppycock. It’s all random, and there’s no reason to suppose it’ll get better. There is no balance, just chance.
APR 20 — MAY 20
I would hazard that this time you might be underthinking your situation. I’m normally of the school that encourages spontaneity and instinct (yeah, we’re all a bunch of zen hippie surfer trustfund types), but hold on, Bodhisattva — maybe you need to get a bit more rational, maybe even draw up a pro/con chart or some shit like that. I know it’s not cool, Taurus, but try to be thoughtful, k?
MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Can science save us? Will we ever be able to time travel? Will we ever be able to breathe in space? Will there ever be a hangover-free Christmas morning? I don’t have those answers, Gemini, but I can tell you one thing: at the heart of all scientific breakthrough lies the unflagging ability to dream. Are you flagging these days? Where does that word even come from? Happy Flag Day, dude.
JUNE 21 — JULY 22
So I’m writing this from a tiny trailer parked out back of a Hardee’s about six miles outside of Oxford, Mississippi. It’s hot. My hands smell like bear glands. My coffee tastes like back issues of People. In short, Cancer, this isn’t looking good. I offer the sad reality of my life to you, that you might gain some perspective from its pathos, and stop complaining about your own.
JULY 23 — AUG 22
Beach! Yeah! Let’s go to the beach! Maybe we’ll get sand in our veggie wraps! And we will forget to put sunscreen on the thin band of skin between our waistband and t-shirt! And a large man from Wales will get drunk and beat us up! And it will be the summer of 1993! We were younger then, but kind of sad! Man, Leo, sometimes it’s just best to forget, right?
AUG 23 — SEP 22
Big deal, Virgo, you know why the sky is blue, and how rain works. Way to go captain smartypants. But do you know why you’re having trouble hanging on to money? Just because you can rattle off the theories of the world’s great economists doesn’t mean you’re good with a buck. Ok, it may seem both obvious and impossible, but the key is planning ahead. That’s it. That’s all.
SEP 23 — OCT 22
You may think it’s all fun and quirky to have a “make your own ice cream” party but it’s really a bad idea. It’s messy. It takes a long time. And it doesn’t taste very good. EVERYONE WILL HATE YOU. I’m sorry, Libra, but just because you have an idea doesn’t mean you have to follow through on it. Keep an idea book, write them down, and maybe act on them once and a while.
OCT 23 — NOV 21
The heart, as an organ, is really pretty ugly. It’s gnarled, asymmetrical and it’s always clenching, like a fist or the mouth of a judgmental spinster. The liver, on the other hand, is slick and has a beautiful monochrome sheen — pretty nice looking as internal organs go. Does this gross you out, Scorpio? Then you should apply to law school and give up that doctor dream. You’re welcome.
NOV 22 — DEC 21
Have you ever tried to make coffee using one of those giant-ass, turn-of-the-century Italian steampunk contraptions? Preposterously complicated; also, delicious. Preposterilicious! Do you see what I’m getting at here, Sagittarius? A long, difficult process that yields a sublimely edifying result? No, that’s not it. Portmanteaux. The combination of words. Sooo fun.
DEC 22 — JAN 19
Where do you stand on using your childhood lunchbox as a playful signifier of perpetual youth and all the creative latitude that entails? Did you just tell me to fuck off? Good for you. I respect that. You’ve really grown up, haven’t you, Capricorn? No longer will you wander the childhood byways that shaped your adult self. Well, all I can say is keep running. Get as far away as possible.
JAN 20 — FEB 18
Oh dear. I read somewhere that over the last few years Spanish business culture has been trying to reconfigure itself closer to the American model. Translation: no more two-hour lunches followed by a nap. That fucking sucks. Now we’ll just have more stressed out, hunch-shouldered people squeezing onto subways, getting really angry really quickly. Oh Aquarius, what can we do?
FEB 19 — MAR 20
The key to a happy life is being able to fit all that really matters to you in a single Honda Civic glove compartment. Everything else is kind of bullshit, and half of the stuff you think is making you happy is really just making you sad. Try it tonight, Pisces. And if you don’t have a Honda Civic, a basic toaster oven will work, too. Just don’t turn it on. Ok, get cramming!