MAR 21 — APR 19
Ever feel like nobody wants you? Like you’re a dented can of diced tomato at the back of the shelf in a bankrupt grocery, hidden by empty beer cans and years of dust? How do you roll yourself off the shelf, down the cracked lino floor and into the street… and freedom? Well, Aries, I think your best bet is to keep fermenting until the can blows up, knocking you clear out into the living world.
APR 20 — MAY 20
Achieving spiritual actualization can be as simple and random as getting stuck on the milk run from Mombasa to Nairobi in the fall of 1959. It’s about an 18-hour trip and there’s no room to lie down, or even sit, and the train stops at every bloody acacia tree on the plain. But as grueling as it seems, Taurus, an experience like this can set you free — and you won’t even know it’s happening.
MAY 21 — JUNE 20
Homemade garage museums, seen from the roadside, can seem charming and eccentric, and can remind you of the great, quirky individualism that has always made America such an interesting, if not fucked up, place. But things aren’t always so delightful when you cross the threshold into the shadowy mania of the lawn-chair obsessive. All I’m saying, Gemini, is be careful out there.
JUNE 21 — JULY 22
If you have, in fact, rescued a child from a burning building, this horoscope is not for you. Otherwise, listen up, Cancer: you have some serious living to do. And by living, I mean listening: listening to your inner voice, to your outer voice, to the voices all around you, to the music coming from 2B, to the wind through the trees and, most importantly, listening for a child’s voice crying for help.
JULY 23 — AUG 22
Yeah, it’s alright. I understand. You got a little hot under the collar — that’s not uncommon these days… these hopeless, humid days: we’re all in debt and our cousins are getting blown up and shit’s falling apart all around us and sure, it may have been inevitable, but it’s our lives, people. Our lives are coming to fruition during the bad times. But Leo, Leo! Your anger is a gift.
AUG 23 — SEP 22
I had a vision after work the other night, Virgo, as I was crossing the Brooklyn Bridge: there before me, all across the Island of Manhattan, I beheld a thousand swirling souls, the spirits of the Friday after-work drinkers gyring up into the freshly bruised sky, lightening with each cold beer, each vodka tonic, spiraling together into gentle eddies of banter and flirt. Go now, and drink.
SEP 23 — OCT 22
What’s the hold up, Libra? The plan is in place (and I think we can still agree it’s a pretty good one, no?), the materials have been purchased (metaphorically, of course), and, most significantly, your training is complete. So why are you cooped up in your bathroom staring at the mirror? You know I can’t actually be there with you on this one, right? It’s gotta be a solo job, old friend.
OCT 23 — NOV 21
Sometimes if you’re feeling lost or bored, it can be fun and revealing to put together a starting baseball line-up from your nine closest friends; or if you’re one of those freaks with tons of friends, you can find spots for relievers and coaching staff. You see, Scorpio, there are only nine kinds of people in the world, and the best way to see their true selves is on the diamond.
NOV 22 — DEC 21
Seriously, a new Depression is on its way… So, what are we going to call our new Hoovervilles? Chimptowns? Bushburgs? Dubyavilles? I kind of like Chimptown. What kind of hobo are you going to be, Sagittarius? Are you going to be one of those Boxcar Willie types, riding around on a train with a harmonica? Or a Bindly Joe, wandering along the backroads? Time to plan.
DEC 22 — JAN 19
What is your weird obsession with performing self-surgery, dude? Do you really think digging a bullet out with a spoon and then sewing up the wound with hippie hair will give you the sense of personal satisfaction you so desperately seem to crave? Whatever happened to a nice evening with a cup of tea and the crossword? You need to set more reasonable benchmarks, Capricorn.
JAN 20 — FEB 18
Eyes closed. Ears open. Hair up. Mouth agape. Arms akimbo. Fingers crossed. Shoulders hunched. Knees knocking. Shins splinting. When the body revolts, it is not a pretty site. It becomes dangerous to travel by foot and the only way to get a good look at the interior is by pontoon plane. The rivers burst the banks and the capital chokes with desert sand. Flee, Aquarius, flee.
FEB 19 — MAR 20
It looks like you’ve gotten past that performative phase of creative grandstanding, Pisces, and I’m proud of you. I’m talking about that teenage compulsion to broadcast your artistic dreams: writing furiously in your journal on the bus; singing along to the opera on your iPod; sketching on your napkin all through dinner… We get it, you’re artsy, but let’s see you finish something.